undergrounds | Gonna like it here!

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Gonna like it here!

Well, it's not much, but it's home. Lydia grimly shuts the door on the very basic looking student hall. It's right on the border of Lambeth and Lewisham, just about in the good side, the safe side, to keep her mother from fussing. On the other hand, what mothers don't know can't hurt them, and Lydia is quite thrilled to be living so close to the border. For her at least, it's a little bit edgy, a little bit exciting. Even if it's thoroughly grotty as well.

(Mid day, March 11th, Lost in Lambeth)
Lunch beckons. After a long morning of moving in, Lydia's finally rid herself of her mother and she is absolutely exhausted. And starving.

Except, she's not quite sure where she is. Or where to go to get to a Starbucks. But they're everywhere in London, right? Right. Suddenly, she wishes she'd paid a little bit more attention to her governess… there was a spell for this, she's sure. But, it's too late for that. Lydia slips on a fur collared leather coat and sets out for a wander.

( Morning, 13th March, down along the Thames in Lambeth and Westminster)

So ostentatiously, Lydia's moved to London to study at Kings. In reality, she's supposed to be learning her craft from the witches of Circle Daybreak. In reality, she's shopping.

After such a small town, London's shops are just amazing, and Lydia's debit card flashes in and out of her bag. Quite soon, her arms are laden with paper bags from the little boutiques that litter the edge of the Thames. It's a phone call from her mum that eventually distracts her from the shops, and she flops down on a bench looking out over the river.

"Yeh, mum. Yes, I'm studying? What? Oh, like the basics, you know. Like, I don't know. Charming makeup and making teapots sing…. Yes, it's a real thing. Why would I make something so silly up? Eurgh… Look, Mum, I've got to go.The next class is starting and these witches are mega intense. I'll talk to you later, right?"

She hangs up and grins sheepishly at whoever happened to be in earshot to witness that one.

(18th March, Shoreditch, 3AM)

It's late. Lydia's had way too much to drink and she's not entirely sure how to get back home. Though, she does live near the river. That much she knows.
She waits to sober up a bit, leaning against a wall as she watches other revellers fall into taxis. She's drunk her money away for the night, and lost her friends from her hall, but it doesn't matter, right? The walk can't be that far.
Feeling a bit better, she wanders off through the streets of Hackney. As soon as she finds the river, finds Tower Bridge, follows it all the way back, she'll be just fine.
Are those footsteps? She speeds up as much as her high heels will allow, drunken giggles all but ceased now.

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"What class would that be?"

The voice comes from a small white cat sitting on the other end of the bench. He's looking at her with sharp eyes, like he knows exactly who she is. Yes, he has heard the entire conversation. And so he moves on from the disaster in Bromley to collecting teenage witches. Oh, the joys of working for Circle Daybreak.

Lydia starts at the voice. She might be a witch, but it certainly doesn't mean that she expects cats to talk. Or to listen into her phone conversations.

"That's none of your business." She tries to recover from her shock by snapping cooly at the cat.
After a minute though, she looks over. "So, who did you piss off to end up a cat?" She secretly chuckles to herself, enjoying the crass language after years of speaking properly.

Rude.

He isn't going to answer that one. Mogget flattens his ears for a moment, then glances around to check that they're not being observed before addressing her again.

"You are Lydia Bennet, aren't you? Haven't attended a single class?"

Guess who's here to collect her.

"Well, I've only just moved here." She rolls her eyes at the cat.
"You sound just like my father. Class, class, boring class! I much prefer the funner things in life!"
She has no intention of going. And really, how is a cat going to make her?

She's a sulky workshy teenager. Typical.

"Well, so do I," the cat says, "but you don't see me shirking, do you? Shall I tell your assigned coven that you've no interest in meeting them?"

Hey, it's no skin off his nose if she goes off and does her own thing, never learns anything, then gets eaten by a vampire or something like that. He has to try and approach her, but he can't be blamed for failing, can he?

Lydia herself doesn't care if she never meets her coven in all honesty. But her mother and her father will probably have something to say if she doesn't show up at some point.

"Snitch. You know it's a really unattractive quality? Even in a talking cat." She scowls. Lydia shakes her head. "Where are they then? Is this gonna take forever?"

"Not forever. I'd say... fourteen minutes, if we go via the Tube. Check your messages."

He nods at her phone, where presumably she still has the invitation to join her next coven meeting. Their nearest station is close by the river and it's only a couple of stops away after that.

