Nogitsune (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mygame) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2015-07-16 05:38 pm
mygame) wrote in undergrounds2015-07-16 05:38 pm
Entry tags:
[OPEN] A casual stroll through the lunatic asylum shows that faith does not prove anything.
1) Covent Garden, Camden, Night Council Territory
The creature that called himself the Nogitsune walked through the crowds of people littering the London sidewalks without much care. Glancing at him, most thought nothing of him. He wasn't handsome enough to be remembered or special enough to warrant attention. A few might have taken a second look at his too pale skin or the shadows around his eyes, but kids these days had their styles, didn't they? Probably some sort of makeup. Went well with the black and grey hoodie and jeans he was wearing. Probably makeup. Right?
"Stiles!"
Someone called after him as he turned a corner and was lost in the crush of humanity that overtook London in the fashionable Camden area. He paid that stranger no more attention that he had when crossing from 'Nest' territory to those of this so-called 'Night Council'. The Nogitsune had questioned only one human in that time, asking a simple question that the elderly man had been quick to answer. A ten pound note was pressed into the man's hand as the Nogitsune moved on. It was easy to give away money that hadn't been the Nogitsune's in the first place but pickpocketed from one of the many humans he passed. Some skills never went out of style. Or use.
It had been in the 1900s the last time it had walked these street, here before being sent elsewhere for whichever vampire lord or lady had been in charge them sent it to America. In his mind, he still thought of that place as 'the New World'. In the eighteenth century, this place had been the den of prostitutes, playwrights, gamblers and drunks. Now it was a tourist attraction. Of course, two centuries before that, it had been a pleasure-ground with beautiful high class homes around it. Strange how time ran in a circle like that.
With the warmth of a pub's light on his face, the Nogitsune's attention turned onto the crowd. Black eyes narrowed just a bit as it sought out whatever it was that had caught its attention.
2. Tower Bridge, Southwark, Islington Nest territory
The past nights had been full of rush and hurry for the Nogitsune, something he had walked away from despite the shouting when he had endured enough. Give someone a pair of fangs, and they think they rule the world, he thought grumpily to himself as he lounged on a bench looking towards the Tower Bridge. In the dark of the night, the bridge blazed like a cheap whore showing off all her assets. Not that he minded a whore, cheap or otherwise, but there was a gaudiness to this era that left him a little annoyed. Ten minutes in Piccadilly Circus had settled that for him.
Cars were another matter. Those drew his attention, and it was only a matter of time until he stole one and crashed it somewhere. Probably in werewolf territory. Start a nice fire over there and see how much modern firefighting had changed.
"As if anyone would miss part of Newham if it burnt down," he said aloud more to himself than anyone in particular.
Better idea might be to steal the car in Newham and crash it somewhere around there. But then, well, werewolves. Last thing he needed was already starting a pissing match with the werewolves. Fun for him as that might be. Once he learned the lay of the land, then there would be time for those things.
Although that nice shiny car over there was tempting him terribly. No one would miss that auto, and honestly, how hard could driving be? Getting to his feet, the Nogitsune grinned to itself unpleasantly as it gave the matter a little more thought.
3. Greenwich Park, Greenwich, Disputed territory
The park closed at dusk, but things like that hardly mattered to the Nogitsune. Most of its time had been spent reacquainting itself with modern day London, learning new places that had come into being or old ones that had been 'revitalized'. It hadn't told anyone of its plans tonight, and no one had asked. He knew on some level that some faction or another, maybe even his own, were fighting for control of the area, but he didn't care. Some of its things had been left here.
He frowned, looking up to the moon and trying to orient himself with the moon on where he had been when burying his stash of treasures a hundred years ago. Making his way across the pleasantly laid out flower beds towards the treeline. Soon enough, he was in the midsts of the twisted old chestnut trees. Nails sharpening, he dug in and started to climb up. It was somewhere around here.
(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)
The creature that called himself the Nogitsune walked through the crowds of people littering the London sidewalks without much care. Glancing at him, most thought nothing of him. He wasn't handsome enough to be remembered or special enough to warrant attention. A few might have taken a second look at his too pale skin or the shadows around his eyes, but kids these days had their styles, didn't they? Probably some sort of makeup. Went well with the black and grey hoodie and jeans he was wearing. Probably makeup. Right?
