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Hitting Close to Home [19 Oct 2005|04:15pm] [ mood | gloomy ] [ music | Let the Sun Fall Down - Kim Richey ] Devon had woken early and had spent a few hours in Vegas trying to find out what he could. So far, what he had heard worried him greatly. There was talk about military uniforms and some kind of truck that seemed to have grabbed people from off the streets. Eventually he had made his way back to Searchlight and had grabbed a shower along with a spare change of clothes before he set out once again. His strides took him through the town itself but he paused as something glinting in the sand drew his attention. It didn't take him very long to reach it and as he crouched to retrieve it he found that it was a set of keys. He sniffed them and got a faint trace of something, an aftershave of some sort, but the smell was mostly lost to the metallic keys. Someone had obviously dropped them and Devon held onto them for safe keeping. He now continued towards his destination which was the trailer park to check for Hannah. He knew there was a slim chance to none that she'd be there but it never hurt to check. He hoped against hope that she would be there but with every step he took that brought him closer to the trailer park, something told him that Hannah wasn't there. Devon eventually found himself at Hannah's trailer and he once again took to peering in. He was sure her neighbors were going to think he was some kind of stalker given how many times he had done this. The keys hung from his right hand as he continued to squint in through a small window and ran green eyes over the interior of the trailer. The first thing Quinn intended to do when she got inside was check her answering machine. Even if no new messages had been left, that was going to become her new routine until she either heard from Bethany or until this situation was cleared up. The wheels of her truck crunched over the gravel in the driveway as she pulled up to the trailer and killed the engine. Climbing out from behind the wheel, she stretched until her back popped and let out a long sigh. Pork chops for dinner tonight, and then she'd call Kael at home and let him know what little she'd managed to learn in Vegas. She was just unlocking her door when she glanced in the direction of Hannah's trailer and saw a man leaning down and peering into one of the windows. She stared for a minute, looked around at the surrounding dwellings, then started over at a slow walk. ( Looking For Someone? ) ( Young Elvis ) "Come by in a couple of days if you hear anything. Or even if you don't. Worrying alone is worse than worrying with someone else." "I'm accustomed to being alone," Devon responded to Quinn's offer. He kept his eyes trained on her. "If I hear anything, I'll let you know." He now rose to his feet and rested his trainers against the sand. Devon looked over his shoulder and let his gaze linger on the trailer before he gave a nod to Quinn and he started on his way back towards Searchlight. She nodded back in silence, watching him walk away. "Good luck, Devon," she murmured, then gave Hannah's door a look of her own before walking towards her own trailer. It was getting late and she had pork chops to cook. At least one good thing had come out of this day. reply

