Lord Colin Coward (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
occultdisciple) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2016-01-05 11:36 am
occultdisciple) wrote in undergrounds2016-01-05 11:36 am
Entry tags:
Be absolute for death (Jan catch-all)
Either death or life shall thereby be the sweeter
Waltham Forest, January 2nd -- James Memon only
"Pardon me for disturbing you, Mister Memon."
And yet, he really didn't sound sorry for it. After all, he was the commissioner of the police. If he wanted to see someone, he would see them. Arranging an actual office appointment at the man's law firm? Was one of the more polite ways he could go about it.
"I'm here to convey my sincere apology regarding the fae intrusion into Havering." Surprisingly enough, he actually sounded sincere. Havering wasn't werewolf territory, no, but it might as well have been, in his eyes. Greenwich was fiercely disputed, and the wolves didn't have the power to go elsewhere right now. But a pack was like a nest: it always needed room to grow. Havering had belonged to no one, so he'd regarded it as belonging to those to whom it was closest to-- the wolves. "I underestimated them."
A cunning strategy. Play Daybreak and Midnight against one another only to move in another direction at the same time. Keep everyone's attention on Croydon. After all, the conflict with the witches affected them all.
"It seems they are not content to stay south of the Thames."
Reason thus with life:
Islington, early January
Lord Coward had given himself a very human time limit. Now was not the time for machinations spanning centuries or even decades. For now, his plans concerned only the next five years. Four and a half, now. He might have another half decade if he played his cards right, but his time to be the Commissioner of the Metropolis was limited. And, well, it was extremely welcome. Rather like being back home.
A role similar to it in the nest was, admittedly, his ultimate goal.
An hour ago, he'd finished a press conference. Nothing too important, just reasuring the public that there was no viable link between the sniper at the courthouse and any known terrorist groups. That, so far as police investigation had shown, it was an individual behind the assassination with a purely personal motive. A bit of a lie, but, well, that was why he went into politics in the first place. Lying didn't bother him.
"Damn it," he muttered as the rain started again. He ducked under an awning to fiddle with his umbrella. A temperamental thing that, he decided, was going to be replaced after today. "Open, you damn thing."
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
Croydon, early January
The situation wasn't ideal. Fractured as the witches were, it was only a matter of time before he had to make a real decision there. Daybreak had the political power, but Midnight was an old, old loyalty. Still, he reminded himself, he was a vampire. Witch politics were no longer his concern. Not that he could change what he had been and the call he still felt toward those he would, at one point, have called peers.
Still, the focus had shifted in Croydon.
Midnight was an afterthought. The fae maintained a presence, but there was a strong supernatural moral one as well. Things that could, ultimately, be handled. And far more easily than if the conflict had become between Midnight and Daybreak. How he'd excuse his absence from that fight, he didn't even want to imagine.
Yet, he thought he knew the High Priest by now. A man, really, who reminded him of Sir Thomas. Perhaps a little bit more brash, but still as stubborn and focused. A fine example of an ox, really. The old symbols still held true, even if they'd been abandoned a long time ago. An ox, an eagle, a lion. And man.
Even as he walked (as the sun sank past the horizon), the hunger began to nip at his throat. To call on someone to provide for him was safe, yes, but it didn't truly satisfy. He wanted to hunt, and he smiled to himself when he spotted someone else out. He approached with a smile.
"I'm sorry to bother you," he said, giving a slightly self-deprecating chuckle, "but I've gotten myself a bit turned around. I'm looking for the Green Dragon."
That none but fools would keep
Bromley, mid January
Fae.
At every turn, he could smell them. It made his mouth water, but he remembered the warnings of the vampires far older than him. It might make for a delicious meal, but it had little to set it apart from opium. One taste was all it might take to crave it. To kill for it. And it caused unpredictable behaviour. Not worth it, according to the mentor he and his sire had taken after.
The scent fuelled him, though. The streets of London were certainly not safe while the fae remained so actively entrenched in the mortal realm. They had their own world; this one was not for them to own.
