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Mental Notes To Those Dearest [03 Nov 2005|03:53am] [ mood | contemplative ] Deanna... Where are you? Do you see me when you sleep? Sometimes I see you. I don't look quite so pretty anymore. No make-up here, no soft sheets and... Oh... Soft sheets... I do miss those. I wonder if you've been caught. Maybe they've set up some other place like this one. Don't think you have, but one never knows, right? If not, then... Stay away. Just, for the unlife of me, stay away... I don't want me to be the result of your incarceration, too. Made some new friends, though. You know me - ever the mingler, or at least now I am. Wasn't too much of one before the bite! You gave me strength on the inside as well as out. More confidence and all of that. A guy who knows all about guns and such. He's called Joseph. Hannah; cute as a puppy with a sock and someone I met not too long ago, albeit briefly. We're forced into a sort of 'truce' thing with the human contingent, as it were, but I don't mind. We sort of help eachother, as much as one can. Quinn, how're you, my little red squirrel? For some reason, I think you might actually have made a better go of it in here, than most have done. I miss you... I do. And it seems so silly, what with our new understanding and all, for fate to have taken me away, like this. You know, we're in danger of becoming something of a Greek tragedy, if we're not too careful. Wouldn't that be a drag, huh? Or memorable... Either way, I think of you often. Not quite in that 'thighs-clenching-sheets-and-pillows' way, but perhaps that's a good thing? Forced labour sure does take the lust factor away, I can tell you that much. Everyone seems too tired to act on those kinds of impulses. At least I can appreciate you more generally, just that little bit more. Starting to doubt that we'll ever get out, but... If we do? I promise to come see you. Wish I really could, in more than just my dreams. Jill, Jill, Jill... I can just imagine you stomping your foot about all of this! In a very real way, I do happen to know precisely how you've been feeling, lately. Perhaps not as much as the other way around? I don't know... I've not really been able to get any feedback, on that score! And it must be absolutely dreadful having to go without that special gift I give. I'm so sorry about that... Really, I am. Maybe I should've just gone ahead and turned you? Hindsight is a wonderful thing, I suppose... I can only imagine that going without your daily dose, as it were, is probably driving you crazy. I'm just... I'm just sorry... So very sorry for that... And now there's nothing I can do about it. You're my special student, hon'. I've never really had one before and you're just so eager to learn and... You know... If there's one fault you've got, then I suppose it's being superficial, but I'm glad I've been able to reign that side of you in a little tighter than usual, when I've been around. Playing 'mother', so to speak. You do appreciate the darkness, though. The shadows. And, of course, you appreciate me. And anyone who can appreciate me is at least deserving of my attentions. As demonic as it all is, I suppose it's kind of ironic that I've seen more of what I term your human side, the further down you've graduated upon this path. If I get out of here, then I guess I'd like to help you explore that a little more. To not be so afraid of showing it. To not put up that crab shell of bitchiness you walk around with. We'll have to see. Bethany... Oh, honey... What's up with you? I miss you. I miss you so much... A different way to Deanna. She's my maker. You're my... My something else entirely. Our bond isn't in blood, as much as I've, at times, fantasised about it being, but it's there, all the same. Perhaps that means it's stronger, on at least one level? If nobody else, then I just know you're out there, raising merry hell on my behalf. I've seen you do what you do best and as exhilarating as it is to watch, I sure wouldn't like to be on the opposite side of something like that. We're gonna' have a party. That's what I keep telling myself. Something to look forward to. A party. The sort of party people would be talking about for years to come. They'll mention Las Vegas and that event, in one and the same breath. Wouldn't that be something? Go get 'em, honey... I know you will. You're probably the only one who stands half a chance and it's not like I could stop you. And I'm glad of that, I really am. And now I need to sleep. No more restless thoughts today for Vicky. reply

