Yukiko rolled over and looked at her buzzing alarm clock with a pout. She lazily slapped the top of the clock barely hitting the end alarm button and rolling onto her back and absent-mindedly pushing the hair out of her face. She sat up and glanced around her room, quickly picking out the glasses she didn’t need and the jeans she absolutely did. Her cold feet gently tread across the colder hard wood flooring making her way to the kitchen. Her hands acted on muscle memory, starting a pot of coffee and placing a pot underneath the machine as it went to work.

She bent down in order to pick a pan neatly out of the cupboard, making sure not to wake Maggie or Stef with the clatter of the pan. She quickly leaned to her right turning the bottom right stove up to seven out of ten. She placed the pan on the stove and grabbed a knife from the drawer with her other hand she slid the stick of butter that was on the counter and sliced some off letting it slide onto the quickly heating frying pan. After gently placing the knife in the sink she retrieved four eggs from their carton in the fridge. Expertly, she cracked each one, two at a time, and let their yolk simmer in the pan.

She also grabbed some bread and placed it into the toaster while waiting for the eggs to cook, when she was waiting for those to finish she retrieved a small glass and poured some orange juice into it, no pulp. Finally finishing creating the meal, she scraped the eggs onto a plate, retrieved the golden brown toast and the glass of orange juice and placed them on a small ‘breakfast in bed’ tray. She made her way over to the door leading to Stef’s room and gently knocked, waiting for a response. When she didn’t get one she gently opened the door and let herself in when she saw the young girl still calmly sleeping.

Yuki stood in the doorway for a moment, a warm smile materializing on her face as she quickly but silently made her way to Stef’s bedside placing the breakfast platter by her bed and glanced over to her own alarm clock. She grinned and set Stef’s alarm back another five minutes – just to make sure that she got her sleep. She pulled Stef’s blankets up to meet her and make sure she was warm and comfortable. Yuki quickly left Stef’s room and silently closed her door before running off into the shower.

Ready for her day, finally she took a seat on the couch in her living room and decided she’d wait for Stef this morning, they could walk to work together. She flicked on the news and-

A video named ‘Helsing’ has been posted to YouTube has taken responsibility for the death of Nick Bloodfang. Using wide reaching statements stating that werewolves are killers, vampires are-

“Fucking pricks.” Yuki cursed under her breath glancing back at Stef’s door. Racism never changed, they just found a new target.

"Hmm . . ."

Today was particularly frigid -- even for an ifrit such as Opallum. The wrath demon had been meandering about the borough for countless hours today, hardly anything pressing on his mind. What did manage to gain his attention and promptly annoy him, however, was that the lens of his sunglasses continued to fog up due to the cold. A nuisance, truly. As per usual, there were no specific stops or errands to be made, and, lacking an actual schedule to follow, there was little to keep him busy with. Edgetoun had much to offer, and Opallum knew this, but nothing that one could enjoy without having legal tender -- something he lacked entirely, at the moment. For a split second, the ifrit considered getting a job, but swiftly dashed the idea from his mind. He preferred "absolute freedom." Besides, Opallum always managed to scrounge up a few bucks by just traversing through London and kindly asking various inhabitants for just a few bucks. Almost always worked. Anyhow, it'd seem that the only way to prevent a boredom-wrought headache later on would be to find some type of legal stimulation that didn't require him to pay. Already, he had grown a tad weary from conversing with so many people over the span of three days. Being bored was certainly a tiresome pit to fall into and to get out of.

Eventually, after aimlessly sauntering around the district, Opallum managed to spot a familiar sigil inscribed on glass right by his face. He had come upon The Early Bean. News is on, right? It's usually on in the morning, he thought. While he might not be able to afford coffee (or anything else, for that matter), there was still a medium-sized LCD television established in the upper leftmost corner of the store that he could spot through the glass pane which would sate his boredom for a time. Shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargo pants, a decision came upon him: enter the store with no money and awkwardly loiter about while watching TV, or just stand outside in the cold and still get to watch TV? Opallum decided to settle on the latter option. There was no doubt that the cold was slightly bitter to him even with his abnormally high body temperature, but he felt it rude to amble in and take a seat without being able to afford anything. Would have been weird, too. After all of these thoughts joggled to and fro in his head, the very fact that he was allowed to view the news was enough for him.

Once the weatherwoman had finished divulging the snippet on the snowstorm and the Unseelie Court, Opallum nodded contently. "Good on those faefolk. Causing a ruckus usually causes some change, yeah?" he murmured, the corners of his lips curving upwards into a thin smile. In all honesty, the ifrit knew little on the fae and their on-goings, but they had verily proved themselves to be a diverse crowd, physically and personality-wise. Pondering on the idea of a snowstorm now actually struck some discord within Opallum. The homeless of London would be suffering through that. It'll be hell. Being homeless himself, he knew that he would also face the threat of biting wintry chill. Suppose I could just hang out in a bar until it settles down. Easiest way to get by.

Other than leaning against the glass with his right leg crossed over his left and staring inside at the news report, a stillness was beset upon Opallum's body, and his awareness of the surroundings gradually dissipated. It would seem that his attention was solely on the information being displayed on the television screen. Given his lack of access to the internet because of his status of abject poverty, he wouldn't catch wind of the 'Helsing' message or the headlines up on the BBC homepage -- at least, not yet.

