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[personal profile] outstandingbalance
Out On The - Open To All

Natasha is out. It's been a while. She's been hitting the bars less since she started drinking blood again on the sly; she didn't need the poor substitute as much, and she didn't want the temptation that came with it.

She had to be careful with this. She didn't want to be who she was before, when she was feeding on humans. So far, she thinks she's doing okay.

So out tonight, it's because she really does want the drink. She also wants to be around people, to watch them, maybe to chat with them. She can be found out, sitting at the bar or at a table that can be seen, not hiding away in the corner, nursing a gin and tonic or maybe a whiskey sour.

If she sees someone she knows, she's quick to invite them to join her. "One on me?" she offers. "I could use some company."

Home Is Where - Closed to Evie

It's not a surprise when Natasha comes by. She texted on her way over, showing up with takeout Thai food and a bottle of red wine. It's normal. They do this so often—food, some drinks, maybe a movie, and time together on the couch.

The difference, this time, is that after dinner and before putting on a horror flick about a family moving into a haunted house, Natasha bows her head a little and licks her lips, a thoughtful, expression. She doesn't have many tells, and she hides them well when she wants to, ut Evie would know her well enough by now to know there's something on her mind.

It may still be a surprise when she says, "I was thinking, we should talk about that thing you brought up at the tournament."


Hit me up with something else, or let me know if you want me to write another starter.
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[personal profile] specifiercity
Arthur pays attention to things like police bulletins for a reason. He knows there's tampering but there are still patterns that emerge when you have a city as full of supernaturals as London is and if someone knows what to look for they can probably tell that someone's getting a little rowdy. When everything happens so close to the full moon, that's another clue, so Arthur has a pretty good idea that he's going to uncover something when he starts reaching out to his fellow hunters and contacts within Hillingdon. He starts asking very pointed questions about the werewolves and whether anyone's noticed anything and if someone comes into the office he's taken over they'll notice a portion of his board has now been taken over by fishy news articles and notes about the wolves.

Arthur doesn't get much from within Hillingdon alone, so he ends up contracting a few hunters to go out and gather some information for him. That's just to cover more ground while he goes out himself and does a little snooping of his own. He finds himself at a few community centres and shops during the day, and during the night he finds himself at the bars that are run and frequented by werewolves. He doesn't quite fit in there but he does his best, keeping his head down and keeping chatter light so he doesn't draw too much attention to himself. Sometimes he's meeting a contact, but other times he's just trying to overhear something that might give away the plan of everything that's going on.

One of these particular nights he shows up to a bar and looks around briefly before he makes a beeline for the bartender. It's a short conversation - he describes the person he's looking for and the bartender gestures to the door as he tells him they've already left - and Arthur looks pretty perturbed as he turns away and curses under his breath. He knew this particular contact was flighty and he even showed up a few minutes early to try and catch them if they were going to bolt. The problem is, Arthur doesn't know now if he's been told on to any of the wolves in this bar, and if he has he's in a bit of a dangerous situation.

And he didn't bring a gun.

Well, fuck.

The bruises haven't quite healed up yet but he looks somewhat presentable again, so when a hunter trades him a bit of info about a particular wolf who isn't following the pack directive, Arthur follows up as soon as he can. The best way to reach her just seems to be showing up at her work, so Arthur shows up later one afternoon after school's been out an hour or so. It'd be weird enough barging in with a bunch of kids still around, so they don't need to see his black eye. After he slips into the building he does a quick search of the classrooms until he finds her sitting at her desk. He knocks on the door frame and tilts his head curiously.


[ooc; other prompts can and will be added! if you want anything different just send me a PM or hmu at [plurk.com profile] dreamalittlebigger]
melancolique: (retort)
[personal profile] melancolique
When Joss eventually opened his front door to Eponine, she had pushed impatiently past him to look for the t-shirts he had promised her.

"Where are they? You promised." She barks at him. Her own, tattier than ever thanks to Joss trying to murder her, needs replacing. She lets herself into his living room, and makes a beeline for the shopping bags by the sofa. She pulls out a few tops, but her jubilant smile quite quickly becomes a frown.

Eponine looks from one pink, frilly shirt to an overly baggy mustard number to a flowery, frilled t-shirt with little cap sleeves. The frown on her face turns into a scowl and she rounds on Joss, angry all of a sudden.

"You buy for a grandma? I am not wearing this rubbish. They're disgusting. For old women."
They do not go, at all, with Eponine's grunge look. "I am not wearing these. And you owe me a shirt for nearly killing me. You lose me a whole night of coin, a whole night of food, and for this? No, M'sieur. I do not accept. I shall have a proper shirt I might wear, if you please."

