oceancove

Who: William Harwood & Ilsa
What: Ilsa makes good on her promise to show William around the Cove.
Where: Beginning at Sugared, and then going from there.
When: Evening.
Rating: TBD

He lamented slightly at having to wait until darkness to meet with Ilsa, as he was fairly certain that the Cove was likely a lovely sight in the hours just before twilight. William wasn’t a sentimentalist by any means, and had long ago stopped giving a damn about things that mortals viewed as awe inspiring – such as sunsets and sunrises – but something about the seaside community made an odd sort of longing to see such things crop up (as they tended to do every couple hundred years). However, he chalked it up of growing slightly bored of his lodgings and office space, the desire to actually see what the Cove had to offer in the way of any form of excitement causing him to feel restless.

Since their meeting at the ballet some weeks previous, Ilsa had offered to show William about town, as he hadn’t really been anywhere aside from where he lived and operated, the coffee shop along the way, and the theatre. Any inclination he had to do any “sight-seeing” was often squashed by not wanting to appear as a tourist to those around him. He loathed the idea of feeling out of his element, and while as a whole the Cove did not present those feelings, he certainly wasn’t as comfortable as he was in London. And considering that for the foreseeable future that this was to be his home, he figured that perhaps he may as well get to know it a bit better.

Ilsa had suggested that William meet her after one of her shifts at Sugared, and William had agreed. He hadn't set foot in the confectionery shop since arriving, but had heard many good things about their cupcakes, often prepared by the alpha of the lycans, Amelia. He had no aversion to lycans, or even sweets necessarily, but embracing either wasn't exactly the highest on his list of priorities. As he stepped inside the shop, the bright colours and the scent of things freshly baked filled his nostrils. Save for himself, the bakery was void of customers. William glanced at his watch to make sure that he wasn't terribly early or late before forgoing all the baked goods and sweets around him and approaching the counter.

Who: Mark Davidson - Open
What: Tending to flowers
Where: His nursery
When: Friday afternoon
Rating: TBD
Status: Incomplete ; open

Mark Davidson was probably one of the few people who actually liked to get up with the rising sun. Just when the light started to touch everything, and he felt a bit like he'd stepped into the Lion King, everything was waking up including himself. Before he'd ever had his coffee, or done anything really, Mark went out on his porch. He'd sit there for a while, the length of time didn't really matter. Just until he felt like moving again. Those were the times when he was in his most natural state.

If he could have melted into the earth then, he would have.

Once he rose, the scent of the dew making him wake up more than any caffeine ever could, he'd water his own flowers. The ones he kept especially for himself. He had an affinity for the illegal ones, and so far no one had ever found them. That's how he liked to keep it. He talked to his flowers. More so at home than at the shop. No one who worked for him needed to think their boss had flipped out.

After a sufficient time in his own place, he got showered, dressed and headed to the shop. He was always the first to arrive and the last to leave. Today was no exception. It had been relatively busy all day though. Being summer, and the impending heat made people want to get things done in a rush.

As people passed him by, he tended to the flowers that were for sale, keeping an eye on those that passed by.

Who: Ilsa and Thomas McKinnon
What: A consultation
When: Tuesday afternoon
Where: H&W
Status: In-Progress

She swam that morning. She left before the sun had properly risen, before the air had lost its cool edge, and went out to the sandbar that some of the Gray's Harbor seals favored. They weren't any relation - ordinary seals, all of them - but they were good company. They all played in the surf until the pups tired, and then collapsed onto the sandbar as the fog lifted. The cold of the morning lingered on her skin for hours afterward, a reminder of what she had to gain.

Ilsa prepared for her meeting with Thomas McKinnon with a strange calm; she was certain this was the right thing to try. She didn't know what she might need, or even what was reasonable to ask Mr. McKinnon to do (her impression of the human legal profession having been primarily gleaned from assorted television shows), so she gathered everything she thought might be helpful, all the documents related to Teague's will and estate, assorted letters, even the postcards he'd sent her - a record of his travels. She didn't linger over any of them.

Such papers had always seemed like human detritus to her, but this was how humans established precedent - it was how they made truth, albeit of a more flexible variety than the fey were used to. She was almost human by now. It was time she made their methods work for her.

Ilsa arrived ten minutes early. As a direct result of extensive business dealings with fey, she had a habit of precision that for her included, among other things, punctuality; however, her experience of humans had led her to understand that punctual was often synonymous with early (annoyingly, the internet did not seem to agree on how early). She came prepared to wait. Ilsa greeted the rather impressive receptionist (noting with interest the taste of blood and death around her), and waited for instructions, her manner pleasant and easy.

