more bob dylan; STORM FRONT part 1

[somerset]

where: in the city / when: at night / what: too much rain.

" some people feel the rain
other people just get wet. "

Comments

[drinkportsmouthdry]

It is a terrible night to be a hooker.

Archie leans up against the shop doorway, mostly out of the rain, and keeping his eyes peeled for any custom - or law enforcement - headed his way.

At least the weather means little likelihood of trouble, but also little chance of earning.

Archie begins to wish he had stayed indoors with a pot of tea and an extra-thick jumper.

[artiste]

It might not be a good night to be a hooker, but it's a pretty decent night to be any other kind of lawbreaker. Jez, like a good chunk of his fellow lowlife criminals, is thankful for the rain; it keeps the vice squad hounds off his scent and washes away the traces of any less-than-legal spell casting - chalked lines, plant matter, powders and potions - he might need to use over the course of the night. The rain is useful.

With the collar of his beaten and battered leather jacket turned up against the rain he paces through the puddles, heedless of the rainwater as it splashes up his calves. His eyes, bright and easily accustomed the darkness with the aid of certain helpful little spells, catch sight of Archie in a doorway and he slows to an idle halt.

"You look fuckin' miserable." He observes, voice raised against the hiss of rain on the pavement. Jez's lips quirk in a knowing smirk. "Slow night?"

[drinkportsmouthdry]

Archie smiles and flicks his dripping hair out of his eyes with a little head toss. "Slow fucking month."

He shuffles over to make room for another in his doorway, shifting his shoulders. Damned cold always makes his ribs ache.

"Don't suppose you have a spare fag, darling?" Archie doesn't usually indulge, but it is too fucking cold to be thinking about the future state of his lungs. He just wants to feel warm.

[artiste]

The first reply leaves Jez wordless with silent scepticism; he'd heard no complaints from his brother, but then again he didn't exactly let Joe tell him many of the gory details when it came to work. Still, with a lazy shrug he accepts the wordless offer of shelter in the doorway and - hopping over the worst of a puddle as he goes - he joins Archie in the lee of the door.

Jeremiah isn't a particularly tall man and neither is very wide; living on your wits and without the benefits of the sedentary lifestyle that came with having things like food and a bed each night doesn't exactly give him much to get fat on. He fits quite nicely in the space provided as Archie shuffles aside and takes a moment to slick the worst of the rainwater from his jacket before settling in.

"Only if you don't mind rollies," comes the reply, quieter now that Jez doesn't have to shout over the roar of the rain against the street as he reaches in to one of the many secret little pockets within the depths of his jacket.

[drinkportsmouthdry]

"Does anyone smoke anything else these days?" Archie allows an inch between them, the doorway admitting them both comfortably, but can't quite step completely away from this new source of heat.

"I should quit, but..." he shrugs, resigned. "It's not like any of us will live that long."

[artiste]

"Pretty bleak logic, that," Jez remarks as he produces a slim rectangular tin, scratched and dented but still quite obviously an old sweet box. With his shoulders against the door he slides downwards until he's perched, thighs against his chest, at Archie's feet. The contents of the tin are carefully balanced on each knee: a thin sheaf of cigarette skins; two little foam filters separated from the rest that lay scattered within the tin; and an unmarked bag of tobacco smelling as thickly incensed as it did unmistakably foreign.

"And talk for yourself, besides," he adds lightly as he sets a filter and a few good pinches of tobacco in the first paper. "I ain't going anywhere any time soon."

[drinkportsmouthdry]

Archie steps slightly in front of Jez, blocking the best part of the wind while leaving him some streetlight to see by. He's thoughtful like that.

"Well, I might live longer if it ever stopped bloody raining," he says, his usual impish grin returning to his face.

morgan thomas | sparkle cops ( dog handler )

[paired]

[ The raindrops are huge and splash out from the glass of the car windscreen dramatically in every direction, but Morgan has long since given up on trying to see the individual drops since the skies opened and down came the rain. Instead, he listens to the surprisingly soft drumming against the roof, the rhythmic pitter-patter that is more relaxing than he's letting on.

His eyes stay fixed on a blurry spot through the corner of the windscreen, distant lights smudged in jagged stars and refracted like exploded fireworks against the inky darkness blanketing the rest of the street.

He's waiting for something - for someone - and though he seems to be quietly at ease with the outside world despite its darkness, he's watching intently, too. ]

[hellyeah]

[ From his position in the passenger seat beside Morgan Danny is paying considerably less attention to the target than he should be. Whereas Morgan's eyes are keenly trained ahead of them, Danny's gaze has slid away from the windscreen to the window beside him. The glass has been rolled down in spite of the spray of cars that pass them by and the strafing droplets that sheet through the frame at odd angles; he's wound it down for a reason.