She's getting a decent outfit out of Joss even if it means dragging him to the shops herself.

"You owe me. You owe me proper clothes," she whines.
cabins: (Default)
[personal profile] cabins
Morning and afternoon of September 5th
The day before the full moon, and it's a purposeful day. By tomorrow night, Laura wants Greenwich to belong to the East End Pack. Those over the age of 18 with Daylight Jewelry go in first and begin to infiltrate. Vampire strongholds are sussed out, and wolves begin to set up camp around them, waiting for the inevitable moment when the vampires awoke.

Evening of September 5th
It's an ambush, for the most part. Smaller holdings are left untouched, but larger hotspots are hit hard by the army of wolves. Almost the full moon, they should be at the height of their power. Only those above the age of eighteen are allowed on the battlefield.

Morning of September 6th
When day breaks, it's clear who's won this time. Vampires without moonlight jewelry slink back into the shadows. Those who live are spared- but only until moonrise. Then Greenwich officially becomes the East End's.

Evening of September 6th
Rumors of a wolf-pack running through Greenwich Park begin to circulate as the moon rises. Those who are able are invited to celebrate in the park in wolf form. Those who are not are invited to celebrate at the den.
morevacant: (worried)
[personal profile] morevacant
Closed to Lydia and Nancy
Warning for Ces talk

Read more... )
vocessirenum: (float)
[personal profile] vocessirenum
9 September, Evening - The Angelo (open)

Blues beat, slow burn. The lights turned way down low; just the spotlight on the singer and the dim glittering of the candles on the tables. The girl on stage looks so small and frail, all dressed in black, but when she starts to sing her voice is anything but.

"I put a spell on you...because you're mine."

She starts soft, low. This has always been more of a ballad than a power anthem. She sways with the rhythm, channeling the pain of a woman wronged.

"You better stop the things you do--I tell ya, I ain't lyin'.
Oh no, I ain't lyin'.

The rest of the set is a bit of a blur. Nothing original, nothing of her own, just jazz and blues standards. That's just fine. She can do standards. There's polite applause at the end of her performance; she didn't bring down the house, but it's the biggest audience she's had in months and she relishes it.

Imogen loves this. She loves performing. She loves the spotlight and the way people look at her when she sings, like they're seeing her for the first time. So what if she's not being showered with roses as she takes her bow? This is a good gig. She's going to savor it.

There's another set at 10, but in the meantime Imogen moves to the bar, ready to meet her adoring public.

12 September - The Angelo (Closed to Lydia)

"Yeah, Mum, I loved the flowers. Thanks so much." Imogen's got a new phone now, to replace the one she lost. Had stolen from her. By someone who, according to Find My iPhone, likes to hang out at cemeteries. Well, Daddy cancelled the account and had Apple remotely lock the phone, so Little Miss Cemetery Lurker has a very expensive brick now. Serves her fucking right.

Imogen still hasn't told her parents about being attacked; she just said she lost the phone while she was out in the West End. She's never been very good at lying outright--in fact, she's always been bloody awful at it--but she can embroider the truth all she wants.

Today's her birthday, and Imogen's going for birthday drinks with some people she knows later, but first she's got to drop by "work."

"No, Mum, I told you--I can't come by this weekend. I've got performances. Yeah, Mum. Thanks, Mum. See you later. Lots of love to Daddy. Bye."

She's too busy walking and talking to notice that there's a girl already waiting out front of Cesare's office. Not until she almost collides with her.


21 September - Redbright Institute (closed to Sylvia Redbright)

The letter had come in the second week of Imogen's residency at The Angelo. It was on fancy paper, with a letterhead for some school she'd never heard of, asking for a meeting. Imogen almost ignores it. After all, she's not exactly desperate for work right now. Not with Cesare paying her to sing three nights a week and lavishing her with expensive gifts. But she doesn't have anything else to do today, and she's bored. Might as well make the appointment.

The school's campus is a bit of a maze, so it takes a while to find the right door. Imogen knocks.


Mid to Late September - Around London (open)

Even with a handsome millionaire paying the bills, a girl's still got to work. Imogen can be found busking around London, playing the new guitar that had been her birthday present this year. She still doesn't feel very safe after what happened last month, but she sticks to crowded areas and well lit streets and it's been okay so far.