Barachiel took another sip from its coffee mug. A habit it had seemed to pick up from its time experimenting with cafes. The warmth of the steaming liquid is really what it was looking forward too, hoping it would fight off the bitter cold that was becoming all too routine these past couple weeks. Its heart sank and shoulders felt heavy as the television continued on with the news stating that the werewolf that was at the center of these recent events had turned up deceased. Another soul stained with sin in these unfortunate circumstances. What a pity. A quick prayer came to its lips for all those involved in the incident before it turned off the TV.

It puffed its chest out stretching out both arms and wings filling the small apartment before turning back to its room. It was time to don its business attire. The room was very plain, holding only a full sized bed covered in white sheets and comforter, night stand with an alarm clock and a cell phone on top, and small closet. The closet contained five different white long sleeved button up shirts, five pair of matching navy blue pants and suit jackets, and three ties, one red, one light blue, and one silver. Today felt like a light blue day.

Finishing clothing itself, Barachiel took another sip of its coffee before picking up his cell phone and looking at its notifications. The BBC app scrolled by about a “Helsing” claiming responsibility for the death of creature the television mentioned earlier. Its interest peaked it clicked on the notification reading the story while sipping its coffee. Again it felt its shoulders grow heavy as sorrow washed over Barachiel. Man never ceased to stray from the path.

It walked back out into the common area hoping to find Suriel. They were wise on the subject of understanding mankind, perhaps they could help give an explanation into this cycle of sin man now seemed bent on with the supernatural. And maybe they could even offer advice on how to react if this bled into his dealings at work. So far it hadn’t affected it at all there but there had been a rumor going around about a grandparent of a child wanting to take custody of a child because the current guardian was accused of being something other than human.

Finding its fellow angel not immediately in the small common area it set about finishing its coffee and cleaning the utensil that had once held it, letting its mind wander to the other matter of legal debate going on about the rights of the creatures. Just when it had been getting used to acting human, it may have to openly display its differences. Not that it was scared of admitting to others that it is an angel, but it could cause some difficulty with the more ignorant parents and guardians he often has to deal with. “The children do seem to love the snow though.” A serene kind of smile crossed its lips at the much more pleasant train of thought.

What better way to wake up than to the smell of freshly fried eggs and toast? It sure beat the hell out of her annoying alarm clock, that was for sure - and upon finally opening her eyes, Stef realised with a smile that Yuki had turned it back a few more minutes. What a sweetheart that woman was.

Turning the alarm off before the irritating buzz filled her ears, Stef sat up in her bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Now fully awake, she could hear Yuki pottering about the flat; if she concentrated hard enough, Stef would even be able to hear Maggie's breathing next door... not that she wanted to do that. That's just creepy.

Draining her orange juice in a few gulps (Yuki had even remembered to get her the smooth stuff; in Stef's opinion, there was nothing worse than having little solid bits floating around your drink. Unless it was like chocolate chips in a milkshake, then she couldn't complain), her eggs and toast didn't last much longer after that.

"Thank God I still like normal food. I think I'd off myself if all I could eat was blood." Stef thought to herself as she stumbled out of bed, stifling a yawn as she ambled over to her door, tray in hand. By the sounds of things, Yuki must have been showered already - and with Maggie probably still asleep, that meant there'd be plenty of hot water left over for herself.

"Hey Yuki. Thanks for the eggs - you nailed 'em, as usual." Stef said with a sweet, grateful smile as she entered the living room; only just catching up Yuki's comment on the news. "Who're the pricks? Is it something to do with the weather outside?" She asked as she began rinsing her dishes; with her messy hair and night-shirt, she probably looked like twelve or something. Not that she minded around Yuki, or even Maggie at that - there was no reason to fake things with them. "Oh, and do I have time for a shower? I can wait until the evening, if you'd like to get to work before that snowstorm gets any worse." She offered in afterthought - Stef had peeked through her curtains before leaving her room; at first feeling a brief moment of joy at seeing all the snow before realising how gray the clouds were. A bit of snow was great - but not at the rate it was falling at. Thankfully the Tube wouldn't be affected by it all that much.

---

---

"Ah, snow. Thank you Fae kind - my job just got a lot easier with that shit piling up on the ground." Were Nick's first words of the morning - said with a weary sigh as he peered outside his window. Pulling on jeans and deciding that would be enough attire for breakfast, Nick walked downstairs, running a hand through his unruly hair and pushing it back. It didn't seem like Nikita or Faron were awake just yet; a small victory, for now. It meant Nick had the kitchen to himself.
Well, once he fed Rex, that was.

"Rex! Shut up, I know, I'm getting to it!" Nick whispered irritably to his cat, who was meowing loudly in his ear upon clawing his way up Nick's back to perch on his shoulders. Ignoring the grumbling that came from Rex, Nick poured some dry cat food into his bowl, then re-filling both Rex and Minnie's water bowls. There'd be no point in giving Minnie food as of yet - Rex, being the greedy little get he was, would eat both bowls.

"Eat up, you furry little bastard." Nick muttered with a quick pet of Rex's head, before the cat leapt from his shoulders. Now, he could focus on his own breakfast. And his body was screaming for pig, as usual.

Throwing some bacon rashers and sausages into a popping frying pan, Nick flicked the old TV that sat on the kitchen counter on to the news. He wasn't pleased with what he saw.

