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ghoulaid) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2017-01-03 07:15 pm
ghoulaid) wrote in undergrounds2017-01-03 07:15 pm
[ota]
1. PEST CONTROL (random street encounters/OPEN)
The day is nicer than Ghoul expected. A little cloudy, but not as bitterly cold or ice-hazardous as he assumed London would be. Still, he's bundled up in at least a couple layers of clothes because, frankly, fuck anything below 60 degrees. He looks a little comical, plodding along the sidewalk in his ridiculous puffy coat, a scarf devouring half his face, and a small dog prancing around his heels.
Wait, what the fuck.
Ghoul's partway down the block before he realizes he has company. It's a tiny, ugly thing in a fucking sweater that yaps whenever he stops to look at it, and it won't go away. No matter what shooing and direction-changing techniques he uses against it, it's still right there, lunging after him with its yipping and bouncing gradually increasing in intensity. He normally doesn't have this not-listening issue with dogs, being a werewolf and all. He's like the king of dogs, okay, but this little bastard has balls of steel beneath that lavender argyle. And that just won't do.
He backtracks, confronting anyone who may be even be remotely responsible for the animal- people sitting outside cafes, lingering in a group somewhere, on a bench, waiting for a crosswalk signal. Everyone in the area will, eventually, have him storm up and ask, "Is this yours?" while pointing at the pastel abomination below.
2. THIS IS MINE NOW (coffee shop/OPEN)
Ghoul had specifically waited for evening to roll around before hitting up this little coffee place, hoping to avoid a rush. Fail on that count. From what he can gather, 5PM is a great time to huddle around in shops and wait for traffic to fuck off.
He sees the logic in it now, but that doesn't mean he appreciates it. Not when he's stuck in a small crowd of too-close bodies clumped around the pickup area and waiting for his order to be called. There are a few names shouted in rapid succession soon enough, including the fake one he'd given the cashier. In his haste to get out of there, he grabs a cup from the almost entirely identical line of them, then makes off with it without a second glance.
It's not his order after all, but whatever. He'll figure that out at some point.
[ or pm/pp/throw your own starter at me! ]
The day is nicer than Ghoul expected. A little cloudy, but not as bitterly cold or ice-hazardous as he assumed London would be. Still, he's bundled up in at least a couple layers of clothes because, frankly, fuck anything below 60 degrees. He looks a little comical, plodding along the sidewalk in his ridiculous puffy coat, a scarf devouring half his face, and a small dog prancing around his heels.
Wait, what the fuck.
Ghoul's partway down the block before he realizes he has company. It's a tiny, ugly thing in a fucking sweater that yaps whenever he stops to look at it, and it won't go away. No matter what shooing and direction-changing techniques he uses against it, it's still right there, lunging after him with its yipping and bouncing gradually increasing in intensity. He normally doesn't have this not-listening issue with dogs, being a werewolf and all. He's like the king of dogs, okay, but this little bastard has balls of steel beneath that lavender argyle. And that just won't do.
He backtracks, confronting anyone who may be even be remotely responsible for the animal- people sitting outside cafes, lingering in a group somewhere, on a bench, waiting for a crosswalk signal. Everyone in the area will, eventually, have him storm up and ask, "Is this yours?" while pointing at the pastel abomination below.
2. THIS IS MINE NOW (coffee shop/OPEN)
Ghoul had specifically waited for evening to roll around before hitting up this little coffee place, hoping to avoid a rush. Fail on that count. From what he can gather, 5PM is a great time to huddle around in shops and wait for traffic to fuck off.
He sees the logic in it now, but that doesn't mean he appreciates it. Not when he's stuck in a small crowd of too-close bodies clumped around the pickup area and waiting for his order to be called. There are a few names shouted in rapid succession soon enough, including the fake one he'd given the cashier. In his haste to get out of there, he grabs a cup from the almost entirely identical line of them, then makes off with it without a second glance.
It's not his order after all, but whatever. He'll figure that out at some point.
[ or pm/pp/throw your own starter at me! ]
1
The Dodger seems to sound amused by what he's seeing. It is kind of hilarious from his eyesight but at the sametime, it ain't right for someone to be gettin' menaced by an animal. An' it also ain't right for a poor dog to be stuck in that ugly a jumper. He kneels down, holding his hand out in a beckoning gesture to the mutt. Maybe if they got rid of the monstrosity, it wouldn't be too bad.
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The dog is, of course, right on his heels, but he makes an effort to shoo it towards the offered hand. It needs to go bug somebody else for a while. Words of warning wouldn't be a bad idea, though. "Be careful. It ain't mine, and I'm not gonna listen to your mom lose her shit at me if you get bit."
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"Well, that'd be amazin' if you did, seein' as how I ain't never met the lady," he informs the guy, shaking his head in amusement. "I think this poor bugger," he nods his head at the dog, "just wants out of that thing and I don't blame him. Ugly excuse for clothing."
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The dog is a squirmy little shit, so Ghoul does his part by nudging it closer even if he's not entirely sold on the Dodger's theory. "Ain't he colorblind? I wouldn't think it'd make much of a difference to him."
For someone who turns in to a wolf every month, Ghoul's pretty bad at dogs and dog facts.
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"Clearly you ain't been all round then," he said. "Only places that dress their dogs up this stupid are filled with toffs. Or if the poor mutt's got stitches, an' I don't think this one has..."
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Nice homes and pretty communities don't exactly spring to mind when he thinks of werewolves, but whatever. He's not an expert.
"Nah, I don't think so. Sweater or not, he'd maybe still have one of those cone things on his head..." Now those are diabolical.
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"Looks like yer right about that, then."
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Besides making a prissy dog's day. Now that the sweater is off, it does look a bit more agreeable, even more so after it shakes its fur out. It's almost kind of cute... and almost halfway to looking like a proper dog now.
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"An' plenty when people don't look, an' all."
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"Isn't your scrawny ass supposed to be in school?" Like he's one to judge. He'd done his fair share of skipping back in the day, but it's not like he's obligated to tell this kid that.
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"Got better things to be doin' with my time."
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"Anyway, so, what, you in a gang or somethin'?" Gosh, they're starting younger every day...
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