The rain is frustrating; even with the heightened senses that his dog shape has loaned him in human form, all Danny can smell through the wet night's air is tarmac and rain. It brings him close to being in a proper sulk - Danny never gets upset unless it's something to do with not being able to do his job properly, and this was exactly one of those instances. Perhaps if the rain hadn't been quite so heavy he might have been able to smell something through it, but this was overpoweringly heavy. And it would wipe clean the streets of any possible trails he could hope to pick up should anyone think of making a run from the intended building. It was bloody annoying.

His fingers tighten petulantly into fists against his lap over the lightweight cloth of his trousers; there was nothing he could do about it and on a deep level he knew how useless it was to be angry with the weather (especially the British weather) but he couldn't help it. He wasn't the kind of man to be logical - logic and decisions are the realm of his handler, or so he comforts himself - and the frustration was undeniable. He's moody and frustrated and distracted, three things that he's painfully aware of which frustrates him even further. ]

[paired]

[ Not needing any of his own senses to have a fairly good idea of how Danny is dealing with the weather, Morgan simply knows the other man well enough to take an educated guess. He doesn't let his eyes wander from their fixed position even as his lips part, voice emerging as calm and collected as always and not just because they're supposed to be staying under the radar.

He knows that words are only half of what he can offer, but the physical comfort - fingertips gently pushed through the side of the other man's hair and behind his ear - isn't a sensible idea. The frustration he can feel beneath the other officer's skin is concerning on both a professional and personal level. ]

Danny? What's that? Can you see movement? [ He doesn't point, just keeps looking at the doorway in the distance. Whatever the weather, Danny's senses far outweigh his own and he wants to remind his partner of that to focus his attention. ]

[hellyeah]

[ No matter how cool and calm the words are they still hit Danny with enough surprise to make him start guiltily. With a quick sideways flash of a sheepish expression at his partner beside him Danny shifts upwards in his seat and refocuses his attention in front of them. His mind shouldn't have been wandering; he knows it's bad of him and he won't attempt to make any excuses for it. Actions are better than words, and he furrows his brow and intently leans forward to stare through the rain-washed windscreen at the door up the road.

A moment of silence descends as Danny eyes the blurs that shift and merge through the rain splatters dashed against the glass. Having never had much of a filter between his emotional thought process and his body language, it's clear to see when he picks up on the movement ahead of them; he instinctively leans forward, shoulders stiffening with the sudden urge to get out of the car as one hand strays to the inside door handle. Suddenly the rain means nothing to him - if given the word from Morgan he'll gladly throw himself out of the car and in to the worst of it, regardless of the weather. ]

One female IC1-- no, wait two, two IC1, one male and one female. Just leaving the premises now and heading... [ He trails off, leaning forward to squint even harder through the windscreen. ] Heading left towards Regis road.

[paired]

[ In the unmarked car, Morgan knows the two of them are afforded the slight advantage of the element of surprise. It's something he's completely thankful for when he notices Danny moving out of the corner of his eye. Satisfied that the other man's senses are now locked on to their people, he turns his head and fixes his gaze on the fingers stretching for the door handle. ]

Not yet.

[ When they're out working together Morgan is always very careful to keep his responses simple if only to avoid mistakes and miscommunication. He knows Danny's concentration is poured into his senses, into all of the extra stimulation around them that his own human-only senses can't even perceive. So when he speaks it's slow, clear and, above all, firm.

His own hand reaches for the starter button, no key or fob needed in place of his hand and the only identification he needs to start the car is a spell he mastered as a newbie years ago. Basic training. When the engine starts it's quiet, much like an electric car may have been in years gone by, and only once he's certain Danny isn't going to bound out of the car he steers the vehicle in the direction of Regis Road. ]

[hellyeah]

[ Morgan's words cut through his thoughts just as they were meant to; whereas Danny's mind is, at the best of times, a muddle of warring instincts it's Morgan that straightens them out and directs them as they will be best applied. The outstretched hand pauses, fingers curling up in on themselves as Danny sinks back in to his chair. The car starts up and Morgan pulls away and Danny's heart leaps with anticipation. Not yet was as good as Soon as far as Danny was concerned. ]

I think the man's carrying something... sports bag, maybe.

[ Danny unclips his seatbelt and lets it rattle back in to place at his left hand side and wraps his arms over opposite shoulders to heave his black cotton shirt over his head. A few seconds of rustling darkness later and Danny is throwing the shirt in to the footwell and kicking off his shoes as he breathlessly adds: ]

Kinda late for sports, don't you reckon?

ben casey | sparkle cops ( the pitbull )

[barbarian]

[ Hood up and head down, Ben's broad shoulders are hunched over against the rain, the coloured string from the plastic sports bag he has over his chest bleeding blue against his light grey hoodie. He looks like a man who's going somewhere, but with his tracksuit and the JD sports bag slung across his back it doesn't really look like he's going places.

