The name of the fae's strategy this evening was guile, reflecting the personalities of the fae organizing the effort -- they took advantage of blind spots and bottlenecks, staged decoy attacks, made use of illusion magic and fae glamour to pit unprepared witches against each other. These attacks were designed to bring about a swift end, minimizing casualties on both sides. Whether this would be a successful strategy or not would reveal itself soon enough...
After an eventful day, Clara has the night to herself which she puts to good use for herself.
Technically Clara isn't supposed to be 64-years-old today. She shouldn't be here at all. A cold got her back then, a nasty one that she couldn't shake off thanks to her delicate health.
She was supposed to be gone a long, long time ago but here she is, defying expectations of life itself as she continues to linger on and see the passage of time continue marching on. She's around to see the dates she continues to hold dear to her heart come and go time and again: Her sons' birthdays, Antonio and Maja's deaths. In a few short months she'll be celebrating her wedding anniversary (by herself, of course) and Magra's 20th birthday.
Right now? She's including the celebrating her own birthday.
So, at evening, when Henrique is taking a well-deserved break from his job by taking a nice long sleep in his shack, Clara has set up a little 'party' that can be found at the family plot of gravestones that is supposed to be her final resting place along with Francisco and Antonio.
She did her best to make it look festive! No need to make it look depressing and gloomy after all. There are a few things she hopes can brighten up the place at this hour of the evening: Half-used scented candles she 'borrowed' from the coffee shop, relit them again with some of Henrique's matches. A few streamers from an employee's party at the shop, carefully decorated around her tombstone and her husband's and son's. There's a small cupcake too! Right on her marker, a little thoughtful gift from Bianca who had visited by earlier.
Most importantly to her there were flowers scattered across the grounds. Much as she wanted to add sampaguitas, they weren't native here in London, of course, so she was more than happy to use the wildflowers that were near the cemetery to add a burst of colours.
… She hopes no one will consider this a sinister activity.
[ OOC: Feel free to have known about this little party/birthday or just stumble upon it! Prose and brackets welcomed!]
Evening in the Black Bear Tavern, and someone had set up what looked like an oversized game of Battleship on one of the tables, with one major exception: all the ships had gleaming shot glasses carefully set into them at even intervals.
The bar was dark. The board was illuminated. There were cheesy underwater sonar noises involved. And Heiji stood on the other side of the board. "So. You ready?"
Handy Battleshots board here. Gameplay video here.
( The rules of Battleshots: )
Groundwork (throughout August)
Heiji could be found throughout August in regular libraries throughout the city -- and libraries-underneath-libraries as well, looking through records and old archived newspapers. Or, occasionally, falling asleep with his face in a book or pressed against a handy keyboard. His topic of investigation? The East End Pack, and in particular one Derek Hale. It was all a matter of public record, which meant this was A-OK and totally aboveboard, right?
Lewisham was not a particularly safe place for the faint of heart -- in fact, it was a no man's land, a veritable hive of scum and villainy. But during a few evenings in mid-August, there was one extra supernatural beastie about: a black fox the size of a full-grown tiger, lurking about the rooftops and getting the size of the activity there. Heiji was doing a little reconnaissance work, though he could also be found scoping out the neighborhood in Havering.
[Or lemme know if you want anything in particular o7]
Lots of fun. Please see these lovely starters, and check the comment section for a few starters. Want something specific? you know where to find me (sheakespeare).]
( white or black, it's still a lie )
( every city that you fly )
( I sit down & wonder why )
Wild Card. Make your own prompt.
( A. COFFEE )
( B. PARK )
( C. BAR )
D. CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE
[ooc note: this log takes place during the HUNTING SEASON event, and as such is loosely dated between the 20th and the 25th! faolan is a human and a hunter in the hillingdon clan, and if you want to get into trouble with him of a supernatural, hunting sort, by all means choose your own adventure or contact me and we can work something out. THANKS!]
TWO ( Arthur's not a guy who hangs out at a bar alone for an hour by choice. )
[Please hit me up if you'd like a different situation!]
( Your power is over - Covent Garden, Camden, Night Council Territory )
2. Tower Bridge, Southwark, Islington Nest territory
( I've come to change the order - Tower Bridge, Southwark, Islington Nest territory )
3. Greenwich Park, Greenwich, Disputed territory
( I'm Back, Again - Greenwich Park, Greenwich, Disputed territory )
(Or feel free to add a wildcard start! The Nogitsune is a roamer and not especially caring who's territory he's in. Good with prose or brackets)
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.
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.
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.
Want something different? We can do it!
Heiji had been lucky to walk away from his run-in with Tal as well as he had -- a werewolf during this particular time of year was even more dangerous than usual. But he was still badly hurting, and he did not yet want to return to the Other Realm, where one of his own kind might see an excellent opportunity to take advantage of his wounds. Nor could he wander the streets as a human slowly bleeding through his clothing.
So instead he limped along quietly in the early hours of the morning in the least energy-intensive form he could. A small black fox, looking for a burrow to hole up in and lick his wounds.
B: You are cordially invited (July 7)
In light of his new title as well as his decision to stay in London for the foreseeable future, Heiji had had a home constructed for himself in Faery -- a little out of the way for his non-fae acquaintances to come visit him, but much less likely to arouse undue interest from any neighbors. It was a Japanese-style house, of course, with a small pond and cherry trees outside the windows.
Now he sat out the steps, sipping at his sake and waiting for company.
C: Fox hunt (Evening in Richmond Park, July 11th-ish)
Hoofbeats sounded in the distance, accompanied by the distant baying of hounds. A flit of red fur through the grass, and then the sounds of the dogs took on a new, excited cast. Panicked and frightened, the young fox ran blindly through the trees. The paths looked the same, the woods were unfamiliar. Meanwhile, the sounds of her pursuit was getting closer...
Heiji ran through the park, looking for any sign, but he'd lost sight of the hunting party. All he had to go on now was the baying of the hounds. There were thousands of foxes in London, and why hadn't she listened to him?
He grimaced as he charged through the grass. "Of all the rotten luck...!"
D: Choose your own adventure :')
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!)
The Seelie King and Queen were present, though distanced from the rest of the revellers -- and quite a few revellers there were. Men and women with petals in their hair, clothes of vibrant silk and satin, and a rainbow of rare feathers and gems. Some looked human, some looked animal. Some, such as in the case of a well-dressed gentleman with skin like birch bark, looked like none of the above.
It was relatively rare for the fae to involve themselves in the affairs of ordinary London. Recent events, however, had raised a few hackles among Seelie and Unseelie alike. Thus it was that members of both courts were extended an invitation to a talk. Or more succinctly, to a planning session for their foray into the mortal realm.
Food, drink, and music, of course, were nearby should anyone require it, and a large, exquisite outdoor table had been set up for those who chose to attend. The decision for the territory push had already been made and handed down; the only thing left now was the particulars of the fae strategy.
Heiji, for his part, had arrived dressed in formal kimono and haori. He nodded or bowed in greeting to those in attendance. Mainly, however, he was waiting to be called on, reasoning that he'd need to give a status report on events in the mortal realm.
[Open for any to take the floor. This log is mainly for Seelie and Unseelie court members to set up planning for next month's territory push.]