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Appreciating Good Company [22 Oct 2005|12:51am] [ mood | dorky ] Nyx flew down the stairs into the bar, yanking a shirt on as he went, on his way out the door to run a couple of errands. He jumped in his car and sat for a moment in silence before turning the key and listening to the engine roar to life. He pulled out and headed to the grocery store, desperately in need of food for the apartment. Jordan decided as she drew her car to a stop in front of the grocery store that she was in need of a serious vacation. The phones had not stopped ringing and people had just kept coming in despite the fact that the department had no idea on the sudden disappearances. She needed to sleep more, needed to eat more and just needed to have fun more but right now, she couldn't see that happening. When she had last checked the apartment's coffee supply, it had been way too low so she was just stopping off to buy some before she flung herself back into looking through case files. Bodies had cropped up during the black out and she had a lot of work on her hands not to mention she was lending her aid to the Las Vegas Police Department in the missing persons cases so Jordan had double the amount of work. Jordan slammed the door of her car shut and took to rolling the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows before she pushed open the door. "I need coffee," She muttered to herself as her heeled boots clipped away at the ground with every stride that she took. Nyx pulled up to the store just minutes after Jordan entered, and he recognized her car with a smile as he parked his own. He got out, adjusting his still crooked shirt, and headed inside where he crabbed a buggy and started going up and down the aisles methodically, adding a bit of this and a bit of that to the basket. It was in the coffee and cereal, what a weird combo for an aisle, that he found Jordan perusing the goods available for purchase. He watched for a moment in silence. ( Quantity Or Quality? ) ( Returning Home ) "No offence, but women in general tend to get all worked up for not a lot." He shrugged, grabbing the remote with a grin, but dropping it as the timer went off in the kitchen. "Be right back!" She lifted an eyebrow at his comment, "Like guys don't get all hot and bothered for absolutely no reason whatsoever." She then smirked and released a slight chuckle. Nyx jumped from his seat and zipped into the kitchen, opening the oven and poking the chops with a fork. Finding them to his liking, he smiled and used a towel to pull the dish from the oven, and he set it on the table. "Food's ready!" He called out, before realizing he hadn't made the veggies, he paused, shrugged and decided he didn't care as he waited for Jordan to join him. Jordan got to her feet and muttered, "Never before had there been such beautiful words spoken." She moved through to the kitchen and she looked forward to tasting and enjoying the meal that Nyx had prepared. reply

