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ghoulaid) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2017-01-03 07:15 pm
ghoulaid) wrote in undergrounds2017-01-03 07:15 pm
[ota]
1. PEST CONTROL (random street encounters/OPEN)
The day is nicer than Ghoul expected. A little cloudy, but not as bitterly cold or ice-hazardous as he assumed London would be. Still, he's bundled up in at least a couple layers of clothes because, frankly, fuck anything below 60 degrees. He looks a little comical, plodding along the sidewalk in his ridiculous puffy coat, a scarf devouring half his face, and a small dog prancing around his heels.
Wait, what the fuck.
Ghoul's partway down the block before he realizes he has company. It's a tiny, ugly thing in a fucking sweater that yaps whenever he stops to look at it, and it won't go away. No matter what shooing and direction-changing techniques he uses against it, it's still right there, lunging after him with its yipping and bouncing gradually increasing in intensity. He normally doesn't have this not-listening issue with dogs, being a werewolf and all. He's like the king of dogs, okay, but this little bastard has balls of steel beneath that lavender argyle. And that just won't do.
He backtracks, confronting anyone who may be even be remotely responsible for the animal- people sitting outside cafes, lingering in a group somewhere, on a bench, waiting for a crosswalk signal. Everyone in the area will, eventually, have him storm up and ask, "Is this yours?" while pointing at the pastel abomination below.
2. THIS IS MINE NOW (coffee shop/OPEN)
Ghoul had specifically waited for evening to roll around before hitting up this little coffee place, hoping to avoid a rush. Fail on that count. From what he can gather, 5PM is a great time to huddle around in shops and wait for traffic to fuck off.
He sees the logic in it now, but that doesn't mean he appreciates it. Not when he's stuck in a small crowd of too-close bodies clumped around the pickup area and waiting for his order to be called. There are a few names shouted in rapid succession soon enough, including the fake one he'd given the cashier. In his haste to get out of there, he grabs a cup from the almost entirely identical line of them, then makes off with it without a second glance.
It's not his order after all, but whatever. He'll figure that out at some point.
[ or pm/pp/throw your own starter at me! ]
The day is nicer than Ghoul expected. A little cloudy, but not as bitterly cold or ice-hazardous as he assumed London would be. Still, he's bundled up in at least a couple layers of clothes because, frankly, fuck anything below 60 degrees. He looks a little comical, plodding along the sidewalk in his ridiculous puffy coat, a scarf devouring half his face, and a small dog prancing around his heels.
Wait, what the fuck.
Ghoul's partway down the block before he realizes he has company. It's a tiny, ugly thing in a fucking sweater that yaps whenever he stops to look at it, and it won't go away. No matter what shooing and direction-changing techniques he uses against it, it's still right there, lunging after him with its yipping and bouncing gradually increasing in intensity. He normally doesn't have this not-listening issue with dogs, being a werewolf and all. He's like the king of dogs, okay, but this little bastard has balls of steel beneath that lavender argyle. And that just won't do.
He backtracks, confronting anyone who may be even be remotely responsible for the animal- people sitting outside cafes, lingering in a group somewhere, on a bench, waiting for a crosswalk signal. Everyone in the area will, eventually, have him storm up and ask, "Is this yours?" while pointing at the pastel abomination below.
2. THIS IS MINE NOW (coffee shop/OPEN)
Ghoul had specifically waited for evening to roll around before hitting up this little coffee place, hoping to avoid a rush. Fail on that count. From what he can gather, 5PM is a great time to huddle around in shops and wait for traffic to fuck off.
He sees the logic in it now, but that doesn't mean he appreciates it. Not when he's stuck in a small crowd of too-close bodies clumped around the pickup area and waiting for his order to be called. There are a few names shouted in rapid succession soon enough, including the fake one he'd given the cashier. In his haste to get out of there, he grabs a cup from the almost entirely identical line of them, then makes off with it without a second glance.
It's not his order after all, but whatever. He'll figure that out at some point.
[ or pm/pp/throw your own starter at me! ]
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Whatever. If that's what Princess wants, then fine. Ghoul can be helpful sometimes.
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Then the scent hits him. A werewolf, one that Cooper has never seen before. He wonders if he's part of the East End Pack. Unlike most vampires, Cooper has never held any great grudge against the wolves. They don't bother him and he returns the favor. Besides, with his hot temper, he's sometimes got more of a werewolf's temperament than a vampire.
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What actually happens is he ends up making a very weird, pinched-up face as the distance between them closes. By the time Cooper steps up to him and speaks, Ghoul's taking a hasty step back. He lets go of the door and instead waves ambiguously (and slightly hysterically) in a silent warning for Cooper to stay back, which only lasts for a second before he does a little half-turn and sneezes a couple times in to the crook of his elbow.
