undergrounds | ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʜɪᴅᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ, ɪᴛ's ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏᴡɴ.

Entry tags:

ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʜɪᴅᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ, ɪᴛ's ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏᴡɴ.

ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ Sʏʟᴀʀ.

If he's honest, he doesn't exactly like being an errand boy for the nest. He knows that it's best to stay in the fold instead of break out of it, and his sire is quick to breathe down his neck if he's gone too long. That's why he's back in town, and picking up duties that he's neglected for a few months. He won't keep his seat if he keeps on that way, and he's determined not to lose his standing.

He has plans, and falling through the ranks is not going to get him there.

So when the topic of paying a new contract was raised, he offered to nail down the dirty details. If he's honest he's curious about this meta human they've hired to clean up messes left behind. The pirate honestly would rather his kind not leave a mess to be cleaned, but that's not a battle he's like to win today.

He helps himself into the shop, glancing around with at least a vague curiosity before he tings a bell hoping for attention. The man that answers seems rather ordinary, and Killian gives a smile that has too much teeth to be particularly warm. "Looking for the fellow that owns this place," he says, tone friendly enough.

ᴛʜᴇ Jᴏʟʟʏ Rᴏɢᴇʀ, ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴀʟʟ.

He's done a lot of running around since he's arrived back from his travels. He's invited a few of his friends round to his bar to check in with them, with a back room open for only those that have been specifically welcomed.

That doesn't mean that the place is closed to everyone else, though; it's a popular enough pub, and the prices are fairly low for a person that wants to get pissed and doesn't care too much about how fancy the drinks they're taking happen to be.

He's usually in the back, but, on occasion he can be found at the pool table. Who says you can't scrub your own patrons? If you manage to beat him, he might even get you a drink.

ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ Tɪɴᴋᴇʀ Bᴇʟʟ.

( it's a bit odd, isn't it, for a vampire to stay in? he supposes that's true enough, and he's out plenty of nights. and days, his ring grants him freedom most can't boast. still, even if he doesn't sleep particularly long hours, tonight he's in on his own, and there's a bit of relief in that.

it seems every time he comes back to London, a timer sets in his feet that demands he leave again. he can't keep picking up and moving where the wind blows, there are things that demand his attention here and he knows that the longer he spends away, the more he'll lose control. his sire is unhappy for how long he's been gone, things are shifting out of place and he'll never stay on top of it if he doesn't stay still.

if he's honest — and he never is, especially not with himself — the emptiness clings, whether he's in London or halfway across the world.

he doesn't expect much of the evening. it's dark and befitting of what he is, now, and he's nursing a bottle to try and get to at least a mild buzz. there might be a furry gray creature nestled on his chest, and since he's alone he'll even run a few doting touches over soft features as the demonic thing purrs with utter contentment. )

I used to be a bloody pirate captain, you know. ( the cat doesn't answer his bitter musings of spending his nights petting a cat and watching terrible television considering his epic past, she just tucks her face into her paws and purrs more. if the cat is meant to be frightened of him, either for his villainous past or his current state of undead, she must have missed that memo. he pretends he doesn't dote on the cat, but when he's alone, it's hard not to.

she'll go home soon enough, he's not sure when; just that when she does the place will seem even more vacant than usual. it's like he's forgotten how to make a place feel like home. then again, did he ever really know how to do that? )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

He could manage manners, the teaching and scolding of his brother had never quite escaped him. Killian was not much like the man Liam had raised, not anymore, yet some pieces of him still lingered behind. In manners, however empty they could occasionally prove, and in standards that most vampires wouldn't bother to abide by. It's rather lacking attempts at good form, but he at least follows the pretense, even now.

Her hand slipping through the chair is answer enough as to what she is. He isn't sure how many ghost he's met in his lifetime, but less than a handful. Mostly because they seemed rather tied to the place they died, and he's fairy certain that is not the case for her. He's curious, yet markedly less cautious. Another vampire or a witch that had delayed her aging would have been more dangerous. A ghost he does not fear too terribly, and hopefully their connection from before will continue, despite the years.