Silly Boy [03 Nov 2005|03:25pm] [ mood | working ] ------ Non Journal Entry ------ A satisfying dull crack of a jaw being broken beyond repair filled the ears of the blonde Slayer and as the blood gushed forth from both nostrils Bethany turned her head and settled a cool gaze on the young woman curled up on the far side of the bar. Perhaps she was going about this the wrong way, perhaps she had picked the wrong person to ask questions of. She tightened her hand in the material of the man's shirt and then released just as quickly so that his back hit the ground and a soft groan escaped the back of his throat. Bethany now rose to her feet and flexed all her fingers before curling them into fists. Glass littered the ground at Bethany's feet from where she had started with the glass mirrors and alcohol bottles first before then turning her attention to the people themselves. The best way to get a person to talk was by scaring them first, fear was a brilliant motivator -- it loosened tongues and encouraged people to spill all their safe guarded secrets. She stepped over the man who was now turning over onto his side to cradle it as the broken ribs shifted beneath the skin. Her head tipped slowly to one side before brown eyes swept over the young girl who was hurrying to scoot closer to the wall as if it would keep her safe. Bethany stopped in front of her, dark boots lining up beside one another before all Bethany's weight dropped into a crouch and her legs bent to hold her in place. "Do you have something you want to say?" Bethany asked, her voice was misguiding in that it was soft almost gentle and yet she was anything but that. Her eyes were cold almost indifferent to the tears that streaked the young woman's face. The girl sniffled and inched further away from Bethany which caused her to scowl faintly and latch her hand around one side of the young woman's face before thrusting the back of her skull into the wall. There was a dull thud followed by a few sobs that seemed to come from deep within the girl's chest, "Do you have something you want to say to me?" Bethany asked again with a tone that suggested she had very little patience left. The girl's eyes were almost sealed shut by the amount of mascara that lined her eyelids and her mouth kept parting to speak and yet only more sobs came forth. Bethany rolled her eyes before sinking fingers firmly into the girl's head of dark hair and then gripped tightly to force the back of her skull into the wall. That forced a cry of agony from the girl herself. "I am very tired of asking questions." She drawled almost lazily like she was bored of this conversation which she was, she had better ways to be spending her time. "They were looking for a female vampire," The girl managed between sobs. Bethany merely lifted an eyebrow and gave the girl a disinterested stare, "I already know that." She said very firmly before driving the girl's skull into the wall and this time there was a crack and blood began to slip across the white paint. The girl was in a world of pain and she could no longer see the blonde because tears had now blurred her vision and her head was spinning. "You need to talk to ..Michael." "Michael? And which one is he?" Bethany inquired as she spared a glance at the other people who were in various states of disrepair. A faint nod was given to the brunette in the corner, ironically he had been the first guy to earn himself a broken nose from the already quite impatient Slayer. "Thank you," Bethany murmured with a slow almost appreciative smile which again was very misleading as the glint in her eyes spoke volumes for the true thoughts passing through Bethany's head. She flicked her knife out in one smooth movement and forced the tip deep within the girl's chest, the girl's eyes snapped open and her mouth parted into a sharp gasp. "You've been a true help and this is the reason for why I made this so quick." A kiss was dropped on the dying girl's cheek before the knife was pulled back out and pale skin was lit up by a sheen of red. Bethany rose to her feet and ran the length of the blade across her thigh which rid the metal of the blood that lingered there. Deft fingers turned the blade until it was settled back into the sheath that wrapped her thigh. The Slayer's head turned and blonde hair took to hanging over her eyes as she did this. "Michael," She almost purred as her long legs carried her to where he was sat cradling his nose. As always Bethany's hips swayed with a cocky arrogance that was all her own, she practically oozed confidence. "Leave me th'fuck alone!" He managed to shout out from around the pain her fist had caused him. She tutted very softly and leaned down to wind her fingers in his head of very healthy and obviously well maintained hair and pulled which literally yanked him from his previously occupied space. "Sorry sweetheart, I can't do that." She was now dragging him across the floor whilst he was fighting and yet she pulled him with an ease that could be considered startling if anyone hadn't known what Bethany was. Michael had answers and Bethany had questions but she felt that they needed a more private setting so she would be assured satisfaction. reply

Uncovered Tracks [03 Nov 2005|04:44pm] Sgt. Kellar took a sip of his strong, black coffee and eyed the brunette at his desk. From where he stood at the carafe, he could see her small, neat ponytail held back with an elastic band. The girl’s shoes were tucked into the rungs of the rusted folding chair they gave him for witnesses. Her shoulders were slumped inside a mousy, brown sweater that had seen better days. All in all, she looked ordinary, if a little nervous. He couldn’t blame the girl. Spend half an hour in a Las Vegas police precinct, watching a string of criminals and hookers get dragged in for processing, a little thing like her was sure to get wound up. A wad of her tissues fell on the linoleum. She was quick to lean down and scoop it up, and tuck it into a pocket of her jeans. Her profile turned toward him, and he saw how she rubbed her lips together, and kept her eyes on the lower half of the room; desk legs, polished shoes, wastepaper cans. Sergeant Kellar