Reluctantly, she opens the text she'd been ignoring. After scanning the brief message, she pushes her phone into her pocket, grabs her bags and stands up.

"Fine. Lead the way." She rolls her eyes.

"You may as well tell me your name though, or I might just have to make one up. Pussikins? That sounds good to me!"

Mogget has heard his fair share of terrible nicknames in his time, but that has to rank among the worst. Pussikins? His eye roll is probably visible all the way across the Thames.

"Mogget, if you please."

He jumps down to the ground, tail in the air, and sets off in the right direction.

So insults are the way to get answers out of the mangy old cat? Lydia grins triumphantly.
"As you wish," she chuckles as she follows him.
"Hey - do you want me to carry you? Guaranteed it'll be quicker!"

It's a good thing he can't hear her calling him mangy. He wouldn't appreciate that. At her offer, the cat turns and pauses, tail swishing from side to side.

"Is that a trick?"

He doesn't know her and Mogget is suspicious of humans and their tendency to want to pick up cats and cuddle them. (Or worse, the ones that don't like cats and want to tie them up in sacks and throw them in the river. That almost happened once. He doesn't like to recall it.)

"Well, if you wanna walk all that way?" She shrugs. Honestly, this stupid cat is harder work than what it's worth, as far as Lydia's concerned.

"And I'm gonna look ridiculous following a cat all over London. But if you really wanna walk…"

Lydia bends down even as she shoves shopping bags further up her arm. "I can dump you in one of these if you want?"

She's going to have trouble carrying him and all those shopping bags. Mogget looks from her to the bags, still suspicious. But it would be more convenient to take a ride rather than have to navigate the city streets.

Fine.

But she's not dumping him in a bag. He'll pick one himself. After she bends down, the cat pads forward and sniffs delicately at each of the shopping bags before choosing a nice roomy one full of clothes that will act as a cushion for him. He climbs in and then sits up on his hind paws so that he can see over the top of the bag when she stands up.

There's now a small cat head poking out of one of the paper bags. "Keep going," he mews. They won't be long...

This was not the plan.
"If you make those clothes stink, I swear I will find a well and drop you down it," she hisses. She follows Moggat's directions though. Perhaps leaning magic isn't high on Lydia's agenda, but who knows what the social side will be like. They better not be a bunch of stiffs.

"Are there many young witches?" She asks. "I swear, if I have to spend the afternoon with someone's wrinkly grandma, I will just die."

"Of course there are," Mogget replies. This is London, it's home to the largest population of witches in the country. "Including young men."

She's a teenage girl who appears to have little interest in magic, but he's guessing she may be more interested in who she can meet at a gathering of witches than what she can do to improve her craft.

"Young men?"
Consider her interest piqued. Mogget might be amused to feel her footsteps speeding up.

"Gosh. At home, it's just me and my sisters and my mum's friends, but they're all as ancient as her, and it's tea and cake stuffy boring total snoozefest! Boring. But boys…"

She frowns. "I should have dressed a bit better."

Ah, that did the trick. He's quietly smug.

"You should have," Mogget agrees. "After all, this will be your first impression."

And he knows all about how humans like to make snap judgements.

"I don't look good?" Lydia doesn't break her stride. "Shit. What am I gonna do?"

Why didn't she listen properly when her mum had banged on about the glamour spells?

"Can you remember the spell that lets you change clothes?"

"Afraid not," says Mogget, who can't be bothered to remember. He's not the one who has to learn the spells. "Perhaps you should have paid attention when learning your craft."

And they've arrived outside the tube station now anyway, so there isn't really time to change.

"Boring boring! That's all I've heard from Mary. 'Study your books. Study your spells.'"
She mimics her sister's voice, high pitched and cruel. "And she's not all that great at it. Fucking embarrassing when she tries to show off with all these fancy pants illusions that don't even work properly." She snorts as she heads into the station.

Okay, so she can totally do this. Obviously she's used a tube before now! She stares at the map, chewing on her lip.

"I need the.... the blue one?"

"A talent that runs in the family, I imagine," says Mogget, but softly. Now they're in the station there are other people around and he can't draw too much attention to himself. "No, take the Bakerloo line. You have used the Tube before, haven't you?"

His tone makes it sound like he suspects she hasn't.

She's not going to hear that bit. Instead, she's focused on the map.