It isn't immediately obvious from the stocky man's appearance how different he really is and, while he couldn't care less, he knows other people are glad about that. Maybe he's as valuable as they're saying he is, but it makes no difference to him except for being someone's fucking target. Today he's just blending in with everyone else trying to fight through the rain, just like he fights through everything else. He isn't graceful as he navigates his way past puddles but he is fast and surprisingly light on his feet. He knows how to dodge and weave his way through masses of people but today it isn't necessary - the weather's seen to that. But he does look surprised when someone catches his shoulder with theirs, his gaze snapping sharply around and over his shoulder to work out if they're a friend or not. ]

jacob | monsters!

[whyyy]

[He just gets wet. Very, very wet.]

Fuck! Fuck you, rain!

perhin | beluosus

[bodies]

[A perfect night to go for a walk, even if his outfit may have to pay the price. The umbrella does only the minimum to spare his clothes as he walks down practically empty streets, shutting his eyes every now and then to take in the scent of the rain, hands already wet from feeling the drops on his palms. Anyone observant enough to notice may find him much too sophisticated to be in a neighborhood like this - and they'd be mostly right.]

[menacing]

[ He is dressed a little too nicely for a neighborhood such as this one - which, of course, makes him a terribly attractive target.

Strauss is working alone tonight. He had asked to be stationed on the eastern fringes of the city territories specifically so that he could keep an eye on a few streets in particular. Too many idlers and wasters had been straying in to the dark little businesses he called his own, and Strauss would not stand for that. The idea of spending a night chasing down and snapping at the fleeing heels of those who thought they could simply wander in to his area was a night well spent, as far as he was concerned.

He falls in to step several long meters behind the stranger, unconscious of the rain that beats against his face and merrily spitting aside the rivers of droplets that trickle from his unkempt fringe across his mouth. In one hand he idly swings a baseball bat as he goes; Strauss has never been one for spells and magic besides the few basic charms that everyone uses to get by in day-to-day life. No, he prefers the solid weight of his own strength - especially in a world where so many have started to rely too heavily on anything other than their own wits. ]

[bodies]

[Perhin comes to a stop before a corner, taking his time to consider both options - go onwards or follow the turn - hand stretched out briefly to receive another portion of rain in his hand. This time he presses his palm against his neck and slides it up to his face, patting it lightly with his fingers a few times before the little ritual is finished. The rain that crosses this city is polluted, and while it's not enough to feel unpleasant, Perhin's instance of self-indulgence would most likely be enough to curl a number of noble lips.

But that's the point of his little outing: no nobles looking for reasons to criticize his every step, no servants or rusalki nervously wondering what he'll do next. Tonight his reputation is all alone.

The beast in the shape of a human, however, is not. Or so the second body of footsteps told him seconds ago.]

[menacing]

[ The scented trail that the man leaves as he paces down the street is mostly washed away by the onslaught of rain from above but what little that lingers is enough to go by. The undercurrent of something familiar and yet so fundamentally different and alien to anything that Strauss could recall and cologne - any other smells (the natural and subtle ones, the ones that Strauss didn't particularly care for) are lost in the rain, leaving only the man-made cologne and the similar-yet-strange scent between the overwhelming smells of the downpour and the dirt it disturbs as it drums against the tarmac.

The man ahead of him strolls to a stop and Strauss's quiet, even pace continues until he's only a brief arms length away from his back. Blinking aside the rain he contemplates the other man's form - his carriage, his posture, the slope of his shoulders and the theoretical reach of the hand that holds aloft the umbrella. Strauss, bulky and thickly-muscled, fancies his chances. The swing of the baseball bat increases, looping back and forth in wider and wider sweeps until it gains enough momentum to be hefted upright in one hand.

There's barely a second that passes after the other man arrives at the junction before Strauss is wordlessly arcing the thick end of the baseball bat in a sharp, savage swing aimed at the base of the stranger's skull.

Because strangers could not be tolerated. ]

[bodies]

[Rusalki are creatures with sensitive ears, for better and for worse. Footsteps, an altered balance, walking with intent behind him - Perhin can easily feel the other presence and with it imagine the worst intentions. Sometimes paranoia is mistaken for instinct however, and sometimes those ready to prove it right change their mind, so there is no initiative on his part until something happens.

As gifted as he may be, speed is hardly something that sets him apart from other humans, especially when his age does little to help his reflexes. The evasion isn't enough to prevent the swing from connecting with his shoulder, pulling a sharp, almost feral hiss from his throat, umbrella released and abandoned on the concrete. There's both alertness and indignation in his eyes when he turns and reaches out to force the weapon from his attacker's grip.]

