Dressing Room

[dresden_kink_mods]

Ack! Close the door; people are changing in here!

This post is for RPG shenanigans. The rules stand. A short refresher: don't be an asshole.

This post-specifics: multiple characters are okay. Characters specific to alternate verses are okay. OCs are okay. Your journal coming in to hang too is okay. There isn't a formal scenario here; it's an open sandbox where all characters and community-watchers can come and play. If your thread is going adult-only, put up a notice in the subject line. If it's going into trigger territory, don't be an asshole: no noncon-noncon'ing anyone, watchers included. Don't start OOC shit.

And have a blast!

(Don't have a dreamwidth account for your character(s)? Go check out dw_codesharing. If there's nothing on the first page, dig deep. Lots get missed, especially when new codes go out. Also, check out the code sharing post.)

Comments

Invite codes

[lightgetsin]

RQGEFBP2E5H37AAAGPSF
EZ3ARSSE2CP4DAAAGPSG
EV85BMH5K32JZAAAGPSH
N7HN2QQ4D6SWFAAAGPSJ
SJC9P93WEKEZVAAAGPSK
782SHFRGSD7AKAAAGPSL
RC3STWZBMM25CAAAGPSM
58FRTFVV4RNM4AAAH8ND
3C4YGMWYW4ZYWAAAH8NE

more codes!

[existence]

GDTW9PRCRFQH7AAAFTAF
CAZ4TSCS5JR7XAAAFTAG
6A67H9QKXEQCCAAALM87
KCPMYYD23Z767AAALM88
VAHK43DVMXFZCAAALM89

Re: more codes!

[silverdusk]

Taken the last code from existence just so people know. Thanks!

KCPMYYD23Z767AAALM88

[thirteen_pillars]

Took the second to last for this journal, thanks!

RQGEFBP2E5H37AAAGPSF

[(Anonymous)]

Used the first one. Thank you!

[readyaimfuego]

[Harry Dresden slouches on a bench in Millennium Park, enjoying the end of Winter as some more Spring-ly warmth starts to break into the city. He's reading a book with one hand and eating a Hostess cupcake with the other.]

[sonofaknight]

[Daniel Carpenter slouches across Millennium Park, backpack slung over his shoulder, the homework he brought into the city for the weekend heavier on his back than on his mind. Who wants to do physics when the sun is shining? Maybe he'll grab a patch of bench later and do some reading; it's a good place for it. He likes Millennium Park, okay? And not because he's been away at college for so long he's turned into a tourist, like Alicia said last week. Evanston isn't another planet; it's 40 minutes on the L.

And there's a familiar face he wasn't expecting to see.

...Crap, and he stopped walking. Now he has to say hi and it will be awkward but if he keeps going and Mr. Dresden sees him, it'll be rude and more awkward. Augh, social graces.]

"Er. Hey Mr. Dresden." Wave?

[readyaimfuego]

[Harry blinks out of his intent reading to see Daniel Carpenter. Always one of the calmer members of the Carpenter brood. Strong kid, a lot like his father.]

He-- [He coughs, swallows the bite of his cupcake in his mouth, then tries again.] Hey, Daniel. What's going on, how's, uh, college?

[sonofaknight]

Ooh, cupcake. Not that he's hungry or anything. Or should be hungry or anything. He only ate an hour ago. Wasn't he too old to still be doing this? When did puberty end, anyway?

"Good! Um. Good."

...Seriously, Carpenter. That's all you can come up with?

"What are you reading?"

[readyaimfuego]

[Harry has more cupcakes. He actually has a box of the things. They were half-off and Harry is not about to let opportunities like that pass him by.]

Do you have a major or undecided? Or are you just there for the girls? [He winks, smirks, look he's cool Uncle Harry, right?]

[He holds up his book.] Grimm fairy tales. Or, as my people call it, research material. Dark stuff, but Jacob and Wilhelm did their best to get information out there for the mundanes.

[bigraudr]

He's on his lunch break. Yeah, he gets one of those. So it's sunny and warm, he's got a box of Wow Bao, a pad thai salad and some pomegranate ginger ale, The Collected Essays of Robert Creeley, his phone ready in case something comes up, and a vantage point in Millennium Park where he can see the office just in case. Life is good.

