undergrounds | [OPEN] How to annoy friends and influence no one

Ice Skating
Party's hardly the most athletic or coordinated guy he knows, but he's not afraid of a few bruises in the name of a good time and that's what brings him to Hyde Park Winter Wonderland with a pair of rented skates and the future promise of hot chocolate to stave off the cold once he's sick of falling on the ice. He's bundled up in so many mismatched, ratty layers of clothing that it's not even clear what he's shaped like underneath as he laces up his skates and wobbles his way onto the ice.

Sure, he's done this a few times, but he's never really mastered it and it's been a few years since his last attempt. Southern California isn't exactly Ice Rink Central.

Without much though or care, he pushes off the edge, manages to move for about half a minute and then slips and lands on his ass, but he doesn't wait long to pick himself back up and try again. After a few false starts, he manages to get himself pretty far into the rink before he slams right into someone else.

"Sorry... fuck!" He slips around on his hands and knees on the ice, trying to get himself back up as his bright yellow mittens slipping on the ice.

Christmas at the Charles Dickens Museum
In a moment of what even Party can admit is a pretty severe hangover, he manages to get a little mopey about his first Christmas away from his family. With no safe way to contact them, he finds himself looking for things that might actually evoke a little old school sentimentality in him. That's how he finds himself at the Christmas exhibit at the Charles Dickens Museum, though loud noises have him wincing and he's quick to keep away from people. He's definitely not tearing up just a little at the sight of a tree with fake little presents under it, because that would be pathetic and not particularly in line with the tough wolf image that he thinks he's cultivating.

Marking Territory
Recovering from a short bought of sentimentality, Party falls easily into his usual habits of baiting people and painting on things that aren't his to paint. As Islington's territory keeps slowly encroaching on East End Pack's, Party takes on the responsibility of making sure that they know it's at an end.

All along the current border between their territories, Party's started to make up allies and trash cans and old signs with spray painted stencil art of wolves. They're simple and fast to get up, but they should get the point across. If Islington comes any further, they'll be dealing with wolves on everything. He even throws a few Santa hats onto the more visible wolves for good measure. Merry Fuckin' Christmas.

Warehouse Partying Party (TW: drugs)
Being at a warehouse party is hardly out of place for Party Poison. In fact, getting supremely fucked up at these things is basically his favorite hobby after painting and he's arguably great at both. By the time he's inside, he's already loose and sloppy in all the familiar ways, ready to dance with anyone around him, all tactile affection and easy laughter.

It only builds the longer he's there, wrapping an arm around anyone within reach and letting himself get entirely carried away. He's not exactly on the prowl, but he's definitely open for business if anyone shows interest. These things are about a good time for him and he's determined to have one.

Even on his long walk home, he's still stumbling and giggling as he gets turned around a few times and stops to pee in a quiet ally. It's a good night to be relatively free of responsibility or care.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

It isn't quite Christmas yet. If it were, Faolan certainly wouldn't find himself out here on the streets at night on a patrol. Most of the faction has other plans for the holiday, family to be spending their time with as well. For Faolan, all he has is the plan to go over to Lancelot's for Christmas, and to spend a few days with him before forcing himself to leave and go back home once more. Home only being across the city, of course, but that was neither here nor there.

He hears the familiar sound of a can of spray paint being shaken and sprayed, just before he turns a corner and runs straight into the painter himself. He raises his eyebrows slightly, but doesn't say anything just yet.

Party's got one of his stencils attached to the building with painter's tape along the outside edges as he fills in the familiar shape with bright red paint. His fingers have smudges of black and red and purple and there are matching drips on the stencil, as well.

His free hand is keeping the more flappy bits of the stencil still as he paints the building.

"Ain't gonna call the cops on me, are ya?" He turns his head to smile over his shoulder. It's not like he can't pack it up and get the hell out of dodge before a cop would show up, anyway.

Faolan pauses to regard the handiwork, pleased that for once stumbling on such a surprise in an alley hasn't dropped him into a position where he might be worried for his life. Not yet, anyway.