In his attempt to be a decent person, the hand holding the tea that doesn't belong to him swings outwards in order to keep it safe. Which sends his arm crashing against a fancy-looking awning pole, and the tea to the ground a second later.
Whoops.
"Mother of fuck," is the first thing out of his mouth when he recovers, followed quickly by, "You sure that was yours?"
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He gingerly hands over Ghoul's drink, afraid of being caught up in another sneezing fit. He usually would be madder about the whole situation, but he's got more on his plate to think about right now then spilled drinks. He's got to focus on his campaign.
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He'll have to check that out later. Got other things to deal with at the moment, like taking his rightful drink with one hand and waving Cooper's concerns away with the other. "No, I'm done." He just has to mouthbreathe a little bit. It's fine. He can handle replacing a drink without sneezing on it- or sipping from it. He frowns down at the puddle on the ground, gesturing towards it with his elbow. "What was it?"
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"Pomegranate tea with a splash of milk in it." Normally he just went straight for the good old fashioned green and Earl Grey, but occasionally, Cooper liked to go outside the box.
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What the fuck kind of combination is that?
Judging by Ghoul's face, he thinks it's criminal. "Seriously...?" He's a baby's breath away from making some sort of comment along the lines of having done Cooper a favor by trashing his drink, but, well, he's probably already done enough damage today. "Um, okay. Sit. Stay. Play some candy crush for like five minutes. I'll be right back..." Ghoul slinks back inside before any arguments can be made.
True to his word, soon enough he returns to where he'd left Cooper, extra cup in hand. The lines had thinned down a bit so it took less time than Ghoul would've expected, but there's no guarantee the kid's still around. Which would suck. Because then he'll be stuck with a gross milky tea.
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Cooper gets right back on the phone, dialing up another number. He's soon knee-deep in a conversation with Iona, a vampire older than dirt and with far more cats than city ordinances allowed. He thinks that he's got her vote in the bag, but he wants to make sure. Ghoul will find him speaking in Irish Gaelic and wrapping up the conversation as he approaches. "Go raibh maith agat," he mumbles, savoring the smell of it for a moment before he takes a sip.
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Cooper shrugs, letting the cup of tea warm his hands up. "I've lived everywhere." Not an exaggeration. Travel got a lot easier once steamships and airplanes got invented. "Last place was a tiny town called Pemkowet up by the Great Lakes."
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At the very least, he tries not to grin. He really tries. "Never heard of it, but I ain't surprised. It's further than I've been." Pause. "Well- not now, I guess." Point is, he doesn't travel much. Never has and probably never will again after this trip, which makes the concept of having unlimited time to go anywhere and everywhere pretty amazing. "That's badass though. How old are you?"
Are vampires sensitive about their ages? Hopefully not.
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Cooper smiles, though it doesn't reach his eyes. He's a little touchy about his age, if only because he looks so young. It even took him several months to tell Nancy. "Older 'n you, I imagine. Let's just say I was around before the electric light was invented and leave it at that."
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He's a very clever puppy, all right.
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As if sensing it's being talking about, the phone in his pocket dings loudly. He scurries to fish it out, revealing that it is, indeed, one made by the very same company Cooper had the good sense to put his money in. Ghoul's fully aware of the coincidence and makes sure to shoot him a warning glance while pointing accusingly at him, phone in hand. "Don't you say shit," is what he manages to bite out before quickly checking his texts.
And then he sighs. "Got some people to meet. Listen, you've probably been around long enough to notice patterns and all that Beautiful Mind stuff. You ever see another solid investment come up, you better tip me off. Or else I'm gonna be throwin' a whole lot more of your drinks on the ground."
Yeah, he doesn't threaten to blackmail him or eat the people Cooper loves. No, Ghoul chooses to threaten him with spilled drinks. The horror.
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Cooper grins when he sees the phone come out in a moment of perfect timing, his fangs fully on display for a long, amused moment at Ghoul before they disappear. Wouldn't do for some passerby to wonder why there was a vampire outside on the street.
He's decided he likes this werewolf pup well enough. He's not a complete asshole like some of the wolves can be and has a sense of humor. "Will do. Listen, you puppies tend t'get into a lot of trouble. If that ever happens on Islington turf, you mention Cooper. I'm a Marquess, so I got a little bit of heft in the nest. Might save you from endin' up as a pelt on the floor." Just because Harris was no longer in power didn't mean that there weren't some vampire who held grudges against the wolves.