undergrounds | i been thinkin bout bustin you

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i been thinkin bout bustin you

yo Hillingdon Clan where u at

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]

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Considering how much sugar went into this pineapple, Slughorn didn't trust anyone to stick to their principles.

"Can't imagine what it would be like, losing your spirit as you grow old." He heaved a theatrical sigh that endangered several buttons on his waistcoat. "If that's how you see it, well, I couldn't blame you for not wanting it. I suppose there are the sort that grow dotty, even I can't say I'm everything I used to be upstairs... but there's enough left to enjoy what I have." Tapping his forehead with one finger, Slughorn smiled in reserved amusement.

For his own part Sasuke's taken the time to investigate every last rock in the vicinity of the aged compound, thorough to a fault when it comes to details even if he's unfathomably good at missing the big picture. Or maybe he's just spent too much time memorizing the board and not the players, familiar with the grounds but not the figure coincidentally approaching him on them.

'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?

"Sounds good to me," he snapped back. Grimmjow was confident, not only because of his supernatural status, but mostly due to his high tolerance. A typical teenager who grew up drinking and then just never stopped.

Granted, vodka wasn't always his first choice, but a bet was a bet. The shifter pours himself a finger of the stuff and passes the bottle of vodka off to his competitor. "Get ready to be whooped."

And since Grimmjow wasn't a normal human, Heiji had no qualms about challenging him. He gave his own cup a pour and tipped the glass back before returning the bottle to the counter.

"Only time'll tell. So what's with the tattoo?"

Of all the people who have been in and out of the House, the regulars, Grimmjow feels he's met most of them. Maybe their conversations were 10 seconds long, maybe they actually stomach him. Either way, him, with his blue hair and tattoos, have been around.

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.

"Heh, you're doin' better than a lot of the old guys I've met along the way." Mostly hunters, but old as fuck for their occupation nonetheless. This guy was comfortable, at least, sitting like a king with his snacks in a bar. The others he'd known, they were alive, sure, but it was all about the job. Just living to see if someone could finally put them down.

"Anyway, I don't think you need a beer. I don't think your clothes can stretch anymore."

The glass is upended, half of the vodka burning its way down his throat. That much vodka at once almost makes tears prick at the corner of his eyes, but it's a good way to start this thing off.

"I really like the color blue, brings out my eyes." It was obvious which one the guy was asking about, everyone always about the same one, but he couldn't pass up the chance to fuck around. Not many people tended to ask about the marks under his eyes and those who did presumed it was makeup. Whatever. "The other one..." Well, he couldn't outright just say it was because he was a shifter. "My mom really dug animals." Ha. "It's a dedication."

...

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.

"You do seem to have a bit of a theme going," Heiji said agreeably. "Kinda reminds me of the maiko makeup from Kyoto." Of course, that was red, not blue. Made his face itch a bit looking at Grimmjow's face, too, imagining the buzzing of the needle...

"That level of detail must have taken a lotta time." And Grimmjow didn't really seem like the patient type, although who knows maybe he was sedated or super hung over. He poured himself another dose of the vodka, though he was going to be a bit slower about downing this one. Why bother drinking if you couldn't enjoy the taste while you did so?

Eren fights back the urge to roll his eyes at the completely original wow-he's-never-heard-THAT-one-before level insult. "Must be hard to make friends with a face like that," he says, tilting his head a bit to look at the stranger's tattoos from a different angle.

"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.

And his comfortable chair. In fact, the enduring nature of this conversation was starting to make the old witch suspicious. This fellow certainly didn't seem like the sort to talk to him ordinarily, so perhaps he could, after all, see the comforts Slughorn had reserved for himself outside of the sights of mortal eyes?

"Nonsense," Slughorn said, waving a hand airily as he kept a closer watch on the boy from beneath an absently cheerful expression. "I'm like a goldfish. Only grow to the limit of my environment. Otherwise I'd never fit in the chairs here... even if the stools are off-limits."

"I'm not sure you want to challenge me," Balem said, leaning back in his chair, "I can hold my drink quite well."

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.

Of course. There's always a catch. Cooper takes another swig of his beer before asking, "Like what?" He openly stares at the strange tattoos decorating the man's face, not bothering to hide his fascination with the giant jawbone. He'll never understand the trends that seem to go in and out of fashion with the current generation.

The rest of the vodka in his glass disappeared, down the hatch, and Grimmjow poured himself another glass. "They got that in Kyoto? Never really saw makeup under girls' eyes when I was over in Tokyo." Granted, he had seen a lot of weird styles, but that hadn't been one of them.

