| I'm Home |
[24 Dec 2005|01:51am] |
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------ Non Journal Entry ------
Smoke drifted from a pair of slender fingers and a flick of thumb to filter knocked a few stray ashes aside. They fell below and scattered across the gust of wind that whipped through the dark narrow alleyway below the apartment block. Embers burned bright as cigarette was brought back to lips where a drag was taken, disease breathed in and breathed right back out, damage done -- not that he cared all that much.
His back was settled against a cool metal bar whilst one leg was bent and his bare foot settled against the bar beneath him. His other leg swung over the other side of railings and he seemed completely unafraid of the possible drop if he made the wrong move. Necklaces glinted in the dull light from the bar further down the road and eyes seemed to be locked on the dark sky above.
His lips were curled into a strange sort of smile, the kind of smile that people gave when they knew the world wasn't going to end tomorrow, people who knew that no matter what, things would work themselves out. In time, he'd get back into the swing of things but for the moment, he was content with just resting as he had enough injuries to keep a normal man on his back.
Long strands of hair flickered around high cheekbones and caught on long lashes and no attempt was made to remove them as it was nice to be so free. A prayer spoken in his native tongue made rich by the timbre of his own voice left his mouth and began to reach out towards the sky like fingers stretching out for some kind of hold.
A moment later, eyes closed and a slow shake of his head was given. "I thought you'd abandoned me, Lady Luck." Joseph's head tipped slowly and a cocky grin spread his lips apart and caused white teeth to flash against the darkness, "Guess I should have known better."
In spite of injuries he still managed to move with some semblance of grace as his body dropped back down onto the safe side of the fire escape. He turned to take one last look at Vegas before a flick of fingers sent the still burning cigarette hurtling towards the ground.
"It's good to be home," He muttered with a soft smile before his body slipped back in through his window.
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| Too Old For This |
[24 Dec 2005|04:48am] |
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mood |
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------ Non Journal Entry ------
The world could have ended and Jordan wouldn't have noticed.
She had returned home, late as always and with a hell of a mood so she was glad the others were in bed. No point taking out her day on everyone else.
Jordan craved sleep and was practically living off coffee which could not be healthy for her. Concerns about her health were shaken aside as she collapsed into a chair in the kitchen and she sprawled the folders out in front of her.
Hands made their way into very long dark hair that had taken to curling at the ends and green eyes took to fixing on the facts in front of her. The bureau expected her to shift aside all of her work for this one case and the police department kept piling the reports up on her desk. She just could not do it, she wasn't Wonder Woman though granted the suit might actually look good on her.
Her dark jacket was shrugged off her shoulders and settled across the back of her chair. Gun holster apparent for any to see but she didn't care, she was home, technically safe though she didn't have much faith left in the security she had built up around herself. All it took was one moment for all of it to be lost. Look at William, she was pretty sure they were solid and he just vanished on her.
Focus Jordan, focus.
She blinked her eyes and then tried to fix her attention back on the many case reports in front of her but the words kept blurring together. Drowsiness crept up on Jordan and without really knowing what happened next, her face met with the table and she was soon passed out, stone cold unconscious.
It would seem all those late nights had finally caught up with her.
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| Could Get Ugly |
[24 Dec 2005|12:24pm] |
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap...
The rounded tip of an eraser rapped incessantly against the corner of Star's notebook. On the top of the page, five words had been scribbled and then retraced several times.
Amy Graham
DO NOT HIRE!!!
The buxom blonde made another pass in front of Star's table, dancing to a symphonic rendition of 'Flashdance (What a Feeling)' that sounded like it was recorded with a Casio in somebody's basement. A pair of augmented breasts bobbed and wobbled like buoys in a stormy sea. From time to time, Amy put her hands on either side of them and forced them together. The cleavage she created put the Marianas trench to shame.
It was enough to make a B-cup girl want to vomit.
Catching Shaun's eye across the room was no easy feat. His eyes went up and down with each Laker Girl inspired kick and leap. Apparently even gay men were transfixed by the sight of jiggling breasts. The third or fourth time Star snapped her fingers, he jolted to attention, and cut the music when he noticed the urgent slashing motion his boss was making, index finger across her jugular.
The sudden silence seemed even louder than the vintage hint, and Amy stopped dancing and stood there huffing and puffing, cheeks red with the exertion of hauling those enormous mammary glands back and forth.
Star scratched her head with purple nails. "Um... Yeah. This audition is for a cage dancer, right? Crop top, low-rise pants, sexy but tasteful. The strip joints are farther down the Boulevard. So is Hooters." She pointed toward the door with her pencil, and flipped the page in her notebook while Amy stomped out.
Next page? Blank.
Three dancers had been hired thus far, but Star needed at least one more, maybe two. When she'd come up with the idea, it seemed like a brilliant plan. How could it be hard to find dancers in a city like Vegas? Too bad they were all, a) untying the straps of their tops after thirty seconds and humping the floor, b) attempting walkovers and Japanese splits like Cirque de Soleil castoffs, or c) demanding so much money she could never keep up with her competition.
Not to mention the desperate need for kitchen staff, and another bouncer that didn't have some kind of police record for violent crime. How Julian got away so short-handed, she'd never figure out.
Star planted the sharpened tip of her pencil on the notebook page. Then she lined up the eraser with the center of her forehead, and balanced her head on it. "Shaun?" she grumbled, and stared at the paper. "As my general manager and right-hand man, would you agree that we're fucked?"
Shaun twisted one corner of his mouth. "Not fucked, per se. We ran the ad in the paper. Give it a few days."
She cut her eyes in his direction, but didn't vacate her head's resting place. "I'll feel a lot better about this whole club-running gig once I figure out what the hell I'm doing." When her forehead started to hurt, Star pulled the pencil away. "On the bright side, I got all the black leather and animal heads out of the penthouse. And... I converted half the dining room into a shoe closet."
The twenty-something general manager gave Star a weird look. "Right. The bright side. There's always the shoe closet." He yanked the plug out of the outlet, and started wrapping the cord around the CD player. "I'll see you downstairs, alright?"
Star gave a half-assed nod and flipped back through the pages of her notebook. New Year's was coming up fast. If she didn't have the staff in place to cover all her renovations to the Witching Hour, things could get really ugly.
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