falsify: (047)
[personal profile] falsify
Croydon is a dismal place at the best of times, but at this time of year it's damp and cold and miserable.

Amazing it's a place in such high demand.

December 7th will see preparations taken. Some of the fae in the area take serious issue with handing the area over to witches of any kind and vacate the area as soon as word gets to them. Others prepare for the inevitable fight coming to their doorsteps. The hope is to avoid as much bloodshed as possible, avoid alerting more mortals than necessary as to what's happening on their doorsteps, but it's foolish to assume Daybreak would catch a whiff of this and not step in.

December 8th. The day of the handoff. Several fae, Eames included, watch the witches coming in with a harsh gaze. It's kind of frustrating, how it's impossible to tell the allegiance of the witches by sight alone. It may seem threatening or intimidating, but it's important to be ready at moment's notice. One thing they'll not allow is to be bested again so soon.

December 9th is a strange day; likely on all sides. With so many involved, it's probably a surprise that all it lead to is a stalemate. Anyone sensitive enough to magic will feel an electric tension in the air; tempers are high, frustrations are high, crime... is surprisingly low actually. A place held in contention between fae and witches is bound to be a magical minefield, but the fae at least seem more concerned with fortifying their position than starting any fights in the immediate future.
acrookedchild: (cry 'neap neap neap')
[personal profile] acrookedchild
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;

Enfield, early December )

He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

Ealing, near Redbright Institute, early December )

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near

Croydon, mid December )

Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

Waltham Forest, mid December )

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.

Barnet, mid December )

The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

Tower Hamlets, December 19th; first responder only )

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Westminster, late December )
hurtfew: (★ 6)
[personal profile] hurtfew
Date: 30th of October, pre-Samhain celebration!
Plot: Smug Victory Dinner, with political manoeuvring
Areas: Westminster

It may have been a struggle, but Lambeth has finally been won over. A week of hard work to drive out all the unspeakable sorts, and another week of trying to keep control and tidy up, and it's looking like things are slowly beginning to settle. Gilbert Norrell is very pleased by this. Now he has proven he can be a leader, can lead them to victory -- and over a difficult area too! Of course, there were difficulties. Were small problems and losses along the way, but that does not matter now.

A dinner is not normally his style, he refused to hold one himself, but Childermass persuaded someone else to hold this on his behalf and -- well, it would be rude to decline. So he attends, if reluctantly (he does not like parties) and smiles as people applaud him. It is a rush of success, of ego, and as people come to congratulate him and find ways to carefully bring up their own causes and beliefs Gilbert Norrell feels that finally he is beginning to be recognised.

The table is carefully laid with glittering crystal glasses, candles and flowers. Not too ostentatious but still elegant and respectable, suited to the style of Norrell himself. Waiters and waitresses silently move back and forth serving people and taking requests or preferences, and the food is plentiful. If people can suffer the small-talk and ego coming from the head of the table, it will at least be a good meal.

[ ooc; log for the Daybreak victory meal! You can give me a ping if you want to be involved and replied already! It's set on Friday night so people can get drunk and slouch home without having to worry about the following morning, and can still attend Samhain things later. Entry is free, food and drink is free! The meal is being held by a lackey of Norrell's who wants to suck up to him since he's on the way up, and Norrell is therefore the ~guest of honour~. Dress code is black tie, thread with each other and mingle! ]
broiling: fonobi (09: punch u)
[personal profile] broiling
A: Tea Shop

It was mid afternoon and Zuko found himself hanging little pumpkin lanterns in the window of the Jasmine Dragon. His boss said it was good for tourist, to get them in the Halloween spirit while they were away from America. Zuko was just thankful it wasn't tiny witch's hats. Nothing like insulting any supernatural guests that found themselves stumbling into the quaint little tea shop. And from what Zuko knew witches tended to be a proud lot. Not that he could mention any of this to his very normal human boss.

There was a jangling at the store front door and Zuko looked down from the step ladder he was balancing on to whatever guest just entered. Immediately he could tell someone from a faction had just walked in. He slowly lowered himself back down on to the floor ready for a tense conversation of him skirting around his own affiliations.

"How can I help you?"

B: Streets At Night

It had been a long day and the only thing on Zuko's mind was crashing in bed and not moving for several hours. However, he was becoming aware of another set of footsteps following his own down the mostly deserted street. He took a sharp turn to his right and listened. Definitely following. He waited until the person rounded the corner after him before he conjured a fireball and blasted it in their direction.

"Stop following me," he bellowed.

C: Hillingdon House

Not matter how many times he came here he always ended up feeling like a stranger. It wasn't too long ago he found himself here, a drifter in need of help and the clan had extended a hand. It was grounding and Zuko was always thankful for anything that showed him what path to lead. He just wished he could feel more comfortable talking to his fellow clansman. It was a problem that stemmed from him and he knew it. There was only one way over that particular hurdle, so he stopped by someone who seemed free and waved a little.

"Hey," Zuko said, "Can I ask you a question? Say you were avoiding someone for a long time, because you weren't sure if they'd want to know you anymore. Things were complicated. But then you ran into them. What would you do? Would you pretend nothing happened and try to build a relationship, or would you try to avoid them?"