There's actual sympathy on his face when she mentions passing. He's dead himself, he doesn't exactly favor that fact, and can relate to that feeling. "I've been this way for longer than you know," he promised her with a slight shrug. He'd been dead for longer than she'd been alive when they met, and he's only older now. "I'm afraid there's not going to be another Jones, at least of this variety. Tell me, how did you make your way here? I've not heard of someone of your kind moving around terribly much." It's carefully phrased, but he means a ghost moving from where they died. He wonders why she still lingers, if it really was a cold that did her in.

Edited 2015-08-01 11:07 (UTC)

So far it has been working well for her, the honest policy being the best policy. She keeps at it, finding no reason to hide how she got here because it is a fair question. He could come here easily with the money he must have had seeing he managed to pay for her to be a translator during his time back then, his travelings in places that weren't that well known or spoken off unless you looked for them or paid to find them.

While she… didn't have that sort of advantage.

"I moved here when I was around nineteen. After my parents passed away. We weren't close at that point but the barangay just didn't feel like home to me anymore." That's the short version of it. Last thing she wants to do here is both bore him and provide too much dramatic details he didn't need to know. He shouldn't suffer through her possibly lingering problems, no. "My boyfriend back then knew friends here. They helped us get across and we settled. I like to think it was pretty average after that. Until…"

She gestures to herself in regards to her living status, smiling a bit sheepishly like she did this to herself on purpose. Stick around in the realm of the living when she's very much supposed to be long gone. "It's been a surprise! I've been learning more about things than I ever did when I was alive. Like I knew quite a lot of interesting people in the past and only knew after I parted halfway. You for example. Well, more interesting in your case. I remember you were the talk of the barangay back then, sir."

He does have a great deal of money, and most of it has not been accumulated particularly honestly. He did make his living as a pirate for longer than a century, after all. He has pretensions of honor, stealing from the crown to punish them for taking away his brother, but it is easy to argue that there's not a great deal of honor to be had in theft, no matter the motivation for it. It at least gave him the power to make the most of his undead life, which was hardly something he'd been able to do when he was living.

Killian leans against his desk, listening to her talk. She seems to have gotten a better hold of English from when they'd met first, yet there were plenty of years between for her to learn. "Aye, suppose this is not a particularly common condition." He doesn't know that much about ghosts, but he's lived long enough and he hasn't met that many, even though they're both of the dead but not completely variety.

"I've found the longer you keep going, the more you can learn." It's the reason he knows a fistful of languages and far more skills than he could have ever mastered in a single lifetime. He laughs a little at her compliment, shaking his head. "I suppose you didn't get a terribly large degree of tourists, but I've thought of going back. It was beautiful, and a climate that treats me far better than this one." He doesn't like the rain and cold of London, never has.

She smiles and tilts her head to side at his comment, seemingly unfazed now that she has a good idea that he's like her. Not really, of course, since he can touch things with more ease then she'll ever have.

They're the same in terms of not being who they first appear to be so there's that.

"You can go back there if you want to one of these days without any trouble. I'm sure a lot of people there by then are no longer there. Or they're considered old enough that the younger generations will ignore their words." A little morbid to say but it is true. It makes her wonder about the other things they spoke of from the aswangs to the tikbalangs. Were they speaking from the truth? "Erm! That aside: I'm honestly surprised to find you settled here in London the more I think about it, I must admit.

"Because, well, I can't imagine you as the sort of person who settles. Ever." Even then at her age she had pegged him as a traveller or a wanderer, going from one place to another because he could. She wished she had the courage or the bravery to do such things back then but moving to London had been daunting as it is. The idea of constant moves, chances, is a bit too much for her to comprehend. "I believe the others back in my hometown saw that too. What was the title that the kulam in my barangay gave you? The Tigmamanukan's Favourite?"

It is a little sad to think, that the words of someone older would so completely lose their weight. His expression doesn't change but it's true, he's got to be careful how he travels. It's not always for certain he won't run into someone that recognizes him, and it's quite a mess when he's forced to make someone forget how familiar he seems. He tries to stay out of places he's made a particular mark for at least a century. Less than that might not be enough to keep him safe.