[menacing]

[ There's a surge of lip-sneering frustration as the bat connects lower than Strauss would like; still, the thick impact of hardened wood over the flat shoulder bones of the tall stranger was at least a little satisfying. He steps in with the blow, closing the distance between him and his target as the momentum of the swing brings him closer - but the natural curve of the rest of the bat's intended downwards arc is brought to a staggered halt.

Strauss's surprise to find his target still standing is etched in his features as he realises that, rather than buckling and falling to the ground, the man has the other end of Strauss's weapon in an iron grip. Still, the attack dog nerves in the back of Strauss's conscience override everything else; he applies his free hand and maintains the tight grip on the bat in bloody-minded refusal to let the target wrench his weapon away from him.

Not his only weapon, of course. But the only one that could be turned against Strauss if lost.

With both hands on the handle end of the bat he lifts a leg (a risky move, leaving him off-kilter and balancing only on one foot) to swing a boot at the other man's knees. ]

London, 1804

[doctorsailorspy]

It is a terrible night to be without a carriage.

On leaving Shepherd Market, where he had been speaking with Sir Joseph Blaine for several hours on some remarkable butterflies, Stephen discovered the usual place occupied by his coin purse was instead stuffed with coca leaves.

Chewing thoughtfully, he crosses the street with only a cursory glance for traffic, his summer coat quite soaked through.

greg townsend | sparkle cops ( the coroner )

[examines]

[ It had looked almost romantic from inside the restaurant but, as they readied themselves to leave, Greg had taken the opportunity to stick his head out of the door and stand under the canopy amongst the smokers to check out the rain. He's long since given up smoking - no good for his heart - but even on the edges of the clouds of dangerous smoke he still feels as though the fresh air is doing him some good.

The already slick with water pavements and road are bound to disagree with both the outfit he's wearing - flip-flops with beige combats and a semi-smartish pale blue shirt over the top of a white t-shirt - and the fact he's sort of styled his usually unkempt hair. These days he doesn't so much go for the slicked back look but at the moment it would probably be easier to carry off.

He thinks about none of this as he glances up into the rain-darkened sky with amusement warming up his already chocolatey-brown eyes. Getting wet isn't exactly the end of the world and if he finds a lamppost suitable enough he might even give Charlie a reenactment of Singin' In The Rain; he'll do just about anything to draw a smile out of his partner. He waits patiently for the other man to grab his coat, rocks back on his heels to avoid the spray of water that is thrown up as a vehicle passes too close to the curb and hits a large puddle. ]

[handsoff]

[ Other man might have chastised their Significant Other for wearing such patently unsuitable clothing when a rainstorm had been imminently forecast earlier that day. Not Charlie, though; Charlie honestly doesn't mind. Purely because he knows that Greg doesn't mind. And if he doesn't, then why should Charlie?

Collecting his coat from the cloakroom had taken far, far longer than he had expected and - from his vantage point from inside the warmth and bustle and clattering of the restaurant - he can see Greg outside on the street. There's a quiet leap of fondness that leaps in his chest as his gaze tracks the other man's frame, blurred as it is by the panes of glass dividing the inside from the out. There's a quiet murmur of good wishes for the rest of the night as the waiter returns with Charlie's coat; leather-gloved hands curl appreciatively in to the heavy wool fabric as he folds it over one arm and heads for the door.

The difference in the thick heatedness of the restaurant atmosphere and the cooler cleanness of the streets is exhilerating and Charlie heaves a contented sigh as he sidles up to Greg. ]

Sorry, sorry - they brought out a whole spectrum of coats before they found mine. [ A quiet smile. ] Ready to go?

[examines]

Does it make you wish you still had your name stitched into the back like when you were at school?

[ Greg asks his question midway through the smile he's returning and really isn't troubled by the delay at all. His philosophy is far more relaxed these days and going back to having every second of his day already claimed by something was never all that it cracked up to be. All it earned him was being shuffled loose the mortal coil earlier than expected, even if it was temporary.

But he doesn't think about that now outside of the lessons he's learnt. Not taking nights like this for granted - even with the rain still pounding down against the pavements unapologetically - is something he can make sure of for as long as he remembers how lucky he is to be here at all, and being here with Charlie just makes it that much more special. ]

Ready and raring to go. Do you want me to hail a chariot or do you fancy living a bit? [ He puts an overly dramatic toe out towards the wet where the protection of the edge of the canopy doesn't quite reach. He's happy to dance - or just walk contentedly - in the rain because what does it matter what anybody else thinks? As long as they're laughing the night is a good one and it's not like they have that far to walk. ]