He really wished his uncle was here. He was always brimming with confusing, but good advice. A stranger would have to do for now.
acrookedchild: (There are two little stars)
[personal profile] acrookedchild
The last day of October has many meanings, as does almost every holiday. For a Widdowson, Samhain means one of two things, it not both.

Samhain might be a time to tap into the powerful magic that has bled into the walls of Geap Manor, centuries of darkness, sacrifice, and rituals mean to increase the abilities of those who walked these halls. It might also be a time to remember the dead, as the Widdowson line is filled with those who left the world earlier than they perhaps should have.

Abigail Widdowson has embraced the latter.

A great deal of the supernatural community is in mourning. Between the fae's attack on Croyden, the battle in Barnet between the circles, the Blood Moon, and the Islington 'recruitment drive' there are many dead who would otherwise be alive. Which is why Abigail has opened her home on Samhain to all those who wish to remember the ones lost.

(Headings will be provided but feel free to make your own! The whole of the supernatural community has been invited, again with the warning that hostilities will not be tolerated.)
emotioneater: (Caught in a lie)
[personal profile] emotioneater
Cooper should have known things wouldn't quiet down for long. He'd been back at his own apartment for only a few days when he awoke one evening to find a group of honest-to-God fairies in his room. They were small, multicolored, and absolutely lovely. They were also glaring at him like he was the devil himself. Their spokeswoman was quick to pipe up and inform him that, during his binge eating during the past month, they had lost several of their brethren and sistern. This was not to go unpunished. Before Cooper could say so much as a word in protest, he felt himself enveloped in a cloud of dust and felt himself suddenly shrinking in size.

When the dust settled, his clothes now on the ground around him, everything looked a lot bigger. He had a mirror in his bathroom and awkwardly walked into the room, perching on his new hind legs to get a good look at....just what was he? Whatever it was, this was not going to be good. He was well and truly cursed.

Wandering Around London (OTA) )

Fairy Tale Ending (Open to curse-breakers only) )
reticence: (modern looking up)
[personal profile] reticence


OOC: What it says on the tin! Going hunting on your own? Go right ahead! Tag in yourself and see if you get any bites!! I'll be tagging these as well, but if you'd like a different setup than B with Faolan and/or would like to tag around with each other for this plot, this is the selection for you!

((ooc note: didn't sign up before but still want in? NO PROBLEM!!! go ahead and tag into either part b or c and happy hunting!!))
youronlylaw: (work)
[personal profile] youronlylaw




YOU SAW ME STANDING ALONE - Aug 29th - open to first responder only



PM this journal or contact me at [plurk.com profile] cupcakepantry if you want to plot something out!
livelongenough: (Forced casual)
[personal profile] livelongenough
Hard at Work

Doctor Julian Monroe vanished unexpectedly. No one knew his body was in the Night Council's specific morgue, drained of blood and almost torn to shreds. That was what happened when you kidnapped vampires, drained them of their blood, and used it as a 'miracle cure' for humans.

The body is safely tucked away in the morgue for the Night Council. The man's money has been shifted around, so it looks like he fled town. Better to let him disappear and be thought a conman than to explain what really happened. It kept the secrets of the supernatural community. And it was proper justice.

Still, he makes it a point to check up on the clinic every so often. The doctor who inherited it had mentioned himself being in need of a partner. So, Henry had a variable schedule there. Which was nice, really. To be practicing medicine again. Of course, he still has to establish regular patients for when he has the time. But the only way to do it is to work the clinic.

Project Outreach

Henry has quite a few calls to make, especially in Barnet. While the Institute has their influence firmly established, there are still a lot of metahumans who might still need to learn about the Institute and all it could provide.

The list he has as he stops for coffee is innocent enough. Names, ages, and phone numbers. Along with the Redbright emblem on the top. And under it, enrollment applications, just visible. Obviously, to anyone who looked at him, a school recruiter.

He has a lot of places to visit, a lot of people to stay, and, possibly, a few detours to take if they seem appropriate.

Quasi Socializing

Henry Morgan is bad at being social. Back in New York, it was Lucas and Jo who were responsible for getting him out to join the group at a bar. It had been a slow process, but, now, he'd been missing that connection.

He didn't have the associates to start hanging out in cop bars. Though he missed that feeling. Maybe with his new work for the Night Council, he'd get it back soon.

Still, little hole-in-the-wall places were good. Quiet and intimate without being crowded. It made a good place to get a drink. And he knows the exact order he needs to make to decide if he's coming back to this place.

"Your oldest Scotch, please. Neat."


(Got another scenario you want? Hit me up.)
emotioneater: (Profile)
[personal profile] emotioneater
A Day

If anyone is up on current popular forms of social media, they’ll have noticed a certain trending topic on Instagram. Several pictures of two men beaten up and lashed to a lamppost have been making the rounds. If not for various injuries, one could almost mistake it for a frat house initiation hijink. Those knowing the signs will recognize several of their injuries as vampire bite marks. What makes the pictures quite extraordinary is that the two men are hunters. In another photo, there’s a picture of an unconscious female hunter also beaten to a pulp. While whoever took the photos is nowhere to be found in frame, he’s left several taunting messages at the bottom of each one. “Hillingdon: 0. Me: 3.” reads one. “All hail the mighty Hillingdon hunters,” reads another.