She's not wrong that he's not exactly the type to stay in one place. He has a wanderlust that is about a mile wide, and it kept him from really and truly finding a place anywhere. A part of him thinks he doesn't know what it's like to have a place. He wouldn't know what home felt like even if he was handed one on a silver plater.

"I've had a standing here, of sorts, for quite some time. When I'm not somewhere else, I'm here." He speaks with an English accent, he was born not too far from London a very long time ago. The Nest calls his attention frequently so he has to keep up. He can't travel all the time, no matter how much he might like to. "Tigmamanukan's Favorite. I remember that, but I don't think you ever told me what it meant." Mostly because he had such a time pronouncing it when he tried. (He still did.)

She looks surprised and embarrassed, covering her mouth with a hand to muffle her 'oh!' a bit. Really?

"I never told you what it meant? Oh! I'm so sorry." Thank goodness she still remembers the old folklores and mythologies the kalum spoke of when the country was still young and full of wealth and potential. The ones before the Spanish came with their goals of Gold, God, and Glory. The meaning would have been lost on her herself if she hadn't paid close attention to the elders' words then.

Funny how things could be lost so easily to time thanks to either the care or indifference of a person. It makes her, for a second, wonder what else is lost but remembers she has to answer his question. It is quite important, given the meaning. "--Tigmamanukan! They're, essentially, omen birds. Sometimes they're known as lizards and others but most popularly known as birds. Back then when traveling was more perilous and uncertain, they were believed to be omens and signs for the travellers who they crossed paths with.

"Most of the time they meant bad omens due to how dangerous it was for a traveller to be on their path, that they had to go somewhere safer, less dangerous." The kulam thought differently for their guest for some reason. She didn't understanding the reasoning herself but the old practitioner thought it was a fitting nickname to bestow on the stranger. "I'm sure you must think the reasoning is a bit silly now."

"Don't be." He probably should have pressed her for what it meant, as a part of the experience. He'd taken the moniker without really thinking about it, it was far from the first he'd ever received and it was unlikely to be his last. A divisive figure was always subject to all sorts of designations, some kinder than others. He'd gotten a little immune to new additions after earning so many in his life time.

His eyes narrowed as he considered the description. It didn't seem inaccurate, honestly, which troubled him a bit. Perhaps the chief had some idea of what manner of being he had been. An omen of a dangerous path did sound accurate of a creature that fed on human life to survive.

"I'm curious how I earned such a title, but I don't suppose I can ask now." He shrugs idly, stowing the information back for another time. "In the meantime, Killian will still do."

No doubt he had his reasons for giving such a moniker to him then, the elder, whose back was bent by time and his skin dark as the tree bark with just as many notches and marks across the surface, had always been surrounded by whispers. Ones Clara told in advance out of kindness. He was believed to be a true kulam, practitioner of magic, or perhaps simply a demon in disguise who opted to live among the human out of amusement, pity, or both.

They'll probably never know now. The man had been old even then. If he was still alive he was back in the Philippine, residing in his small cloistered home in the humid forests back in Clara's barangay.

"It is a pleasure to meet you again, Mr. Killian. It's been quite a while since we had last seen each other." And then some since she was alive last time they had met. She couldn't help but look around her surroundings now, taking stock of what she sees and doesn't see. "I see you're quite comfortable here with your job. When did you settle to London? I came around the 1980s, I believe."

If they had, somehow, managed to miss each other after all this time she's going to find it rather amusing yet understandable. He'll be hard pressed to explain why he hadn't aged a day.

He had never spoken closely with the elder, the language barrier not the only thing holding him back. Perhaps it was just intrigue, perhaps it was nothing at all, yet the vampire had seen fit to keep his distance. If he had to guess what kind of creature that elder might have been, he might have guessed fae, though it truly was difficult to tell with so many of them.

"Likewise." It's an odd feeling, to see a face out of his past, yet not a wholly unwelcome one. Killian is quite used to things coming into his life and going straight out again. He knows Clara doesn't live any longer, and yet, he doesn't really either. It's hard to discount a connection just because it's different than what it had been before. He'd already been gone before they even met, and the idea of a companion that wouldn't fade away with time was appealing more than anything.