It was a large borough, Bromley. And very well situated. A coup, certainly, if he could manage it. There would be assistance, too, if he played his cards right. If he continued the back and forth trading. Who could argue with his work in Greenwich if he could deliver this to the Nest? Especially wresting it from fae hands.
A breath thou art
Lewisham, mid January -- first responder only
"Don't act stupid!"
"I'm not the one threatening a public official," Coward replied.
"You're fucking working with them! We don't need your kind!"
"My kind? Do you mean 'reasonable adults who actually understand how politics works'?"
It wasn't surprising, Coward knew, that there were others in the Nest who didn't approve of his alliances. After all, most vampires wouldn't ever even consider working with a werewolf. No matter the circumstances. His constant help of witches, too, had drawn some negative attention. None of his actions were officially sanctioned by Millicent either. She knew of his plans and made no indication of stopping him, so, passively, she allowed it. However, she'd shown no active support.
Nor did he expect any. Not yet. He was still proving he could be relied about to get things done.
But the other vampire was older. Faster. By the time Coward knew he was coming, the man had him against a building. Coward twisted, sacrificing his arm to go over his chest, so the pointed cedar drove into a limb instead of a more vulnerable, more permanent spot. It had been a long, long time since he'd felt so much pain.
Servile to all the skyey influences
PSR&T, Tower Hamlets, mid January
It was an adorable little new age shop. It had its requisite tarot and oracle cards, the crystals for sale, and enough incense to make a person's head ache with the smell. It played its part well.
But he'd known its original owners, years and years ago. The man who'd opened it had been a good friend of his mother's, actually, and another disciple of the coven he was party to. His son, in fact, had joined Lord Blackwood at his own urging.
With the purging of dark magic, he'd thought it only right to come here first. There were some books he wanted, after all. They might be useless to him now, but they were sentimental pieces. Old hexes and dark rituals laid out. The necessary sacrifices, the incantations, the coven arrangement necessary.
Lord Coward had meant to be in and out of the shop within five minutes. He knew precisely what he was looking for. Yet, it was a world he sorely missed, even if he'd chosen to walk away from it. The choice, after all, hadn't been made without duress. Due, yes, but present all the same. As it was, he'd spent the better part of an hour sitting in a chair in the upstairs "reading room," an area reserved to those known to have actual ties to the supernatural community.
Waltham Forest, January 2nd -- James Memon only
"Pardon me for disturbing you, Mister Memon."
And yet, he really didn't sound sorry for it. After all, he was the commissioner of the police. If he wanted to see someone, he would see them. Arranging an actual office appointment at the man's law firm? Was one of the more polite ways he could go about it.
"I'm here to convey my sincere apology regarding the fae intrusion into Havering." Surprisingly enough, he actually sounded sincere. Havering wasn't werewolf territory, no, but it might as well have been, in his eyes. Greenwich was fiercely disputed, and the wolves didn't have the power to go elsewhere right now. But a pack was like a nest: it always needed room to grow. Havering had belonged to no one, so he'd regarded it as belonging to those to whom it was closest to-- the wolves. "I underestimated them."
A cunning strategy. Play Daybreak and Midnight against one another only to move in another direction at the same time. Keep everyone's attention on Croydon. After all, the conflict with the witches affected them all.
"It seems they are not content to stay south of the Thames."
Reason thus with life:
Islington, early January
Lord Coward had given himself a very human time limit. Now was not the time for machinations spanning centuries or even decades. For now, his plans concerned only the next five years. Four and a half, now. He might have another half decade if he played his cards right, but his time to be the Commissioner of the Metropolis was limited. And, well, it was extremely welcome. Rather like being back home.
A role similar to it in the nest was, admittedly, his ultimate goal.
An hour ago, he'd finished a press conference. Nothing too important, just reasuring the public that there was no viable link between the sniper at the courthouse and any known terrorist groups. That, so far as police investigation had shown, it was an individual behind the assassination with a purely personal motive. A bit of a lie, but, well, that was why he went into politics in the first place. Lying didn't bother him.
"Damn it," he muttered as the rain started again. He ducked under an awning to fiddle with his umbrella. A temperamental thing that, he decided, was going to be replaced after today. "Open, you damn thing."
