undergrounds | ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʜɪᴅᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ, ɪᴛ's ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏᴡɴ.

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ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ʜɪᴅᴇ ғʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ sʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ, ɪᴛ's ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴏᴡɴ.

ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ Sʏʟᴀʀ.

If he's honest, he doesn't exactly like being an errand boy for the nest. He knows that it's best to stay in the fold instead of break out of it, and his sire is quick to breathe down his neck if he's gone too long. That's why he's back in town, and picking up duties that he's neglected for a few months. He won't keep his seat if he keeps on that way, and he's determined not to lose his standing.

He has plans, and falling through the ranks is not going to get him there.

So when the topic of paying a new contract was raised, he offered to nail down the dirty details. If he's honest he's curious about this meta human they've hired to clean up messes left behind. The pirate honestly would rather his kind not leave a mess to be cleaned, but that's not a battle he's like to win today.

He helps himself into the shop, glancing around with at least a vague curiosity before he tings a bell hoping for attention. The man that answers seems rather ordinary, and Killian gives a smile that has too much teeth to be particularly warm. "Looking for the fellow that owns this place," he says, tone friendly enough.

ᴛʜᴇ Jᴏʟʟʏ Rᴏɢᴇʀ, ᴏᴘᴇɴ ᴛᴏ ᴀʟʟ.

He's done a lot of running around since he's arrived back from his travels. He's invited a few of his friends round to his bar to check in with them, with a back room open for only those that have been specifically welcomed.

That doesn't mean that the place is closed to everyone else, though; it's a popular enough pub, and the prices are fairly low for a person that wants to get pissed and doesn't care too much about how fancy the drinks they're taking happen to be.

He's usually in the back, but, on occasion he can be found at the pool table. Who says you can't scrub your own patrons? If you manage to beat him, he might even get you a drink.

ᴄʟᴏsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ Tɪɴᴋᴇʀ Bᴇʟʟ.

( it's a bit odd, isn't it, for a vampire to stay in? he supposes that's true enough, and he's out plenty of nights. and days, his ring grants him freedom most can't boast. still, even if he doesn't sleep particularly long hours, tonight he's in on his own, and there's a bit of relief in that.

it seems every time he comes back to London, a timer sets in his feet that demands he leave again. he can't keep picking up and moving where the wind blows, there are things that demand his attention here and he knows that the longer he spends away, the more he'll lose control. his sire is unhappy for how long he's been gone, things are shifting out of place and he'll never stay on top of it if he doesn't stay still.

if he's honest — and he never is, especially not with himself — the emptiness clings, whether he's in London or halfway across the world.

he doesn't expect much of the evening. it's dark and befitting of what he is, now, and he's nursing a bottle to try and get to at least a mild buzz. there might be a furry gray creature nestled on his chest, and since he's alone he'll even run a few doting touches over soft features as the demonic thing purrs with utter contentment. )

I used to be a bloody pirate captain, you know. ( the cat doesn't answer his bitter musings of spending his nights petting a cat and watching terrible television considering his epic past, she just tucks her face into her paws and purrs more. if the cat is meant to be frightened of him, either for his villainous past or his current state of undead, she must have missed that memo. he pretends he doesn't dote on the cat, but when he's alone, it's hard not to.

she'll go home soon enough, he's not sure when; just that when she does the place will seem even more vacant than usual. it's like he's forgotten how to make a place feel like home. then again, did he ever really know how to do that? )

Threaded | Flat

London never had a shortage of sloshed pub patrons, no doubt, but the small crowd that stopped in at the Jolly Roger tonight was a little stranger than usual. Men and women with an unusual amount of ruffles, frills, and the occasional fancy hat, all seemingly looking to have a good time and excitedly talking in vague terms about some sporting good chase.

...Illegal fox hunters? Murder mystery partygoers? LARPers?

Heiji was among them, dressed in normal street clothing, but in an equally good mood. "Alright, let's get this crawl started!"