"I've had a place here for... centuries, now." It was more revealing than he might have been with most others. The fact he knew Clara paired with the commonality they had between them left him hoping for a connection he couldn't hope for with most others. "I've always travelled, though. I was somewhere tropical not too long ago, before work called me back." He sets his empty glass down on his desk, and the way he interacts with the world was an indication they weren't quite the same. "How much do you know about the Supernatural, beyond yourself?"

"Centuries?" For a second she wants to believe he's joking, that he's trying to trick her into thinking that, and yet she knows better than that. "That's… That's quite a long time to be alive."

She seems a little bit in shock to hear.

Again she's met someone who is far older than she thought when first meeting them. Her eyes widen as she tries to guess his age and it comes up a blank. She's good at math, enough to balance the weekly wages she and Francisco made to get through with two growing boys, but what she isn't good at is fathoming the possibility the people she knows, the people she thought she knows, were more than she believed.

Pulling herself together, she takes a deep breathe and nods. Since he answered her question, she should do the same. "Not much. I spent a lot of my time being alive again figuring it out myself. Apparently there's nothing like a ghost for dummies or a welcome to being undead brochure for people like me. I'm, um, just getting into the thick of it now."

He certainly wishes it were a joke. She's not the only one to be a bit chagrined by how old he is. It's a very long time to exist, especially for someone that had been a human man, once. He's been on this path so long, he hardly remembers what it was like to be off of it. It's too late to turn back, he's already died for revenge. He can't lose much else, but if he gives up, all of that time would be for naught.

Killian shrugs, as if it is no small feat. Really, in the supernatural community, it isn't that long at all. "You'll find older than me, the deeper you go." There were vampires in the Nest that were thousands of years old, that was truly more than he cared to imagine. Even three hundred, close to four now, felt like an unbearably long time to exist. It explained his interest in traveling, his desire to see something new and exciting after literal lifetimes of existing. He wondered if one day he'd run out of new things.

"I haven't known many ghosts, and you're the first I've ever met that could move about." He frowns, because he is curious how she managed that. "I'm not a ghost, I'm a vampire. Our kinds have always been uncommon bedfellows, seeing as we're different strains of the same disease." The dead that refused to rest. "I don't know how much I could tell you about being a ghost, I'm afraid... I could possibly find someone who does, if you're in need." He had connections, it wasn't beyond him to find a witch or another of his kind knowledgable. Hook was always networking, he couldn't quite help himself. And Clara had been good to him, he hadn't forgotten that in the years since he'd seen her last.

There's a smile on her face at the comment, wary and charmed.

"The deeper I go, the more I seem to find that my life wasn't normal I thought it was." Is that a bad thing? A good thing? Hard to say with Clara, even if she wore her heart on her sleeve, and she's much more focused at the offer he just gave to her to be frank because.

Because she does her best to be nice and kind towards other people, trying to do it without second thought. Treat others the way you wanted to be treated, no? It just never came to mind that it'll actually happen when he offers someone who could help her understand the concept of being a ghost and then some. "--Could you? I mean. I would hate to be a bother if it's trouble but it..."

It would a step in the right direction, a direction to a mostly aimless path at long last, a bit of light for all the dark she's in for a while. "I do have to tell you now that I don't have much to offer in return for this very generous opportunity of yours. Being a spirit makes it rather hard to carry around pocket change."

It's not wise to make promises he can't keep. He can try and scout through his contacts, see if he knows anyone that might be able to give her more information. He has a few names off the top of his head, but they might not know a great deal. He can give it a go, even though he's not sure how far it will get him.

The offer isn't completely selfless. Clara might be a ghost, but it would not be impossible to use that condition to her favor. And his, if he made a good ally from his attempts to help her.

"I'll see what I can find you, darling. There's got to be something." Three centuries was a rather long time to exist without making some kind of connections. He should be able to use them for good, for once. "Where would I find you otherwise? I don't suppose you go out often."

The beam on her smile is one of pure joy now, taking his offer and his selfless cause at face value because why else would he doing this for her?