First of all, the mention of Nick Bloodfang - bad enough that he shared the guy's name, but they were both Werewolves. Not that Nick liked to pin himself up alongside most Wolves. Secondly, was the news that he had been killed. By "Mortal First". What a pisstake.

"Son of a bitch..." He swore quietly, scowling at the television. "Banning Werewolves and Vampires? If it were only that easy..." Turning the TV to mute, Nick added eggs, mushrooms and tomatoes to the frying pan, before adding some toast to the side and a mug of tea as a finishing touch. A perfect breakfast. Shame the morning didn't hold as many good things about it, so far.
Sitting down with his piled up plate at the table, Nick perched upon one chair, feet resting lazily on the seat opposite him as he ate.

The hospital functioned as most hospitals do. Doctors and nurses rushed through the halls in flurry, voices murmured from rooms and lobbies, heart monitors and other machinery beeped violently, and the lingering stench of antiseptic filled the air. The environment was chaotic enough that it could almost distract you from what this place truly was: a home for the sick and dying. That would be the pessimist’s way of thinking, but Suriel saw this as the best means to healing bodies and souls.

It was the morning of Thursday, January 9th, 2020. At 10:00, Suriel was four hours into their last shift of the week. After hanging a stethoscope around their neck, Suriel followed the flow of bodies down wing B of the hospital.

Wing B was prominently known by the hospital staff as the ‘geriatric’ wing, as most of the elderly patients were kept in the beds there. The more morbid coworkers referred to it as ‘death row’... Suriel gladly shut down the insensitive and cruel remarks when exposed to them. Why was a neurosurgery resident in the geriatric wing, you might ask? Well, there was a patient of particular neurological interest here.

”Mrs. Oswald, how are you doing this morning.?” The angel asked in a soothing tone that made one think of warm milk and honey before bed. Suriel checked over the woman’s charts before taking a seat beside her. Mrs. Oswald stared absently at Suriel with grey eyes that were mere echoes of a once brilliant blue shade. The old woman was beautiful, Suriel could see that - the angel could see this woman in every stage of her life, all at once, even the final one.

“Oh, I’m just waiting…” The woman spoke with a confused lilt to her voice.

”What for, Mrs. Oswald?” Suriel asked, perhaps this was a sign of progress, maybe she was remembering something.

”For my Johnny to come home from the war.” Mrs. Oswald croaked. Suriel’s eyes softened and they placed their hand atop the old woman’s. Johnny was indeed Mrs. Oswald’s son, but he had never been in any war. He had died 10 years prior in a car accident, survived by his daughter and wife. This was one of those morally ambiguous situations when it came to Alzheimer's patients… was it better to correct them without regard to emotional damage, or encourage their delusion by acknowledging it? Suriel chose neither option, such choices were too difficult for even a heavenly body such as themself to make.

”You have a visitor coming in today, Mrs. Oswald. Lisa will be here soon.” Suriel said in the hopes that that might brighten her somber mood.

“Who?” Mrs. Oswald asked, confusion clouding her features once more.

”You’re granddaughter, Johnny’s little girl.” Suriel explained warmly. Mrs. Oswald nodded, but the slightest frown tugged at her lips - misguided sadness for the son who would never come home from the war. Suriel tapped the woman’s hand gently and studied her. A golden cross hung at her neck. It was the only piece of jewelry she wore, and one that she combatively insisted that she remain wearing, despite the confusion this disease had cursed her with. Mrs. Oswald was godly woman, and when she met her earthly end in this very hospital bed, Suriel knew that she would ascend to the Father’s realm. There was nothing for the angel to do but bring comfort to her in her final days.

”The nurses will be in shortly to get you ready for your visit.” Suriel said and stood up from the chair. ”I’ll stop by again before the end of my shift to make sure you’re okay.” That was enough to make the woman smile. She grabbed Suriel’s hand before they could walk away.

”You’re a good boy. You’ll make a fine doctor someday.” Mrs. Oswald said and then released her grip on Suriel’s wrist.

”Thank you, Mrs. Oswald.” Suriel said with a bright smile before turning their attention to the television chirping with the morning news in the corner of the room. It appeared as though the recent snow storm was thanks to the Fae. The fae were… interesting. Faeries were like some secular mix between angels and demons. Suriel wasn’t quite sure how to feel about them, nor were they certain about how they felt about the Others being spoken about so openly. The only people that knew of Suriel’s angelic status were those who could figure it out, mostly Others themselves, and they hoped to keep it that way until their task here was done.

Suriel flicked the telly to Mrs. Oswald’s favorite, the cooking station, before heading out of the room. Suriel had a supervised brain surgery to prep for at 11:00 that would take up the majority of the rest of their shift. In case you were wondering, yes, angels can feel nervous, and this upcoming surgery had them feeling very much so.

Ghosts did not sleep.

Endless nights reminded Mona of this crucial fact. Endless, endless nights. She could memorize the colors of the sky with how often she watched it during dusk, she could list off each shade of darkness found above; the red-purple of twilight, the blue-black of nine P.M, the purple and pink hints of planet light that formed just at the witching hour. And then the morning would come, the sun summoned the most beautiful shades of white and pink and blue. Striped clouds dotted those lovely mornings, images Mona could piece together into another daydream. Gorgeous mornings led to gorgeous thoughts, and lazy days.

