Once a former abbey, the building now serves as a pub that’s popular for co-eds and football fans alike. Its business is hopping thanks to the atmosphere and the customer service provided by owner-operator Kara Viridian.
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by: Eben Rook
June 26th 10:32

Holy shit he was tired. He’d arrived in England this morning and was trying to settle into a routine, but the jet-lag was killer. Eben would have reported the time being somewhere in the mid afternoon, but instead it was ten in the morning. That meant it was time for a run, then a shower, then sleep. Why? He was working off of a nocturnal schedule. The middle of the afternoon was tantamount to the middle of night. Three pm felt like three am. Such were the hours of the vampire hunter. He needed sleep, but he’d sleep most deeply if his muscles were worked to their limit and then pampered.

The city was alive with sounds at ten in the morning. The honk of cars, the staccato of city life, and the pulse of living thrummed through the city as he ran through it. This was not just a morning run for him. This was the first view of his hunting grounds. Rook’s arrival into Heathrow two hours ago marked the change in atmosphere that would culminate in someone’s death. The plan was for Moira’s teeth to become the new SAM trophy. There were, supposedly, certain Magic’s that could be performed with vampire fangs ground into a powder. Whether or not that was true would be for the textbooks. Eben was more pragmatic than most.

The steady pace of his breathing provided he backdrop of his thoughts. What would the new environment bring? London had its high class touch. The accents flying around him on the morning mists were straight outta Shakespeare. Even the blue collar Joes heading to factory work could have been literary characters of some sort. Dickens? Whatever. It was what it was. This wouldn’t be nothing permanent.

He was half a mile in. How far would today’s run go? Probably only three miles through the down town area. He needed sleep. Tomorrow, he’d be seeing the real estate agent and getting a base of operations. Until then, his hotel stay was going to be just fine as far as accommodations went. The slim warrior slipped into his usual blank minded state as he limbered up. The run was perfect for dining out and shaking off he stupor of travel. The natural process of exercise also teased out his thought processes. He’d need to make contact with the magical side of London. That meant locating the Three Broomsticks and getting a visa approved for transit in country.

From what he understood, the current government was strict on imports like himself. He’d need to keep his head down and nose clean. He’d need to file for the right permits to hunt down the murderess and bring her to justice. Thankfully, he had the New York City Auror’s reports of Saul’s death and the signed affidavits for the destruction of that vampire deemed responsible. MACUSA approved of Moira Darking’s death. All he needed was the Ministry of Magic of London to give him a blessing before he went a -hunting. It shouldn’t be too difficult, right?

Rook continued his run, finishing at the pub not far away from his hotel. The Abbey seemed like an interesting spot to have a bite to eat before heading back to the hotel for a shower and rest. A bite to eat in a local spot could help him get assimilated to the culture more quickly. Hopefully, they wouldn’t mind someone in shorts and a tank top. It was summer, in his defense, and a rather muggy 85 degrees. He had his wallet and his bank card, so they had no reason to protest. He pushed his way inside in search of a sandwich and some water.
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by: Trevor Williams
Jogging had seldom been his favorite means of working out. Trevor much preferred other means of getting his heart rate up, but he was still far from settled. The girls were away for now, Layla under Katya's watchful eye, safe from Aventus and any others searching for them should they discover his return. The girls had been left with the highest level of protective charms he could muster, and a simple muggle had been Imperius'ed into believing she was their loving, doting grandmother. Layla was the only one hurting, truthfully. She had dared a heartfelt owl much to his dismay. It had held a bit more bite than even a howler could have for a young person in school. She missed him, she said. And so much more. Katya had been silent on the owl front, and as much as he liked to think it was her love of adhering to the rules, Trevor knew better.

In his heart of hearts, he was a mess, but this was for the best. He'd tried to remain hidden for their sake, to lead a simple life. Except how could he? His life had been far from simple since the night of Anna's murder and Katya's kidnapping. He had been a willing captive of Voldemort's at first, genuinely wanting nothing more than to do whatever it took to find his daughter, but at some point, he had begun to love the life. The deception, the two-facedness, the murders. It was often stressful, yet it was rewardingly thrilling when you succeeded. Of course, what he had once done for Voldemort seemed of little interest to Teague, and were it not for the camaraderie they had once shared and Teague's newstanding position as leader with the Death Eaters, he wouldn't dare to go rogue just yet. Teague had potential, but he didn't need to evoke a punishment that would leave Teague down one good soldier.

