undergrounds | [Meatball Parade on loop for 10 hours]

Finnick was eager to meet with Eames after Imbolc, but he gave it a day or two to make sure he could sort out his own thoughts and approach this rationally, so it wasn't until the fourth that he called Eames to set up a time and place.

It feels more secure in Faery, but Finnick's too embarrassed to invite Eames to see his own dwelling there and not so bold as to suggest going to Eames' home again, so he picks a spot in the Other Realm where he's gone to be alone in the past. It's a marble structure on the bank of a small lake, created out of boredom most likely by some creature who took a passing glance at the ancient greeks of the mortal world and decided there was something pretty in their architecture. The marble seems to grow out of the stone and dirt and somehow it perfectly hugs the tree that rises up in the exact centre of the marble gazebo connecting the platforms that overlook the lake. Finnick thinks there are sirens living in the water, but they're quiet so he assumes it's where they go to collect their thoughts as well.

He stands along a railing as he waits for Eames, staring into the water, lost in his own thoughts.

Edited 2017-02-12 13:51 (UTC)

The Dodger spends his time wandering about the whole of London, irregardless of territories. Of course he does, he couldn't do his work in the same place all the time, he'd be picked out way too easily.

Still, it can means he wanders into places he probably shouldn't...

Eames is, as is becoming a constant for him, tired. Tired and just about done with everything. The Court has been in a tizzy since Samantha was anointed; what does the new Mother of Witches intend, she so brazenly carts around a familiar, blah blah blah. And yet the response from most was, as always, "let's wait and see." As if immortality means never meaning to raise a fucking finger. At least one had called it 'youthful impetuousness' that made him so insistent about dealing with this now, but Eames knows mortals. Better dealt with sooner than later.

It's what makes him opt to talk to Natasha; uniquely placed as she is, even if she won't give away any secrets her insight is still useful. He arrives in the evening once he's freed up for the day, bottle of gin in his hand when he knocks on the door and waits patiently for her to answer.

Edited 2017-02-13 21:14 (UTC)

Eames has been categorized as someone to keep an eye on. He's Ghoul's latest project, but after about a half day of tailing him, Ghoul has decided he's getting pretty sick of looking at him. This is officially the worst, most boring activity ever.

The chase has stalled out for some reason or another- Eames is nearby somewhere, perhaps stepping inside a shop or stopping to talk with someone. Ghoul isn't certain, nor does he really care at this point. But the break at least gives him an opportunity to sink down in to a chair outside a little cafe, his entire upper half slowly drooping forward until his forehead gently thumps down onto the tiny table in front of him.

He's done. Just leave him here to die.

Natasha doesn't get many visitors. She's well past the point where she doesn't tell people where she lives, but she still tends to keep her own place private. There's a moment where she considers who might even come here. When she sees Eames through the peephole, she's somehow not surprised though—she just wonders why he's there.

She suspects this isn't a booty call.

"To what do I owe the honor."

Eames arrives at the agreed time, a particular kind of comfort and grace around him here that he never has in the mortal realm as he comes to join Finnick at the railing. It really is quite beautiful here, serene and calming, Eames can see why Finnick would like a place like this.

"Lovely place," he says, leaning against the railing next to Finnick and following his gaze out to the water.

Truthfully? Eames doesn't care about some kid wandering around in places he shouldn't be. He has a vague awareness of Dodger, insofar as he's aware of anyone nearby, but he's not exactly about to stop and talk to everyone in the immediate area just in case they might be interesting.

He's got more important things to do for a start, the first thing being getting himself a coffee. There's a nice cafe not too far off from Marble Arch-- a little out of the way, but not a long walk. Sounds like the kind of place he fancies today.

"Wondered if you'd let me pick your mind," he smiles and holds up the bottle for her to see, "I brought a bribe, if that helps."

This is literally the worst tail he's ever had, and there are children on that list. So of course Eames has lead him all over the place, doing all sorts of pointless shit just to see when this guy would give up and go home.

Apparently he won't, is the answer.

Eames has just stopped into a shop to pick up some dog treats while he's here, when he spots the guy looking dead to the world across the street. So Eames takes a little pity on him, passes into the cafe he's parked outside and comes back a few minutes later to put a coffee down by his head and sits across from him.

Given he's hired Arthur for this kind of work before, Eames figures he's probably the best guy to call on for it this time around. It's kinda hard to tell which members of Samantha's coven might yield the best results, but this one seems to have a little seniority. So? That's the one they're gonna be following around all day.

Oh joy.

Eames brought snacks though? Mostly because he fidgets a lot so that's a way to deal with it, and he's helpfully not bought anything particularly loud or annoying to eat. He did consider sunflower seeds, but it's not Arthur's car they're gonna be stuck in together all day so the payoff there is extremely limited.

Either way, here he is in the passenger seat, sighing as he rolls his shoulders and tries to adjust to get comfortable as they watch this place across the street.

Wallowing in his own suffering is the most fun he's had all day. He's a bit disappointed when he has to stop, but there's movement that he can hear and feel happening at his table. He lifts his head just enough to peek at the rest of the world, confusion written on his face until he spots the coffee nearby. Oh, that's cool.

Then he notices what's behind it. Or who, rather, and he jerks upright quickly. "—Hey." Startled as he is, he can't quite keep the deadpan tone out of his voice, because Eames' mind-numbing runaround has sucked all the energy out of him. "Didn't expect to see you here..."

