KING. (
jaguara) wrote in
undergrounds2015-06-11 11:36 pm
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i been thinkin bout bustin you
yo Hillingdon Clan where u at
ota - it's friday night somewhere
come at me bro
Home sweet dump.
It's a weird concept, the whole roof over his head thing. Don't get him wrong, it's not like he's never crashed on someone's couch or slept in an abandoned building. Grimmjow may have spent most of his life on the move, but he's not that much of an animal. It's the whole...reoccurence of it all that gets him. For as long as the shifter has lived, he's never known a singular place he always crawled back to. His parents never owned a house, slept wherever they could find shelter, and Grimmjow had been bouncing around the world so long, there was no desire to ever find 'home'.
So, finding consistent shelter at the Hillingdon House throws him off. He keeps telling himself it's just because it's safe, out of the way of prying eyes and only shared by people of like mind. Plus, the clan ain't so bad. So maybe...
He wanders the grounds, in and out of animal form, the want to always be moving still great even here. Even though he pretty much knows the lay of the land by heart, it never hurts to review.
ota - it's friday night somewhere
Some people make friends by bumping into them on the sidewalk or meeting on the train, by making bullshit smalltalk, pretending they care about this-that-and-so-and-so. Grimmjow makes friends by bar-hopping. Instead of finding common interests and hobbies to talk about, Grimmjow buys a round for everyone at the bar and challenges others to drinking contests. He doesn't have to give a shit about the weather or local-sports-team. By the time he's drank enough, he's everybody's friend.
Until he's not, which is fine, too. The shifter never turns down a chance to puff his chest out.
Tonight's one of those nights. He needs the chance to blow off some steam, break down some barriers, maybe get in a fight or two. Who knows where he'll be by the end of it. For now, he starts off in Pub-Whats-Its-Name on Street-Somewhere and buys a round for everyone seated at the bar.
come at me bro
[DO WHATCHU FEEL IN UR HEART]
OTA
He was seated at one of the stools, one elbow propped up on the bar.
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Was that the hint of a challenge? ...Maybe.
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Grimmjow wouldn't back down. "Think you can show me otherwise?"
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H
So when he notices a gigantic cat prowling around, he almost wonders if his shit was laced. That doesn't make any sense, at least not to a veteran of the stuff - but he hasn't seen a whole lot of wildlife around the city. Even with all the shapeshifters, he just hasn't been here long enough to start calling it when he sees a random animal weaving around the concrete jungle.
Trevor freezes at the jaguar. Just stares at it. Then he takes a slow step back, raising his hands. He doesn't actually have a gun on him - once again - and so he can't just shoot at the thing.
"Uh... nice kitty... trust me, I taste like a sewer. Noooo bueno."
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Anyway.
The urge to play the 'wild animal' part was pretty high. Chase the dumbass around, growl at him a little, but for once, Grimmjow does the peaceful thing. He sits his ass down, flicks his tail around in only the way an annoyed cat can. The guy is high, Grimmjow can smell it all the way from where he's sitting.
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Anyway. Holy shit. The jaguar listened to him. Or at least seemed like it wasn't just going to jump him and rip his head off as revenge for all those coyotes he's shot in the past or something. Then again, cats were supposed to hate dogs, so...
He at least knows it's a bad idea to turn and run because that will spark up the predator drive, so Trevor just sort of copies it. Slowly sits down. What the fuck is he doing. "Yeeahh..." he continues, trying to sound all placating. "Just a couple of killers respecting each other's boundaries. Nothing to see here."
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Survival of the fittest and all that shit.
He couldn't believe this guy didn't realize what he was. How many wild animals did he see running around in London? Especially one that probably belonged in a zoo. Then again, he was flying on some weird shit. Something really synthetic by the smell of him.
Not being able to jab back with any witty rejoinders was hard to suck up, but transforming right in front of someone usually led to freaking out. So he growled in response and leaned forward, as if actually paying attention.
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OTA
Slughorn patted his ample belly, entirely in good humor. It might be a very normal and reasonable interaction if not for the fact that the old(ish) man was sitting in a plush and comfortable armchair, which not a single patron seemed to have noticed.
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It was a normal pub, populated mostly by college kids and people under the age of 40. Grimmjow had seem some salty, older guys in some of the places he'd been, but they were usually protecting their corner of the bar. This guy? There's a moment where Grimmjow nostrils flare, sniffing the air. Usually, supers have a strange smell. Well, most of them.
"Sorry gramps, just the luck of the draw. Maybe next time. Or maybe never."
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This might be more plausible if Slughorn seemed less than hale and vital in any sense at all. Even for his apparent age, he seemed remarkably energetic despite his paunch and protestations.
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And despite how unextraordinary the man may seem, maybe he knew something. It's enough for Grimmjow to plop down on a chair next to the guy, his own beer dangling from his fingers.
"I'll fuckin' be dead before then," he snapped back. Grimmjow could only hope, anyway. He didn't look forward to getting old and tired. "Shouldn't you be tryin' not to let anyone take care of you? Or maybe you're one of those types who'd rather be waited on hand and foot."
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OTA
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But that could change at any moment.
"Maybe. Maybe I'm just doin' it 'cause I want somethin' in return."
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ota
"You know," he starts, coming over to sit next to the shifter. "By the end of the night, most of them will be too drunk to even remember you. What's the point in wasting your money on 'em?"
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And nothing was as critical in a hunter's arsenal than information.
So he got tongues wagging, listened. Sometimes it was bullshit, sometimes it was gold. "Why do you care? Maybe I got cash to throw around, maybe I wanna make some friends. Don't you got a moon to howl at?" If humans smelled bad, werewolves--. Okay, maybe Grimmjow wouldn't sink them that low, but still, werewolves always had that musty, dog smell lingering around. Not as bad as a human, but close enough.
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"Whatever your deal is, just don't get any funny ideas." And you know what? On second thought, maybe he will take up the offer for that free drink. He waves the bartender over and orders a cherry soda.
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Hillingdon Shounen Bash
'Figure' is about the only word he can use for this creature, after all.
"... Hey. What's your name?" Somehow this feels like the only appropriate response. Just. This is how to avoid a mauling, right?
ah just like my fanfictions
So, it's really not surprising when people around him still think he's ready to maul them as a cat.
Well, he can't actually answer the question, not when his mouth wasn't made for talking. He lifts his head up, rumbles a growl, makes it look like the shifter's at least acknowledging the guy.
do you often write Naruto/Bleach London crossovers
Acknowledgement is the first step in the process of conversation, sure, but he has the audacity to cross his arms and display some disapproval. "I'm not overly familiar with shapeshifters, but assuming you have full control over yourself you have the ability to answer the question. If not I guess it's a vain attempt." He thinks to comment on his musculature but decides against it.
There's never a good enough reason to make a stranger haughty right off the bat.
not at all
what a good time to rectify that
ota
Sitting there wearing his freshly pressed suit and tie, Balem certainly didn't look like a heavy drinker. If anything, he seemed rather lightweight, but fae of his age and magical aptitude generally didn't get tipsy unless they really wanted to.
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"How 'bout it? Wanna have some fun?"
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"But why not? It could be entertaining."