Today was not a gorgeous morning though. As Mona traced the white-gray storm clouds above she sighed. They hadn’t moved since late last night, and she had spent her sleeplessness watching nothing. Gray was not a pretty color, it was dull and familiar, because she too shared such a tone. Monochrome, boring. Where’s my pretty morning? Mona silently complained as her back pressed against the air just a few inches above the roof of Faraday Heights. Light had finally reached their dreary streets and she had no good things to think about, such mundane mornings were supposed to be complained about! In a lazy huff the ghost rose, balancing idly on nothing as she glared down at the empty streets below. People and creatures alike would be wandering down there soon enough, ripe for the imagining, but now nothing but a chill she couldn’t feel danced across the cement.

boring boring boring

A lazy yawn shifted from her lips, parting them but not forming any noise or mist, and Mona huffed haughtily again before lowering down into the roof. Rooms, rooms, and more rooms flashed passed her vision, only for a moment, and she swore she heard a few shocked gasps from a few of them. Of course, seeing a translucent girl descend from your ceiling wasn’t what you normally expected in the morning, but really they should be used to it! Mona wasn’t one for saying sorry, nor was she one to break routine. They screamed every other day! A stifled giggle echoed across one unlit household, and then she was finally home, resting on a couch that she had placed there a mere month or so before.

Mona’s room in 25B was sparse at best. The blue-white couch below her was basically the only piece of furniture, save for a single wooden chair in the other corner and an alcove seat. Lots of places to sit, lots of places to dream. Spray painted white walls and various books and cards made up the rest of the room, all found, aller her’s, and Mona sighed comfortably as she turned and settled visibly onto the couch. Her hair curled above her head automatically, shifting, forming, and bubbling as if suspended forever in water. She watched the effect quietly, combing her gray hands through the kinks and curls for a few long minutes before sitting up and listening to the sounds of the rest of the house.

Felix was awake. Mona knew because automatically her ears started ringing and her body felt a bit heavier. Mediums were noisey, her mind reminded her, and Mona sighed and nodded to herself before drifting towards the door. She opened it out of politeness because, really, she liked Felix, and didn’t wish to frighten her with sudden appearances. As she wandered into the main room of the apartment, glancing around expectantly for the medium, her soft, whispering voice formed and asked gently,

”Felix? You awake?”

---

Faron liked cigarettes in the morning. He liked the way they tasted (awful, smoky, chalky), he liked the way they smelled. He liked the way they formed shapes and spirals as the smoke left his lips and vanished into the chilly January air. The only thing he loathed about them was, of course, was the way they were slowly suffocating his lungs. If Faron lived passed thirty he would be surprised -- that’s how often he smoked. Pushing such a dark thought aside was easily done, though, as Faron took another drag from the fag and leaned further out the window.

Edgetoun was quiet as a snow storm brewed above. Faron only knew it was a snowstorm because of the old radio sitting beside him, which was now spouting some weird poppy song around crackling static. He took another, longer drag as the words from the radio buried deep into his head, certainly planning to play on and on for the rest of the day. Earworm songs could be damned to hell, Faron thought with a slight smirk, sucking in one last puff as the cigarette fell away into ash between his fingertips. The gray-black mist that steamed from his nose and mouth filled the air fully and, for a moment, Faron swore he saw a face appear. The radio crackled into white noise, and whispers filled his mind. A ghost, looking for attention.

_{fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay}

They called, teasing. Faron watched the smoke shift with each vowel, a curt mouth spouting the name endlessly. He leaned into his hand, waggling a finger at the spirit as it attempted to enter his room.

”Uh-uh, miss. Can’t let ya in here. Why not pass on for now?” His voice came out tense and emotionless, though a friendly smile kept his face light. White mist now escaped from his lips, sweeping into the spirit with another chilly wind which made him shiver, and the spirit’s smoky eyes narrowed and became as sorrowful as they could become. Again, the whispers cried,

fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay fay

And again Faron shook his head and leaned closer, dark eyes sparkling in the half-light of the cloudy day, ”I have people living with me, luv. Got no more room for another. I am certain you would not enjoy my room either; I’m quite boyish, if you get what i mean.” The spirit hung idly in front of him, eyeing him suspiciously, and then a sigh formed from the radio. The white noise ceased, and the spirit backed up into the gales that hung between the buildings. She was not passing on, Faron knew that, but she had become bored him his incessant nos. He waved to her, smiling still, and then she was gone in a sudden gust of cold air, taking with her the odd feeling of being watched and the brief comfort of not having to listen to the morning pop music.

”Later, luv.” Faron called to the empty air, pulling back inside and slamming the window shut. He wandered back towards the center of his cluttered room, tripping over fallen tapestries and cloaks until he was able to settle on the edge of his unmade bed. Neat hands patted warmth and life back to his ice-chilled shoulders, and Faron lit a few melted candles before collapsing back onto his sheets. E glanced at the clock on his nightstand, and then yawned. It was still early.

i could get another hour of sleep in maybe

---

In the dark stillness of Andrew's room, a small screen lights up, accompanied by some heavy metal band that he didn't really know the name of. A hand, along with a groan, emerged from the pile of comforters and began making sliding gestures all over the screen until one of them finally ended the cacophony. Andy hated heavy metal, but it was enough to get him up and make him want to shut it off. Lazily drawing himself out of bed, the young Witch absentmindedly stumbled over to the light switch near the door, tripping over some clutter of books. Once light stabbed into his eyes, the controlled chaos that was his room came into vision. Papers clung to the wall, denoting several incantations and runic inscriptions, along with magical fetishes hung up all around the room to ward off negative energy. Or...not let it spread, actually.

