#mikalaseabrooke

[asa-m-holland]

WHERE: The Library, Later Hours STATUS: Closed. @mikalaseabrooke

"It's not that I... mind the existence of a club about birds, Millie. Nor do I fault you for wanting to have a space like the library to meet. It's more-so the insistence on bringing the birds that has me a bit nervous. We can't exactly guarantee a parakeet is going to mind his manners and keep quiet in a library that's designed to be a quiet space for- well. Yes, I know we should be inclusive to all club types, but the thing is, Millie, we don't actually even let dogs in- right, yes, um-"

Asa has the old corded office phone tucked between shoulder and cheek, and he looks to be at the end of his rope. Making the same point about five times over. That look of sheer boredom changes the moment he sees a familiar face coming near the counter.

"Yes- love, I feel your frustration, I do. How about you submit this in writing through the um- the email. Yes, right, the portleirylibrary at hotmail dot com... perfect. Lovely talking. Ta, love." The phone is placed on its holder a little too harshly and Asa meets eyes with the other, relief as he leans into the counter. "Mikala, how are you?"

#mikalaseabrooke #closedstarter

[kingbriar]

WHO: @mikalaseabrooke When: Evening Where: Common area, Ansel's apartment

Social climbing and establishing yourself within close-knit ranks requires a delicate hand anyway, never mind doing so with coldblooded killers. It's all about proving you're useful but not to be exploited, or vulnerable without really showing any of your weaknesses. But such is the price of actually knowing what's going on above your head, and not just quietly taking contracts.

"Relax your arm." Ansel's spine felt like too much of a live wire to really relax, even in neatly fit sweatpants and an almost threadbare gym shirt. Perception and appearances are everything. He set one end of a tape measure on Mik's shoulder, then measured down to his elbow, then his wrist bone, humming quietly to himself and noting down the measurement. "Nice long lines. Easy."

Ansel smoothed a hand across the back of Mikala's shoulders, flattening his shirt and carefully pivoting the tape to stretch across the arc of his traps to the other shoulder. He'd invited the advisor around to his place in the name of not having to lug materials, but also for balance. A good tailor could make a lot of snap judgements off of the width of the bicep against the shoulders, etc, so his guest might as well get a bit more info on the King of Hearts as well. Ansel had curated a bit, trying to make the place look presentable but lived in, hiding any identifying evidence of his roommate and his children apart from some passive aggressive notes left on the fridge, and bringing out some of his collection of odd fabrics out of his own space, as well as a dress form draped with a few black suiting fabrics and a prototype shirt (x) with hand painted drips and samples of different stones or sequins for an oily sheen. A little glitz for flavor, but professional enough that his drag was still in the closet where it belongs.

"I hear Miodrag's concerned that I'm obvious and leave a signature. Should I be concerned that I haven't heard it from him?" He keeps his tone easy conversational as he leans away to note down the measurement, looking up quickly.

#with: Mikala Seabrooke #something something acts of service #suiting is actually something that can be so personal

[kingofthehunt]

( @mikalaseabrooke -- close to the seabrooke funeral home at night, late)

The bear trap snaps shut around his leg, and Elias finds himself crashing to the ground, pain so sharp that the only noise he can let out is an agonizing scream. It's unexpected, more than just that, it's new. His skin is stronger than that of a human, so the trap doesn't fully close, only cuts deep lines into his skin, blood immediately seeping out.

The panic hits right after the pain, adrenaline rushing to his brain in an attempt to find a solution, but what it finds instead is quite terrifying -- the trap is too close to civilization to be meant for larger animals, or werewolves. It's hidden in a spying point -- a place that features a perfect view on the funeral home. Elias lets out a quiet, pained laugh.

And so the hunter becomes the hunted.

Blood starts seeping out the wound, but only slowly, given the metal is still stuck. And still, the man starts to feel dizzy, anxious. He hears the steps before he can make out a figure in the dark, before his clouded mind can piece two and two together.

Wow, would his uncle laugh at him if he saw him like this. Helpless and caught, like a stupid deer. Like a weak animal. Like a weak fucking witch.

Elias manages to twist and turn, getting on his back, ready to defend himself, if necessary, hand on the knife in his jacket.

"Not sure if you're lacking clients, or if this is just a fun bed-time activity.", he snarls, voice slightly shaking -- simply because usually, he's the one standing; "But I don't find this fucking entertaining."

#preserved pace / mikala #wicked ways / threads. #tw injury

[kieranrees]

*/ @mikalaseabrooke at the Slitshore Mausoleum

A twig snaps beneath his foot, and Kai is starting to think that maybe he's made the wrong decision tonight. It's so dark that he can barely see his own hands, and then the flashlight he's carrying dies.

Kieran, as obsessed with magic as he might be, does think that to be slightly unsettling.

