outside_omens | (no subject)

Date: June 25, 2000
Setting: London
Status: Public
Summary: Pollution sets up shop.

It was a propertly dark and stormy night, as one would expect. Rain lashed at closed and boarded up windows, thunder crashed and echoed against the decrepate buildings. In between two of these buildings, was a wide ally way in which whores of both sexes, desperate for a bit of money, gathered without any real hope for work. Not on a night like this.A man sat huddled over himself to try and keep warm as he sat on the ground. The only one on the street who didn't seem to be bothered by the cold was a young man in a dirty white jacket. Any passerby and all the inhabitents of the ally would assume the boy was high, from the way, though his eyes watched the street, was unfocused, as though he was not all there.

Either he was high or insane, they thought. And gave it no other thought. The boy was well know in this seedy part of London. The drugs he sold were cheep and of a good quality. And, though perhaps it was just rumors, but no one who bought from him had ever gotten busted. With his drugs, that is.

The boy was known as White, because of his jacket. White liked selling these pollutants. Humans were so eager for them.

Threaded | Flat

The man sitting on the ground shuddered. It was cold where he was, dark, lonely, and he felt sure something was chasing him.

The girl with tattered clothes and brightly colored hair, who suddenly crouched next to him, grimaced and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

"I don't like that one. What about the one with the big cuddly furry cats and their big, um, smiley teeth whatsits... let's have that one," murmured Delirium, giving his unconscious a gentle push towards warmer, more pleasant delusions, but nonetheless delusions.

Pollution wasn't the only creature who seemed oddly at home in the dark places of London on a stormy night.

At the end of the alley a cigarette lighter flared, casting flickers of light over a cynical face lined with care and sleeplessness. The trenchcoated figure to whom both belonged made his way without fear or disgust past the sodden figures huddled there toward the pale youth.

"Sorry luv, not tonight," he murmured to a wretched thing who moved hopefully into his path, pressing a few wadded bills inconspicuously into her hand. "Go find a dry room, all right?"

"Well, shit. Figures it'd be you. Might've saved myself the trip," John said wryly when he stopped near his quarry, recognizing the dealer by his general otherworldly feel and by process of elimination. There were only so many Horsemen, after all, and only one he hadn't met and who seemed perfectly suited to the setting. "Eliminating the middle man and going straight to the masses, eh? Now that's craftsmanship."