made his way back to the desk, carrying a Styrofoam cup in each hand. “Ms. Lee?” He passed the cola across a stack of paperwork. Rhiannon reached up to take it with both hands. “Thank you,” she answered, and smiled gratefully. “My throat’s a little…” She shook her head and gestured at her neck with one hand. “One of the … ladies out there, her perfume…” “No need to explain,” Kellar interrupted, and gave her a thin smile beneath a moustache that was salt-and-pepper in color and overly thick. It matched his eyebrows. One of them needed combing. He sat down and set his coffee on the desk, among a half-dozen or so ring-shaped stains. Kellar’s thick knuckled fingers took up a pen and clicked the point into position. “Let’s go ahead and get started, so we can get you home.” Rhiannon nodded and lowered her eyes. Her fingers turned the cup in little circles, and her thumbnail pressed a half-moon shape into the rim. “I’m a little nervous,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I never got anyone in trouble before.” When she looked up again, tears covered the surface of rich, brown eyes. “But when I heard on the news about the diamond, I felt terrible not saying anything.” Sgt. Kellar nodded and twirled the pen between his fingers. It came to a rest above his steno pad. “It’s commendable that you came in. A lot of people turn a blind eye to this kind of thing.” He watched her for a few seconds and decided to take a different approach. Kellar reclined against the back of his chair until its hinges squeaked, and clicked his pen closed. “I kinda wanted to,” she confessed, and gave him a weak smile. “But that wouldn’t be right.” Rhiannon took a sip of her Coke and slid the cup onto his desk. She rubbed her palms on her knees. “It happened the other night at a bar. It’s this place down on Paradise Road, I think it’s called the Buffalo Bar?" She hesitated and gave him a brief uncertain look. "I went there with some friends... that’s where I heard her talking about it.” Sgt. Kellar laced his fingers behind his neck and suppressed the urge to reach for his pen. Instead, he encouraged her to continue with a nod and a quiet, “Go on.” Rhiannon leaned forward. The fingertips of one hand tested the worn edge of his desk, and then slid tentatively back and forth. “She started telling a man about how she took the necklace. Maybe… she was trying to impress him or something?" The brunette lifted her shoulders helplessly. "She said it happened last week... That she broke in and stole the diamond, but she can’t sell it right away because it’s so famous, and everyone’s looking for it.” Rhiannon’s thumbnail chipped away a bit of veneer. She gave him an apologetic look and pulled her fingers away. “Sorry,” she said meekly. The Sergeant dismissed her concern with an abrupt wave of his hand. “It’s nothing. Can you give me a physical description?” he asked, and this time he did take up his pen. The minute she started speaking again, it would scribble across the pad. “Um…” Rhiannon licked her lips, and glanced at the rows of fluorescent lights in the ceiling. Her fingers knit themselves together. “Dark hair, maybe brown?” She chewed her bottom lip before continuing. “Tall, probably an inch or so taller than me. Oh, and she was pale.” She gulped a bit of air as the officer made hasty notes from her description. As he took notes, Rhiannon listened to the cacophany of sound inside the precinct: the scratch of his pen across the page, a trilling phone on the other side of the station, the metallic scrape of an old file drawer being slammed shut, and the rapping soles of an officer’s shoes against the linoleum. The din filled her head with a restless feeling. The Slayer’s eyes went to the gun holstered on one side of Kellar's cubicle. Her nerve endings were alive with the ache to lunge across the desk. To snatch the gun out of its place and point it at his forehead. Aim. Fire. “Did she say anything else? Maybe she mentioned a name.” Kellar's thumb depressed the pen clicker repeatedly. In, out. In, out. The metal made barely discernable tapping sounds inside the pen’s barrel. Rhiannon dug her fingernails into her palms. “Ms. Lee?” She blinked back to attention, and dragged her eyes away from the gun. “She said… something.” There was an uncomfortable shifting movement in her chair, and a tucking of fingers into long sleeves. “I guess I’m afraid to say, if I don’t… If it’s not certain that she did it. People talk big all the time, when they want to impress someone. What if she didn’t really do it?” A little pause, and then, “Could you tell me if what I described so far matches?” Rhiannon gave him a compelling look. The eyes, unlike her clothing, were anything but ordinary. “Weren’t there any security cameras at the Guggenheim?” Sergeant Kellar sighed and flipped open the file. For a moment, it looked like he wouldn’t tell her anything. His thumb toyed with the metal clasp that held the papers in place. “Nothing from the museum,” he said after a moment, and then lifted a page. His eyes skimmed the contents beneath the heavy line of his brows. “We’re dealing with professionals. They broke in, disconnected the museum’s cameras, took down a few guards, and took the diamond. That’s when an armored truck broke through the street entrance and all hell broke loose.” Rhiannon wrapped a bit of fabric around her index finger and watched him