"Stiles!"
Someone called after him as he turned a corner and was lost in the crush of humanity that overtook London in the fashionable Camden area. He paid that stranger no more attention that he had when crossing from 'Nest' territory to those of this so-called 'Night Council'. The Nogitsune had questioned only one human in that time, asking a simple question that the elderly man had been quick to answer. A ten pound note was pressed into the man's hand as the Nogitsune moved on. It was easy to give away money that hadn't been the Nogitsune's in the first place but pickpocketed from one of the many humans he passed. Some skills never went out of style. Or use.
It had been in the 1900s the last time it had walked these street, here before being sent elsewhere for whichever vampire lord or lady had been in charge them sent it to America. In his mind, he still thought of that place as 'the New World'. In the eighteenth century, this place had been the den of prostitutes, playwrights, gamblers and drunks. Now it was a tourist attraction. Of course, two centuries before that, it had been a pleasure-ground with beautiful high class homes around it. Strange how time ran in a circle like that.
With the warmth of a pub's light on his face, the Nogitsune's attention turned onto the crowd. Black eyes narrowed just a bit as it sought out whatever it was that had caught its attention.
2. Tower Bridge, Southwark, Islington Nest territory
The past nights had been full of rush and hurry for the Nogitsune, something he had walked away from despite the shouting when he had endured enough. Give someone a pair of fangs, and they think they rule the world, he thought grumpily to himself as he lounged on a bench looking towards the Tower Bridge. In the dark of the night, the bridge blazed like a cheap whore showing off all her assets. Not that he minded a whore, cheap or otherwise, but there was a gaudiness to this era that left him a little annoyed. Ten minutes in Piccadilly Circus had settled that for him.
Cars were another matter. Those drew his attention, and it was only a matter of time until he stole one and crashed it somewhere. Probably in werewolf territory. Start a nice fire over there and see how much modern firefighting had changed.
"As if anyone would miss part of Newham if it burnt down," he said aloud more to himself than anyone in particular.
Better idea might be to steal the car in Newham and crash it somewhere around there. But then, well, werewolves. Last thing he needed was already starting a pissing match with the werewolves. Fun for him as that might be. Once he learned the lay of the land, then there would be time for those things.
Although that nice shiny car over there was tempting him terribly. No one would miss that auto, and honestly, how hard could driving be? Getting to his feet, the Nogitsune grinned to itself unpleasantly as it gave the matter a little more thought.
3. Greenwich Park, Greenwich, Disputed territory
The park closed at dusk, but things like that hardly mattered to the Nogitsune. Most of its time had been spent reacquainting itself with modern day London, learning new places that had come into being or old ones that had been 'revitalized'. It hadn't told anyone of its plans tonight, and no one had asked. He knew on some level that some faction or another, maybe even his own, were fighting for control of the area, but he didn't care. Some of its things had been left here.
He frowned, looking up to the moon and trying to orient himself with the moon on where he had been when burying his stash of treasures a hundred years ago. Making his way across the pleasantly laid out flower beds towards the treeline. Soon enough, he was in the midsts of the twisted old chestnut trees. Nails sharpening, he dug in and started to climb up. It was somewhere around here.
(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)
3
With a start, he stops short and squints at a tree in the distance. What the hell is that? Though his eyes are still adjusting to the dark, he thinks it’s humanoid in shape. Maybe some kind of monkey shapeshifter…? Whatever it is, he should totally ignore it and carry on. Yep. Definitely.
Not even two seconds later and he’s cautiously creeping closer to the tree. Stiles certainly isn’t known for exceptional common sense.
no subject
That is, until the Nogitsune drops out of the tree beside him. He rises to his feet with an easy grace, a tattered and rotting canvas bag slung over his shoulder. If the Nogitsune is surprised to find a mirror of himself standing there or following him, he doesn't show it. Black eyes slide down and up Stiles, studying him as he were some new species of bug for trapping in a killing jar for later perusal. His head tilted like an animal's, an unneeded breath drawn in as if to taste Stiles' scent.
"If this is supposed to be some sort of trick, I'm not laughing," he says, leaning towards Stiles an inch or two. "And you got my hair all wrong. You must be new at this."