Wellspring Arms & Meditation Center, Monday

[hasconviction.livejournal.com]

Coulson had only been here a few months, but he was happy with what he'd done with the place. He had a variety of wands, spell scrolls, and even a talking sword or two that were all locked up under magical key that couldn't even be opened without a written note from a paranoid dictator who certainly wouldn't want any of this stuff to be sold or used unless it was a dire emergency.

Of course, unless that dire emergency happened, no one would know that virtually everything in the shop was low-powered or for beginners. One of the talking swords only spoke Esperanto. The other had gone mute, and didn't have hands to sign with. Not that anyone could tell since their cases were sound-proofed.

Before coming up to open the shop for another saleless day, he made a quick stop in the hidden basement, where items of real power were kept. Not magical power. Firepower. It was part of Coulson's daily routine to polish one specific item that he was saving for the day he needed it. Whenever that day came - and it would come - he was going to need to be prepared. Once he had done that, he was ready to play his part.

Wellspring Arms was open. Coulson was around to let those loyal to Umbridge look at magical objects and maybe buy some flimsy information given to him by the Resistance, and make secret deals with Resistance members for non-magical weapons to be discussed in code and delivered in secret. Please, don't touch the glass.

[OOC: I couldn't sleep, so I wrote this. I mostly wanted to establish the Wellspring status quo this week, but the shop is of course open to visitors. Slow due to sleep (hopefully soon) and work, naturally.]

Back Alleys of Fandom | Monday Morning

[alwaystherebel.livejournal.com]

It was easy for Luke to get around town unnoticed, even in broad daylight. He put all the sneaking and thieving traits of a Hermes child to good use here. Despite this, he still tangled with people loyal to Umbridge when he felt like it or on the occasion where he exhausted himself so much that his powers weakened. Or if he was trying to knock some sense into his cursed ex-boyfriend.

Today he was out looking for food, something he had experience in even before getting trapped in Fandom. His worn backpack was already filled with stuff to eat but he was still out, hoping to find something special to bring back to Kate. She could always use some cheering up.

[Expecting a certain loyalist first, but the post is open]

The Beach, early morning

[izzy-on-her-own.livejournal.com]

Another night of restless sleep interrupted by bad dreams meant Isabel was up and out the door early for her morning run.  After a long loop around the island, she ended up on the beach, slowly sipping her bottle of water and looking out to sea.

Soon enough she'd have to get to the hotel and get to work, but for now it was time to think of happier times.

[Open of course. Since I never tagged the post, for the record my girl's a white hat at heart.]

Somewhere Hidden In The Back Of A House On Serendipity Street, Monday Afternoon

[goneaviking.livejournal.com]

The house was abandoned.

It was hardly the only one - there were many places on Fandom that had seen better, or at least more occupied, days. Here, the stairs creaked, the floors sighed, and the boards against the windows kept the moonlight from streaming in.

Quiet. Empty.

Well. Unless you looked closer, turned the right doorknob, went through the right entrance, then down. Then, you might have the luck of finding Peter Wiggin, bent over his desk, still operational after all this time, the holograph's light dimmed to avoid attracting too much attention.

What he was looking at was a map.

"I'm telling you," he said, "It's got to be now. It's been a few weeks since the new batch came in. Enough time for them to be processed - but not enough for them to know the lay of the land. I might not be the resident tactical expert, but even I know an opening when I see one."
( wherein planny discussion happens )

[NFI, For-Resistance-Reporting-Only, Establishy, Offer Void in Quebec.]

Cafe Luke's, Monday

[inthefreezr.livejournal.com]

Vincent missed Eureka's jukebox. Nothing helped a slow day pick up the pace like a little Pink while bussing tables or basting pheasants. Sure, Luke's had a sound system, but Vincent almost never turned it on. That was just asking to draw too much attention to the little restaurant -- and more importantly, to the several human-sized hidey holes scattered about the restaurant for those who might need to duck away from loyalist patrols.

It'd been exciting for awhile. Eureka almost never had to deal with a totalitarian regime. The shine had worn off months ago, though, and now, Vincent mostly just missed things.

Today's specials
Grilled chicken with sprouts
Bran muffins
Fresh fruit salad

Like flavor. But too many fancy, fun dishes might draw attention to him, too.

Luke's was open.

The Boards, Tuesday, All Day

[lioness-courant.livejournal.com]

"A reverence!" Lady Ghanima called at the front of the class, while her students scurried to formation.  Since it was summer, many npc children of npc townies took dance classes at the theater to pass the time, although most of the were schooled off-island the rest of the year. "Third position please, heads up, shoulders back, your wrists are not scarecrows.  Connect your wrist and your fingertips to the rest of your bodies please.  And --"  

Not long after, Ghani was sitting on the steps of the building, sipping an iced spice tea and watching her charges dart through the streets back to their homes.  She had a good amount of time, now, before the evening class arrived, and she always found the sunlight soothing.

[OOC: Open like an open thing!]

Caritas- Monday

[dontphasemebro.livejournal.com]

It was just your nice, normal night at Caritas, the front end of the restaurant serving good ol' American favorites, and some of that British... food, just in case anyone high and mighty showed up. Yep, just your average, ordinary restaurant, with Kitty occasionally at the counter, except when she had to check on inventory in back. It was a nice place of a loyalist to visit.

The secret back room, though, that was where the fun was. Shhh dun tell.

[Some SP from me for the next hour while at work, but feel free to mod Kitty at the other side of Caritas if you want something faster.]

Outside the Perk, Monday afternoon

[hiddenkilt.livejournal.com]

Few people back home would recognize the clean cut young man sitting outside the Perk Monday afternoon, a cup of tea to one side, a stack of papers, recipes, and a notebook laid out in front of him. He was freshly shaven, his hair nicely combed and entirely naturally colored -- he was even wearing a sweater vest. A sweater vest. And he was diligently working away on this week's lesson plan for his class.

There was absolutely nothing suspicious about Boaz Priestly. He worked very hard to keep it that way.

He was at least wearing a t-shirt underneath his sweater vest with a picture of a crocodile playing electric guitar. He refused to give up his awesome t-shirts entirely.

[ooc: for other fine upstanding citizens of the island, or at least those pretending to be]

Behind Mooby Land, Monday Night

[whateverknight.livejournal.com]

Leon dug through the dumpster until he found the good stuff -- a few burgers that had been thrown away because the employees messed up an order, salads and fruit cups that had passed their expiration dates, that sort of thing.

He sat down with his back against the dumpster, and double-checked the glass of rum he'd set out to bribe the squirrels. Then, with a sigh of numbed despair, he unwrapped the first burger and tore it in half. Angelo took the offered food gladly, but she whined softly, nudged Leon's arm, and looked at him with big puppy-dog eyes.

Leon shrugged and ran his fingers soothingly through her matted fur. "I know, I know," he told her. "There's better food other places. You want to go to Caritas. But..."

(I don't deserve it.)

"..."

(There will be people there, and I don't want to talk to them.)

"...Whatever. This is what we're having tonight."

(I'm such a horrible dog owner.)

He'd lost track of what day it was. He didn't know how long he'd been on the island. It didn't matter. He'd failed, and that was all there was to it. He'd lost... everything. Now, there was just one day following the next, and all of them sucking. He sighed from the depths of his soul, and looked up at the stars.

[For broadcast to Resistance only. Open like an open parking lot.]