| All the Sleazebags Stick Together |
[31 Aug 2006|12:32am] |
Samantha sat at her desk, her brow furrowed as she read over the file yet again.
She must’ve read over the file she pulled on Jillian Andersen at least two dozen times, and each read told her the exact same thing: that Andersen had been responsible for the murder of Baltimore police chief Daniel Richards.
Her confidential contact within Wolfram & Hart had given her the file, without her asking and without an explanation. It seemed a little too convenient to receive the woman’s file just days after meeting with her, days after finding out Gregor had resurfaced, waving some shiny trinket and mystical prophecy over her.
And now, the revelation of Richards’ murderer.
With a sigh, Sam stood, marching toward the lieutenant’s office. The Slayer could barely hide her distaste for Levi, his arrogance and the way he lied and manipulated like it was nothing, but this needed to be reported. Someone had to know. The Richards case had grown cold; ten months had passed since his death, and nothing had been found.
Until now. And in Vegas, of all places.
( I hate my boss... )
The Slayer merely grinned, backing out of the office. “If who I am doesn’t scare you,” she said ominously, “then who I know should.”
David Gregor, if manipulated right, could end up being a valuable commodity after all. There was still the issue of his corporate pride and joy gunning down a police chief, but if the two ladies could pool their resources, they might be able to undo the prophecy, all the while making Levi’s life hell and maybe even give Samantha promotion.
Jill could go to prison after her purpose had been served.
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| The Wallflower. |
[31 Aug 2006|12:47am] |
I went looking for a demon, and what I ended up finding was a Nightclub for the heterosexually challenged. You could say I felt a little out of place sitting here on this barstool in the middle of the Manilow Marathon, but for the coin the Pig's payin' me to pretend I actually wanted to be in this place, I could give a shit if my torn jeans weren't part of the fucken dresscode.
I ain't no patsy, but I owed Levi a favor. And if that means drinkin' beer in some queer karaoke bar and keeping an eye on the demon, I'd say it's easy money. But that green bastard ain't nowhere to be seen. That pouty lookin' broad and the bartender - let's just call him BoyBand, they're in plain sight, probably completely oblivious to the fact that they're both about to get their fucking heads blown off. Not that I give a shit, though a shame about the broad, I wouldn't mind goin' a round or two with her before the cop takes her down.
Though I gotta say, I've been sitting in this club for the last couple of days, and the demon hasn't shown. I think Levi's outta luck. Although I'm about ready to leave this place anyway - this stupid asshole who thinks he's hot shit in his Armani suit wont stop asking me if I want to sing. I'm about ready to pound him in the face if BoyBand over here didn't look so much like his overbearing boyfriend.
But I got my own work to do, and I can't do it if I'm playin' stakeout in this bar every night. I don't know what happened to the green guy, and I honestly don't give a shit. In my opinion, he's long gone. This all seems like a ridiculous cock n' bull charade anyway.
I think Levi's out of luck. I'm done waiting around.
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| On the Warpath |
[31 Aug 2006|10:28pm] |
The midday light was a harsh reminder to Hayden that he was hung over. He lurched to his Jeep with a hand over his eyes. They were already red and burning from undesirable tears just like ones stuck in his throat. Swallowing was going to be a challenge. He hoped it wouldn’t stop him from pouring another gallon of alcohol down his throat to take the edge off the worst morning of his life.
After fumbling for his pocket, Hayden realized it was empty. The car keys were upstairs where he dropped them coming in. The hounds of hell couldn’t chase him through that door again. He had a feeling that watching Kris pull a suitcase out might be the last straw.
Before what?
It was a measure of his self-control that Hayden hadn’t driven his hand through a wall already.
He put his palms on the scorching hot hood and let pain run up and down the stitches in his left hand. He ground his teeth together. Kept his mouth shut tight so he wouldn’t scream and let her hear him.
Where were you supposed to go when the woman you thought you’d have forever was up there separating your things, drawing a neat line down the center of your life together? Hers into this box, yours left hanging in one half of the closet. One set of the drawers. One side of the bed.
Christ, if he didn’t know better, he’d think he was having an aneurism. The pain behind his eyes was unrelenting. Hayden pounded his fist on the scarred hood. He needed to pull himself together, fast. If the knot in his chest kept redoubling, and it wouldn’t bode well for anything that got in his way today. Pocketing the ring, he started off down the sidewalk.
All she wanted was to know where Sonya was. That was all.
Maybe if she kept telling herself that, she'd believe it.
Mallory went by the diner first and poked her head in, but the lack of Hayden's presence there had her walking again in less than five minutes. The bookstore, then, since she remembered seeing him there quite a bit. This couldn't be as bad as it looked. She hoped.
The redhead walked purposefully towards Unseen Insight, hands jammed into her pockets. Hayden was a nice guy. Hayden was a friend. But Sonya had been clearly panic-stricken over the phone, and it had Mallory struggling with the whole benefit-of-the-doubt thing.
She spotted the Watcher across the street, and she crossed the hot surface with a slightly stiff-legged stride. Cool it, she ordered herself, but she didn't want to cool it. Between Sonya's apparent crisis and her own concerns about Boden, she was stretched just a little tight emotionally.
In full stomp, she approached Hayden, pointing a finger at him. In a tone of voice that was generally reserved for a soap opera character about to lay a verbal smack-down, she said, "You."
( That's a Really Bad Idea )
( And Now We're Boiling Over )
[Scene Continued in Thread: Open to Mallory and Hayden]
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