She's drawing bigger audiences lately, and inspires more passionate responses to her music. Is this it? Is she on the verge of making it big?
thelastjoy: Girl facing away with cat on her shoulder, neutral, cold; comic (Three)
[personal profile] thelastjoy
A. Late August; Open

Girl stood underneath the low awning of a shop, wrapped fish and chips held to her chest. It was late enough that most of the buildings on the street were closing up, natural light dying and artificial street lamps casting a sallow glow. Girl murmured gently, the noise lost to the hissing and screeching of the tabby hunched atop the awning.

Girl held up a chunk of the fish, trying to feed it to the upset cat. The creature swiped at her fingers and Girl jumped, dropping the corner of meat. She stuck her fingers in her mouth, sucking off grease and blood with a whine before trying again. There were enough red marks on her hands and so little of her meal left to show it wasn't the first time it had happened. There was probably something to be said about doing the same thing over and over, and still expecting a different result.

"Come on, kitty," she said sweetly, ignoring that the cat hunched further as she got closer with another piece of food. "You don't have to be scared of me. Just come down."

B. [Wild card it or pm for a specific prompt. Closed starters are in the comments.]
baisant: (1)
[personal profile] baisant
It's just another night at Guilty Pleasures. Which Jean-Claude supposes is part of the problem. He has had a lot of 'just another night at work's lately. Perhaps because work is where he feels most safe, most at home, but even there he is struggling.

He has not been in a good place, as of late. Not since the loss of the election, if he is being truthful. Not since Asher blew into his life, and then out of it again, and left Jean-Claude's heart heavy with the weight of the past and his mind spinning with the loss in the present. The loss of the election, for there is no cleaning up after what happened at his fund-raiser. Asher's debacle was too public, and it left the city with too many questions with nowhere near enough time for him to address them all.

And now they are left with Cesare in the seat. And though he supposes there are worse that might have taken that place, it stings. The fact that he had wanted this. The fact that he knows he might have been able to make a difference there. The fact that he remains where he is, clawing to hold together the scraps of their nest, under a regime that will never appreciate their people. He has failed them. And he has failed himself.

So he may or may not have been hiding away licking his wounds this whole time, depressed even despite the passage of time. And he may or may not be doing a very poor job of hiding it.
dredefulchilde: (Default)
[personal profile] dredefulchilde
[Catch-all post for Joscelin. Contact me via plurk or PM for specific prompts, or just post here and we'll go with it!]
cabins: (first date)
[personal profile] cabins
August 15
One of the things Laura always did to try to take care of herself was running. She loved it, a brisk jog through the park, though now with school out, her runs were becoming longer and longer. She loved using it as an excuse to explore the city and it's green spaces. That way, she could always come back on the full moon, when she had more control.

Stopping on a bench in Hyde Park, Laura paused to catch her breath pulled out her bottle of water. The bottle was opened effortlessly, but the trouble began as soon as she lifted the bottle to her lips. The water would not touch her lips.

Frowning at the bottle, she looked at it. It was plenty full. She tried again. Nothing.

Well. She was a well-educated former-witch of a woman. She knew what this meant.

She was cursed.

Later on August 15
Okay, no water. She'd tried again when she'd gotten back to her flat, but there was no drinking it. Showering was fine, but when she opened her mouth to try to get water, there was nothing. Not a single drop hit her mouth.

So after the shower, Laura had gotten creative. She emptied out her fridge and began to go through everything, trying to take sip after sip of milk, orange juice, iced tea. Nothing.

Nothing, except for the dark green bottle she had. Honestly, she hadn't thought to try wine- after all, wine? But beer had wielded no results, and neither had an attempted shot of vodka. Not to mention, the later it got, the thirstier Laura was.

"Frak it." She said to the empty apartment, and pulled the cork out of the bottle. She raised it to her lips and at long last, took a nice long drink.

Well. Shit.

August 16th
So wine it was! Laura Roslin had found something she could drink, and that was great, but she knew the thing about water was that you needed it, or you would die from dehydration. Not a fun way to go. At least most of her foods contained water (there was a lot of celery in her, right now) so she could hopefully prolong her inevitable death long enough to find a way to get rid of this curse.

This is what brings Laura to the grocery store, her cart filled with a few different bottles of wine. Her water bottle contains the same, and by the time she makes it out of the grocery store, her eyes are a bit heavy and she can tell that the wine is having it's effect on her. Not like she can even drink water to try to sober up.

At least, Laura thought as she left the store, she wasn't in the middle of work.