"Of course I've used it," She answers distractedly. "Bakerloo, Bakerloo..." She spots the brown line and nods to herself, satisfied of a job well done. She heads off in the direction of the Bakerloo staircase, and ends up travelling deep down in the station. Still, her walk is bouncy and carefree. At least, it is until she reaches the bottom, and there are two ways to go.

"Left or right?" she hisses.

There are signs, Lydia. Signs that tell them the right way to go. Mogget sighs and ducks down into the shopping bag lest another pedestrian spot them.

"Left," comes the muttered, grumpy reply. She can't go wrong after that, can she?

Nancy spent a lot of time in Lewisham. And in her travels around there, she generally found herself, subsequently, in Lambeth. Being Daybreak, she knew there were a lot of good magic shops there, and so she may or may not have been known to occasionally go out of her way to check out one or two of them.

So was the case today when she found herself noticing her friend across the street. Hand shooting up, she waved over at her, calling: "Lydia! Hey!"

"Nancy!" Lydia turned gratefully when she heard her name being called. A friendly face in this huge labyrinth of a city, right now,was few and far between, and Lydia was feeling a bit less self-assured than she'd care to admit. But with someone she knew, her confidence came flooding back.

"I didn't know you lived this way out! What have you been buying?" she added, spotting the bags.

On light feet, Nancy crosses the street toward her with a big smile. "I don't- I'm up in Islington," she confesses. Vampire boyfriend, all that. "But my brothers are down in Saffron Hill."

Lydia doesn't really have a clue where those places are, but she doesn't want to look ignorant in front of her obviously street wise friend.
"Oh cool!" She exclaims. "I've heard the cool clubs are in Islington, right? Do you go often? I am so up for a proper party soon!"

She laughs, "Yeah- I've only really been to Fabric, though. And that was some time ago, anyway." Last year, and it had been a fae party. Truthfully, she wasn't much for the clubs- pity considering how much money she could get away with.

"But I'd be happy to go to a club or two with you- one of my friends actually sings at a sort of jazz bar in Islington. I know that's not the sort of club you were talking about, but that place's always good for a night."

"Yeah?" She claps her hands in sheer excitement. "Oh yes, this is gonna be so much fun!Ooh and we need to go shopping - new dresses, shoes… maybe a bag?"
She wouldn't care which bar she was in, in fairness. She's never been to a club, so anything, even a jazz bar, will be a remarkable step up from that.

"And we can do pre-drinks at mine. I mean, the place is a hole, but if you can deal with like, a bit of dirt and maybe some mouldy pizza crusts then I guess it'll be alright?"

Nancy tosses her hair behind her shoulders and laughs. "Yea?" She hadn't had a proper going out girl's night since, oh gosh, since Kenzi. The thought stings, but she pushes it aside. "Oh gosh- no, we don't need to-" Nancy didn't like to needlessly shop. Her boyfriend may have been rich, but she tried to spend only her own money. He let her live with him, he got free food out of it, and all the sex he wanted, and she wanted to make her own money. As such, she was a bit stingy when it came to shopping.

"I mean, if you want to, by all means. I'm sure I've got something I can wear." Something that was a little more club and a little less street-corner.

"You'd do that? I mean, of course, I'd love to. I'm sure it's better than anything I grew up with, so I should be alright." She gives her an encouraging smile.

Lydia goes to grab Nancy's hands, squealing in her excitement. "Eeek - yes, this is so happening!" She is so enthused, it's all she can do not to jump up and down like a child being promised a trip to Disney World. "But don't be silly - you can't wear old stuff. Everyone's already seen you - hey! We can swap clothes! We're nearly the same size, right?"

It takes a minute for Nancy's last comment to register; Lydia's posy student flat is better than Nancy's childhood home? Is it possible that Nancy's not well off? Not that it matters, but it's something Lydia's never really considered before, apart from, like, giggling at the people with Primark bags.

"Oh… right…" She feels suddenly awkward. "We can have pizza?" There. Everyone likes pizza, right?

The Dodger groaned slightly, plodding along the streets as he shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets. He hated when he had to do the night work. Some of it wasn't too but, but then there was some that... Well, the pay was good, an' that was the thing to think on. He'd just come from one of the jobs he didn't like thinking about and was just wandering the streets because Fagin - if he sent them out for night work - didn't expect them back till next morning.