Arthur's in driver's seat, patient and content despite Eames' rustling beside him. He's done plenty of recon before and it's not difficult work, it just requires a bit of focus, which is relatively effortless for him. He has a notebook open, tossed on the dashboard for now, marked with a couple time stamps and notes from their observations so far.

He doesn't even glance in Eames' direction but he can feel him moving beside him. "You can go grab coffee if you want," he tells him, casually giving him an out in case he wants to go.

"Nah," Eames says dismissively, finding a new position to sit and rests an arm on the door, still looking out the window. "Might need to stretch my legs in a bit, but I'm fine for now."

He can do this kind of stuff easily once he settles his head enough, it's just, you know. His butt kinda hurts from spending all day in a car seat.

"You've been following me all day."

If anything Eames looks pretty entertained as he sips his own coffee, eyebrows raised as if he's daring the kid to say otherwise. Though it might be entertaining to find out if he's as bad at lying as he is at following people.

Well, shit. "Everything ain't all about you, Marcia." Except this time it is.

Ghoul leans in, propping an elbow against the tabletop and cradling the side of his face in his hand with a bored looking almost-scowl. "But, if I was, I could maybe tell you that you're the most boring fucker I've ever laid eyes on and that I'm half expecting you to waste the next two hours buying vintage stamps or some shit."

"And here I thought I was going to get lucky tonight." She steps out of the door, motioning him in with a tip of her head. "But who am I to turn down gin. Come in, sit down."

Natasha's apartment is relatively Spartan. She's lived here long enough that it no longer seems quite like a barracks, but there's still something hotel-like. There's no signs of sentimental value, and little decoration. The furniture is stylish and comfortable, though.

The man does look vaguely familiar to the Dodger, and he finds himself staring a little. He's not picking him out as a mark - not so much as he reckons - but he's trying to place where he knows him from.

So he follows the bloke, of course he does. Trying to work out where he knows him from, and if it's a good knowing or not. It could just be that he's got one of those faces.

Oh, that's a good idea. There's a brief glint in Eames' eyes at the thought of a new way to be a nuisance, but it's too late now. Maybe he'll save it for the next time someone tries to follow him.

Alas. Eames shakes his head and leans back in his seat, "no fun in that." He shrugs a shoulder, delightfully nonchalant one might say, if one was not Ghoul. "You know I knew you were there now."

"I wouldn't say it's off the table," Eames says casually as he walks into her apartment, an easy lilt and a smile as he takes in the decor. Or the lack of one, as it may be. It's lived-in, but there's no personality.

It certainly adds a dimension to her that he thinks he's been missing, but he can spend time piecing that one together later. In the meantime he takes a seat as directed and puts the bottle down, waiting for her to join him.

It could be a lot of things that makes Dodger recognise him; Lord of Autumn, his weird paternal relationship with Nancy, a long history with Fagin that's less than amicable right now. But these things go in waves.

Or maybe he just does have one of those faces.

He's not certain yet that he's being followed, could just be a coincidence that has the hairs on his neck standing on end, he's not quite so arrogant as to assume everyone walking the same way as him is following. Especially not in central London. So he'll just go about joining the queue to buy his coffee in the hope that a little more evidence will present itself one way or the other.

In the old days, taverns used to be excellent places for gossip. Apparently that hasn't changed. This one is like any other local pub except for one crucial thing: it's full of gossipy fae. Their presence draws him like a beacon, Mogget slipping easily into human form as he steps through the door.

The pale man casts his eyes around, sharp ears picking up on bits and pieces of conversation. His suit is all-white except for the red leather belt around his waist, and where the buckle should be is a tiny bell.

He doesn't expect to be served so he finds a corner table and settles down to listen and to watch. By now he has identified the most potent magic in the room and it belongs to a fae he recognises. Time for some eavesdropping. What does Eames have to say for himself?

Mostly? Eames is aggressively not caring about anything anyone says to him. If there's anything he's learned in his current position, it's that old fae love to complain and hate doing anything that could be construed as useful.

They complain about the wolves, they complain about the vampires, they complain about the witches, and Eames rolls his eyes at everything. Thank god this isn't a democracy and he has to pretend to care about their petty issues honestly. "This witch is rude tell her to move her shop out of our territory," "why haven't you just taken control of the city yet?" blah blah blah. It's incessant.

Eventually, after god knows how long, Eames shoos everyone away. Returning to the table with a fresh beer and a simple, "go away now," that gets them all to leave. Some slower than others, but they're all gone eventually and Eames sighs with relief once he's alone.

Nothing he hears is untypical. Decades may pass, but the old grudges stay the same. One by one the fae leave until Mogget is the only other left. He too stands as if he's about to leave – but instead he transforms back into his cat form and jumps up on Eames' table.

"That was painful to watch." He skirts carefully around the pint of beer. "Didn't look much fun to endure either."

One of the many reasons he never sought the highest ranks for himself. He always did prefer his own company over that of any other.

Unfortunately, sometimes one doesn't always have much of a say in whether they become a Lord or not. Not without drawing the ire of the court anyway. This seemed like the lesser evil.

Either way, there's now a cat standing on his table. Samantha's familiar, if he's not mistaken. He raises an eyebrow at the cat and leans on an elbow with a sigh. "Was it that obvious?"

Yes. Yes, it was that obvious. Mogget does a cat stretch, from his shoulders all the way to his hind paws. Then he sits with his tail curled neatly around his paws.

"I'm afraid your day is about to get worse. I have a message to deliver."

[Meatball Parade on loop for 10 hours]

backdate to feb 5th

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Natasha; feb 7th

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Arthur; feb 14th

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