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
Croydon, early January
The situation wasn't ideal. Fractured as the witches were, it was only a matter of time before he had to make a real decision there. Daybreak had the political power, but Midnight was an old, old loyalty. Still, he reminded himself, he was a vampire. Witch politics were no longer his concern. Not that he could change what he had been and the call he still felt toward those he would, at one point, have called peers.
Still, the focus had shifted in Croydon.
Midnight was an afterthought. The fae maintained a presence, but there was a strong supernatural moral one as well. Things that could, ultimately, be handled. And far more easily than if the conflict had become between Midnight and Daybreak. How he'd excuse his absence from that fight, he didn't even want to imagine.
Yet, he thought he knew the High Priest by now. A man, really, who reminded him of Sir Thomas. Perhaps a little bit more brash, but still as stubborn and focused. A fine example of an ox, really. The old symbols still held true, even if they'd been abandoned a long time ago. An ox, an eagle, a lion. And man.
Even as he walked (as the sun sank past the horizon), the hunger began to nip at his throat. To call on someone to provide for him was safe, yes, but it didn't truly satisfy. He wanted to hunt, and he smiled to himself when he spotted someone else out. He approached with a smile.
"I'm sorry to bother you," he said, giving a slightly self-deprecating chuckle, "but I've gotten myself a bit turned around. I'm looking for the Green Dragon."
That none but fools would keep
Bromley, mid January
Fae.
At every turn, he could smell them. It made his mouth water, but he remembered the warnings of the vampires far older than him. It might make for a delicious meal, but it had little to set it apart from opium. One taste was all it might take to crave it. To kill for it. And it caused unpredictable behaviour. Not worth it, according to the mentor he and his sire had taken after.
The scent fuelled him, though. The streets of London were certainly not safe while the fae remained so actively entrenched in the mortal realm. They had their own world; this one was not for them to own.
It was a large borough, Bromley. And very well situated. A coup, certainly, if he could manage it. There would be assistance, too, if he played his cards right. If he continued the back and forth trading. Who could argue with his work in Greenwich if he could deliver this to the Nest? Especially wresting it from fae hands.
A breath thou art
Lewisham, mid January -- first responder only
"Don't act stupid!"
"I'm not the one threatening a public official," Coward replied.
"You're fucking working with them! We don't need your kind!"
"My kind? Do you mean 'reasonable adults who actually understand how politics works'?"
It wasn't surprising, Coward knew, that there were others in the Nest who didn't approve of his alliances. After all, most vampires wouldn't ever even consider working with a werewolf. No matter the circumstances. His constant help of witches, too, had drawn some negative attention. None of his actions were officially sanctioned by Millicent either. She knew of his plans and made no indication of stopping him, so, passively, she allowed it. However, she'd shown no active support.
Nor did he expect any. Not yet. He was still proving he could be relied about to get things done.
But the other vampire was older. Faster. By the time Coward knew he was coming, the man had him against a building. Coward twisted, sacrificing his arm to go over his chest, so the pointed cedar drove into a limb instead of a more vulnerable, more permanent spot. It had been a long, long time since he'd felt so much pain.
Servile to all the skyey influences
PSR&T, Tower Hamlets, mid January
It was an adorable little new age shop. It had its requisite tarot and oracle cards, the crystals for sale, and enough incense to make a person's head ache with the smell. It played its part well.
But he'd known its original owners, years and years ago. The man who'd opened it had been a good friend of his mother's, actually, and another disciple of the coven he was party to. His son, in fact, had joined Lord Blackwood at his own urging.
With the purging of dark magic, he'd thought it only right to come here first. There were some books he wanted, after all. They might be useless to him now, but they were sentimental pieces. Old hexes and dark rituals laid out. The necessary sacrifices, the incantations, the coven arrangement necessary.
Lord Coward had meant to be in and out of the shop within five minutes. He knew precisely what he was looking for. Yet, it was a world he sorely missed, even if he'd chosen to walk away from it. The choice, after all, hadn't been made without duress. Due, yes, but present all the same. As it was, he'd spent the better part of an hour sitting in a chair in the upstairs "reading room," an area reserved to those known to have actual ties to the supernatural community.