Cooper doesn't look his best. He looks like he's slept in his clothes, with his pale skin a sickly color that's unhealthy even for a vampire. Fae blood has taken its toll on him. Still, he's like a cat. Give him enough time and he'll land back on his feet. His current coping mechanism: drink until the urge to drain everyone in the nearby vicinity dry has been beaten back. But drinking alone is for sad alcoholics.

So he's sitting at the bar, feet dangling down and his toes almost touching the floor. There's a beer in front of him that he's holding onto with both hands. Eyes looking downwards, he looks exhausted.

"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry!"

Not that the poor person can hear her as she winces while they jump at the sudden chill they feel as they go through her and nearly drop their drink. Oh dear. Maybe coming in here to hide for a bit isn't the best idea. But she wants somewhere to rest in between her track back to the coffee shop, the finding it exhausting at times to move about despite being a ghost.

Not wanting to be too much of a trouble for the patrons and the employees here, Clara moves towards the back where she sees a group of people excitedly playing pool. It seems like a bet is going on and one of the people playing/taking a bet is quite unhappy with how the turn of events are playing out.

That looks interesting enough to inspect and so she does, heading off to see what exactly is going on.

[ There's never much of a solid timeframe when she leaves Pixie with Killian. She thinks he might like having someone with him, no matter how much he refuses to admit to it. The kitten is a nuisance, a terror, all sorts of negative things until she leaves him alone with it. Then, Tink suspects that he might show her some kindness. When the fairy returns, the kitten expects affection he no longer gives, and while she feels sorry for the poor thing, she makes up for it with affection of her own - to less interest than Killian must get when he offers the same. The kitten has her favorite, but she can't say she's bothered by it.

Isn't the point of leaving her with him so that he'll have something to take care of while she's not around? For all his grumbling, he's never fought her on it. She comes and goes and leaves him with a friendly little pile of fluff, and it's some kind of assurance for him. For all of her time spent in the Other Realm, she'll always come back. He knows she will; she leaves the kitten.

Pixie is a new reminder of the fairy, though. She's young and small, a bit needier than Tink was expecting. When she lets herself in, she's excited to see how the little cat has grown, and while she's sure he's aware of her presence before she gets too close, she moves quickly though the place to get to the two of them.]

Killian?

Sylar is in the back when the man enters and he assumes the customer will take time to browse. Instead, the bell rings not a moment later and he makes his way to the front of the shop, hiding his mild annoyance at being interrupted. Looking every part the mundane, normal shop keep, Sylar gives the man a light smile in return. He can't help that it's more smirk than sincerity.

"That's me. Is there something I can help you with, something that you need?" His tone is perfectly cordial. For now, he can't tell what the man is and this is a business he wants and hopes to keep running for some time. Unfortunately, having powers, for all its perks, doesn't pay very well. Except when accompanied by the occasional robbery.

The later hours at a pub unsurprisingly bring out the rowdier customers, Captain Homer Jackson included. Not that intends to stir up trouble, but Jackson's got a holy talent for pissing people off without even trying. Some of the time it takes a few bad words. Much of the time, it's thanks to a game.

Tonight it's pool that brings a fight. He's all up in the face of a fellow player, fist clenching the man's collar.

"You callin' me a cheater?" The yankee spits out the words, letting spittle fly in the other player's face as he pulls him loser. "Now if that ain't a convenient accusation for a lousy player."

It's always nice when an old contact comes back to town. Except when it's not. Or when Eames doesn't care. But as one of maybe three vampires in the world that Eames can stand, he feels sort of obliged to come welcome Killian back. So he's going to do that very thing, walking through the bar until he spots the vampire of the hour.

"Mr. Jones," Eames greets him with a warm, easy smile, "back in town, I see."

Threaded | Flat

ᴛʜᴇ Jᴏʟʟʏ Rᴏɢᴇʀ

The Jolly Roger

[ The Jolly Roger ]

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