Reaching the corner of the block, Trevor stopped, letting his head fall slightly back and resting his hands on his head. The burning in his lungs reminded him why he hated jogging, but at least he didn't feel overly so. His muscles ached, crying for relief, but what did it matter? That was the end of any good work-out session with new exercise or reps added. Trevor inhaled slowly then sighed, noticing where he was. The Abbey. A little early for a drink, he figured, but then, he was jogging at nearly 11 a.m. on a muggy day. Maybe he'd see if there was at least a bite to eat and some water. But just in case....

A casual look down as he moved his feet later, and his hair had changed from brown to salt and pepper, his nose shape had become a tad toward the ridiculous, and his eyes were hazel. The pedestrian light changed, and he walked across the street to old haunts.
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by: Eben Rook
The place wasn't empty, but the lunch crowd in the London eatery just seemed sparse. Then again, maybe it was the casual atmosphere, the slower pace, the lack of business suits...or the lack of business all together. This was a casual place, maybe a touch more upscale than his shorts and tank top, but not so much that people would be looking down their nose at him. Eben met the hostesses' eyes steadily and smiled slightly when she looked flustered. The smile only seemed to egg on her blush, so Eben bounced his gaze off of her and onto the stonework walls, the wooden booths, and the tables. This place was more at ease in its nightly role as a bar and meeting place for relaxation, but it was nice enough with the rare summer sun filtering in through the windows. The aroma of fried foods and beer permeated the air like ghosts of good times. Overall, the atmosphere was something he'd like to enjoy again.

Rook went through the motions of social politeness, letting himself be led to an empty table for four. A menu waited for him, so he sat obligingly and scanned over the drinks quickly.

"'Preciate it, sweetheart. Can I get a glass of water, please?"

The startled look he received made Eben think on his words quickly. Had he said something wrong? Or was it the 'sweetheart' maybe? Too familiar? Oh, the accent. She'd not anticipated the flat, broad Brooklyn tones when London favored the rounder, more polished sounds. Kinaye gedda glass a' waddah probably barely made sense to her. Eben smiled politely and waited for her to parse his request. She was smart enough. The edge of startlement left her quickly and she returned his smile. The hostess had only spent a millisecond on the switching to hearing his American clearly, but was her smile a little more brittle? Were her eyes a bit more icy? She definitely wasn't as warm as she had been. Ah well.

Eben retreated into the menu. As much as everything, especially the fry up, looked nice, he craved a salad. Maybe it was having just traveled and eaten nothing fresh, but a good salad would be a damned delight. And...sure, why the hell not, sirloin steak over it? Protein, he justified. Needed that to build muscle. And it tasted good. He laid the menu down and glanced up at the door opening and closing again. The man who walked in immediately had Eben's attention.

His peppered grey hair, hazel eyes, and prominent nose weren't immediately identifiable. Still, the set of his shoulders, the economical way the man moved, the caution that he used in looking around the room...this man wasn't just some schmoe off the street. He's known combat, paranoia, and secrecy. He wasn't a prey animal, though. He was as cautious as a lion in his habitat. Sure, there were dangers, but nothing he couldn't handle...but Eben was a migratory predator of his own and-

And what the fuck? He wasn't here for a turf fight or anything that stupid. The American mage dropped his intense gaze and fiddled with his silverware, keeping the stranger (ha ha, he was in a country full of strangers, why was this man any different?) in his peripheral vision as he played at nonchalance. He was just keyed up from his lack of sleep, Eben reasoned with himself. The man was probably an off-duty military puke from nearby, or a police officer. Just because he walked like he knew his business didn't mean he was anything other than the kind of sheepdog that protected the no-maj sheep. It didn't mean he was a wolf or anything that went bump in the night. Not everything was dangerous, here. In fact, most things wouldn't be. Just ca-

He looked up sharply, thoughts interrupted by the water he'd ordered arriving. He murmured a thanks, self-conscious about his accent now. The waitress smiled in reply and headed off to handle her duties. Eben took a drink and used the gesture to surreptitiously glance at Salt-and-Pepper. That stance...he definitely was a player of some sort. No-maj, based off the sheer percentage of no-maj to mage in a city like this. He didn't seem to favor one side or another in his interactions with people, so he wasn't trained to carry a sidearm on the everyday. That pointed more towards hand-to-hand combat experience? Or a veteran. Or both. Probably a veteran cop, Eben decided at last. One who knew better than to favor a side, to expect threats from any direction, or who had gotten lazy running a desk...but no, the trim figure wasn't a desk jockey's build. Veteran. With experience. Interesting.
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