Shuffling out into the cold living room, Andy only in a white tank top and gym shorts, he made his way to the kitchenette to start coffee for himself, Katie and Claire. He'd had to clean up the apartment big time with Katie moving in, as he didn't want to make her uncomfortable with all of his Witchy shit right off the bat. She was new to this, and she was understandably shook up a little. But she was making an effort to understand, Andy felt, and so he wanted to make her comfortable. No need to scare the girl to death.

Claire was a different matter. She was a Witch as well, and while her school of magic was...less than Andy's favorite, she was a good woman as far as he could tell. He respected teachers with her attitude, and was glad to have Witches represented in the school system. As long as she didn't lasso in any Others.

Their kitchenette was connected to the living room, a bar separating the preparation area from the rest. Andrew grabbed the remote off the bar and clicked on the TV across the room, looking over the brown leather couch to the flat screen. While the screen came on, he deftly poured the ground coffee, a nice toasty dark roast, into the filter basket and filled the reservoir, flipping on the machine and letting the dark, luscious ichor of Heaven drip into the carafe. While that brewed, Andy quickly strode down the hall and rapped on Katie's, then Claire's door. "Rise and shine loves, the 9 to 5 beckons!" He called, a faint smile forming on his lips. It was nice to have folks to commute with, and to share the frustrations of the day...

As he came back into the room, the morning news was on. Andy found himself nodding at the mention of the Unseelie causing the storm, silently admiring their work. Sure, there could be some serious damages from the storm, and wasn't really his style, but it got the message across...and he didn't expect differently from the Unseelie. Talk about cold shoulders. He spited himself for waking Claire up after school cancellations started scrolling across the screen. He'd have to apologize...

And then the mention of those "Mortals First" fucks. A pleasant morning gone south real fucking quick. The runes tattooed on Andrew's arms began to glow slightly, like embers dying on his skin. Or trying to spark to life.

"Who the fuck gave them the right? I'll fuckin' torch 'em..." He muttered furiously, realizing his arms and trying to subdue them. His flatmates would be up soon.

---

"Yes, yes, I have it written-" A muffled voice cut off the brunette, making her press her palm against her forehead as she listened with growing frustration.

"Yep, got the nut allergy listed down, please Mrs Bennett, I can handle it. You don't need to worry about your son's birthday party."

"Of course dear, I know that my Johnny will have a wonderful birthday party in your care. But it's the bloody fairies that annoying me- they're not human, why should they be entitled to the same rights as us? This continued protest is just ruining the birthday plans!" She cried, and Cara barely repressed a scoff.

'Hypocritical bastards.' Cara thought instead, as she hummed while Mrs Bennett continued to complain about the faes causing the snowstorms out in protest. It was another thirty minutes until Mrs Bennett was finally done, Cara nursing her forehead as she felt an incoming headache pulsing at the back of her head.

It was because of humans like Mrs Bennett that kept Cara from revealing her vampire nature. Sure, she could simply just run away, like she'd done her entire life, but for once Cara simply wanted to live in peace. And with some blood. It's not like she could protest for the innocence of vampires anyway, since she knew that she was a murderer too, even if those had only happened due to her inexperience with vampire bloodlust. Sighing again, Cara entered the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea, the news still playing in the background as she tried pushing the thoughts out of her mind. It didn't matter any more. To people like Mrs Bennett, Catharine Reid was a human, nothing more, and Cara was fine with it.

Grabbing herself a steaming cuppa, Catharine peered across into the hallway as she wondered where her roommate was. She headed towards her door, bringing her knuckles up and knocking against the wooden door loudly. "Wakey wakey miss sleepy," Cara sang through the door, taking a sip of her still hot drink. "If you want me to make breakfast, come out within fifteen minutes. I need to get to work."

Upon the off-white expanse of her ceiling there were five cracks, three of which had only come to be after she had arrived at 30B and taken residence in this banal square of a room. The largest crack, running from the corner looking over the frame of the doorway and zig-zagging clear across to the other side, ran a length of thick vines down the breadth of it, that branched out freely towards the top of her wardrobe situated in the far right-hand corner. The other two cracks that had appeared in the room since her appearance housed spindlier leaves, that hung down like thin curtains, changing length at will to either touch the floor or huddle towards the ceiling. All three collections of flora, perpetually swaying softly in an nonexistent breeze, would sprout flowers of any random variety, the breed changing and shifting depending on any variable, from the time of day to the mood and energy of the rooms occupant.

Maggie, from her vantage point laid atop her iron wrought bed, drifted her gaze from where she had been counting the cracks in her ceiling, and gazed upon the vines, who fluttered and preened in their decoration for the day. Hibiscus, Maggie mused inwardly, a hand idly playing with the thick helmet of her hair, commonly grown in Asia and bloom in the sun. She turned her head to rest against her right shoulder, peering at the window, covered by a set of floor-length blinds, and no doubt concealing the harrowing, chilling weather of London in January outside. A small smile curved into the corner of Maggies lips, her plants always seemed to have a sense of humor, or at least some vague sense of irony.

With a soft sigh, Maggie drew the hand, that had been toying with the wiry curls of her hair, down her face, blinking several times up at her ceiling again, and thought, again, that she should get out of bed.

