undergrounds | gonna drink bacardi like it's yo birthday [nancy's 20]

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gonna drink bacardi like it's yo birthday [nancy's 20]

Twenty. Gods, Nancy could hardly believe it. She didn't expect to still be here for this day, truth be told. She knew the sort of life she lived, and the sorts of people she associated with. But against all odds, here she was. Twenty-years-old by Fagin's count, and as wonderful as that was...

It was odd. She'd been a teenager for so long, and now she was officially a twenty-something. An adult, for real this time, not like when she'd turned eighteen.

It didn't exactly help that Charley Bates had decided it was a great idea to call her 'old'. She'd hit the back of his head for that, refusing to consider herself old. She was still so young, at least in comparison to those she spent most of her time around, people that were centuries older than her.

This, of course, caused her some angst. She hadn't particularly wanted to celebrate her birthday. It wasn't anything to be glad about. She was, as she realized, three years physically older than Cooper. And that just felt... weird. She knew, mentally, he was far older than she was. And as he always said she was stuck with him until she was old and grey, but...

Would he still love her, then, she wanted to know? How weird would it be, an haggard old woman next to this cute seventeen-year-old kid. A chill ran up her spine when she thought about it, comparing the wretch that Fagin was to her hypothetical-old-woman-self.

If she lived that long.

Still, people want to celebrate with her. Eames, wonderful Eames, had surprised her with tickets to go see a show on the West End, and taken her out to an amazing restaurant. She'd even brought cake over to the boys', knowing a few of them had saved up to get her something. Or, likely, stole it. But she didn't reach out, not really. If you were lucky enough to know it was her birthday, however, she'd happily entertain any and all plans. There was no need to be rude, after all.

---

Nancy's 20 aww yiss.
Uhm, this is an open post. A few starters in the comments. Want something specific? Please let me know!

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The Dodger can't help but fix Nancy with a look.

"When ain't our lives been complicated?"

Nancy laughs, just a little, into her glass of gin.

"They had a bit of a rhythm. Before." When Bill had been here. She'd liked the reliability of having someone to come home to.

"And then there were the times when the rhythm was shot." When Bill's temper had been pushed to it's edge, when the moon was due, when someone coughed the wrong way around Sikes... There were more moments the Dodger could remember being unpredictable and dangerous than he could good moments.

Well, 'cept Christmases.

The boys only had ever seen the wrong side of him. The angry part, which, admittedly, was a lot. But his temper was explosive- it didn't last. They didn't get to see the man who would kill anyone that so much as looked the wrong way at Nancy. The man who would curl up with his dog all night long if he had the opportunity.

She had some really great pictures, hidden away on her phone.

"No, even in there, it was steady. Since he left..." Since he'd been arrested.

That night had been awful. She'd heard about it second hand, some fae that she later recognized as Eames had come over to yell at Fagin, and she'd been in the corner sobbing with all her teenage heart, drinking until she passed out.

She sighed.

"We shouldn't talk about him here."

"I remember."

He'd been younger. Sikes wasn't the first one he'd seen bein' locked up, but it was the hardest one. None of them understood - Sikes was their idol, he was the best, he shouldn't have been locked up. He remembers the yellin', too. They thought all the lads were asleep, the Dodger included. He hadn't been. He stood an' listened, hidden from sight.

"Not the place?"

They had known Nancy was there. She'd been useless to them that night, hardly able to speak for all her sorrow. She remembered it well, until she blacked out. She'd woken up that morning with the dog curled up next to her.

She nodded.

"Right. Cooper's out, but... It ain't the place." Rude, even, to talk about Bill here.

Bulls-eye. The best dog. The Dodger didn't know where it was now. Don't think anyone did.

"Where is the place?"

Nancy did. He'd passed some time ago, bringing about Juliet for her warm fuzzy friend.

"Not here." Not in the den, either. "Maybe my office." That's what she was calling it, anyway.

There was an eyebrow raise at that. He'd heard it called a lot of things, but 'office' weren't one of them. Each to their own though, an' it weren't like he were going to call Nance on what she called her place of work - she didn't like him even askin' about it.

She calls it an office, because it's a proper flat in Canary Warf. It's big, and it's wonderful, and it's hers. It... elevates her work, honestly. Lets her charge a bit more.

"I don't know, Dodge. Just not in Cooper's place."

He gives a nod. He doesn't really understand what Nance's thinking is on this one, but he'll go with it.

Her thinking isn't always the most rational. But to talk about one ex while living with her boyfriend seemed strange. besides what if Cooper came in in the middle of it? She'd have some explaining to do, and she doesn't fancy coming home to find him waiting and drinking. She'd seen him do that once, and it had been more than enough to remind her of Bill.

subject change.

"What're you doing the rest of the day?"

"Except I've got go do some of the graft," the Dodger reacts to the subject change in the way he does everything - takes it in his stride. He's realising quick that, for whatever reason, Nancy wants to keep the Bill stuff hidden. He's ... not sure of the why, though he can guess to a couple of reasons, but he'll play along. For now.

There are a million reasons to not want to talk about Bill. Mostly because it was hard to explain that she had an older werewolf boyfriend that was currently in prison.

"I won't keep you, if you've got to go," she says. "But if you do, I'm giving you something warm for the road. Maybe a lunch, too."

"Yer a toff, Nance," the Dodger grinned wide. Something warm was a brilliant prospect.

"Alright, what you want, then? Cup of tea, sandwich?" She'd give him a travel mug to take with him, enchanted to hold a whole pot of tea.

"Tea would be great. Right nip out now, ain't there?"

"You got yourself something warm, too, don't you?" She'd get him something better, if he needed it. "You and the rest of 'em."

Nancy starts to set the water to boil.

"And I'm giving you food, I don't care."

"Fagin's turned off the heat," it's conversational. "He thinks it's makin' us lazy."

This isn't conversational. This is a problem.

"Fucking hell," she swears, abandoning the tea pot and moving to look in one of the closets in the hallway.

"I'm sending you with blankets, too." Thank god her boyfriend was rich, and they happened to have a lot of blankets. He probably wouldn't miss them, especially if she explained she'd given them to her brothers. She's gone a few minutes, returning with her arms laden with all sorts of blankets.

"Cooper's collected a lot over the years. You take 'em. And you all stay warm. I'm sure I could enchant something, too, give you a bit of heat. Freezing to death makes you lazy, not staying warm in this weather."

"Ah, come on Nance, he does it every winter," the Dodger isn't trying to make excuses for the old man, he's just pointing out that they're used to it. He takes the blankets from her though, wondering how it is that someone manages to collect blankets.

"I don't care, it ain't right, and you know it. I've got to care for you lot, don't I?" She'll even pack the blankets for him in one of her enchanted bags.

"Hand me the black backpack by the door? I'll put 'em in there, and loads of food. Just keep it away from the old one, you hear me, Dodger?"

He goes to fetch the bag. He's a bit annoyed with himself - he's put her in one of her moods. It's not technically a mood, as such. It's just her mothering nature put on over-drive that it might as well be a mood.

"Hear you loud an' clear, Nance."

Are you complaining about having an adult figure in your life that is actually somewhat decent, Jack Dawkins?

"Good." When he's got the bag over, she starts stuffing the blankets into it. They fit in easily, the backpack enchanted to have far, far more space in it than you would expect. "What d'you need for food?"

Little bit? He's used to no one really carin', as long as he's doin' what he's supposed to. Someone actually keeping an eye is ... a lot more active guardian-ship-ing that he's used to. He gives a shrug.

"We're still gettin' sausages every mornin'" he points out. "Dinner's are different dependin' on who's doin' the fetchin'."

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