"Thank you! I promise, one of these days-- I'll find a way to your kindness back." It was only right, she told herself. It isn't every day that she gets a chance to learn more about her condition, as it were, and learning something new or crucial to know.

His question is not met with any suspicion because why should she be looking at it like that? It is a reasonable thing to ask given her transient nature at times. Most ghosts shouldn't be traveling around like how she did but, then again, most ghosts don't linger for more than fifteen years if they're lucky enough. "I'm in Harrow most of the time. A coffee shop that used to be my old apartment building. I'm found in the Redbright Institute too. I work there as a security guard now!"

It kind of makes sense for someone like Clara to want to spend time with children and helping them out somehow. And in one of the few places that claim to be a safe haven for everyone, ghosts included, who is affiliated with it.

He doesn't intend anything particularly nefarious with trying to find a way to meet her when he needs to. He'll need to have some place to go if he does find something that could help her. The question was, really, what help there was to provide. Other than potentially helping her move on. Was life as a ghost better than no life at all? Hard to say.

"No luck finding anyone there to give you information?" A witch would probably be a good mark for information. Hook figured Tink might know a bit, he'd have to ask her and see what she had to say on the matter, but if she didn't know anything there were other connections he could turn to. "I'll see what I can do, Clara. You're welcome to stop in whenever you like, but I imagine traveling is not especially easy for you."

She shakes her head at his question, recalling the countless times she's approached a friendly witch in hopes of knowing more about herself and her ghostlyself. "Not a lot of luck, I'm said to say. Us ghosts are non-entities in the community. There's not a lot of real studies on us that doesn't involving exorcism, binding, or things like that."

To be honest she can't blame them for that. Why bother looking into something to temporary in the grand scale of things? Most ghosts are gone sooner or later. Either moving on or they... meet their ends.

Before she can say anything else or give a more detailed response, there's a sudden spike of noise that makes her jump. Nothing to be too worried about. Only a commotion going on outside, mostly cheering or what Clara hopes is cheering. "Ah-- Thank you. Long as I don't go too near the river, I should be fine. You take care of yourself, okay? Looks like something is going on out there and I would hate to keep you form it since this is your workplace after all."

That was a rather random spark of noise, wasn't it? Killian winced (enhanced hearing could be a literal pain), trying to pick up whatever was going on without leaving his office. His hearing was better than a humans, if he tried he could often catch details most couldn't. Whatever it was, he was not necessarily inclined to go assist, even if he owned the place. He did have staff for that.

"I'm sure the front can handle&mdash" He didn't even get to finish the sentence before there was a sharp rap on the door. Well, nevermind that, then. Apparently he was needed after all. "Nevermind that, then. I will. I'll check in when I can, yeah?" Keeping up with a ghost was a little more inconvenient. He couldn't just give her a ring once he'd poked around, he'd have to find her or send someone to her.

With that he nodded in her direction and headed for the door. No doubt she could see herself out.

It won't be hard to find her way out. If she could get in without a problem, she'll be able to leave without a problem.

She's about to head out of the office when something comes to mind. Well, to be more precise, when something almost desperate comes to mind. She turns around and speaks up over the commotion that's going on outside the office, wanting a quick and simple (except not really) answer before she goes.

"Um. One last question. Honest! I-- Um-- During your travels o-or when you're working here, listening to people speak or gossip… Did the name 'Kyle Seville' or 'Kyekye' ever come up in conversation?" She adds, "You can just nod or shake your head. I'm curious is all."

She hopes he does the former despite how impossible it maybe.

There's clearly something that needs his attention, but he does pause at the door when she calls for him to stop. He does glance out the door to make sure it's not utterly vital before glancing back, pausing long enough to consider. He does think it over, and his memory is at least decent, though far from perfect. That was something someone tended to lose over centuries. He didn't remember every name he'd ever heard nor every person he'd ever meant.

"No, afraid not." He looks curious as he watches her for a scant few seconds, before there's another shout from a brawl that apparently is not keen to take it outside. "I might ask why you'd like to know when I see you next." For now, though, he needs to go sort out the fight before they break something imperative.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʜɪᴅᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ, ɪᴛ's ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏᴡɴ.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject