Dr. Simon O'Neill (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
protagonized) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2015-10-09 10:41 am
protagonized) wrote in undergrounds2015-10-09 10:41 am
Entry tags:
#notallshapeshifters
Dates: October 6 and 8.
What: Simon tries to keep his head down.
[ooc: This is a completely open post! Come torment him.]
Covent Garden - Late Evening
Starbucks closed at ten most evenings, and given Simon's class schedule he tended to work closing shifts. That suited him just fine. During peak tourist season it tended to be crowded late at night, but weeknights were almost pleasant now that they were well into October. Tonight, the shop was almost deserted, save for a table of Korean tourists off in a corner, and they'd been nursing their drinks and chatting for over an hour now. Simon was thoroughly bored. He snuck a peek at the phone he'd secreted away in his apron pocket: 21:22. Only forty more minutes until he could kick them out and start closing up shop. Only an hour and a half until he could go home and start drafting that Craigslist ad for a new flatmate.
Only eight hours until he had to wake up and be back in the lab.
He sighed and went back to watching the door, hoping no one else came in.
Redbright Institute - Mid-morning
Simon could have been doing any number of things right now--first and foremost among them being sleeping--but for some reason he found himself drawn to Redbright Institute. His feelings about the place were ambivalent at best; sure, they'd helped him through a particularly tough time in his life, but he still found the place intensely weird and a bit uncomfortable. All logic said that magic shouldn't exist outside of fantasy novels and Disney films, and yet here it was. In London.
He strolled through the library, looking for volumes on shapeshifting. He knew there was plenty of lore about people with his particular condition going back centuries, but what he wanted was something that treated the subject a little more objectively. He needed a history.
Simon paused at a likely volume. Maybe this one, finally, contained the answers he was looking for.
What: Simon tries to keep his head down.
[ooc: This is a completely open post! Come torment him.]
Covent Garden - Late Evening
Starbucks closed at ten most evenings, and given Simon's class schedule he tended to work closing shifts. That suited him just fine. During peak tourist season it tended to be crowded late at night, but weeknights were almost pleasant now that they were well into October. Tonight, the shop was almost deserted, save for a table of Korean tourists off in a corner, and they'd been nursing their drinks and chatting for over an hour now. Simon was thoroughly bored. He snuck a peek at the phone he'd secreted away in his apron pocket: 21:22. Only forty more minutes until he could kick them out and start closing up shop. Only an hour and a half until he could go home and start drafting that Craigslist ad for a new flatmate.
Only eight hours until he had to wake up and be back in the lab.
He sighed and went back to watching the door, hoping no one else came in.
Redbright Institute - Mid-morning
Simon could have been doing any number of things right now--first and foremost among them being sleeping--but for some reason he found himself drawn to Redbright Institute. His feelings about the place were ambivalent at best; sure, they'd helped him through a particularly tough time in his life, but he still found the place intensely weird and a bit uncomfortable. All logic said that magic shouldn't exist outside of fantasy novels and Disney films, and yet here it was. In London.
He strolled through the library, looking for volumes on shapeshifting. He knew there was plenty of lore about people with his particular condition going back centuries, but what he wanted was something that treated the subject a little more objectively. He needed a history.
Simon paused at a likely volume. Maybe this one, finally, contained the answers he was looking for.
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He gave the girl a wan smile. "It hasn't been so bad. We close before the main rush of people leaving the theatres and there aren't as many tourists this time of year. What about you? Long day?"
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She took a moment, then, to fish out the card for payment and, while handing it over, dropped a few notes into the tip jar. It was the least she could do, since this place was doing her a major favour by being open.
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And every little bit helped.
"I hope you don't go too late," he replied, still making conversation. "Right, mocha latte double shot. There you go."
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"Perfect. I'll have to remember this place for my night runs."
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Neighbourhood politics. That was an understatement. She was part of a political movement that would shake all of London. But it was a supernatural thing, so it couldn't be talked about.
"And some social stuff. Always something going on."
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"Well, I hope it clears up soon. And in the meantime...we'll be here." He gave her a crooked smile.
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