undergrounds | Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky [Open]

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Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky [Open]

1. Bulding glass houses
Mab had finally staked out her home, something that had before been more of a manor she now was pouring will into, icing the facade. She'd been working intermittently for days now, spilling enough magic into the structure each time to build a new layer of ice without completely draining her resources. It simply wouldn't do to be caught out without some of her strength to use. By now the building reflected the sun back in glacial colors, and almost seemed to have it's own inner glow, a pulsing of variable colors that matched her eyes and would leave those without strong magic entranced if they gazed too long. The ice was thick enough that you could no longer see the stone that had originally created the structure and you could also no longer see the door. Icicles hung like deadly spears from the eaves and the windows glittered with facets.

She pulled her hands away from the side of the building and stepped back, breathing in deeply before looking up at her work. It was nearly done, a few more days and it would be a solid defense, beautiful, remote and deadly, standing at the top of a hill bare of trees though they gathered around about a half a kilometer from the base of the hill. She shook a hand as though weary before straightening completely and giving it all a proud look. Yes, this would do nicely. Snow started falling just in the general area, carpeting the top of the hill and scattering down into the grass and heather. The snow muffled all the other noises in the area making everything feel even more remote.

2. Air and Darkness

A pale figure seemed to shimmer into space between two trees in a wooded area of the Southeastern Greenbelt. As if she'd taken off a black cloak and let it fall to her feet she stepped out of the darkness and onto the grass overlooking Crystal Palace Park. Following her as though congealing at her feet is a creeping fog, a result of her own natural coolness hitting the warm summer air. In the darkness she puts a hand out to touch the worn stone pillar on a set of stairs leading down from the Italian terrace she is standing atop and ice forms along it, spreading along the surface and making soft cracking noises as the cool expands inside the stonework. Lambent eyes take in the area, assessing who is nearby. Even as she begins to walk down the steps, the fog starts spilling down them in her wake like a living thing, silent and sinuous.

Her gown trails down behind her and it is difficult to see where fabric stops and fog starts, it all blends together.

3. Newfangled technology

Mab stood unnaturally still, looking up at the sign above the store. The sign did not sound like it should sell cellular telephones but the window displayed them. The sign should be changed. She had the strong urge to fix it for them because it annoyed her. Finally she took a noticeable breath and her head moved, dropping to look at the door which hand a metal handle. Humans loved metal far too much. It was why she found gloves necessary but she still did not like to touch the bane. Even through her gloves it burned a little. Instead she waited a moment more for someone to open the door and she followed them in, letting the door close behind her without ever touching it.

She stopped again inside the store and looked askance at the rows of different phones many of which also seemed to have metal housing. The air in the store was cool enough it didn't noticeably cool when she entered but the window on the glass door behind her fogged a little until she began to walk farther in, eyes scanning across displays that seemed to be written in English but for the life of her none of them made any sense at all. Abbreviations, numbers, features. She stared down at one of the little cards and then looked up at the displayed phone. The screen glowed with pictures splattered across the screen. Tiny tiny pictures.

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.

Threaded | Flat

Although Balem was barefoot and bare-chested - as he often was in the Other Realm - he didn't seem to be cold in the slightest. Small wisps of steam trailed off of him where snowflakes touched his skin, although he wasn't warm enough for his presence to melt ice, thankfully. It would have been rather rude to melt her house when she had put so much effort into building it.

"Lady Mab," he said with a slight nod, "I see you've been hard at work already. It looks quite lovely, I must say."

Mab was determined to get a coffee shop right. But she did not want another experience like her chocolate caramel latte or whatever it had been. Instead she ordered tea. Human could not possibly mess up tea, could they? So she took her cup as the server handed it over with a cheers she turned and moved to one side to sit at a table from which she might observe interactions in such places. Unlike every other person in the building she did not have a cellular telephone out and she did not have a wallet or purse of any type but no one seemed to find it odd.

She nudged a chair out with her foot and settled down on it her steaming tea sitting in front of her. They'd given it to her in a proper cup, with a saucer instead of the styrofoam many of the other customers were holding. Apparently you could request it. Someone nearby had a computer out and they were busily typing away at it, and across the way a group of girls were chatting animatedly about politics.

Mab lifted her cup to her lips and sipped, the hot liquid was steeped just right. Mab paused to look at it, pleased before setting it back down.

Here's your ticket into the O2, Vodaphone, or whatever store of cellphone hell Mab's found herself. In fact, he opens the door for her like a proper gentleman, even doffing his hat lazily.

"Miss."

Following in after her, Jackson makes a beeline for the nearest salesperson and hands him a banged-up cellphone with a shattered screen. In and out, quick as possible, that's the game. Replace the piece of junk with the exact same, albeit new, piece of junk. The not-so-perky salesperson tells him that he'll be right back, he just needs to go into the storeroom and locate the phone.

"Don't dawdle," he shouts after him, "I'm on a lunch break here!"

Meanwhile, he takes to idly scanning the glass cabinets and display shelves. Whatever megapixel cameras. Facetime. Group chat. Apps. Who the hell cares. But as he observes, Jackson spots the lady from before, noticing the detached, if not confused look on her countenance. The look of discerning a foreign language. A look that Homer Jackson knows well. Add in the strange, fancy-ish accoutrements, and well, Jackson thinks he's got an idea--

"Miss. You need a hand?"

A pair of emerald cat eyes reflect the light for a brief moment, before the scent of pennyroyal and musk fills the air. Another moment passes, and Tybalt, now in two-legged form, complete with a human glamour overlaying his natural features steps out of the shadows. He gives a slight bow of greeting.

"Quite the dramatic arrival, my lady." There's a strong hint of amusement in his tone.

Owning a cockatiel is by and large an uneventful experience.

Owning a loud old cockatiel who enjoys chewing up phone cords on a regular basis is less so, and thus Sasuke is very frequently forced into this particular shop which seems to have a problem with its coolant system today but then again he's very good at finding something to complain about. Not to mention he always runs pretty hot himself, so his body temperature can handle a greater downward flux.

"... that phone is bad." Yes, trust him to only speak up to give negative commentary on something. "You don't want that one."

Threaded | Flat

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Coffeers' Shop [For Clara]

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3, I'm so late