On the Road [22 Oct 2005|05:07am] [ mood | anxious ] 7 AM. Another restless night, another stranger in my bed, and yet another fucking sunrise to watch through the screen of an open hotel window. It's always the same -- I hit the road on my hog, see what kind of trouble I can dig up, unwind at whatever local dive's available (I ain't picky, 'least when it comes to finding a place to bump-and-grind at), find myself a stud to burn a little energy off on in the nearest trashy motel room, and wake up hours later to the smell of sex and sweat. It's kind of a ritual for me now. I breeze through towns, do the good deed of ridding middle-class suburban America of the things that go bump in the night, check in with Giles and the Buff via tacky postcards from even tackier rest stops, and find a place to hole up in long enough to collect my check and move on. Never staying too long, never getting too attached. Easier that way, you know? None of the old gang can believe I've lasted this long on the road -- figured that when they offered me a free trip to Italy, I'd snatch it up like a dog would a T-bone steak. Rome sounded cool and all, but I was never one for the big group get-togethers. Besides, hanging with the kiddie slayers and playing role model to their budding slayer power? Not really my idea of a good time. So I bailed, took the "compensation for my services" and got the Hell out of dodge. Even got my record cleared thanks to some big wigs at the new Council pulling some wicked important Bureaucracy strings. Gotta admit, it's a pretty sweet deal. I do what I want, when I want, and I never gotta worry about the boys in blue pulling out their guns and acting like they actually got a chance at taking me down again. Only person I got breathing down my back is me. *I* keep me in line now. No guards, no bars, no watchers. Just me and my conscience to keep me on the relatively straight and narrow. And so far? I haven't snapped once. Haven't even come close. There's been a few times where I could've... almost reached out and touched the line I told myself I'd never cross again. But in the end? I got a handle on it. Stopped myself before I got close enough to taste it again. It's not easy, but I deal. It's all part of being redemption's biggest bitch. Anyway, the flavor of this week's a six-foot-two sandy haired golden boy who looks like something straight out of one of those cheesy harlequin romance novels you see on racks at the market. Boy's got the chiseled abs, year-round tan that's gotta be the job of a permanent fake-and-bake, and has this suave way of talking to a chick like she's Aphrodite reincarnated. Not my usual type, but he beat the other types that frequent this no-name Nevada desert town. Cowboy boots and snakeskin just never really appealed to me, you know? I might save a horse by riding a cowboy, but these guys just don't have what it takes to last with a girl like me in the saddle. Line dancing is not the way to go if you want to get in chick's pants, so Fabio it is. Too bad Mr. Suave passed out straight after and I didn't have the heart to throw him over my shoulder and toss him out into the sand. Funny that, huh? Must be getting soft in my old age. Bummer. I'm just pulling on my leather pants when I hear his voice, hoarse and sleep-tinted... and yet, still working that whole suave angle. "Going so soon?" I spin around, pants half on-half off, and arch my shoulders up in a noncommittal shrug. "Sorry Stud, but I've got places to be. Room's paid up until this afternoon, so you're welcome to hang out here for a while and... recover." I smirk at the last word, flash him a wicked looking grin, and finish zipping up the leathers. Twenty-seven years old and I can still rock the cow skin. Gotta love that slayer metabolism. Can't say the years have been bad to me, either. Got a few scowl lines on my brow, but I still look about as good as I ever did. The stud here proves that... as does the line of fine-looking dudes from east to west and back again. Speaking off... the boy is looking pretty ticked off at the diss to his not-so-stellar levels of endurance. Hey, it's not my problem he can't keep up. They got pills for that kinda stuff, you know? "What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, his tone offended. Oops, did I just insult his manhood? My bad. I'll have to try harder next time. "What do you think?" I shoot back, still smirking. "You passed out, man! Couldn't take the heat so you bailed on me. You have any idea what it's like to be *right* there and then lose it because the guy you're with can't last longer than five minutes?" "Well, maybe I'd last longer if the girl I'm with wasn't some kind of freak of nature that almost threw me through a wall when I tried to get on top! How'd you do that anyway? You've gotta be what... 115 pounds at the most? You doin' some kind of freaky stuff?" "Does it matter?" I ask, already bored by this conversation. "Look, you knew the deal when you walked through this door. We play by my rules or we don't play at all. Simple as that." "Guess this is option number two then, huh? Who's skipping out on who now?" Touchy, touchy. Remind me again why I didn't throw this loser out the first chance I got? "Whatever. I don't usually stick around for these morning after type deals. If you're looking for love, you've got the wrong girl. You might want to try a blonde next time. I hear they're real hot on the mushy stuff." And would you look at that? Six years out of Sunnydale and I'm still taking cheap shots at B. Studly just stares at me like I've suddenly spouted another head and shakes his in disappointment. "Yeah, I'm getting that now. Where are you going in such a hurry anyway?" At his question, I just grin, turn away, hoist my duffle on one shoulder and give him one last long look before I break out of this joint. He really is a fine lookin' man; it's a real shame he can't last in the sack or else I might've been tempted to stick around another week or two. "I don't know," I reply honestly, all former malice gone. "But I always wanted to see Vegas." I faintly hear him chuckling as I slam the door behind me, dust and sand whirling up around my feet in a pseudo tornado of grit and grime. A tumbleweed rolls by and I can't help it, I bust out laughing. The more I see of this world, the more I'm convinced I'm living in one big fucking cliché. I mean, here I am, a lone chick on a bike in a desert, and there's fucking tumbleweeds rolling down the road. I feel like I'm in the middle some old west flick when I mount my bike and take off, leaving behind a trail of displaced dirt after my speeding wheels. Truth is, I'm tracking a pack of vamps up from Arizona. Ran into them in Phoenix and it should've been an easy sweep, but these guys are smarter than the usual bunch you run into. See, they actually got the sense to run when a slayer hits their town with a big wooden stick in hand. They know who the real big bad is when it comes down to the former-rogue-slayer-turned-freelancer versus a couple of barely surviving scraggly vampires. You don't last twelve years in this biz if you don't got the skills to back up the destiny and these guys know it. They stole a van, busted out of Phoenix, and I've been on their tail ever since. Mostly just for kicks 'cause I could use the entertainment, but I've also got a job to do here. Big or small, it don't matter. A vampire's a vampire and unless they got a soul, the only business I got with them is the pointy end of my stake in their chest. Romeo back there was just to pass the time until I get a bead on where my vamp buddies are headed off to next. I know I gotta stop soon. Giles is expecting a postcard and I'm running dangerously low on the dough. Could use one of those fancy Council written checks right about now. Girl's gotta eat, you know? I've got enough to hole up in one more cheap motel before I might have to start considering giving blow jobs in return for a room. Worked for me when I was a scared sixteen year old running from a big daddy vamp; it'll work for me now. I've still got the appeal -- the big doe-eyes matched up with a great rack and a tight ass in even tighter leather pants -- only now I've got this little thing called self respect that takes all the fun out of the idea. So I'll just lay low for a while, see what kinda mileage I can get out of this town before it's strippers and blackjack for this slayer. reply