Cooper’s busy looking them over for about the fiftieth time, snickering as he does so. He’s sitting out on a park bench, taking advantage of his temporary immunity from the sun in a T-shirt and shorts. Anyone who gets close to him will notice the dilated pupils and disheveled look he has. He can’t remember the last time he slept. Not that he needs to, hyped up like he is on the fae blood. He glances down at his phone, flipping to another picture, letting out a cackle as he does so.

B Evening

The restless energy he can’t seem to shake hasn’t left him by the time the sun starts to set. There’s only one thing to do. He pulls his little BSA M20 out of the garage and takes it out for a spin. Cooper speeds recklessly all over the city, letting his energy get left far behind as the wind whips past his motorcycle. There’s nothing that soothes his mind like riding around.

Maybe you’re scrambling to make your way across the street just as he comes to a noisy, screeching halt. Maybe he spots you on the other side of the street and recklessly pulls a U-turn so that he can pull up next to where you are. Maybe he’s idling at the curb, waiting for you to come out of a shop after catching your scent. Any way you look at it, there’s a vampire sitting on top of a motorcycle who’s taken quite the interest in you.

C Night

Long after the last light has faded from the sky, Cooper knows he needs to feed. The problem is that he’s not craving human blood tonight. After accidentally tasting Will’s blood, all he can think about is fae blood. He resists the urges as long as he can. Alas, eventually, his will crumbles. He takes to the streets, stalking his prey. What he wants most of all is going to be hard to find, but in his current strung-out state, he’ll take anything and everything he can get.

Skulking down alleyways and climbing over rooftops, he’s not the perfect silent predator he usually is. People that he’s following will feel a prickle on the back of their necks, some sixth sense warning them that somebody is watching them. If they aren’t careful, he’ll strike them down and feed without pity.

D Wildcard

Want something different? We can do it!
acrookedchild: (He found a crooked sixpence)
[personal profile] acrookedchild
Miss Abigail Widdowson cordially invites you to Geap Manor on Wednesday, July 1st at 19:00.

Food, drinks, and music will be provided.

All are welcome, but individuals are to be aware that any hostilities during the evening's festivities will not be tolerated.

It is the first time in at least a generation that the doors of Geap Manor have been opened to the general population. Or, at least, as general as the supernatural community could be considered. Some invitiations were made personally, but most were formally sent to the higher ranking members of the various factions.

Dinner is announced precisely at 19:30. The small, intimate eating area for the family has been turned into a buffet room. The caterers Abigail hired have obviously been paid well to make sure there is something for everyone. Rich meat dishes, hearty vegetarian dishes, light fish dishes, plenty of accompaniments and finger food. There is also plenty of fairly fresh blood for vampires. For the others, there are wines, water, and tea available.

The grand dining room has had its large table removed, replaced, instead, by small tables that can comfortably hold four. They can, of course, be pushed together to allow for more room.

The ballroom is open to the guests, and the DJ has also been highly paid to make sure the music played is precisely to the hostess's tastes. There is plenty of modern music, good for dancing, as well as older classics. However, interspersed are classical pieces meant for waltzes and foxtrots and other such ballroom dances.

In the sitting room is a drink cart with wine, tea, water, and blood. Chairs and divans are available, as the room is a quiet place, a little away from the ballroom, so conversation can be had with ease. There is an unlit fireplace, and a portrait of Abigail a few years younger than she is now hangs above it.

Most of the rest of the house is locked. One can wander the hallways, but it may prove ultimately fruitless. One who simply walks up the stairways will find the walls of each lined with the Widdowson family portraits of every generation, starting with one of a ten-year-old Abby, her parents, and her six-year-old brother. As one takes in all the paintings, a pattern presents itself. Every Widdowson woman featured is pale, thin, and blonde.

The grounds are beautifully maintained and fenced in by wrought iron on top of stone. A very traditional look for such an imposing manor. On the path from the street to the house, there's little remarkable, save the knocker on the door. Behind the house, however, if one ventures away, one might get the keen sense of something from inside the house watching, waiting, and hungering. On the ground floor, the locked rooms are mostly unremarkable, save for the study at the back of the house. Linger too long near there, and one might hear a sound coming in a pattering set. It isn't a knock against the door, no. Instead, it is the sound of something hitting the wall. If someone were to force their way into the nursery on the second floor or the attic several stories up... Well. They likely won't be coming back to the party. Or to anything.

Wandering, of course, isn't a suggested enterprise. The old house doesn't like people poking around and trying to find its secrets.

(Everyone who has at least a familiarity with the supernatural is welcome, as the invitations were distributed widely. Mingle, make your own top comments, enjoy the food, etc!)
rules_winter: (large and in charge)
[personal profile] rules_winter

1. Bulding glass houses )

2. Air and Darkness )

3. Newfangled technology )

4. Anything else!
Hit me up, I know there are a few people I mentioned wanting to meet, if these don't fit for you let's work something out, baby.


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