She had checked her phone, charging on her bedside table, as soon as she had woken, the automatic weather updates declaring the weather, an accompanying update from the BBC news site affirming the storm brewing, and explaining the basis behind it. Maggie hummed thoughtfully as she recalled the news report, burrowing deeper into her plush duvet as the wind gave another heavy howl outside. This business with the Fae had little to do with her, and typically she never spent too many a thought on them. Really...since this international outing, this explosion of creatures uprising, demanding rights and protection, in the face of all of it Maggie had really just got on with it, she went to lectures, she went to work, she woke up, she went to sleep.

"The key thing you need to do sweetheart, is stay the same." her Mother advised, striving around the entirety of the living room, a mumble of a spell from closed lips and magic dancing between her fingers, "Do what you've always done, don't panic, don't avoid questions and just give mundane answers." Evelyn stopped in the centre of the room, tall and imposing, before making a sudden line towards the balcony doors, startling an idling Yukiko out of the way. Maggie watched as her Mother ran a singing hand in an X across each tall pane, the glass pulsing as she inscribed a new ward. "Act confused as if it's completely ridiculous that they're asking you these sort of things, make them trust you, don't trust them" Evelyn commanded, peering out the window at the sky before turning back to address her Daughter firmly, speaking in a tone that left no room for argument.

"You can't give them any chances Maggie, you can't trust them. They've drowned us, and burned us and hung us, and that type of hate, that anger and fear, it doesn't go away. But you'll be fine, you can hide, trust in me and trust in the Coven, you'll be fine. They've been hunting us for centuries, we've learned how to adapt."

Maggie lifted a hand out from her duvet, reaching for her phone and unlocking it, the screen snapping on to the trending news report she'd been reading previously. This 'Helsing' manifesto was nothing new anymore, everyday a new story, a new expose, a new smear campaign blazed across a homepage, a global trending hashtag, evangelical sites...

Maggie released a slow sigh into her duvet, the sound muffled by the plush fabric, and placed her phone on her bedside table again, slowly shifting the warmth of the duvet off her. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, bare toes brushing the cold bare wooden boards of her floor as she stretched for a few long seconds, running a hand through her hair. Idly running a hand in greeting through the draping vines that hung from her ceiling, Maggie made for her desk chair, picking up the thick woolen jumper that lay on the chair and pulling it over her head. Padding across the floorboards she approached her door, noting the muffled voices out in the main room, and opened the door, closing it behind her.

Maggie stood still outside her room for a few seconds, giving a small hum in greeting to the wall of creeping vines that arched around her doorway and stretched into the living room/kitchen. After the vines gave a short quiver in response, Maggie moved the short distance down the hallway, rounding the corner into the main room and surveyed that mornings happenings.

She spied Yuki, hunched in front of the television, dressed for the day and poised in delicate but obvious anger, when Maggie peered over at the screen and saw the news she could guess why. Tugging slightly on the hem of her jumper, Maggie drifted pointedly towards the ensuite kitchen, giving a small nod to Stefanie before weaving around her, padding over towards the coffee machine. Lifting one of the mugs hanging on the small wooden mug tree next to the machine, Maggie poured herself a cup of warm coffee, turning around to pan her eyes around the room, leaning back against the counter as she lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip.

There were times when Nikita couldn’t sleep. Nights where she tossed and turned in her bed, skin on fire, and head aching and pounding like the steady bass of a song. She has tried everything on the internet, all the drugs, all the over-the-counter medicine. She used melatonin so much that not even a whole bottle could put her to sleep for more than a few hours. However, Nikita eventually found a solution to such nights – it seems, hilariously enough and true to her nature, nothing quite put Nikita to sleep like a good fuck. And the man who turned in the bed Nikita was dazedly laying in, throwing his arm around her waist and snuggling into her neck, was anything but that.

Nikita sighed through her nose, rubbing her makeup crusted eye as she sat up, tossing the man’s arm from her body. His mouth slipped open from the sudden jerk of his unconscious body and a line of drool spilt from the corner of his cracked lips. Nikita couldn’t help the sound of disgust that escaped her mouth, her lip curling as she slipped from the bed in nothing but her birthday suit.

At this point in her life, especially considering that she’s a twenty-six-year-old succubus, Nikita has become an expert on skipping out on one-night stands. Slipping into her tight jeans and slipping her arms into her leather jacket, forgoing a t-shirt and instead pocketing the slightly ripped fabric in her bag, the succubus couldn’t help the derisive thoughts of her bedmate that came to mind. Of course, being a professional (well, ex-professional), she found it her duty to sexducate him on the goings on of a female’s body. It was a crude drawing, with not many words, and a simple arrow pointing to what his objective should be. Nikita placed some gorilla glue onto the sticky part of the sticky note, just to make sure, and pressed her thumb along the paper so the glue took to the creased flesh of the idiot’s forehead.

“Slimy bastard.” Nikita murmured, flicking the note out of spite, before shouldering her bag and slipping out the door.

The cold air of Edgetoun breathed frost onto Nikita’s exposed collarbone, and Nikita regretted her decision of no-shirt. Wrapping her arms around her body in a foolish attempt to warm herself, Nikita wandered near the coffee place, something Bean, with hopes of a nice cup of coffee to heat up her bones and lungs. Her boots clicked on the sidewalk as she passed by that one homeless demon – his name always escaped her; but, then again, she never really tried to remember his name – and, without sparing him a glance, she pressed the doors open.