Knock, knock, knockin' on Heaven's door [22 Oct 2005|03:03pm] The addage was true. Everything and everyone had a price. There was always someone willing to fuck a turkey dinner if you waved enough bills at them (and usually that was in New York). Just about every deadly sin came in under ten thousand. And tracking the owner of every phone number on a recovered cell phone -- who owned it, their billing information -- fronted less than three. It took almost two weeks, but Deanna now had the scoop of everyone on Victoria's call list. Name and address. One of those places was this bar. It had a reputation of being friendly to the undead, and if Deanna could get a drink while playing detective? All the better. She'd barely passed through the pearly gates that was Heaven's Peak when all hell broke loose. At first she thought it was a few vamps getting territorial over a potential meal. Until she saw the uniforms. Those she recognized instantly. But not the ugly that wore them. They were intent on jamming up the brunette vampires. 'Like Vicky?' Others fought back, and were getting their asses handed to them. It wasn't until she caught sight of Bethany jumping off the upstairs balcony to the main floor below that Deanna stepped backwards towards the door. A fight with the Gestapo-wannabes was one thing. Mixing that with a pissed off slayer was just asking for a stake in the shoulder. So just like Marseilles in the early nineteen forties, Deanna did what was best for Deanna. She found the nearest sewer grate and went underground. reply

Have you heard, among this clan, you are called the 'forgotten man'... [22 Oct 2005|03:18pm] This place wasn't on the map, Whistler reasoned. It couldn't have been. Not anymore. It had the smell of a ghost town. Etchings in the wood used to build these structures suggested stress and age. They'd been used once, abandoned for who knows how long, and then reused. Nails jutted out at odd angles. This was done in a hurry. Not that they gave him much time for sight-seeing. As with the others in the truck, they were forced out, single file, through the electric fence and lined up. Most were outfitted with ankle bracelets -- the lucky ones were just shot between the eyes and dragged off. The hum reverberating through his toes was almost soothing. Until they demonstrated exactly what they were used for. "If Martha Stewart had been outfitted with one of these..." he grumbled internally while picking himself up off the ground. Well, at least he remembered Martha. Orientation over, they were led to the far end of the encampment and thrust into what passed for living quarters. He'd barely secured a place for himself to sleep, hat over face, when their captors stormed inside again and rounded everyone up and back into the trucks and driven to the mines. reply

Information [22 Oct 2005|06:38pm] [ mood | calm ] Sonya was gone too. Quinn went by the Nugget after closing up the shop to look for her, and when she didn't find the Russian at work she went by her apartment instead. She sat on the porch for two hours, alternately picking gravel out of the cleats of her boots and staring into space while she waited. Waited...to no avail. After she stopped waiting, she went home and ate dinner, then futzed around for a while cleaning up. It could have been nothing. Sonya could have been anywhere; on a date, up in Las Vegas, hell, orbiting the moon for all she knew. It could have just been coincidence, even with everything else that had happened. Quinn no longer believed in coincidences. When it got late enough, she picked up the phone and punched in Bethany's number. She couldn't even tell what she felt, only that she needed to move, to do something. Sonya was gone too, and she was fed up. Bethany had retreated into her office since her encounter with those demons and had spent the last hour or so watching the tape and paying close attention to the demons themselves. She needed to talk to that lawyer, what was her name? The Slayer struggled until a pale card caught her attention and she lifted it, "Jill." She reminded herself, if anyone would know who or what those demons were, it would be the lawyer but if that failed, Bethany could use her own contacts However the ringing tone of her phone pulled her attention away and the Slayer leaned across her couch and rested most of her weight down on her front as she flipped the phone open and pressed it to her ear. "Bethany here." ( Exchange ) "Yeah. I'll be there." She could feel her ears heating up, like a kid that had been caught tattling to the teacher, but her voice remained steady when she said, "Thanks for the help, Bethany." A slight smile tugged the corners of Bethany's mouth up, "Don't mention it, you let me know what happened to Victoria, fair is fair." With that said, she said her goodbye and pulled the phone away from her ear to flip it shut. Fair. Yeah, right. This whole thing was really fucking unfair, that was the point. Quinn hung up the phone, grabbed her keys and the cash she'd set aside to make her purchase. If she was lucky she could get to Vegas and back without incident, then be back to open the shop in the morning. She did have responsibilities, after all. Before she left the trailer, she grabbed the pistol from its hiding place in the closet, and then made sure it was loaded. If these demons had the balls to go cowboying it up around Bethany, she'd have to be at least a little prepared. To be prepared so that she could fulfill her other responsibilities. reply

With a song in my step and a bounce in my throat [22 Oct 2005|08:16pm] Caught like a deer in the headlights, was her first thought. The one light, shining down upon her, obscuring her vision. But Deanna knew they were out there. Waiting. Impatient. The strains of the orchestra plonking the first notes. She stood rock still, a small breeze the only affording comfort on her skin. Deanna's second thought, as the background music became more demanding, was her clothing. Gone were the silk blouses and capri pants she adored. No, the best description were pajamas. Grey. Dirty. Torn. Deanna was hungry. Terribly so. And she was literally being forced to sing for her supper. ( Fever ) Deanna lurched awake, beads of sweat pouring down her brow. Instinctually gulping for oxygen. Images flashing across her brain over and over. Celine tied to a stake and set afire. Victoria turned to dust with the simple thrust of a piece of wood. "Not this time," she whispered. Deanna didn't do guilt. It was the first thing she abandoned along with her original life. But she'd be damned if she failed Victoria like she had Celine. reply

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