| Temporary Things |
[06 Dec 2005|12:45am] |
The key ring was a cheap conglomerate of metal spiral and hard, plastic tag. On one side, gold print emblazoned the establishment’s name in letters that were worn away here and there. It hit the night stand in a skid before settling against a bolted lamp.
“A month’s notice,” a feminine voice deadpanned, while its owner shed a coat and kicked out of her boots. “Yeah, I understand that, but I figured the whole ‘no rent check’ thing would’ve tipped you off weeks ago.”
Rhiannon went sock-footed to the motel room’s sink. A cell phone was pinned between ear and shoulder while her hands sifted through rubble on the counter: hairbrush, tubes of lipstick and toothpaste, deodorant, and finally an elastic band. She caught the phone with her chin.
“Do whatever you want, the place is empty. Everything’s in storage.” She finger-combed her hair into a ponytail, and then reached out blindly for the light switch. She flipped it up and down. Nothing.
“You want me to put a check in the mail?” She went up on tiptoes and reached into the globe. A look of concentration came over her as her fingers twisted the bulb loose. “Fine, maybe I‘ll do that.” Seconds later, Rhiannon closed the phone and pocketed it.
“But I wouldn’t hold my breath,” she muttered, and regarded the freed bulb. The rounded tip of it was scorched.
Rhiannon tossed it in the waste can. It wasn’t the first thing she’d found wrong in the room, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. The faucet of the tub leaked, and a rust stain streaked angrily toward the stopper. The bed sloped awkwardly to one side. And when the tenant above her walked heavily, white flecks of the popcorned ceiling rained down like dandruff.
But it offered a few things that made it worth Rhiannon’s while. It was out of the way, at eight or nine blocks off the boulevard. It was cheap, and a woman who hadn’t been to work in two months could appreciate low rent. But most of all, it had anonymity. For the right price, Manny wouldn’t photocopy her ID. For a little more, he didn’t even ask to see it.
He only worked his toothpick between teeth, took a long, hard look at her tits, and told her, in his thick, Puerto Rican accent, “You pay cash, I ask nothing.” So she went in the books under her middle name, and walked out with a room key and a pair of eyes glued to her ass.
It was a good place to drop off the radar. And probably an even better one from which to run a hooking operation. Not that she was looking to earn her keep.
Rhiannon sank onto a bed that smelled of stale cigarettes, and rubbed her right eye. The colors had faded into greens and yellows, and the bruised skin itched with healing. A recently neglected cat nudged her pant leg.
Outside, there were voices at the icebox, and the rumbling sound of a bucket plunging into the frozen chips. Male voices, male laughter, neither of which were familiar. She was grateful for that. Recognition was the last thing she wanted to experience.
( The Reasons Why )
This was his city. She’d rather leave it than have to look him in the eye again.
Rhiannon pulled the cell phone out of her pocket by its antenna. Her thumb scrolled through the list of names, and selected one she hadn’t dialed in two years. As the tone rang, she bit the tip of a finger.
“Kara? It’s Rhiannon…” and a few minutes later, “Tell me about Chicago."
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| Two Heads Better Than One |
[06 Dec 2005|06:15pm] |
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mood |
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"You wanted to see me?" Matthew asked as his shoulder rested against the doorway and his eyes found the man known as Joseph.
Joseph gave a nod of his head, "I did, I need your help." He shifted in the bed but bit his teeth together as pain seemed to rack his every limb and nearly stole his entire conscious thought.
"How so?" The Watcher inquired as his gaze ran the length of Joseph and he couldn't help but notice he wasn't in a fit state to do much of anything.
"When I find her which I will, I need someone to take me to her." Brown eyes found the blue ones that Matthew possessed, "You want to find her as much as I do only for different reasons." Joseph was nothing if not sharp, he was very good at reading people.
Matthew wandered into the room, a hand moving behind him to shut the weight of the door before full attention to Joseph, "How long until you know?"
A glance was given to the phone on his right, "Any time now." He looked back to Matthew and held his gaze, "Will you help me?"
Matthew considered Joseph's words and the possible consequences for the both of them but what else did he have to lose? Nothing. His Slayer gone rogue, his life pretty much in the shitter and his head haunted by voices that shouldn't be there. "I will, least I can do.." He shrugged his shoulders.
"Thank you," Joseph muttered quietly and sincerely, he wouldn't be able to make it to Vegas without help but if he had to, he'd do it alone. He eyed his drip as it pumped various chemicals into his body, those chemicals helped to numb the pain and replenish himself. He knew he'd have to adjust to living without them the moment he was out of hospital.
Matthew turned to leave the room when the phone rang, his step faltered and his head turned to glance over his shoulder. "Is that who you're waiting on?"
( Information Required )
"That enough?" He asked.
Damon glanced to the notes he had taken and gave a nod of his head, "It'll be enough for now." He could hear laboured breathing on the other end of line and briefly thought about asking Joseph how he was until he decided against it, "I'll be in touch."
Joseph hung up the phone and let his weight fall back into the bed and he allowed himself a few moments of rest, just long enough for him to gather his breath and thoughts. He just had to be patient or as patient as Joseph could be. One step closer, it had to be enough, it had to be enough.
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