leaf through the materials. “So no pictures at all?” she hedged, with a hint of hope still in her voice. “Not even... from outside?” Sergeant Kellar tucked the pages beneath the folder. “As luck would have it, most of the resorts on the Las Vegas strip mount cameras on the exteriors of the buildings. It’s more a marketing ploy than a security measure. They stream the footage over the internet to attract tourists.” Kellar tapped the first image on file. “The Guggenheim museum is attached to the Venetian resort.” He turned the folder around to face Rhiannon. “Have a look.” Rhiannon leaned closer and studied the picture. It was unfocused, a clear indication that LVPD had enhanced the image. It revealed a brunette vampire, tall, heavily outfitted for theft, making a break for a nearby car. Within her guileless mask, Rhiannon’s eyebrow twitched. Kellar flipped through the folder’s contents to reveal more. “This view is from Harrah’s. The last one is from a traffic cam on the corner of Sands Road and the Boulevard.” He sat back and waited to see if the girl would give him something. The Slayer's teeth bit into the smooth skin of her cheek. The taste of iron wasn't far behind. “Katherine,” Rhiannon's voice quavered after an orchestrated pause. “She said that her name was Katherine.” reply

Is This Where You Take All the Girls? [03 Nov 2005|08:27pm] Dyan watched again from the rooftops, as the trucks carried the uniformed demons around from place to place; watched as they carried people out of some places, and left others empty handed. Word was that they were looking for someone specific, and while she knew it was not her, she did not want to get in their way. She did, however, need to sustain herself, and she was hungry now. She made her way down from the higher vantage points and into the streets, careful to avoid anywhere she'd most recently seen the nasties causing problems. She entered a lower end establishment and sat down at the bar, waiting for the man she knew would try to pick her up. Waiting for dinner. Burt Mancini was in town for the annual used car salesmen conference. Fresh out of a seminar on vehicle history reports, he was feeling the need for some mid-life crisis fun. He tossed the valet a ring of camaro keys and pulled a sports jacket over his polo shirt. On his way into the bar, he spit on his palms and slicked them over his new hair plugs. He was drenched in cheap cologne and feeling fine. It didn't hurt that he'd caught sight of the blonde at the bar. Low-maintenance, tight ass, exactly the kind of woman to have a little fun with in Vegas. If she was good, he might even leave her a little something on the nightstand. He took a bottle of breath spray out of his pocket. Squirt, squirt. Ready to pitch his sale. Burt walked up on her left and leaned an elbow against the bar. "Hey, sexy. How about I buy you another drink?" His free hand started a slow, circular rub on her lower back. Dyan smelled him before she was able to see him, and smirked a bit to herself. The mark had come to her, rather than her having to pick from the jumble of humans that the world would be better off without. She turned slightly in her seat, her expression schooled to one of cool interest as he touched her without permission. She resisted the urge to flat out laugh in his face, tear out his hair plugs that were poorly done and rip his throat out right there, instead, she gave him a slow smile, rattling the ice in her empty glass at the bored looking bartender as she accepted his offer. "That'd be good, a woman like me shouldn't have to buy her own." Her accent was clear, as she'd had to raise her voice just slightly to be heard above the din of the crowd and she smiled at him again. Burt gave her a sleazy smile only a salesman or a lawyer could pull off. "Now that's exactly what I was thinking, honey. See? We've got something in common already." Burt rubbed his sweaty palms together and looked at the bartender. "Get this lady a refill, would you?" He took a seat on the adjacent stool and worked his collar buttons loose. A gold chain peeked through a few sprigs of manly chest hair. "And uhhh," he snapped his fingers and pointed at the bar top, "that'll be a scotch on the rocks for me." A familiar face appeared just beyond Burt's profile. The demon was dressed for business as usual, and he held a glass of bourbon in one hand. As he looked from the salesman to Dyan, his brow and nose wrinkled in distaste. He mouthed a phrase at her. "Is that dinner?" ( Hell No ) ( But They Might Be (Mild Violence) ) reply

[03 Nov 2005|09:11pm] Music seemed to be a new haven for the girl. She stepped into the dark, blacklighted area of a club she'd yet to explore. Her boots thudded on the undertone of the music as she walked with a purpose in her step. She was looking for a good time. For something to happen. Because everyone needs a little something in their lives. Jasmine looked around coolly, with dark eyes as she strode purposefully to the dance floor. She had forsaken the bar and it's men with their clawing gaze and eager hands. But she couldn't get away from the eager hands, no matter what she did. So she fell into the beat of a serenade, a harsh beat of a meaningful song. I know you're dying to tell me everything that you wanna say, but I'm not listening... Everyone wants to get away at one point in time. This was Jasmine's