Warm breath hits the air in a cloud of fog, cold gnawing at his bones and into his blood. It's like something, or someone is wrapping their ice-cold reins around him, trying to pull him somewhere --

Cut it, he has to tell himself, but at least it works. Scary fantasies leave his head the second he snaps back into reality. It's his parent's fault for buying him all the books he wanted as a child, no matter the age they were deemed for. It's his own fault, for sticking his nose into things he shouldn't; but he just feels so drawn to it.

Now without a flashlight and more anxiety, Kai slowly makes his way back -- or does he? Isn't this deeper? His foot hits something metallic, something like a bucket, and it makes a horribly loud noise as it crashes against a tombstone.

Then, her can sense it, weirdly enough -- someone is here. "Hello?"; he calls out into the dark; "Are you alive?" Which, wow.

#* 001 / mikala #* feel bewitched / threads

[olivierjacobs]

closed: @mikalaseabrooke where: tidal pavilion, near the vendors

One never knows where they might end up at a music festival, slight buzz making the tip of nose and ears reddened - a light flush on his cheeks. He'd had about one and a half of some frozen alcoholic thing - but the cups were as big as his head. And they were too damn sweet.

The one he's holding now looks like a sunset, and it all but goes forgotten when he catches sight of the large, tall blot of black in the horizon that is Mikala. Without a second though, he approaches - too wide of a grin on his features.

"I hear they have face painting. Might could find something to match the aesthetic."

#mikala #cor.summerfest

[cityofruinrp]

@mikalaseabrooke

#cor.follow

[boroughshq]

Due to not meeting activity or player decision, please unfollow:

@astrid-ramos

@faolanburke

@mikalaseabrooke

The following faceclaims are now reopened: Melissa Barrera, Paul Mescal, Keanu Reeves.

#boroughs.unfollow

[londonfalling-rpg]

Due to personal reasons, please unfollow the following blogs:

@fissility

@exsassins

@unfatal

@asa-m-holland

@valentine--dupont

@oz--saffet

@cassandranarvaez

@mikalaseabrooke

@gabrielmorelos

@ellafalling

@rivcrlethe

@likeakiss

@silvasuns

The following skeletons have been reopened:

Jack of Clubs

Cinderella

The Whistle

Judgement

The Empress

Dr Frankenstein

Strike Team #3

The Moon

Inkognito

The Crooked Hand

The Sun

#lfl.unfollow

[asa-m-holland]

WHO: @mikalaseabrooke WHERE: The Connaught WHEN: 12:08 AM

The only sound down the alleyway is the steady clip of nice shoes on cobblestone. Worn down rock is glistening from melting snow under lamplight and Asa's inked hands stay tucked into the pockets of a warm jacket. It's so fucking cold, and he's already a bit irritable that he's been called away from a warm bed and a cat (or three) in his lap.

The Hook is a force - there's something unsettling to his dark gaze, to the old burn on his temple. The way he moves his fingers. He's been amidst society for only about ten years. And yet here he is - a leader of sorts, a confidante. A threat. He's shown his worth with knife and blood spatter. Asa Holland has every reason to feel on top of the world.

And yet he walks almost shyly into the hotel lobby. Speaks softly and sweetly to the woman at the counter, pays well, and gets a room key. One with a nice big tub, love, if you can manage? Then he's off to the bar, seeing the figure he's been looking for. His coat comes off of a nice suit before he's even fully approached. "Darling." The hotel room key is dropped onto the bartop in front of Mikala. "I was so warm. You'll have to make this up to me."

#mikalaseabrooke #closedstarter #!!!!

[asa-m-holland]

( @mikalaseabrooke )

To say Asa is overwhelmed at the idea of Valentine's Day plans would be an understatement.

His lover is right - he's a touch-starved man, even nearly 12 years out of St. Irene's. He craves affection, needs validation. And nowhere does he get it more than from his advisor. His lover, his flatmate, his beloved. There are a thousand other names he could give him. Tonight, his valentine. Cheesy, maybe. And yet his chest pangs with an unspoken word that always sits just beneath the surface.

When he arrives home from work, he's already warm with nerves and those soppy feelings. A blazer is slid from his frame, a tie loosened and hung up. It's a collared shirt of pthalo green beneath, unbuttoned just enough for inked collarbone and chest to show. Still tucked into his nice slacks. There is the ever-present cluster of cats around his feet as shoes slide off. He pads into the kitchen, rolling up sleeves.

"Happy Valentine's Day, my love." Asa murmurs, soft smile and softer eyes. Arms slipping around a trim waist, face pressing into a clothed shoulder blade. "You'll lead me, right? I don't want to set our flat on fire on such a nice evening, after all."

#mikalaseabrooke #closedstarter

[boroughshq]

please follow:

@astrid-ramos

@mikalaseabrooke

#boroughs.follow

[londonfalling-rpg]

@mikalaseabrooke

@exsassins

#lfl.follow #crime rp #appless rp