I saw a werewolf drinking a pina colada at Trader Vic's, his hair was perfect

[iustitiae]

i. closed to party; night of july 19

"For the record, this is a shit idea," Connor grumbles at his friend who is moving further and further out of his line of sight as he stands unhelpfully in the same place. They're out here in the middle of the woods in the middle of the night looking for her engagement ring, which she can't find. She's been freaking out. The truth is, he's been freaking out, too. He just doesn't think the answer here is to go looking for it in the woods. What were the chances of finding it? One in a million? "Who knows what's out here this late at night?" She quips something back at him but he doesn't catch it, the sound of fear and anxiety quickly trumping whatever response she had. Probably something about how this was the only way. His frown deepens.

Realizing he's just standing here doing nothing, he turns to go in the other direction, using the flashlight on his phone to pointlessly look at the ground for any hint of his friend's engagement ring. (Spoilers: there is none.) "Even with the moonlight, it's still super dark -- " Connor doesn't finish the sentence. His stomach twists into knots. The moonlight. It's the full moon. His mind races through facts - three days, but which one is this? Are they safe? "We should go back, anything could be out here." From increasingly far off, he hears a muffled reply telling him to calm down.

"After Waitlist -- " He's too caught up in complaining to notice the dip in the path and falls, stupidly, gracelessly onto his ass and then sliding down a small hill. Cursing under his breath, ("fuck!") he scrambles to his feet, but the sound of his friend is long gone and he realizes he's lost.


ii. @ the angelo, july 21.

Brooding. That's what's he's doing. He's gone back to the Angelo because his normal stupid, kitschy pirate bar that he's always actually hated but begrudgingly gone to now only reminds him of Oliver. Oliver, who went and fucked off back to America. And then there's this. This bite thing. There's part of him that wishes his anxiety would hurry up and get to the point where his mind actively blocks things out that he doesn't want to remember, but he doesn't seem to be on the fast track to anything except feeling terrible.

There's a solution to that, so the Angelo it is - for a drink and maybe another chance to talk to that guy (whatshisface) and casually flirt. After all, if Oliver wanted to run off, then what did he expect? That Connor would just be a good kid until he gets back, endlessly waiting to be in his good graces?

(And it's just like that that the anger sets in and figures out a way to make a home inside him, and he doesn't know that the curse is courting his temper and that the anger breeds and only gets worse.)

"Vodka," he asks of the bartender, sliding into a seat at the bar, "Actually, make that a double."


iii. the color company, july 25

Connor is really starting to wonder if his boss doesn't have it in for him. She's sent him off to make copies and he can literally feel his life draining away as he watches the machines run all the paper. He's sitting at a table playing on his phone. PocketMonsters, Move! in fact, and incredibly the London server has not yet crashed despite crowds seeming to all be capitvated by it. Is it some kind of weird Fae ploy to harvest energy from humans? To distract them from other problems? Honestly, what did it matter if it gave him something to do while copying 100 page documents several times over?

Oop, looks like there's a PocketMonster in your direction! While Connor definitely isn't noticing you at all his phone is turned towards you, trying to catch whatever small, probably cute creature has digitally shown up on your gps coordinates.


iv. your favorite coffee locale, at a time of your choosing.

The fact of the matter is, coffee was spilled. Somewhere between the barista handing it off to Connor and Connor grabbing it and coffee is everywhere, all over both of them. "What the hell?" He asks, his voice just a bit louder than normal, temper flaring. "You're going to replace that, right?"

The poor barista mutters something really quick, some kind of apology and goes to fix a new one while Connor is standing there, still visibly angry, holding the empty coffee cup incredulously. Give him a moment, and he might just realize that this isn't his normal chill attitude.

(pm me if you want a prompt of your own!)