undergrounds

Party is starting to settle in. London is still a new city, but not so new that he's getting lost every time he goes outside. Learning the sights and the smells and where is or isn't safe for him to go has had a learning curve to it, but he thinks he's getting the hang of it as much as any new werewolf could.

Of course, he doesn't necessarily always give a shit. There are a lot of art galleries outside of the areas he's been told to stay--many in Hackney--and he's not about to avoid all of them just because someone tells him to.

He walks around the gallery opening in his ratty clothes, pushing his greasy red hair off of his face and studying the paintings and sculptures with a sort of rapt fascination. There's free wine and he manages to lose count of how much he has by the time he's stumbling home.

Once the opening is over, it's late and he's walking home through the streets of Hackney back towards the areas that his new pack have control of. He's keeping his head down enough about what he is that he's not expecting much trouble, but he's always ready for a fight if need be and he's too drunk to bother hiding that.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Cooper is out on his bike, the little BSA model that looks like a prop from a World War II film. It's a warm night, a good time to be going fast all over the city. He's in a good mood when the light changes to red. The scent of werewolf reaches his nose and he looks down the street, seeing a man with bright red hair weaving his way down the sidewalk.

He could kill him. It's still within the rights of the nest, for however long Raymond manages to stay in control. But Cooper isn't a monster. He believes in fair turnaround. That's why he hadn't killed Alex, instead turning her into the Night Council. So he feels it's only right to warn the pup. The cycle pulls up alongside Party, easily keeping pace with him. "I'd walk a bit faster if I were you, friend."

Party's head shoots up in Cooper's direction, as if he'd been completely lost in thought. His nostrils flare and his shoulders tense when the scent of vampire hits him. He's trying really hard not to make any assumptions, but his luck with vampires has been mixed at best lately.

"Why's that?" There's something petulant in his voice, but it's undermined by the light wobble in his gait.

Cooper was turned at a young age, and subsequently, he looks smaller and scrawnier than the average vamp. It doesn't help that he's short. (What can he say, people on average weren't as tall in the 1700s.) He uses it to his advantage most of the time when he's trying to get someone's guard down. Now he uses it to look as non-threatening as possible. He's not here to kick the werewolf's tail up and down the street.

"'Cause if you walk slow, someone not so nice as me might decide t'start something you don't wanna get involved in," he says, a warning tone underneath the light words.

A vampire's a vampire. Party's the last person to be disarmed by height. He's seen plenty of small humans do a lot of damage without all that extra shit. Really, he knows better than to under-estimate anyone, regardless of what they smell like or what they look like.

Part of him wants to play tough, anyway, and get in the guy's face, but when he moves to get closer, he stumbles and even he knows that that ruins the effect. "That a warning or a threat?"

He's trying to take the werewolf seriously, really he is, but it's hard to do so when the pup is clearly drunk off his ass. Cooper figures one good poke would knock him right over. He leans over the handlebars of his motorcycle.

"Could be both," he says, shrugging broadly. "I'm not gonna start something unless you decide t'do something stupid first."

"'M not stupid." Which is perhaps not the most helpful response he could've had, but he's not really a helpful sort of person, even when he's sober.

"I wouldn't get all up in your face if I found you walkin' around our area minding your own business." He's about 85 percent sure that he's telling the truth about that, but if he's honest it would really depend on his mood. He's started fights over less if the mood took him.

"You're a wolf pup. Stupid comes with the territory." That's right, Cooper. The best way to get a werewolf to move himself along when he's in your turf is to insult him. Nobody has ever accused the vampire of being wise. The fact he's gone this long having a conversation with the werewolf is a marvel in and of itself.

Cooper raises an eyebrow and tilts his head towards Party. He tries not to judge based off appearances, but Party looks like a rough sort of character. Cooper can't see him being fine with werewolves all over the parts of the city the East End calls home. "I wouldn't be in your territory 'cause unlike you, I'm smart enough not to go where I might not be wanted."

Party can't help the little growl that bubbles up. Maybe he'll learn to get a better handle on himself eventually, but Cooper can't know quite how on the nose it is that he's calling Party a pup.

"The only thing I was dumb about was getting caught." Which he really had thought he'd been smart enough to avoid. All he'd wanted was to slip in and have a few drinks at the art gallery. What's he supposed to do? Give up on his career? Tell people that he can't come to some showings because he's a little too furry to be welcome?

Cooper is reminded strongly of himself. Wasn't he very much the same way, all full of snark and thinking he could get away with anything? It's only when the consequences caught up with him that Cooper could see that he'd gotten himself into deep shit.

"Look, I'm not gonna start anythin' with you, so I'll give you a piece of advice instead." His face goes serious, a rarity for the nonchalant vampire. "Get a little smarter, 'cause the dumb types don't last long. There's worse things than me running around London."

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