The TV was blaring some boring news report that Nikita couldn’t find herself to give a damn about, instead focusing on ordering a hot cup of caffeinated heaven. While waiting impatiently for the barista to fix her up, Nikita allowed her eyes to strain to the television, her peeling-painted black fingernails tapping with unspent energy on the counter. Nikki Thomas was muttering on about the weather and then on about the Unseelie – wait what.

Though Nikita didn’t give any outside reaction, her eyes still narrowed impassively and her fingers tapping incessantly, the succubus could feel her veins pump hot blood ten times faster at the news. How annoying – fucking Unseelie fae. Though Nikita agreed with their sentiment, she did have a job that she needed to go to and having a blizzard was going to make it more unpleasant than it already was.

“What a bunch of bitches, amirite?” Nikita’s eyes slid to the barista who spoke, slipping her the hot coffee with a blinding smile. He was obviously American, and the American pin stuck next to his name tag on the green nametag made her sneer slightly at such annoying patriotism.

“Right.” Nikita grunted in response, grabbing the coffee and exiting the place as quickly as possible.

By the time she arrived at her home, the coffee was mostly gone and her mood was even more sour than it was that morning. There was a pent-up anger in her muscles and a tight exasperation at the whole situation roiling in her gut. Fucking werewolves, they were so messy.

Nikita slammed the door shut behind her, slinking into the kitchen and ignoring the current werewolf that lived with her presently. She poured water into the Keurig and popped a coffee cup in place, pressing the button twice, as if it would make the machine pump out the stuff faster. Nikita would kill for a smoothie at that moment – strawberry, her favorite – but it was too cold and too much effort, so coffee would do. As she waited, she stalked to a chair at the table, across from Nicolas Black, and checked her phone for further updates.

“Have you seen the video?” Nikita mumbled, her voice raspy from lack of use, and her eyes glanced up to the Other across from her. As if to provide clarification, Nikita scratched her cheek as she said the stupidest name to ever exist for a fucking manifesto: "Helsing, that video."

Opallum had succinctly become tired of watching the news reports after the first exciting five minutes had passed by. He didn't care much about whatever other politics were going on in this world. A handshake there, an election here. Soon, entering his sight was . . . Well, he wasn't entirely sure on his guess, but given the abrupt, internal attraction he felt for her when she entered his sight, he could only presume that this woman was a succubus. He had previously asked a loosely held friend what her name was with the implication of approaching her in his tone, but he morosely failed to muster up the courage. Now he had accumulated only two facts about this woman: she was a succubus and her first name was Nikita. Other than that sighting, Opallum came to the conclusion that nothing else too interesting would occur nearby the coffee shop any time soon. He pushed himself away from the window with a muffled grunt and continued his haphazard stroll around the district.

Soon, Opallum found himself sitting on a relatively nice spruce bench beside a street just outside of Faraday Heights. He didn't know why he wanted to be here, but an innate need to be around a multitude of individuals overcame him. Slouching down some in his seat, he shifted about further to secure a somewhat comfortable position and began to idly stare out at the passersby. This was always an interesting activity to partake in. To most, it might have appeared as if Opallum had just been staring out at the traversing crowds. However, he found some excitement in trying to discern the individual Others from the mundane humans -- which, he would admit, is actually quite an arduous task. It should also be noted that his guesses were highly inaccurate. Sometimes, he based the physical criteria for being an Other simply on how much they stood out from a crowd. Pink hair? Perhaps a fae. Abnormally pale skin and impeccably dressed in unnecessarily lavish attire? More than likely a vampire.

Today was an especially horrid time to do this, as most London inhabitants had donned winter clothing: scarves, ski hats, beanies, gloves, and coats. At this point, there was little reason in continuing with this little game of his. Opallum groaned rather loudly, leaning his head back against the top rail of the bench. He steadily went to spread his legs out and set his hands atop his knees. What more was there to do? Granted, it was still early in the morning, and the conglomerate of workers and students would soon come rushing out onto the streets and sidewalks, but even that would take far too long with Opallum's lack of adequate patience. Indeed, waiting was not a specialty of this precise ifrit.

Now, what was there to think about . . . ? The concept of a Human-Other war certainly piqued his interest some, regardless of the more morbid outcome. Would there even be an all-out war? Would the government back the anti-Other group? Was the government even primarily composed of humans? Were there Others in superior governmental positions? This train of thought could drag on for hours, but Opallum wasn't in the mood for going into the logistical aspects of a Human-Other war. All he was sure about was that utter chaos would be a given. Bullets versus the mythoi.

The unfortunate facet of this event is that, much to his disdain, a myriad of bodies would accumulate around this bloodbath, and Opallum enjoyed the presence of both humans and Others in this world far too much to siphon any positive stimulation from such an outcome. Being entirely rational for a brusque moment, Opallum came to the realization that he himself would probably be among those bodies. It was then that his mind sojourned elsewhere to something less bleak. Once more, the ifrit was bored.