Another swig of vodka disappeared as he remembered sitting through three agonizing sessions of tattooing for the jawbone. The ones under his eyes hadn't been as bad as the one on his face. "Bout three days is how long it took. Hours of sittin' in a chair. After the first time, I just got wasted before I came in."

Grimmjow raised one of his shortened eyebrows at the remark. No wonder why the guy had his own special chair. Speaking of, where the hell did he get it? Maybe he had a hook-up with the owner? It was impossible to even entertain the idea that he brought it himself.

"That why you gotta bring your own chair?"

Heiji finished off the contents of his tumbler, but waited until Grimmjow was done with the bottle before pouring himself some more. "Sure. I ain't spent too much time in Tokyo, so I can't say much for the makeup styles there."

He sipped as he listened to Grimmjow recount the ordeal, winced a bit. "You must really like your mom, then." Was he. Serious? It was kind of hard to tell.

People staring at his inked face isn't really anything new. In fact, it's usually the first thing anyone notices, even considering the color of his hair. The staring doesn't really phase him, never did. "Well, I'm still new to jolly, ol' fuckin' London. I'm always lookin' for...information."

Look, Grimm never claimed to be an original thinker. His humor is still stuck in his twelve-year-old stage. Meaning he just scoffs and chuckles at the guy's choice. Cherry soda? Either he was just a straight-edge or secretly five.

"Friends are a liability," the shifter commented. To him, that was just facts. After all, the people who had come closest to being his friends, they had all just gotten themselves killed. "Gets enough people in my bed, though," he turned right around. "Anyway, I got no beef with you, Bingo."

Well, not exactly the most tact thing to do with an animal that has a mouth full of fangs. Grimmjow takes it as an affront to his abilities, of course, because it's near-impossible for him to just turn the other cheek. He hunches forward, head lowered, as he growls full-force with his ears pulled back.

If the guy wanted the damn question answered so badly, Grimmjow would give him answer. He just has to transform first. Right in front of him. And then just stand there with his hands on hips, completely naked, because if Grimmjow knows what shame actually is, he doesn't show it.

"It's Grimmjow, since you need to know so fuckin' bad. Who the hell are you?"

"Well, shit, if you're tryin' to scare me off, you're not doin' a very good job." Grimmjow's not stupid enough to judge books by their covers. Not when he once went up some chick who could've been 90 pounds wet and was put under the table. Of course, she had been a vampire, but still.

"How 'bout it? Wanna have some fun?"

Eren raises an eyebrow at the bed comment, but whatever snappy comeback he's about to say gets quickly set aside with the arrival of his soda.

You don't have to be five to notice that alcohol tastes like pee and gasoline (or what Eren imagines pee and gasoline would taste like, anyway). Why waste your time forcing down a drink that tastes awful when you could enjoy something sweet instead? "Good. I don't have one with you either, Garfield."

Or wait. Hm. He unapologetically leans in for a better sniff. "That is what you are, right? Some sort of cat?"

This incredible, beautiful, powerful, majestic jaguar totally just answered his question with a nod. Trevor grins at it. The face he's making is terrifying. He stands, beckons the beast as he starts walking away.

"Hoooo boy, have I got a load of shit for you. Grade-A shit, buddy. This way, to the love shack."

No he's not implying he's going to fuck the cat but with that phrasing it's questionable. Actually, the idea of seeing a jag react to meth ranks up there with "flying a crop duster into a military aircraft and shooting everyone inside" on Trevor's personal list of greatest accomplishments.

"It has been quite a while since I've done anything of this sort," he said, and by 'a while' he meant 'probably a couple centuries'. He wasn't even terribly familiar with the alcohol of London, having last drank a poet under the table in Italy some time ago.

"But why not? It could be entertaining."

Oh. Well. That explained a great deal indeed. Slughorn hurriedly put a finger to his lips to shush the boy.

Ne nodded to to the men at the bar without turning his head, just a glance out of the corner of his eye, as he kept his voice low. "You don't think they can see it, surely."

"You're talking to the right man if you're looking for information." Cooper's role in Islington made keeping up on the activities of the city essential. That combined with his naturally nosy nature meant he knew quite a bit about the current activities going on with the various factions, including a few choice tidbits that would take a lot more than a single beer to bring out.

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i been thinkin bout bustin you

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Hillingdon Shounen Bash

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ah just like my fanfictions

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do you often write Naruto/Bleach London crossovers

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ota

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not at all

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