undergrounds | [open] Aces take your time

You're at one of the nightclubs in South London; they're always best at this time of year in some people's estimation. Much livelier, better music, and the summer promotions are always better in July than in August. It's when the promoters are finally in the swing of things, but they still need to try that extra bit harder to entice people to come inside.

What might stand out to the keen observer, is a rather attractive woman sitting at the bar. Nothing so strange about a good looking woman hanging by herself in a club of course, but what might strike a person as odd is the wide berth people seem to be giving her. No one sat next to her, barely even anyone acknowledging her as she nurses her drink - glancing around the room on occasion.

But maybe there isn't anything strange to you about this, maybe this is just the person you're looking for. Following rumours or a tip about someone who'd be good business to get to know. Or maybe you just fancy talking to a pretty lady for a bit.

Have fun with that.

There's a cool breeze on the air on this fine afternoon. Eames wanders through Camden enjoying it; London's humidity come summer has never been something he's overly fond of, but today it's tolerable. Lots of people out and about, sitting by the lock or dodging flierers on the street, but he moves through the crowds easily. A certain fondness for the area that sometimes makes him think - he doesn't fuss too much with who owns what borough, but this is one he'd certainly like to see taken from the Council's control. Honestly there's a sad kind of irony in one of the last homes of punk in London being beholden to the "protection" of such an establishment.

Never the matter, he supposes. Not much to be done about it right this moment.

He has an ice cream in his hand because he's a grown-ass adult and he can do what he wants, and he's currently engaged in a heated debate with one of the vendors in the Stables Market. A man selling vintage furniture who thinks he can get away with jacking up his prices because he's in a popular area.

In his wild gesturing-- well. Either you dodge it or you don't, but either way all Eames has now is a hollow waffle cone sans ice cream and a laughing salesman. What a day.

Or, whatever! HMU on Plurk if you've got something particular in mind, or just. You know. Bug Eames.

Also brackets are cool, I can do either.

Threaded | Flat

It's frankly astonishing how rarely Eames' evenings seem to go as planned.

He doesn't deal overmuch with the hunts; regardless of the court leading them, in recent years (relatively speaking) he's come to find they're not really to his taste. Thinking of them as archaic. Boring. It's tough to describe a people as tied to tradition when the passage of time has such a different meaning to them, but Eames is certainly not one for it. It's like tourists wearing those garish union jack hats though, he thinks it's stupid but it's not like it affects him in any real way.

Whispers on the grapevine have made him aware that that might not be so true this year. Red things, beautiful things. He knows a certain witch who falls in that criteria, and he knows of a few fae who certainly have her in their sights. It'd be bad business to let an investment go and get murdered, which is why he's been keeping an eye on Nancy since he heard. And why he's knocking on her door now, looking a damn sight more uncomfortable than he usually ever is.

Kenzi was working - as always - on this fine sumemrs day. Lifting was always easier in crowds and while Kenzi had graduated to bigger and better things in the way of thievery, pick pocketing always had a special place in her heart.

It would have been easy. Keyword being 'would'. With the two arguing and paying little attention to their surroundings Kenzi could have easily lifted ice-cream guy's wallet and been on her merry way.

Unfortunately, the waffle cone had other plans.

"Seriously?"

She had jerked back the instant the treat had splattered on her chest, putting enough distance between herself and her intended target to make things look less conspicuous. The ice cream in question has made a nice mess down her front, getting her black clothes completely trashed in the process.

After the scuffle with the ice cream man has subsided, Clara huffs and shakes her head at the salesman's poor behaviour while she moves closer to check on these items of his. Rude or not, she is curious to see if the man's claims about them being one of a kind or not were true. That and a little lamp caught her eye for personal reasons. She was staring at it intently, expression a little sad, too absorbed by the lamp to notice the salesman rushing her way as he took a big gulp of his coffee.

It doesn't take a genius to realise what happens next. A spooked man from the sudden chill shrouding him. A dropped cup of iced coffee from said spook. A suit ruined and a very unhappy man, probably thinking karma got him.

"Whoops," is all she says as the man behind the counter curses his luck and moves away to clean himself up. She gives a side glance to the poor man who had lost his ice cream, grateful he didn't get splattered with coffee. Ice cream and coffee stains were awful things to wash out of clothes from her experience. "It could have been worse. I think that's the motto for today."

Single girls out at a club like this have to stick together. At least, that's what Abigail figures as she approaches. Besides, she needs another drink. Her martini glass is completely empty.

"Cosmo, please," she says, leaning against the bar. "Widdowson card." And she retrieves her wallet from her small clutch and shows it to confirm her identity. As the bartender begins making her drink, she smiles at the other woman. "What're you drinking? I'll order the same again if you want."

Closed to Nancy

B - open to attempted pick-pocketing?

[ B ]

A