Sofia "Skip" Hughes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wolfmarked) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2015-08-19 08:15 pm
wolfmarked) wrote in undergrounds2015-08-19 08:15 pm
Entry tags:
Wolf Like Me
Say, say, my playmate
The Jolly Roger, day or night - open
The pub's become like a second home for Skip. She buzzes between the bar, small kitchen, and tables. For the most part, she's usually pretty sociable. She moves to whatever music there is, an easy turn from one table to another with the beat and the like.
Of course, pity the poor fool who tries to cause trouble on her shift. Or anyone caught up in it who might be assumed to be guilty. There, something rather like the 'wrath of God' might descend upon them.
Part of her duties involve the backroom and its supernatural inhabitants. Not that they get away with anything more than the patrons in the proper pub. There's some leeway, yes. Vampires feed on willing victims, for one. But anyone who starts a fight? She'll shout them down the same as she would anyone else.
Lack of fear? Lack of self-preservation? Both?
But she tries to be attentive, eyes peeled for new faces, empty plates, or waiting glasses.
Mirror my melody
London streets, day - open
"Oi! Fuck you! Fucker!"
The completely useless cursing is done to the back of a bus, complete with her flipping it off. He can't hear her, no, but it makes her feel better to do it. Even if she's promptly honked at for standing in the street.
"Fuck you, too!"
The driver doesn't reply. He just keeps driving once she moves. Then, she throws herself onto the bench to wait for the next bus.
"Stupid fuckin' transportation. Fuck 'em all."
She really needs to think about getting a license and even a shitty little car before school starts. It wasn't bad when she lived a campus or had her father or brothers to drop her off. But living with an aunt working full-time? This is going to get old, fast.
Got a curse I cannot lift
London streets, night - open
Bravado. That's Skip's main battle plan. Bravado and keys. They're all car keys, collected from neighbours, friends, and family over the years. And some just found. But they protude from her closed right hand, between each finger.
She may or may not also have slightly-illegal-grade pepper spray in the messenger bag worn over her shoulder. Sure, no one ever bothered her in Waterford, but she can't be sure about London. She hasn't been in ages, and, even then, she doesn't know the neighbourhood too well.
Besides, streets at night are dangerous, even when you're just walking to your bus stop. And have to wait there. People and the supernatural have to be considered. She doesn't care about politics, but she also knows she reads as human. Which, to some, might mean 'meal.'
When the moon is round and full
The Jolly Roger - Aug 29th
The song always plays. Whenever Skip is on duty at the pub, that song will come on the jukebox. Only after it's sat unused for a bit. She never makes anyone wait for their music to indulge her. But tonight, well. Tonight it might seem more than particularly apt.
'Oh, don't go 'round tonight
For it's bound to take your life.
There's a bad moon on the rise.'
She even sings along as she weaves between the tables and checks on her pool-playing regulars. She has their bottles of beer right as they took their last drinks. They almost didn't know what to do when she moved in, took their bottles with her right hand and put a new bottle in its place with her left.
Then, she turns her attention elsewhere.
The Jolly Roger, day or night - open
The pub's become like a second home for Skip. She buzzes between the bar, small kitchen, and tables. For the most part, she's usually pretty sociable. She moves to whatever music there is, an easy turn from one table to another with the beat and the like.
Of course, pity the poor fool who tries to cause trouble on her shift. Or anyone caught up in it who might be assumed to be guilty. There, something rather like the 'wrath of God' might descend upon them.
Part of her duties involve the backroom and its supernatural inhabitants. Not that they get away with anything more than the patrons in the proper pub. There's some leeway, yes. Vampires feed on willing victims, for one. But anyone who starts a fight? She'll shout them down the same as she would anyone else.
Lack of fear? Lack of self-preservation? Both?
But she tries to be attentive, eyes peeled for new faces, empty plates, or waiting glasses.
Mirror my melody
London streets, day - open
"Oi! Fuck you! Fucker!"
The completely useless cursing is done to the back of a bus, complete with her flipping it off. He can't hear her, no, but it makes her feel better to do it. Even if she's promptly honked at for standing in the street.
"Fuck you, too!"
The driver doesn't reply. He just keeps driving once she moves. Then, she throws herself onto the bench to wait for the next bus.
"Stupid fuckin' transportation. Fuck 'em all."
She really needs to think about getting a license and even a shitty little car before school starts. It wasn't bad when she lived a campus or had her father or brothers to drop her off. But living with an aunt working full-time? This is going to get old, fast.
Got a curse I cannot lift
London streets, night - open
Bravado. That's Skip's main battle plan. Bravado and keys. They're all car keys, collected from neighbours, friends, and family over the years. And some just found. But they protude from her closed right hand, between each finger.
She may or may not also have slightly-illegal-grade pepper spray in the messenger bag worn over her shoulder. Sure, no one ever bothered her in Waterford, but she can't be sure about London. She hasn't been in ages, and, even then, she doesn't know the neighbourhood too well.
Besides, streets at night are dangerous, even when you're just walking to your bus stop. And have to wait there. People and the supernatural have to be considered. She doesn't care about politics, but she also knows she reads as human. Which, to some, might mean 'meal.'
When the moon is round and full
The Jolly Roger - Aug 29th
The song always plays. Whenever Skip is on duty at the pub, that song will come on the jukebox. Only after it's sat unused for a bit. She never makes anyone wait for their music to indulge her. But tonight, well. Tonight it might seem more than particularly apt.
'Oh, don't go 'round tonight
For it's bound to take your life.
There's a bad moon on the rise.'
She even sings along as she weaves between the tables and checks on her pool-playing regulars. She has their bottles of beer right as they took their last drinks. They almost didn't know what to do when she moved in, took their bottles with her right hand and put a new bottle in its place with her left.
Then, she turns her attention elsewhere.