Every once in awhile, chimeric water dripped from her hair.

Who: Ilsa, Henry Doyle
What: A missing vampire
Where: Henry Doyle's office
When: Very late evening, not unreasonably early for a vampire
Rating: PG
Status: Complete

Ilsa's drive to the council building was somewhat…restless.

Her limited knowledge of Henry Doyle may have not have been cause for worry, but with a fresh cut on her hand as an irritating reminder of her almost-humanity, she was all the more keenly aware of the contrast between her near-powerlessness and his age and position. Amelia's word that Doyle was as trusted as pack had truly eased her mind on the subject, but the knowledge of her own lack still sat there. The cut hurt where her fingers were wrapped around the wheel, and she was tense, her hands a little too jerky at the wheel, her feet a little too heavy on the pedals.

Another driver cut her off, and she swore as her pulse leaped high. She paused, let out a breath, and then noted the driver glancing at her in his rear-view mirror. She gave a shaky laugh and cheerfully flipped him off.

At the council building, she passed through security and headed to Henry Doyle's office. She walked slowly, putting her thoughts in order, and her distraction lent her a faraway aspect; she all but drifted to Henry's door, paused, and then knocked gently, precisely on time.

Who: Eryn O'Shea
What: Hanging out at the hospital cafeteria
When: Wednesday afternoon
Where: The hospital
Status: OPEN


Another day, another dollar. Eryn spent most of her day down in the morgue. It was a slow day, not many people to process. Nothing too bad either, just people who had died rather unexpectedly. They were all mostly heart attacks and things of that nature. The phone calls she had to make to the family of those people were always the hardest. At least with a murder victim, it was pretty straight forward. Telling someone that they had a tumor and didn't know that they had it was just sad.

When it was lunch time, she sat down at the cafeteria with her tray of food and looked at it. She stared instead of eating it. Eryn needed something more to do with her life. She just didn't know what. Going back home? Asking if she could be received back into the unseelie fey? Yeah, not so much. She was on thin ice as it was, and she didn't want to put up with them. The Cove hadn't been exactly how she thought it would be. In fact, Eryn was kind of bored. That was never good for anyone.

Who: Amelia Drake, Ilsa
What: Ilsa's primary reaction is still "well that's crappy"
When: mid-afternoon, while in a break at the shop
Rating: PG
Status: Completed

The news was unsettling. When the rush of afternoon customers at Sugared finally died down, she sent off a quick text - in case Amelia wasn't okay, but felt like saying she was - because it was a roundabout way of preserving the other person's ability to lie. It seemed the courteous thing to do, given the circumstances. Werewolves didn't always have the luxury of admitting it if they weren't fine.

First:

back. new hire is cute. he told me. i know you have a league of puppies to do your bidding, but let me know if theres something i can do

After pressing send on it, she felt a little less on-edge. She slid into a chair, somewhat tired out from a day back in the busy shop after a frankly lazy vacation, and absent-mindedly sent off another:

if nothing else i can send over a boozy cake. with or without cake

Who: Ilsa, Keita, Anyone (after opening)
When: Early-late morning
Where: Sugared
What: Ilsa comes back, meets a new coworker, and learns an unwelcome bit of news
Rating: PG
Status: Open, In Progress

Ilsa woke before the sun, but although she'd arrived home very late the night before, this wasn't unexpected.

She was impatient for the day to start. She missed town.

Odd, that. She'd been anchored off-shore for two weeks, yes, but craving the sea all the while. These breaks of hers were merely necessary - the smallest consolation, and so very far from enough. So if the horizon were always catching her eye, it wasn't supposed to be the one with skyscrapers. It would be infuriating if it weren't so ridiculous.

She dressed sleepily in the dark, and drove to Sugared in the pre-dawn light. The morning had a soft grey quality, moody but not sad; comfortable, quiet. She rather wished someone would make some damn noise. None of her kin had visited her (and she was glad of it), so she'd had no one but fish to talk to for two weeks. She was rather looking forward to the first few customers.

Ilsa reached the shop as the sun rose. She wasn't surprised to find it closed - she wasn't the only one to work mornings, but she'd come a little early today, as she planned to leave a little earlier, too, if Amelia didn't mind staying.

She stepped into the kitchens, turned the radio to something loud and gloriously obnoxious, and started on the cinnamon rolls.