time. Eager hands groped, begging her in silent pleas to dance. Jasmine finally gave in, being pulled to a man with a gentle gaze, eager but gentle hands, subtle movements of desire. He was a mystery to her, but Jasmine was sure she'd be a mystery to him. Trying to tell me, everything that you wanna say... I know you're trying to force me, feed me your lies, but I'm on my way. She wanted to get away from it all, and this man was her escape. They exchanged no names as he held her close, dancing with her to the beat of a Shotgun Serenade. He asked for nothing, she gave little of herself. He moved her through the floor with purpose in each step. The purpose was unfulfilled, and as soon as the song ended, she was alone again. He'd disappeared, damn near literally. Jasmine's gaze fled through the room, clawing, searching for the mystery man who swept her away from life for that little bit of time. But he was nowhere to be seen. Everyone wants to get away sometimes, and music became her haven for escaping. Whoever that man was, he gave her that escape. No names were exchanged, but as Jasmine walked out of the club that night in the early hours of the morning, she felt like he was watching. Bang, bang. Shoot, shoot. reply

Endurance [03 Nov 2005|09:17pm] ( Not A Journal Item ) reply

Discovery [03 Nov 2005|10:43pm] [ mood | weird ] ------ Non Journal Entry ------ There was darkness in Kael Saunders that before this camp, he might never have recognised let alone acknowledged, but right now that darkness was serving a purpose. Kael no longer slept, he watched and as he had watched, he had noticed that the girl three bunks away was no longer moving. He had continued to watch her for an hour and she still didn't move -- there wasn't even any sign she was still breathing so Kael had moved closer. In the past, Kael might have been disturbed by his own actions but the past was past and this was his present. He was willing to do anything he had to in order to get out of it. He crouched beside the bunk and tipped his head so a wayward strand of dark hair fell over one dark hazel eye. "You awake?" He asked very quietly as he addressed the woman in the bunk but again, she didn't move or showed any sign of hearing him. Kael chanced a glance around himself and then leaned in to take a hold of her wrist, she was cold to the touch and when his fingers encircled her wrist, he felt no pulse. Kael lifted himself from his hunches and leaned over the woman in the bunk. He had a cold look in his eyes as he looked her over, his humanity gone and replaced by an analytical mind that saw an opportunity. The tips of his fingers found the pulse point in her neck and again, he felt nothing. No repetitive pulse to tell him that the cool body beneath his fingertips was actually alive and not dead as Kael had suspected two hours ago. But to be safe rather than sorry later, he settled his palm across her mouth to see if he could feel warm breath leaving her lungs. There was nothing but Kael hadn't been expecting anything. "Dead," He muttered with a very slow nod of his head. Kael glanced over his shoulder and made sure everyone was still sleeping as he moved closer to the young woman's ankle. His fingers caught the hem of her jean leg and lifted it so Kael could access the shackle that still surrounded the ankle itself. Kael dropped a hand to his boot and slipped a finger inside to retrieve a very thin slither of metal he had managed to scrounge and hide for the last day or so. He turned the metal in his hand and then shifted to get closer to the shackle. This would either go really well or very terribly but at this point in time, Kael really didn't care just as long as his theory was proven or not depending on what happened next. He recalled Whistler's words and his own frantic scribbling in the sand and then turned his attention back to the shackle. He exhaled a breath as he turned the shackle until he could see the very small gap between the metal. Kael ran his diagrams over in his head, saw every little detail and now put those drawings into practical use. He held the shackle in place and turned the slither of metal in one hand until he held it with the tips of two fingers and with a deep breath in, he slid the metal between the gap. Kael pulled his hand back rather suddenly as the body shook and trembled on the bed and he braced himself for the worst by lifting both arms to shade his eyes from the possible explosion of body but the shakes soon gave way. He dropped his arms and returned his attention to the shackle itself. The metal was melting and the woman's body was still intact which meant that the shackle could be removed and he supposed the real test would be trying to remove the shackle from a living person. His eyes glanced to the shackle that still surrounded his own ankle and he briefly wondered if he could perform the same procedure on himself or he would need someone to do it for him. He left the dead woman's side and spoke a soft prayer for her soul until he retreated back into the shadows of his own bunk where he sunk down and breathed out. There was darkness in Kael Saunders that before this camp, he might never have recognised let alone acknowledged, but the darkness seemed to be the only thing keeping him going so he would embrace it and use it to his advantage. reply

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