Yuki’s expression turned around from her scowl to a warm smile when Stef came out of her room and rinsed her plate. “Just some egomaniac on the news, nothing you need to worry about Stef” she said with her signature smile. “You’ve got time for a shower sweetie, just make sure you dry your hair, it’s chilly out!” She said getting up once her coffee machine let out a small beep. She grabbed a mug from the cupboard above the sink and poured the dark brown savior of her day into it. Clutching it with both of her hands and blowing on it so that she could drink it as soon as humanly possible. Maybe ‘humanly’ was the wrong choice of words.

“I’ll have to take a longer break today, I’ve got to pick up some books at the library today – so if you want to go home at noon you can, but I’ll leave it up to you whether you want to stay and tend the shop with John for the hour that I should be gone.” Yuki said. Today was the day, she was going to reveal her identity to Stef and there was something about that she found terrifying. Scratch that, there was nothing about it she didn’t find horrifying; in fact she found herself dreading the conversation already, her heartbeat quickening thinking about it.

_slurp

She took her seat once more and glared angrily at the news. Maggie exited her room and Yuki once more changed her expression. “Morning Maggie.” Yuki said warmly, glancing out the window at the snowstorm that was starting up. She snatched the remote up, tired of what she was hearing and decidedly changed the channel to the weather network. Seemed the storm would be continuing for some time today.

_slurp

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Eve rolled over sleeping. She dreamed an innocently perverse dream about an island full of men, battling for her affection and the winner was a fallen angel who gave her a wilted rose and dove into the ocean. And then Channing Tatum was there, and that was great. It was a great dream.

Her eyes flicked open, once Eve had awoken – that was it. She was awake. She stretched her leg and a bottle of beer hit the floor, rolling underneath her bed. She groaned at the noise and threw her duvet over her head. It was too early for Eve. It was too early for anyone with half of a mind and a conscious and yet – the world was currently functioning. Eve was technically function, though that might be somewhat generous all things considered the current state of her mentality. She glanced out her apartment window and saw hell. Hell wasn’t actually all fire and brimstone, some people might like that. So hell likes to find new and interesting ways to fuck you over. Eve knew that if she ever ended up in the big ol slammer she would be placed in the middle of goddam Alaska.

She rolled over onto her side and grumbled quietly, something about the lack of difference between here and Canada, something about how someone was out to screw her over. Mostly gibberish.

She decided it was time for a shower and unless her ears deceived her she didn’t hear Blake just yet so she dragged herself out of bed and zombie shuffled her way over to the shower. Standing in it and letting the hot water fall down her. She sighed as her skin stood up, some of it being warm and some of it being chilled. She impatiently squeezed some shampoo onto her hand and lathered her hair scrubbing it. She had to look nice if she was going to get some snow day nooky later on. Luckily once she showered she could hangout and not have to worry for much longer, the bar didn’t open until five at night which was approximately half the reason Eve bothered to work there anyway.

She shut the water off after applying her conditioner and rinsing that out of her hair as well. Stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around her hair and body, taking a seat on the couch in the living room. Seemed like the sleepy head wasn't up yet. Eve though about asking her to go for breakfast once she did wake up.

27B, Faraday Heights

Interacting with: Andrew @Dusk and Katie @13Nightingale

The alarm clock went off, way too soon as always. Claire slipped out of bed, grumbling as she slapped the alarm clock into submission. She got herself dressed, picking out a very conservative dark blue dress for today. Her class was starting the dissections today, but thankfully, they had switched over to virtual ones, making life much easier.

The young witch flipped on the telly just in time to see that the Unseelie were throwing a blizzard at London. "Great thinking, guys. Make them stop fearing and hating us by paralyzing the largest city in the country." Worse yet, the schools were closed. Another day without a paycheck.

She stopped grousing as she saw Andrew. Her fellow member of the Circle had given her an evil look as soon as she'd said she was a summoner, but despite that, they'd managed to get through the days without strangling each other. "Morning, Andrew. Care for some eggs today?" Katie appeared to still be asleep. Lucky girl.

The shuffling of a body was the first thing to rouse John from uneasy sleep. The frigid air came and kicked him awake, causing a grumble to escape his lips and his eyes to creak open. Blearily he moved his head around in an effort to identify the culprit of his awakening, blinking the sleep from his eyes before focusing on the silhouette of Mariska. The next couple of moments were dedicated to working the stiffness out of his body, joints popping and muscles straining as they stretched after good deal of hours in the same uncomfortable position. With a final yawn John was able to stand up and face the day, "Yay." was all he could think to himself as he shuffled to his room, giving a Mariska a half hearted wave as he did so.

Careful not to wake Mordred, if he was even here, John entered his room and began to switch of yesterdays work close for something new. Where Mariska's room was mostly clean, Johns room was mostly a chaotic mess to the outside eye. Most of the room was dominated by the bed large bed and art desk. The bed was a mess of blankets and comforters, almost never made as a personal choice, it had seen better days and it was high time he got a new one. Tossing his clothes on the messy bed, john dug through his closet to find an acceptable outfit for work. black t-shirt, red flannel, and dark blue jeans. With a hair tie to bring his hair into a tight pony, John was ready for the day. Taking a moment to rid his mouth the affliction of morning breath, John strolled into the kitchen and began weighing his options for breakfast. "What's the on your mind? Not usually breaking out the sass this early in the morning." John said, head still in the fridge before picking out a package of sausage links. John felt like he wasn't going to like the news either way, so why not start the day of with some pancakes?

With that he started the sausages before busting out the easy make pancake mix, not the best mix on the market but nothing some cinnamon and vanilla couldn't fix.