He glances at the stencil itself, then at the man as well. He feels... Something from him, but he can't put his finger on what. Considering he's got a lot of experience with vampires and metahumans, he can't be one of those. Not as far as he can tell at least. There are so many other types of supernaturals in the city, though. It'll be some time before Faolan learns them all.

"It's an interesting choice of marks," he replies. "Especially in such a place as this."

Party shifts his weight as he leans back to get a look at the drying paint. There are a few drips under the stencil, but he likes it looking a little sloppy because it adds some extra character to the shapes. None of his art is ever precise, because it doesn't feel real to him when it is.

"What's so special about this place?" He turns, eyes shining in a completely playful way as he lowers the can that's still in his hand. It's possible that he's a little bit of a smart ass, but life is more fun that way.

Faolan tilts his head forward slightly so that there will be no question as to whether he's making a face at the other man. Eyebrows raised, he gives the other a rather direct look before he responds.

"Do I really even need to answer that?" Faolan replies. He nods to the wolf mark, still dripping wet it is so recently done. "I would say it's a pretty obvious statement." He's seen them about the city, after all. Specifically along the line of the border between the wolves and the vampires, at that.

Party laughs and turns back to his stencil to pull it down and fold it up. "Guess not."

The guy doesn't seem like much of a threat, so Party just keeps packing his things up. It's not good to stick around too long or leave your things all spread out when you're vandalizing things and might need to make a run for it.

"Sometimes you just gotta send a little message to bullies."

Faolan tilts his head at the other man. His presence doesn't seem to have turned the other man off, which either means that he doesn't know who he is or perhaps he simply doesn't care. Faolan would bet money on either option, really.

They're on the border of Islington and the Pack. The man is painting wolves. It doesn't take all that much thought to close the gap between what he is, and who the bullies are in turn. So when Faolan next speaks up it is to question, "Have they still been giving you trouble, then?"

Party sort of shrugs. No one's been pushing him around lately, but he hardly feels great about the lost territory or the lost job opportunities that have come with it.

"Most of the major art galleries are over there." He gestures angrily towards Islington's territory. "Until we get it back, my career is fucked. I ain't gonna take that lyin' down." It's not like he hadn't tried to play nice. Well... nice-ish.

Faolan tilts his head to the side. He supposes he's never thought of it like that. While he's technically Head of Hillingdon these days, he's a Guardian besides, and he's never really been one for playing by the rules in general. Then again, no one in Hillingdon really does, it's part of what makes their faction so unique. But to have the faction disputes have an effect on your career. That's a first, for him.

"Your career?" he asks. "I'm assuming you mean more than..." He tilts his head towards the freshly painted wolf.

With a quick nod and a little grin, Party's hair falls in his face and he pushes it back out violently. "Was named a real up-and-comer by a couple of art magazines last year. Name's Party Poison. Gonna have people sayin' Banksy who in a couple years."

Realistically, Party knows he hits more of a niche market, but he likes his niche and he's good at hitting it. As long as he can sustain himself on that, he'll be happy. It's fun to talk a good game, though, and playing a character is half of the art world these days.

Faolan smiles back, pleased that he's guessed right and that it's seemed to please the other in turn. "A pleasure, then. I hope you'll forgive me for not having heard of you before. I'm afraid that the art circuit isn't exactly my usual scene..."

Of course, there had been a time when Faolan's usual scene hadn't been all that far off. But he wasn't a musician anymore, and he hadn't been for some time now.

There's a little shrug, because Party doesn't really expect people outside of the art world to know him, even if he likes to fantasize about it.

"What is your usual scene?" He definitely doesn't look like the warehouse-party-type, so Party suspects they're not running in the same circles, but it's not like he hasn't misread that kind of thing before, either. Some people are just real good at compartmentalizing, something Party really doesn't even bother trying with any aspect of his life.

[OPEN] How to annoy friends and influence no one

Marking Territory

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