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Conflict Of Interest [10 Dec 2005|04:24am] [ mood | weird ] ------ Non Journal Entry ------ He finds himself in a dingy excuse for a room but it doesn't matter what his surroundings are like, his entire attention is fixed on the stone he has on the ground. It's still wrapped in material, its dark colour obscured from sight but the material only makes it even more tempting. He knows he shouldn't be drawn, he shouldn't want to look into the depths of the stone itself but whatever she left behind in him is working over time and it's causing fingers to reach out until they're snatched back. Sensible Matthew kicks in and tells reckless Matthew that he's being stupid, that the stone will only lead to problems and that he barely escaped with his soul intact the last time he came across the Corruptress. There's a part of the Watcher that knows he's tempted and that he wants to let go and experience what the other side might be like; he's tired of living the way he does. Never good enough for anyone, always too late. He's tired of being lonely and he's exhausted of waking up and every day being the same. Legs pace the stained carpet beneath the Watcher's feet and hands thread through dark strands of hair over and over again until he's fairly sure he's thrown his hair into a state of disarray. The stone remains in the middle of the ground and it's through stolen looks that Matthew knows it's still there. He keeps reminding himself he can't believe that things are better the way she describes. Rhiannon isn't better is she? She's different, not better or is she? He shakes his head as he tries to rid himself of his confused thoughts, the thoughts that swirl until everything becomes unrecognisable. He's trying to gather himself, trying to get in touch with the man he knows that he is. His father's voice echoes in his head and he feels a quick flash of anger as the words spoken and remembered threaten to push him past the line he's teetering on. His body drops onto the edge of his bed and he hunches in over himself as trembling hands find their way into his hair again. Blue eyes are bloodshot and almost panicked as they look at the stone, he can see the aura and he can feel the power. He forces his gaze away and flattens his palms against the curves of his face and he mutters a few protective words over and over again until he feels some semblance of normality returning to him. What was he thinking when he accepted the stone from Mallory? Was he even thinking at all? Questions spin around his head until he doubts his every thought, his every action and he's soon a mass of self doubt and paranoia. His legs sink towards the ground until Matthew is knelt on the carpet and his body is moving closer to the stone. One hand reaches out and fingertips brush across the material and a hard swallow results from the ensuing tingles. "What the fuck are you doing?" He questions himself as his fingers are curling around the material and he's pulling it back to reveal the hard gleam of the stone's dark surface. Just as he feels he might be encouraged towards unwrapping the stone entirely, the sharp ring of his phone snatches his attention away and his head has turned away from the stone to settle a dark gaze on the phone that looks ready to fall off the table its been rested on. He watches it as it rings and he doesn't move until it stops and he forces his fingers to cover the stone and he then rises to his feet. He moves to the phone, flips it open and sees a missed call from Joseph and he debates returning it for a moment until he simply flips the phone shut, he'll listen to the message later. Matthew's head now turns to find the stone again and his gaze remains fixed on it as his labours with right and wrong and the effect of having that stone so close is having on him. Breadth of body sinks into the frail chair settled against the wall of his room and hands take to covering his face. He needs to either use the stone for something or get rid of it; those are the only options that he has. reply

Some sort of Angel [10 Dec 2005|02:49pm] It's a little weird sitting here in this hotel room, typing on the laptop I brought with me from Italy. I had to go to Walmart to get new extensions, I completely forgot that all the plugs are different around here in America. Weird huh? Anyways, it took me forever to find Walmart. They don't even have a Walmart here. I had to go like 2 towns over to find one. I've lived in tiny places man, and even they have a Walmart. So weird. So now I've gotten the internet up, and have checked my email. I got a couple from Willow and Xander and I let them know where I was. If something happened, I'd kind of preferred Willow to come bail me out. At least she wouldn't give me a lecture. So far my adventures in Searchlight has been... well I dunno what even to call it really. Most of the time, things like that don't happen to me. Well of course I've had a few ... encounters. None that I've ever talked about. If Buffy knew she'd have a cow. I guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. Maybe it's a Summer's genetic trait to be .. atrracted to vampires. I mean I've grown out of my crush with Spike of course, but Jack wasn't my first, and I don't even know if he's going to be my last. It was fun though, I'll have to say that. Living on the edge. Everyone would call me crazy. That's having a little bit too much fun and danger and risking your life. I guess I agree. And I wonder if being in this town, knowing he's out there is a little more then I want to handle. God knows what could happen down the line. I've done this enough to know that you don't count your chickens before they're hatched. That guy I met in McDonalds was way cute. I wonder if he's got a girlfriend. I love the tattoos. I probably should go find that store and poke my head in and see what's going on. At the very least, if I have questions I could email Willow and see if she knows about the place. She knows like everything that has to do with witch stuff. And any excuse to see a cute boy again. I guess I should go take another look around the town, see what else is out there. See what else I can find out. Hopefully I can find out some juicy details. reply

