undergrounds | August Free Post; I'm on a Carr kick I'm sorry

[A; Till Jet Lag Do Us Part]

It's just one of the usual boring evenings on the stations, waiting for your train to arrive. The usual terrible conditions, unhelpful staff, and random hobos sleeping on the benches. Or random tourists passed out from jet lag waiting for the train. Maybe you're one of those people nice enough to stop someone from stealing a suitcase. More likely, you're the one stealing it.

In any case, you're immediately treated to the siren sounds of accented swears and the person you are hypothetically trying to rob glaring at you. Gold eyes are suitibly intense for that. "What time is it?"

---

[B; Behind the Crimson Blinds]

Hillingdon is known for many things, mostly the fact everyone in it is crazy, or assholes, or both. What is less known is that, like any proper association of crazy assholes, they keep records. Kills, assignments, random receipts, half-finished letters. A pit of madness no sane person would enter of their own free will. Said Will can be found in the pit of madness, surrounded by piles of organized papers and flipping through another one with the ease of a mindless drone.

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[C; And So To (Almost) Murder - first come, only served]

Later in the month, Lewisham is now a safe haven to the Fae. Which is a total load of nonsense, who leaves overseas for a month just to come back to their claimed No Man's Land being filled with a bunch of flighty, irresponsible monsters? They don't even have the decency to be subtle about it. Which is surprising, considering how subtle the takeover itself was.

Someone else masterminded it, obviously. Getting a name is easy. All that needs to be done is follow protocol: get one of the abominations to confess, remove the sin as is required, track down the one responsible and Fix It. It's just another in a myriad series of mistakes, and Our Purpose is to fix mistakes.

The only thing you hear is a sharp shout, cut off far too fast, but no one minds one person missing. Unless you do, which means you find one (count, 1) Fae held out swordpoint by one (count, 1) psychopath, bright gold eyes and black roiling smog. It also means you get immediately glared at because, honestly now, who interrupts an Equalizing. Rude much.

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[D; Wildcard]

> insert words receive subpar tags

((apologies for slowtags for aforementioned reasons))

Threaded | Flat

Faolan may not be crazy, but he's definitely one of those assholes contributing paperwork to be organized and then not really organizing it himself. He's had to go through the records to reference his own past work a couple times, done a lot of swearing, and then never really done anything to fix it. Because who has time for that really? Certainly not a man on a deadline, with bills to pay and monsters to catch. It would seem others had different ideas in mind, however.

Faolan peers down at the other man from where he sits amidst the chaos. Maybe they've heard of each other, maybe they haven't. Faolan's name has certainly been on enough of those forms over the years he's been a hunter in the clan now. He hasn't exactly been all that social, however. And not being one to hang around Hillingdon House without a purpose, he's easily missed. But he's there with a purpose -- to access the records. Those same records that this other man seems to be there for as well.

"Having fun, there?" he can't help but asking. Wryly.

Being back in London was surely a busy experience. The sudden re-acclimatizing to it's atmosphere, the bustling annoyance and discordant accents, the jet lag. It's a drastically different place than America, after all, with it's own idiosyncrasies and habits. And after so long away, surely one could be forgiven for missing the little details.

It'd started with simple neglect. Without the subtle support of an anchor that she'd grown used to, her progress towards anything tangible crumbled. Then came her run-in with the Fae, and her energy faded further. She'd tried to contact him over the month he'd been ~~missing~~ gone, occasional Skype pings and half-started conversations abound - but every single one ended with the same kind of frustration, landmines tripped and a feeling that something was wrong that she didn't know how to fix.

Eventually it just... stopped, as her attempts stalled all together. Which meant she missed Will's eventual return to London, but that was surely okay. Maybe she'd finally broken the laptop. No big deal, right?

Edited 2015-08-15 17:38 (UTC)

Mab had spent some time wandering the streets of the territory she'd claimed just to enforce things. One had to stay on top of places that were as wild as Lewisham had been. She was fine with the creatures there staying so long as they towed the line, and if they didn't, things must be dealt with quickly and efficiently. So when she felt a surge of fae magic she turned down the street she'd felt the pull from and and found herself walking in on an interesting tableau.

The fae was staring in surprise at the point of the sword, his ugly face damp with sweat. And the man holding him at swordpoint turned his head to glare at Mab as though she was next on his list. How very interesting, and he wasn't human. There was something seriously off about his magic but he felt, underneath all the twisted magic, fae. Perhaps not pure fae but close enough. Black smog rolled around him and the fog that accompanied her seemed to curl around it seeping in.

Her head tilted a little and she raised one brow at the glare, if it bothered her there was no sign of offense. "Do not let me interrupt." Her voice was sweet, like a chime in the quiet of the night but low and warmer than she appeared to be. She lifted a hand to indicate he should continue. After all, if her fae could not defend himself he was hardly any use to her at all. Mab did not suffer weakness. "By all means, carry on."

Edited 2015-08-16 07:23 (UTC)

There was a rustling, the sound of papers being shifted and put aside in the wrong order. Not that there was a right order at present for the immense stack of papers currently in front of Heiji. But he was clearly not helping the situation, only moving it.

He hummed cheerfully as he worked, only haphazardly glancing at the sheafs he was manhandling.

Cooper had been busy the past few weeks, between getting high off of fae blood and subsequently sobering up after the entire fiasco was over. He had one person to thank for the whole affair. Sure, he'd been reckless to drain the hunter's blood, but twisting the logic in his mind, it was Willard's fault to begin with. He had a whole pile of resentment bubbling away below the surface.

Tracking him down was easy enough. Once he had someone's blood in his system, their scent was permanently etched into his mind. Cooper was waiting, leaning up against a street lamp with a halo of light surrounding him as the hunter turned the corner. His face looked quite grim and completely unlike his usual cocky smile. "I've been lookin' for you."

B!

D, like this was gonna be a thing that got avoided lbr

C obviously

B

D Cause we need an aftermath thread