alethiological: (Alse Young (d. 1647))
Willard H. Wright ([personal profile] alethiological) wrote in [community profile] undergrounds2015-08-15 08:20 am

August Free Post; I'm on a Carr kick I'm sorry

[A; Till Jet Lag Do Us Part]

It's just one of the usual boring evenings on the stations, waiting for your train to arrive. The usual terrible conditions, unhelpful staff, and random hobos sleeping on the benches. Or random tourists passed out from jet lag waiting for the train. Maybe you're one of those people nice enough to stop someone from stealing a suitcase. More likely, you're the one stealing it.

In any case, you're immediately treated to the siren sounds of accented swears and the person you are hypothetically trying to rob glaring at you. Gold eyes are suitibly intense for that. "What time is it?"


[B; Behind the Crimson Blinds]

Hillingdon is known for many things, mostly the fact everyone in it is crazy, or assholes, or both. What is less known is that, like any proper association of crazy assholes, they keep records. Kills, assignments, random receipts, half-finished letters. A pit of madness no sane person would enter of their own free will. Said Will can be found in the pit of madness, surrounded by piles of organized papers and flipping through another one with the ease of a mindless drone.


[C; And So To (Almost) Murder - first come, only served]

Later in the month, Lewisham is now a safe haven to the Fae. Which is a total load of nonsense, who leaves overseas for a month just to come back to their claimed No Man's Land being filled with a bunch of flighty, irresponsible monsters? They don't even have the decency to be subtle about it. Which is surprising, considering how subtle the takeover itself was.

Someone else masterminded it, obviously. Getting a name is easy. All that needs to be done is follow protocol: get one of the abominations to confess, remove the sin as is required, track down the one responsible and Fix It. It's just another in a myriad series of mistakes, and Our Purpose is to fix mistakes.

The only thing you hear is a sharp shout, cut off far too fast, but no one minds one person missing. Unless you do, which means you find one (count, 1) Fae held out swordpoint by one (count, 1) psychopath, bright gold eyes and black roiling smog. It also means you get immediately glared at because, honestly now, who interrupts an Equalizing. Rude much.


[D; Wildcard]

> insert words receive subpar tags

((apologies for slowtags for aforementioned reasons))
rules_winter: (considering your predicament)

C obviously

[personal profile] rules_winter 2015-08-16 07:22 am (UTC)(link)
Mab had spent some time wandering the streets of the territory she'd claimed just to enforce things. One had to stay on top of places that were as wild as Lewisham had been. She was fine with the creatures there staying so long as they towed the line, and if they didn't, things must be dealt with quickly and efficiently. So when she felt a surge of fae magic she turned down the street she'd felt the pull from and and found herself walking in on an interesting tableau.

The fae was staring in surprise at the point of the sword, his ugly face damp with sweat. And the man holding him at swordpoint turned his head to glare at Mab as though she was next on his list. How very interesting, and he wasn't human. There was something seriously off about his magic but he felt, underneath all the twisted magic, fae. Perhaps not pure fae but close enough. Black smog rolled around him and the fog that accompanied her seemed to curl around it seeping in.

Her head tilted a little and she raised one brow at the glare, if it bothered her there was no sign of offense. "Do not let me interrupt." Her voice was sweet, like a chime in the quiet of the night but low and warmer than she appeared to be. She lifted a hand to indicate he should continue. After all, if her fae could not defend himself he was hardly any use to her at all. Mab did not suffer weakness. "By all means, carry on."
Edited 2015-08-16 07:23 (UTC)
rules_winter: (not remotely amused.)

[personal profile] rules_winter 2015-08-16 07:12 pm (UTC)(link)
His face blanked out quickly, like a fae might when removing the mask of expression they tended to wear. Something is going on here but she cannot determine precisely what it is even as the wrongness surges, breaking like a wave on the ocean and the sword slides cleanly into the hapless lower fae, then cuts through like butter. The head falls to the concrete and rolls a little, face still caught in surprise as it comes to a stop against a post box.

If he could be more predictable, the efficiency would be something that impressed her. But the wrongness, the unbalance inside him was ... concerning. "Lady is acceptable." She replied as though one of her servants (or one of the other's fae's servants) wasn't bleeding out on the sidewalk like a spilled bottle of pop. The heart slowed but the blood was still coming out in measured bursts with each beat. "And what should I call you?"
rules_winter: (not remotely amused.)

LOL n/p

[personal profile] rules_winter 2015-08-20 07:28 am (UTC)(link)
Mab's eyes follow the casually abused sword and then as the wrongness tilts on an axis she feels it disappear immediately once the mist is gone. Her own fog isn't so much magical as a result of the cool that surrounds her hitting the hot humid London air. Rune magic. That is interesting. She takes note of the runes though they are unfamiliar to her. She'll remember.

"Wright." She replied, sounding it out in a perfect mirror of his pronunciation. He truly was rude, such a direct question. And sulky my Lady. He certainly does not have to call her his. "What business do you have in Lewisham, Mr. Wright?" Her reply is cool as well. Ice starts to sparkle on patches of water left on the sidewalk from the evening cleaning someone had done. There is an underlying curiosity as well. "And what has happened to you? So twisted, knotted and bent."
rules_winter: (not remotely amused.)

[personal profile] rules_winter 2015-08-23 03:46 am (UTC)(link)
It's odd, the bubbling up of that twisted magic, then it pops like a soapbubble and she can feel a faint burn of anger or annoyance coupled by that glare. She takes note of the sword in his hand again and her own power builds a little but she doesn't release anything just yet. Her eyes narrowed in response. She did not know this man, didn't particularly care about whoever 'his' were so long as they weren't allied to the fae and had no knowledge of any debt owed to him.

"What debt would this be, Mr. Wright? Each fae holds debts of their own." And if he was asking if her 'courts' kept to their favors owed, he was definitely outcast. "And who are yours?" So much impudence from an outcast fae. She doesn't particularly like anyone suggesting she does not keep her bargains. Invisible cold pushes against him as her power builds in response to his threatening manner.