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Lost [01 Oct 2005|12:22am] [ mood | accomplished ] ------ Non Journal Entry ------ The matters of the world had more or less escaped Kael's notice. He had spent the last couple days locked away in his workshop with only himself and the world he seemed to build whenever he crafted weapons. It was almost as if reality stopped at the door and went no further. Sometimes his own reality was easier to deal with than the reality of the real world. At least in his reality, there was no rejection by family, there was no betrayal by business partners and there was no ache in his heart. He had complete control and he had the power in his hands to make some of the most beautiful things in the world. Kael leaned back against the nearest wall and there was a very definite sag in his shoulders. The result of working non stop and never taking a moment to rest. What he did took a lot from him; it took a great deal of concentration and a lot of dedication. Every time he made a weapon, he poured a part of his soul into the metal and whenever he parted with them, it felt as if he was losing a piece of himself. He doubted anyone could understand that, how could anyone understand why something made of metal could mean so much to him? His mother definitely didn't understand. Kael exhaled a breath and pushed a hand through sweat soaked dark hair before he flexed each hand. It was as if the muscles in both hands had knotted together and were now protesting against the strain with a sharp burning pain. "Fuck.." He muttered quietly as he massaged one palm before starting on the other. He really needed to get better at knowing where to stop but Kael had always pushed his limits whenever he was caught up in making something. This time had been no different, the twin short swords had practically enveloped him. Each sword was the same length, thin and yet strong at the same time, the tip sharper than anything he had ever forged thus far and their weight was equally balanced. They were weapons made for a warrior who needed to be quick and lethal, the kind of weapon that left no question in the enemy's mind of who had killed them and how they had met their end. Kael closed hazel eyes and focused on taking a few deep breaths before pushing them out of his chest. He'd move soon enough, start work on the scabbards but for the moment, he needed a rest bite. reply

Way Too Old [01 Oct 2005|12:39am] [ mood | apathetic ] Finally home but even sure if I can call this place home, I hardly know my housemates and I'm hardly here as it is. Just glad to be in a place where I don't have to worry about looking over my shoulder every thirty seconds or so. Las Vegas was crazy; I hope I never see anything like that ever again. It was horrific and the aftermath was just as bad as the actual event. I want a nice long shower and then my bed where I plan to sleep for hours on end and not wake for anything or anyone. Been thinking about calling William but ....I haven't the heart anymore. I'm tired of being the one trying to make this work, it's like taking one step forward and stumbling another four back. If he wants me, he knows where I live and he has my number. He can call me as that would be a novel idea, really it would. Anyways I've bitched enough as it is, I am going to grab a shower and a fresh change of clothes before I surrender to ..sleep. reply

No-Fly Zone [01 Oct 2005|02:12pm] [ mood | aggravated ] [ music | Return of the Grievous Angel - Gram Parsons ] "What do you mean all fucking flights to Vegas are cancelled?!" "I'm sorry, sir," the man behind the counter said, barely taking his eyes off of his computer screen. "Apparently the situation at McCarran hasn't been cleared up yet, at least not enough for them to allow planes to land. It'll be..." A pause filled with the sound of typing as the man continued to pay attention to the flickering screen, then; "Three days." "Three days," Oliver said flatly, then switched his backpack from one shoulder to the other. "Three fucking days? Is there no way I can get out of here sooner than that?" "I'm sorry, sir, it seems that the National Guard has been dispatched for public safety and to prevent further outbreaks of looting like the ones in Las Vegas. Air travel should be restored when I said it would." The man's voice was cool and detached, utterly professional and completely unmoved by Oliver's obvious annoyance. Oliver hated him. Shoving away from the counter, he barged past the others who were waiting in line behind him, muttering, "You're wasting your time, he's as useless as they get." He stalked further down the terminal until he reached the airport lounge, then parked himself in a chair and lit up a cigarette. He might be stranded here temporarily, but at least he could smoke. And the first person who gave him so much as a dirty look over it was going to be unhappy about the results. Slouching back in his seat, Oliver drummed the fingers of his free hand on the Formica tabletop and smoked in sullen silence. He'd always hated Seattle, and he'd wanted to get out as soon as possible. He had a suite of rooms booked at the Bellagio, and if he lost his reservation because of this his mood was only going to get worse. He'd been looking forward to the sun and hot climate of Neveada since making his travel plans, and as he blew smoke out through his nose he glared at the clock on the wall. Groping for the cell phone in his jacket pocket, he flipped it open and punched a familiar number with an impatient finger. ( Questions and Answers ) Hauling himself to his feet, he left the lounge and walked outside, where he stood on the curb and hailed the first cab he saw. Food, then sleep. And then...Las Vegas. Finally. reply

Lady Luck? She's on vacation. Guess that leaves me. [01 Oct 2005|05:31pm] The sole of Meredith's brown leather boot crunched it's way over broken glass as she continued her uncertain traipse down Fremont St, unamused expression on her pale face. As she walked, she found herself scoffing every time she kicked past a piece of debris or stepped on some unknown remnant of a neon sign or car part or whatever else you might find in some ill-begotten warzone. "They should really hire someone to clean up this shithole," she muttered to herself, using the tip of her shoe to kick over a bent and battered N. Las Vegas BLVD street sign that had since been torn from it's post. Forget whatever had happened here before Meredith arrived, it wasn't compliant to her own means. She didn't come to Vegas to wander through debris like some sort of refugee. She continued to roam, grasped in her hand the shoulder strap of a Canon SLR camera. She was a photographer by profession, mainly freelance; She had come to the most photographed city in the world in hopes to make a name for herself. Well, through her photography of course, although Meredith did possess other abilities, they weren't ones that were going to garner any sort of revenue or put food on her table. Her steps punctuated with an utterance of "Ugh" or the occasional cussword, Meredith continued to walk underneathe the mid afternoon Nevada sun. There were still people about despite the chaos; those with a devil-may-care attitude so commonplace in Sin City that you wouldn't have thought twice to even look their way. "Everyone else must have run for cover," she mused quietly to herself, raising her camera to her eye to capture what was left of the Fremont Street Experience sign. Whatever happened here was big. It was ugly, and it was ripe with the sort of bad energies that made Meredith know for certain that this chaos wasn't the work of whatever it was the the government said was responsible. Being connected to something remotely mystical as she was, she also knew that whatever happened here wasn't over, and she was standing in the middle of it all. "Oh well," she told herself as she pulled her camera strap over her shoulder, wincing at the sound of another sign falling off it's hinges and crashing to the ground behind her. "Viva Las Vegas, as they always say." reply

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