[readyaimfuego]

[A wild Hendricks has appeared? Time to poke it with a stick! Harry's supposed to be hunting down a wayward sylph that's ruining picnics and causing minor havoc around the Park buuut he can't resist the urge to mess with the big guy.

Warm and sunny moods have hit Harry to, and a quiet ventas might send a gust of wind to Hendricks, making him lose his page.]

[bigraudr]

One minute he's got a forkful of salad in his mouth, reading about Creeley and HD and savouring the way two people can mix their words, and the next there's a wind from nowhere-- in the opposite direction of the gentle breeze that's been cooling his face-- and he's lost his page and a bite of chicken.

The underside of his watch face starts to tingle, like when he was a kid adjusting the tv antenna and Mrs. Kovacks upstairs was vacuuming-- magic. He puts his fork down casually, leaves the chicken in the dirt, and opens his book again-- A Note on Canadian Poetry, this time. Not that he's reading it. He slides his phone onto the page, leans back, starts scanning the crowd in the reflective surface, stretches out one leg so he can get at the gun at his ankle if he needs to.

So much for a quiet lunch.

okay, gotta ask, who is that AMAZING PB?

[readyaimfuego]

[Harry's not a PI for nothing and takes note of how Hendricks shifts after his fun little spell. The big guy is just a bit too cool, his posture a bit too awkward-looking, and his eyes just barely not moving enough on the page to be reading.

Stars and stones, and people call Harry paranoid. He's got nothing on the Outfit's upper hierarchy.]

[Harry sighs, loud and dramatic, and trudges over Chicago's Lawn to Hendricks.] Hang fire, Cujo. There's kids around, let's not give 'em a show. [He pauses, then smirks.] It'd look bad if I kicked your ass in front of the entire city.

Lee Reherman, plus Photoshop

[bigraudr]

Yup. There he is. He turns his phone off before it goes the way of the last four he's lost to Dresden's errant antitechnology field. At least he stuck his recent edits in Evernote.

"Dresden." He doesn't bother to hide his sigh. No point in making the wizard wonder if he's glad to see him. Heh. Like he'd wonder. His eyes narrow despite himself. It's like being in middle school all the time. "You lost or something?"

He died in Winter. And Winter doesn't give its prizes away.

[fanatic_os]

It's a nice night, the sky ripe with stars just coming out, pale glimmers and a rising sliver of moon. There are a few puddles on the ground, from a day intermittent with Chicago spring showers, and the scent of flowers, of new life and fresh earth.

It's risky, being here. This side of the Nevernever. This city, maybe, particularly. But Winter's hold is strong in Chicago, is rooted deep with Maeve in Undertown and Dresden's homestead, and there's neutral ground just a few steps away. And the mortal world is tempting, all the more so since it's been lost to him. Too tempting to stay away from for long.

Morgan opens the door to MacAnally's, and disappears down the stairs.

[thirteen_pillars]

It's a slow night at Mac's; a few customers, the dinner rush such as it is long gone. It's too nice a night to be in a bar for most, even one like this.

Mac looks up at the late arrival-- familiar, that face. It goes with a man the grapevine says is severely dead. Not that he's on the White Council mailing list, but news like Morgan gets around. He wasn't happy when he heard, didn't have Harry Dresden's antagonistic relationship with the warden. Harry, fond as he is of him, buys himself a lot of trouble. He may have just bought some and had it delivered to Mac. Bless his heart.

Most things with a dead man's face aren't friendly, but this one hasn't attacked yet. The shotgun's under the bar, with iron shot and salt shells if they're needed. Mac doesn't reach for it; polishes the counter, and keeps eyes on the visitor.

[fanatic_os]

He can feel the eyes on him-- a few faces from the scant crowd looking up for more than a moment. He doesn't recognize any he sees, but he's not looking. Would be surprised if any of them recognized him. Especially now. Winter loves like a forge, like ice. Preserves you and remakes you. And this body-- it's what's he's fashioned, through memory and trial. And besides, he was a ghost long before he was dead. A Warden. A grey cloak. Someone they never hoped to meet.

