| Legal Recon |
[08 Oct 2005|12:58am] |
Bethany's trip to the shadier part of Vegas had been quite successful. She had spoken with her contact and paid a considerable amount for him to find out as much information as he could about the military uniforms, the trucks and the possible location of this camp. She had also acquired Quinn the shotgun she had requested and this lethal weapon was laid across one of the couch pillows in Bethany's office.
Her other weapons on the other hand were rested across her desk and in the process of being cleaned. Her Sai had already been cleaned and rested down but Bethany's attention was fixed on cleaning the dart knives that Darian had given her. Given the amount of blood she was removing, it was best not to ask what had happened or who the blood happened to belong to.
Blonde hair was left loose and fell in waves over both shoulders and back. Her hands were steady as they worked to clean the weapon of any and all traces of blood. A radical change from earlier when her hands had shook beyond belief and she had perhaps inflicted more damage than she had intended to.
Stiletto heels held her weight in place and it would seem the Slayer was focused on cleaning her weapons for the next time she had to use them.
When looking for info on a Slayer, who better to turn to than another Slayer?
Particularly one rumored to be fighting on the other side of the proverbial train tracks. Or maybe they were actual train tracks...Jill didn't know. Metaphor was never really her thing. But making the life of a do-gooder hell? That was right up her incredibly dark alley.
Her own stilettos echoed through the halls before the lawyer stopped, rapping lightly on the door once she reached her destination, smiling as she cracked said door open and peered in. The sight of the person she'd been looking for, surrounded by such beautiful, brutal weaponry, was almost enough to cause an all-too-familiar tingle between Jill's thighs. And under normal circumstances, such a tingle would indeed be present. But given how angry Jill had been since Victoria had been taken away and the withdrawals that racked her body--she needed blood and she needed it badly--happy tingly feelings of naughtiness were not on the menu.
But, as per the lawyer's deal with Victoria's sire, Deanna, a Slayer very well could be.
Another rap on the door, this one a little louder, before Jill set one foot into the room, clearing her throat to announce her presence. "Slayer," was her only verbal response.
( Slayer talk )
With that, Jill returned her business coat to its rightful place on her shoulders, buttoning it and walking out of the office with a satisfied grin on her face. She hadn't gotten any closer to finding Vicky--or making those demons who took her pay--but she was starting to get somewhere in her search for Rhiannon. And the anticipation of finally meeting her--complete with nervousness at the potential of the Slayer kicking her ass--pushed Vicky from her mind for the moment.
Who knew? If the encounter with Rhiannon went well enough, Vicky might have a present waiting for her when she got out....
|
|
| Ashes |
[08 Oct 2005|10:49pm] |
A tranquilizer gun digs into the Slayer’s back as she kneels beneath a fire escape and quietly pulls a bag from the shadows. Behind her a building is consumed by fire, the flames having leapt higher, clamoring for oxygen, searching for fuel the way she has searched for him. Like her they are approaching a limit; the place where there is nothing left to burn. No more stones to turn, no other trails to blindly follow, just an empty hull where something tangible had been, but nothing leading away to show where it all has gone.
The strap is lifted overhead and settled upon her shoulder. She begins to walk, not fully sure where she’s headed, only following an instinctive need to move away, quickly. To turn the corner ahead, and put distance between herself and what she’s heard. Those words that have lain a second set of images in front her eyes, overlapping those of physically present surroundings.
Joseph climbing out of his car, and walking the streets of a city he’s made his own. Being taken then, snatched right from where he stood, and disappearing behind a set of white doors. Away from here, away from her.
I know you fought them, made them pay with bullets and blood before it was done. You were unconscious before they could take you down. I feel it as clearly as if I’d been there.
She runs a thumb inside her glove and shells the leather from her hand. Following suit with the other, then, and cramming them into a hip pocket, the empty fingers dangle behind her. Her fists sting as she balls them tight at her sides. They push through the air with her strides, propelling her along, seeming to know where she’s going before her feet do, or even her mind.
Faster now, her heart trip-hammering beneath her ribcage, and the taste of acid growing strong in her mouth. Bile has crept up the back of her throat. Nausea makes her eyes water and her tongue feels thick and weighted.
Where did you wake up, Joseph, and are you thinking of me? I don’t know where to look, baby. There’s nowhere to go from here. I feel panicked, I feel…
A blunt ache in her thigh, and a jarring lack of motion. She’s come just short of toppling over the car that’s somehow wandered into her path, only it’s been parked for days. Like the others all over a city that’s had its guts torn out while no one was looking; just woken up and found parts missing.
“Fuck…” It’s a word spoken under her breath, nearly defeated and vulnerable. She pushes off the trunk and stumbles around the side. Each time that weakness comes, guilt follows, and indignant anger is never far behind. It becomes voiced from somewhere deep in her stomach, where the rumbling always starts, crawling its way up her chest like the spread of roots from a tree, gnawing past throat and vocal chords. “Fuuuuck!”
She doesn’t remember putting her fist through the passenger window. The glass buckles under the strain, and blood climbs to the surface like a revelation. Somewhere away from this he is waiting, not for help to come, but to claw his own way out, and he believes that she’s clawing too. If she stops, if she slips, she will let him down. She’d rather die than let him down.
The car alarm is wailing now. Rhiannon pulls her fist up to her chest and keeps walking.
I love you.
|
|