| Grasping for straws. |
[05 Sep 2006|12:19pm] |
'Worried' truly could have been the understatement of the century.
The demon Lorne in his non-demon appearing form had chewed whatever was left of his manicure down to the core leaving nothing but dreadfully ragged fingernails.
No hide nor hair had been seen of the mainstay figurehead bartender. No spiky brown hair, no pair of shorts, no pair of sandals, no familiar 1000 watt smile or gigantic brown eyes within the vicinity of the GreenRoom since earlier the previous afternoon.
Numerous voicemails had been left, numerous phonecalls had been made. Numerous dead ends had resulted.
Elian was reliable. Elian was always within range. He was always there. Elian would never just.. leave.
What troubled the demon even more, was the paralleled lack of brunette.
While Meredith wasn't always around, the fact that she wasn't around right now added to his fears and his doubts substantially more.
He couldn't call the police. The police weren't on his side right now. But there were other people who might be able to help.
In the silence of his office, Lorne picked up his phone and dialed.
( Voicemail for Grace. )
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| Where everybody knows your name... |
[05 Sep 2006|09:57pm] |
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The light cleared and Julie found herself back in 2010, wearing the clothes she'd been in when everyone had been sent back in time and standing in the empty taqueria lot.
"Thank you, God!" Julie knelt down and kissed the blacktop, getting strange looks from some of the other time travelers but she didn't care. She was back in the future, baby!
She wasn't quite sure what they had been sent back to the past for, was it to bear witness to the deaths of those poor miners? Greedy companies causing the deaths of their workers was nothing new, though maybe the deliberateness of the action was what they were supposed to see. Maybe they could put up a little memorial outside the community center.
For now though, Julie had more immediate concerns: find out how long they'd been gone and if she still had both a job and a place to stay. That thought in mind, she started off toward the Lighthouse at a swift pace to find Nyx, her roommate/boss/landlord.
Nyx hadn't had any problem keeping the shifts covered and of course, he had first hand knowledge of the weirdness that happened in the little town of Searchlight.
He mostly just hoped that his disappearing employee/roomie was ok and not half dead or totally dead this time around.
He sat in his office doing the invoices for the orders that had to go out the following day. It was just loud enough in the bar room to let him know business was decent that evening and he smiled to himself as he signed off.
( I've died and gone to 'Cheers' )
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| The Other Woman |
[05 Sep 2006|10:55pm] |
Highway navigation was a lot easier than you'd think, even when you were a little drunk. Must be those super-duper vampire reflexes paying off. Grace parked the Plymouth at the curb, then got out and slouched against the vehicle while she lit a cigarette. Muttering quietly to herself, she blew smoke up at the streetlight, then pushed off from the car and started a slightly-too-careful walk down the street.
Destination: Matthew Stone's apartment.
She didn't know what it was about that boy. Man. Man-child. Something in him was just...hollering at her every time they got close to each other. Like a distant bellow, something you could barely hear unless you were still enough and really quiet. Grace couldn't help but want to investigate it. Up close and personal like.
And who knew? Maybe tonight, she would.
“Well you’re the real tough cookie with the long history... Of breaking little hearts, like the one in me...”
Rhiannon had a thing for front porches, especially those with white posts. Ideally they would be fresh painted, so white they were almost blue in the nighttime. In a weird way they reminded her of stability; of family and coming home.
Once, when she was a little girl, Rhiannon stayed overnight with her best friend from St. Agnes School. The Brewsters had the porch to kill all porches. At home she begged her dad to build one. Their house on Spruce Street had a stoop. Mr. Lee wasn’t particularly skilled at carpentry. He got her a swing set instead. It was a metal one, the kind that makes nervous people think about tetanus.
The coat of paint on Matthew’s porch was so smooth she could swing around the post and never get a splinter in her fingertips. That’s what she was doing now, because he wasn’t home. It figured that when Rhiannon was around, he wasn’t, and vice versa. It was a shame, because she had a real need to see him... To raid his cabinets for the supply of E.L. Fudge he kept.
“Well that’s o.k., lets see how you do it... put up your dukes, lets get down to it...”
Rhiannon never sang. So judging by the song lyrics, she was still high. Knew it, too, and was okay with it. Whistler’s Haitian weed wasn’t as illicit as she’d gone before, but it didn’t make a difference. Rhiannon hadn’t be stoned in years, and she was in no mood for a buzz kill.
Everything was so goddamn serious all the time. She was so goddamn serious all the time. One night was all she needed. One night. She’d deal with Joseph and the Nine of Swords and her electric bill later.
Grace had taken to walking along the curb instead of on the sidewalk, her arms held out to either side of her, despite the fact that she still retained most of her balance. One foot in front of the other, heel to toe, heel to toe. Her left hand still held the flask of bourbon she'd brought from the car, and she took a drink from it before putting the cap back on and slipping it into her pocket.
"Maaaaatthew..."
( Never Heard of Her )
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