But that one. The face he was expecting. Right where he always was. That one knows him. He smiles a little, lips twitching. It's been a long time. It's nice to be back. No matter how this goes.

He makes his way across the floor, the fan blades whirring above his head, around the solid, carved pillars. Takes a seat on a barstool. “McAnally.”

[thirteen_pillars]

"Morgan."

This is a start. No murder. The man moves like he's expecting people to scatter in his wake, but when has he ever not? Up close he can see the lines carved into Morgan's face, whoever the wearer is. Dark and tired. Frozen.

There are a lot of questions and Mac's not going to be the one to ask them all. He'll just ask the important ones.

"Beer?" He reaches down and pulls up a bottle of ale, room temperature, golden and a little cloudy as the movement stirs up the sedative. It's good stuff. One of his recent batches he's particularly proud of. He doesn't want to descend into a maudlin spell, but it's a batch he'd've liked Morgan to have tried when he was alive, before he was gone so hard that the gossip got back to a bartender in Chicago.

[fanatic_os]

"...Please." It's surprisingly hard to say. He has to tone it down, else it gets a little too desperate, starts saying things he doesn't want it to. Doesn't need it to. Everyone has an afterlife; his hasn't been so bad. And right now, he just wants the beer. Some company, maybe. To not drink it alone. Maybe some meat, if the mortal drink settles well in his stomach.

If. But he's made his body well. Or, it has made up around him, more honestly, has served him in Winter and so far, in Chicago.

And he really wants a damn drink.

[thirteen_pillars]

Somewhere in Chicago, in a hole in a wall and down a flight of stairs, there's a tavern. There's no neon sign to guide you in, just a wooden sign; neon doesn't do well around the clientel they get inside.

There are thirteen wooden tables, thirteen carved pillars, thirteen slow-spinning ceiling fans, thirteen high windows. There's a little plaque that says 'Accorded Neutral Territory.' There's a bartender, tall, bald, moderately muscular and moderately ageless, in a crisp white work shirt and apron.

There's the best microbrewed old world ale in Chicago; there's a damn fine menu, but don't expect to be served. You have legs; walk to the bar and get it.

Mac's is open.

[moreacream]

Inari walks into the little tavern carefully, blinking at the switch from the bright Chicago summer to the dim inside light. She's never been here before, would have walked right past the office building if Justine (Justine, the only one who'll take her calls at the family house, who even talks to her anymore) hadn't given her the address, but it's close to her hotel and-- according to half-remembered chatter she hadn't been meant to hear when she was younger-- a good place to go for a meal and some company, if you weren't up for crowds, or, perhaps, feeling completely human.

She makes it down the little set of stairs without tripping, her eyes adjusting slowly, and glances around, hoping for a familiar face. And something to eat-- wow, does it smell good in here. It's been a few hours since that latte before her plane ride, and her stomach is quite happy to remind her.

First things first, then. She walks up to the bar. "Hi!"

(This post still open? If it is or if it isn't, anyone else want to meet her at Mac's? The more the merrier!)

[thirteen_pillars]

Mac didn't speak, but he smiled at the young women and gave her a little nod, a welcoming headbow.

He didn't recognize her, but the bar wasn't so insular and so hidden that they never got new faces. He took one of the heavy stock-card menus from the bar, the menu printed out, one side dedicated to the food, the other dedicated selection of beers (lots of those, and all local) and the wines (fewer, and either local or very very non-local.)

He offered the cardstock out questioningly, menu resting lightly enough in his grip to be taken without awkwardness; was she here to eat, drink, or ask directions to the nearest gas station?

[Mac's is open anytime. ;) ]

[moreacream]

"...Um." She smiles brightly, takes the proffered menu, and hefts herself up onto a barstool. "Thanks! I'm starving."

She's really hoping she hasn't said something wrong-- the guys seems friendly, is tall but not using his size to claim the space around him. She's going to start babbling if she's not careful, though, because nature abhors a vacuum and her nerves adore an outlet.

"I've never been here before! What's your favourite?"

[thirteen_pillars]

He considered that briefly and because she was obviously nervous, didn't just tap the menu: "Steak dip sandwich is good," he offered. You can't beat the classics.

He gestured at the soda tap, offering a drink while she thought.