August 17th
Frak it! It was day 3 of nothing to drink but wine, and by the time Laura made her way to the den, it was clear that this forced bender was no good. Her skin was pale, her cheeks red, and gods damn it if she wasn't really fucking thirsty. Wine did nothing to quench thirst, though she'd been trying to convince herself that.

She missed her magic.

Sitting in the kitchen, her glass of wine in front of her as she tried to at least pretend she was doing something productive. Her eyes lazily followed another one of the pack members as they started a new pot of coffee.

"I'd kill someone for coffee right about now," she muttered, taking a sip of her wine. Nope, still not coffee.


(feel free to make your own during the three days that Laura is forced to only drink wine.)
knowntohisfriends: (Default)
[personal profile] knowntohisfriends
[Catch all for Zara's characters for August. Starters inside. PM/Plurk if you want a thread! Or just post and we'll go with the flow]
morevacant: (fury)
[personal profile] morevacant
It takes Lydia some time to cool down after Mogget's revelations about Cesare.
It takes a smashed plate, several ripped photos and her holding her Louboutins over the dustbin (she couldn't let them go: the shoes don't deserve to suffer because of Cesare's actions) before she gets it together enough to text Cesare.

We need to talk. 10 minutes. You know where. (angry face, angry face)

Then she goes to the hotel, and stomps up to the room where they always meet, door slamming as she enters. Nobody stops her. The staff know Miss Lydia by now. By the time Cesare arrives, she's sat on the edge of the bed, scowling.

"I am gonna kill you, Cesare Borgia," she snaps.

Guys No

Jul. 27th, 2017 10:34 am
longterm: (You did what? :|)
[personal profile] longterm
So the march had been a mess. As Cesare sat hidden, watching from his office and paying close attention to the news, it became pretty clear that nobody knew quite what they wanted. At least it seemed that nobody could quite agree.

For Cesare, that's actually pretty helpful. When anything is vague, that means that he gets to define it. With the attack on Newham and the wolves getting increasingly audacious, something needs to be done. Tensions are escalating and he doesn't want this to end badly. He schedules a press conference for the next week. It's time to make a political play.

As he makes his way to the press room he has a carefully crafted speech already prepared:

"This month the people of London expressed their feelings of concern regarding their city. They used their voices and I have heard them. Peace and unity are vital to the strength and security of this city and for too long we have allowed London to be ruled by violence and crime.

Politics is one thing. Violence is different. There is never an excuse for bloodshed and enough is enough. From now on, all crimes, whether used for political purposes or not, will be treated as the crimes that they are. If you commit a crime, no matter the reason, you will be prosecuted. If you are violent, you will be punished. This applies to all races, all factions, everyone.

It is time to be peaceful and united. Any of those who act against that can either leave or face punishment."

[OOC note: This will in no way stop territory claims. It's mainly empty talk, supporting laws that are already in place. While Cesare is attempting to discourage violence, any actual punishments for such behaviour will not be properly enforced. Keep on doing your thing. Cesare is just firmly taking a personal stance against crime and bloodshed.]
morevacant: (upset)
[personal profile] morevacant
It's official. She's failed out of uni. Lydia Bennet, the thick sister of the bunch. The useless one. The disappointment.

Well, her mum won't be disappointed, once Lydia tells her about Cesare. She will quite understand that Lydia spent the time she should have been studying for her exams in Cesare's hotel making him happy. When Lydia tells her. Right now, Lydia doesn't dare: her mum is the biggest gossip and it will take two minutes for word of her and Cesare will be everywhere.

Lydia heads for her favourite haunt, a cosy Starbucks close by. She fancies an extra large double shotted caramel macchiato. What she actually gets is a small tea. Because she's broke. She's failed and she's broke.

Why is life so hard?
ghoulaid: (Default)
[personal profile] ghoulaid
As with most things involving werewolves (or just Ghoul in general), it happens fast and without much warning. Tensions between wolves and vampires have been high lately- there have been a number of small spats throughout the month, but nothing particularly noteworthy or lasting happens.

The 25th seems to be a day like any other, until night falls. It starts small, with a handful of wolves deciding to strut their way around Newham like they own the place. The pack has been feeling stable and stronger lately, and the wolves themselves are ornery. Why not take back what's theirs?

Word spreads quickly, and by the 26th, the wolves have committed to a full-blown invasion. It's when the fighting begins in earnest, and each side takes turns rapidly gaining and losing ground. The standoff continues in to the 27th, with neither group able to make their claim stick. Newham is a lawless mess, unsafe for either faction as violence continues to escalate. No one seems to find surrendering an option. There's no telling how long this will last, or how much damage Newham will suffer for it.


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