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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! ]
no subject
Not having a specific area to look isn't exactly helpful, but that might be a long shot anyway. Neither of them even know how long the dog's been missing for.
"You should take him to a vet," he offers. It's the best advice he has. "He might be microchipped."
no subject
Werewolves don't like going to the vet either, but it's probably the best chance they've got. "I guess so. Y'know where one is? Kinda new around here."
no subject
It doesn't mean he's totally useless though. Oliver fishes around in his pocket, digging out his phone. That should be able to tell him where the other man can find out.
no subject
Damn. He should have thought of that. "Well, shit, I coulda done that." He's just not on his game today. On the other hand, being new and all, the results would have been pretty much gibberish to him. "Eh, nevermind, you probably got a better handle on navigation than I do. Just don't be a dick and send me halfway across the city on purpose, 'cause I know your face now. I'll find you."
Yeah, this is probably why he has no friends here.
no subject
He thinks he probably is.
Hopefully.
"There's one a couple of blocks from here," he tells him, looking back down at his phone. "Do you think you'll be able to find it if I give you directions?"
no subject
Yeah, he's totally kidding. Definitely... very kidding...
Guess Oliver won't be finding out how serious he is after all, though. A couple blocks isn't bad. He can handle that, so he nods. "Should be able to. Where'm I goin', boss?"
no subject
He pulls it up on his map app, making sure the street's actually where he thinks it is.
"If you cross over here then go straight until you get to Ormiston Rd. Turn right there, then left at Halstow. If you make a left at the end you should find it along there somewhere. It's on Humber Road."
Hopefully he can actually find the place and won't want to blame Oliver if he can't.
no subject
Sometimes it's easier for him to absorb information if he can see it laid out in black and white- or, in this case, in cartoony digital map colors. He speaks up once he's verified the directions as legit. "Okay, I got it." Then he takes a step or two back, giving them both breathing room again. "Thanks, guy. You ain't so bad after all."
no subject
"No problem," Oliver tells him, tentatively attempting to see if the dog will allow him to give him a farewell head scritch. He's wary given his behaviour earlier, but the licks have given him hope. "I hope you manage to find his owner."
no subject
"Yeah, me too. But if shit goes dotty, I can just pull one of those old movie stunts and drop it in a random baby carriage." He flashes a smirk and turns, setting off in the correct direction at least. Before he gets too far, he makes sure to call back a bland sounding, "See you 'round. Maybe. Who knows."
It's a big place.
no subject
"Yeah. See you."