His boots are weirdly loudly on the streets. It's not like the streets are quiet, but everything just seems louder. He hears the little click of heels walking fast and wonders, vaguely, if someone's running to or away from the direction he's walking in.

That would be Lydia and that would be away. His boots indeed sound loud, and in strange streets, and with alcohol clouding her senses, his footsteps seem as heavy as a grown man's.

She keeps as quiet as she can, not wanting to draw unwanted attention to herself, still moving towards the river.
It can't be that far away now, surely?

Of course, with his not really thinking about where it is he's walking, the Dodger does seem to be accidentally following Lydia's path. His feet are on automatic, his brain far away from what he's actually doing.

Party's been out for hours and he's far from sober, but he's not quite shit-faced, either. The cold air is waking him up and it soothes his overheated skin as he wanders down the sidewalk of a quiet street. He's not going anywhere in particular, but he appreciates the crisp air and the night.

He's so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn't notice there's someone nearby until her footsteps speed up. This is not something he's going to admit to anyone, because werewolves should really be more aware than that. Damn.

"Hey! I'm not a creep or anything if that's why you're runnin'." Smooth, as always.

When Lydia hears the voice calling out to her, she slows. Then she stops and turns.

Should she go back? Only creeps would say they're not creeps though, right?
So why is she going back towards the voice?

"Come where I can see you then. I'm not stupid, you know." She speaks slowly, trying to make sure that she at least sounds sober.

Party steps into better light with his hands raised in mock surrender. He's wearing torn jeans and a battered black leather jacket and his hair is approaching rat's nest territory, but he's smiling.

"Don't wanna be the reason you feel like runnin'. I ain't worth a sprained ankle."

"Whoa!" Lydia's just a little taken aback. She's never seen anyone who quite looks like Party. In her sleepy little village, the boarders are all over-groomed and the men are generally over fifty. They'd probably have a coronary just looking at this guy's hair.

And whilst this guy might not be Lydia's type - does she have a type? - he's still a guy. So Lydia smiles.

"No? So what are you worth?"
That probably sounded better in her head.

He grins, keeping some distance. The last thing he wants is to freak her out more. "'Bout a buck-fifty, I guess. Depends on who you ask, though."

Shoving his hands into his jacket pockets, he hunches his shoulders a little against the cold air. "Party I was at got shut down. You headin' anywhere fun?"

"Is that it?" She chuckles. Lydia likes the idea of a rich man really, but drunk and cold on a Saturday night also means that right now, she's not fussy.

She moves closer.
"The club closed. I guess it's home time. Though I can definitely be persuaded otherwise. Have you got anything in mind?"

"Heard there might be a warehouse party happenin' 'bout a mile down. Might be worth checkin' out if that's your kinda scene. Not sure if it's still goin', but I figured I'd take a walk." Wandering to a party that might not be there in the middle of the night might not be the most sober logic ever.

"More than welcome to join me."

The girl looks like she shops for a living as she comes out of another high-end boutique. But that's not what interests Cooper. He overhears the last part of her conversation and has to grin. Just another denizen of the supernatural world out rubbing shoulders with the common folk.

He sidles up next to the girl, a young-looking seventeen year old with a thick Irish accent and a daylight ring on his right hand. "Y'know, if I fibbed that badly t'my mum, she'd whack me over the head when she found out. 'N they always find out in the end."

"What?" Lydia replies blankly. She has absolutely no idea what Cooper said, and it takes her a good moment of staring and replaying his words in her head to actually get the meaning. Once she does though, she laughs.

"Well, you've obviously never met my mother. She is way too concerned about all this witchy nonsense and husbands and all the rest. A few lies to get her off my case are totally justified. Like, seriously."

That's not the first time someone has looked at him like he's speaking Urdu. But generally it tended to happen across the pond instead of here on his home turf. He waits patiently for her to pick up the meaning of his words. When he speaks again, his accent is a little smoothed out. Cooper can switch to an American one after spending so long in the States, but he prefers the one he was brought up with.

"I doubt that'll save you from gettin' whacked. Assuming your mum is the type to whack people. Say, try learning a spell that will make her stop focusin' on all that nonsense." He's been friendly with witches long enough to know there's a spell for just about everything.

Edited 2017-04-20 06:10 (UTC)

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Gonna like it here!

13th March

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March 11th

Re: March 11th

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18th March, 3am

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18th March

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March 13th

Re: March 13th

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