A Long-Awaited Phone Call [10 Dec 2005|04:27pm] If there was one thing which Victoria had been unable to work out, it was to do with a link she shared. At some point, not too long ago, she had felt a certain lawyer's mental image drifting inexplicably to thoughts at random. Why then? She had no real idea. Even dreams seemed to be featuring her, more often than not. Whether real or artificially created, unbeknownst to her, since escape, the vessel containing what was claimed to be an unending, forever-warm source of the vampire's essence, had failed to refill itself. Not too long ago now, but failing, nonetheless, as if its batteries were wearing out. But of that, Victoria had no knowledge. All she knew was that her second telephone call was to be reserved for a student and potential vampiric offspring, whom she was unsure would even be heard of again, much less seen. That was why fingers danced lethargically over buttons, dialing the number which would place her directly through to an office telephone, bypassing any secretarial influence. ( A long-awaited phone call ) ( Pain, guilt, relief...these are called emotions ) ( Calm down, already! ) ( Do evil people celebrate Christmas? ) "Well, I'll certainly try not to, honey!" Finding herself abducted from the street again was most definitely not on Victoria's list of things to do. She might even be especially paranoid of such places now. No way of telling, until finding herself out on them properly again. Having a partner who could order in a small, heavily-armed band of soldiers was going to be a bonus, as regards to that. "Just remember, soon as I can, I'll see you, I promise...good night, Jill." Ending it with the sound of a kiss, Victoria ended the call. She was getting hungry. Time to visit the refrigerator. reply

Elevator Action 3000: Damsels in Sexstress! [10 Dec 2005|11:01pm] And the elevator goes up... Oopsy! Not when you see your boss almost missing the ride, it doesn't! Putting one foot between the sliding doors, Natasha just prevented 'lift off' before Star made her way through. "Lucky, huh? Hate it when that happens," the singer commented. "What floor?" A set of brilliantly painted fingernails swept brown hair away from Star's eyes. "Penthouse," she answered, out of breath, and with more volume and self-importance than was strictly necessary. Three weeks living above the Witching Hour, and she still liked the sound of it. Penthouse. My penthouse. Even if certain aesthetic changes had to take place before it was socially presentable. Julian had the place tricked out like Heffner's pad on steroids. The only thing missing was the bearskin rug. And hello? 80s. Star adjusted the pocket book strap on her cashmere-covered shoulder, and unzipped its main compartment. Newly bejeweled fingers sparkled with colorful bling as she sifted through and pulled out a favored pot of gloss. She dipped a finger inside and began rubbing it liberally across her generous mouth as the elevator jumped upward. "Natasha, isn't it?" she asked, glancing over. Of course it was Natasha, she wasn't that much of an airhead. There weren't many gothic Vegas singers that featured animatronic spider legs sprouting out of their backs. But as they hadn't been formally introduced, the name check was the best route. "Uh-huh!" The more gothic brunette answered, a great deal more pleasantly than her visual appearance might have suggested she would. Fingertips danced over the panel and the correct level was selected, although the metal coffin was a little slower than usual to lurch upwards to its destination. Not to worry, though. They'd arrive, soon enough. "I remember when they didn't have any decent A/C - you were always run off your feet, serving the rest of us," Natasha recalled, leaning against one side. "No offense to the previous owner, but since you took over, it's been a God-send. I hardly even recognize it as the same place!" Star gave a one-shouldered shrug and rubbed her lips together as fingers closed the gloss. "Common sense is underrated," she said, belying the humble nature of chosen words by tossing her hair a bit. No humility in this one. "Besides, it hardly seemed fair that Julian was stalking around, striking poses in his leather pants with not a drop of sweat on him, while everyone else was applying deodorant on the half hour." "Tell me about it..." Natasha replied, raising both brow and one corner of mouth simultaneously. A small but knowing series of nods being made. "I've got my doubts he was even-" But her train of thought was interrupted by sudden halt to the elevator's motion. A high-pitched whirring of motors following, followed by a small jolt and then... Nothing. "Um..." Natasha was as unimpressed as she was cautious. This did not bode well. Nor did the lack of mechanical response from any new floor selections. "Something tells me this might be a tad unusual..." The beginnings of a frown, more annoyed than worried, crossed the club owner's features. She pressed the tip of a nail to the 'door open' button. It lit up, and then... nothing. "Oh, don't even!" she warned, as if speaking to an elusive elevator gnome prone to mechanical chicanery, and clicked the button again. Click, click, click. Click. Star yanked a miniature, metal door open, and revealed a red emergency phone. "Hello?" asked into the mouthpiece, despite the silence coming from the speaker. Not even white noise. "Stupid piece of shit, I can't believe this!" Slamming the phone back on its hook, then, and ignoring how it fell off and dangled by a springing coil. Natasha's strategy was more reserved, consisting of clenching jaw, one arm crossing in front of her to support the other by elbow, the hand of which was risen to her temples. All in all, a convincing impression of someone who could feel a migraine coming on, but no less annoyed than Star for it. "Great..." ( Methods of Seeking Rescue ) reply

Gratitude Between Friends [10 Dec 2005|11:17pm] ( Not A Journal Item ) reply

Wherever I May Roam [10 Dec 2005|11:47pm] [ mood | annoyed ] ***Non-Journal Content*** Jack Copeland was not in the least happy to finally make his way to the area his arguable instincts told him was where he needed to be. When the stolen motorcycle had died on the highway, he'd backtracked, wasting time after he'd taken a foolish determination to have the damned thing fixed. After finding an appropriately under-the-table shop - days wasted - then learning how much time, trouble, and money or extra trouble it would be to have it taken care of though... He hated the desert. The change had caught up with him out in the scrub and nothing. It was hard enough to find places to hide from the sun when he wasn't fighting every impulse to just run free and tear into any living thing that crossed his path. Not that there were many living things out in the blank. Free of that hassle for another month's predations, he'd finally made it by foot to Searchlight. As he started to familiarize himself with the lay of the land, the refrain in his mind was only focused on how much faster he could've been there if the bike hadn't quit on him. And recon was useless if taken under distraction. He did, at least, retain enough attention to be amused at a local business called Jack's Trading Post. But the lack of progress left him resigned to claiming a temporary hold in some abandoned mineshaft or another. Anywhere good enough to escape the sun would do... at least until he'd figured out how he was supposed to be amusing himself here. reply

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