Open Hostility [19 Oct 2005|05:34pm] Maria Espinosa had always known one thing about her son Carlos. If there was trouble to be had, he was sure to find it, and more than that. He would get so caught up that nobody, not even the good Lord himself, could get Carlos back out of it. It had been that way since the gang came calling. First it was car theft. He and the rough boys would jack the cars right out of the rich neighborhoods, strip them for parts, and leave the shells behind. The parts brought cash, and the cash bought drugs, but all the drugs ever bought Carlos was a year in a juvenile detention. Carlos was home for good now, or so he said, but Maria knew better. As sure as the sun came up in the east and went down in the west, that boy was up to no good. "So look, I been thinkin'... about that deal we struck?" An absent-minded scratching of head beneath his backwards-turned cap. "I don't think it's gonna work out. See I got pri-or-ities, man. Responsi-bil-ities." Carlos punctuated his words with a repeated fist-into-palm gesture, and ended on a shrug. "Is that right?" The demon looked anything but impressed by his client's change of heart. He took a sip of his bourbon and eyed the human seated across from him. The thuggish sweatshirt, the baggy jeans over unlaced Timberlands, the irony of the Christ's sacrificial moments immortalized at the end of an extravagant, gold chain. Carlos gulped his beer and tried not to look nervous. "Yeah. Yeah, thas' right." He set the bottle down and began to back toward the bar's door. "I'll catch you later, man." He turned on his heel and shouldered through the crowd, gaining speed as he went, and regretting that decision to wait on the concealed weapon. Oliver had a moderate buzz going by mid-afternoon, but it was a pleasant one rather than the kind that was likely to make him turn mean. He'd put on a different pair of sunglasses after leaving the last ones with Star, then written her phone number down in his day planner. When a woman threatened to murder you in your sleep, she was worth remembering. He'd parked himself in yet another bar, having decided that Vegas was a place he could get used to. Maybe later he'd hit the casinos, shoot some craps or play some blackjack. He took a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit up, then ordered a double scotch with no ice. As he nursed the drink, a ripple in the crowd caught his eye, and he watched as a younger man began to beat a hasty retreat, making his way towards the door. Oliver tracked his progress, watching him pick up speed, gauged the distance between him and the door. When the punk made the unfortunate decision to backtrack directly past him, Oliver shoved a chair into his path from behind, then watched as he tripped over it and went flying. "Sorry about that, buddy," he said, sliding off of his stool. "That really looked like it hurt when I did that. Lemme help you up." He grabbed the guy by the oversized sweatshirt and dragged him to his feet. "Where's the fire, anyway? Or you got a date with your parole officer?" "Hey, get the fuck off me, man!" Carlos shoved hard at the inside of Oliver's elbows, and managed to jerk out of the hold. He affected an exaggerated shrug and tugged his sweatshirt back in place. "Who the fuck you think you talkin' to?" A glance around the room then, as vanity made him to wonder who'd seen it. Darian calmly set his glass down and got to his feet. He took a moment to straighten his tie and examine a cuff link before following in the wake Carlos had left. He was in no particular hurry. Oliver smiled without humor, then hit the guy in the stomach. He pulled it halfway, robbing him of only fifty percent of his oxygen, then flexed his fingers before punching him in the mouth. "Watch your language," he said. "There might be a lady in here somewhere. You kiss your mother with that mouth?" He considered just laying a beat-down on the poor bastard, then decided that if somebody called the cops it would turn into something he didn't have time for. Glancing around, he saw a well-dressed man approaching them at a leisurely pace. Oliver looked at the thug he was holding up, arched an eyebrow. "Does this infant belong to you? If so, my condolences." ( May I Cut In? ) reply

You can keep your hat on [19 Oct 2005|07:31pm] He was jarred awake as the truck careened around an impossible bend in the road, his shoulder thrown against the metal wall. Several others jostled into him as well, the impact muted by the sheer number of people packed into the back of the military van. His lip still bled from the uppercut inflicted half an hour earlier. So this is what pain felt like. He'd forgotten. Just like Whistler'd forgotten how quiet it could be in his head, without the constant buzz from the Powers That Be rattling his every waking moment. Go to this location, collect the girl, keep yer bloody mouth shut about what's really goin' on, whatever ya fuckin' do, don't get involved... But that wasn't his style, now was it? Especially when it came to Rhiannon. So he'd steered his car south towards Nevada. Made it as far as Battle Mountain before they pulled the plug. Decided he was too much of a liability. Too independent. He could upset the whole bloody apple cart if he wasn't careful. So the Powers cut him off. Literally. The gas cards no longer gave him unlimited gas for his Coupe de Ville. Debit and credit cards empty or maxed out. And his Encyclopedia Demonica brain had pages missing. Not that it would stop him. He couldn't remember the name of the demon, where they were or what the game plan was, but that wouldn't stop him from raising the alarm to the one Slayer he could trust. He was siphoning gas from a parked car when those same ugly fucks grabbed him. Whistler used to have an early warning system, but that was taken too. And without the enhanced gifts from the Powers That Be, he had to relearn how to fight. He went down in seconds. He may still be part-demon, but Whistler was more human than ever. With the holes in his brain, he'd have to relearn a lot of things. This learning curve was going to be steep. But there was one positive ... He still had his hat. reply

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