| Dead Of Night |
[13 Sep 2006|12:11am] |
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mood |
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 working |
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Shadow was to the Slayer that cloth was to skin, a layer to hide beneath, a layer to warp and use to her own devices and a means to an end.
She’d already killed two guards and hopped the fence and was making her way across the lawn. The security systems had been long mapped out and planned against and Bethany was moving with all the elegant confidence and grace she had become infamous for.
The outside of the house wasn’t what worried her, it was what was inside the house that did. It might have appeared normal to the naked eye but Bethany had been made aware of certain security measures that went far beyond the realm of normal.
Magical incantations and charms specifically designed to ward off intruders and keep all those with demonic blood out. Fortunately Bethany was a woman that came prepared and was therefore ready to tackle them.
( Job Done )
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| Final |
[13 Sep 2006|08:33am] |
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mood |
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 sad |
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------ Non Journal Entry ------
Devon had returned to his motel room after saying goodbye to Julie but hadn't stuck very long. Had stuck long enough to twist and turn before he'd packed up his things and let himself out. No point hanging around if all he was going to do was tangled himself up in bedsheets.
For a reason unbeknownst to him he swung by his apartment again only to find a note in familiar handwriting addressed to him. Plucking it free, he opened it up and what he read broke his heart all over again and he just swallowed hard and closed his eyes.
After a moment, the note was meticulously folded and tucked into the shirt pocket closest to his heart and Devon's feet took him out to the trailer park. He had never needed a map and now was no different. He settled himself in front of the trailer and then exhaled a slow breath as one hand loosened the chain around his neck.
The other pulled a pen and a slip of paper from his pocket and they came together for a simple reason, to slip off his chain and to leave a note. Devon crouched down, settled the chain against Hannah's step and then slid the note under it.
The note wasn't verbose but Devon had never really been verbose so it suited but it said more than enough. "I love you." Hopefully she'd recognise the scrawl that passed for handwriting in Devon's world.
Devon lingered then reached for his bag, slipping it over his shoulder and beginning towards the bus stop. Turns out nothing's easy when you're leaving your heart behind.
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| A Career For Tristan? |
[13 Sep 2006|09:34am] |
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mood |
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It began by accident. Perhaps it was luck. This was Vegas, after all.
Tristan was just looking for a nice meal. One with money so he could repay Bethany for her help in clothing him and giving him a place to stay, and he'd need gas for the Harley very soon. So he went into Vegas to do some hunting. Stalking his prey was always part of the fun.
He followed one of the high rollers into a dark alley. He had thought the man was a gambler anyway. That had been a miscalculation on Tristan's part.
Tristan was stalking him, lying low in the shadows of an abandoned business, when he heard other voices. He turned to leave. Tristan didn't need a crowd. There were plenty of drunks with money pouring out of their pockets. But something gave him pause. Then he smiled and leaned closer to listen.
Once he'd heard enough he changed prey. The vampire moved down the alley and quietly climbed up one of the old rickety fire escapes. He could see more from above.
That's when things started to go wrong for the first man he'd been watching. The other man, dressed in black, pulled a gun. Their negotiations were not going well. The first man put up his hands, his face angry. "I don't need this. My boss doesn't need this!"
Tristan jumped. He landed on the man with the gun. His movements were so fast, it was all a blur. Tristan kicked the gun away, morphed into his vampire visage, and tore out the second man's throat. The hot, sticky blood was sustenance for Tristan, and he didn't waste it, yet he didn't have time to savor it either. Quickly he wiped his mouth with a sleeve and dropped the body.
The first man was frozen in fear. Tristan smiled and came back to human form. He took a step backward and held up his own hands to show he was no threat to the first man. "I'll take that job," he said softly. Then he chuckled. "Trust me, there would be no witnesses, and no evidence. Dead men tell no lies, isn't that what they say?"
( The start of something new... )
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| The Mule and the Jackass |
[13 Sep 2006|10:19am] |
Dark hair and pale skin pressed against the inside of the window as the black limousine made its way through the dark and dirty streets. While most areas of Vegas practically required limos and stretch hummers and the like, this section was different. Here, there were a lot of strange things that routinely went down, and any one who went asking too many questions usually ended up getting dealt with, and in a permanent sense.
That’s why this location was the perfect drop/pick up point for Kyrie. Dress her up like a working girl, and no body would be the wiser. The limo pulled over to the side of the road, and the teen stepped out of the car with a huff, turned around to shut the door and leaned in as the tinted window came down.
There was no word for the way she felt, but for some reason dirty came to mind.
A Latino man, who went by the inconspicuous name of Cancun, stuck his face up to the window, and the following conversation ensued.
“Remember what we’ve been talking about. Your ass is lucky that the boss is willing to overlook the low count this time. You’d better fucking not let it happen again.”
“This is bullshit. When I took this job, we were talking ten balloons, tops. That last one was thirty. If that’s the way this is headed, then I want out. Now.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game, bitch. You don’t just walk away from the boss, you know that.”
“Oh yeah, watch me asshole.”
Kyrie turned on her heels as if to walk away, when the click of a magazine being loaded into a fully automatic weapon could be heard, loud and clear.
There was no word for the type of man that Cancun was, but for some reason desperate came to mind.
“There’s only one way out. So what’s it gonna be? Is this your last night?” He sounded serious. So serious, in fact, that Kyrie shrugged dejectedly and turned about on her heels. She held out her hand as a heavy leather purse was placed in it.
“Count’s thirty-five, this time. You better swallow every god damn last fucking one of those balloons, this time. No second chances.” With a hand signal given to the driver, the limo’s window rolled up and it pulled away into the night. Kyrie was left holding the bag that matched her outfit. As she turned to walk back to her apartment, the dark form of a man emerged from the shadows, almost giving her a heart attack.
Tyler folded his arms, and looked over the young girl for a moment as she tried to calm her beating heart.
“I think we need to have a little chat, you and I.”
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| It's always the damn river! |
[13 Sep 2006|10:21am] |
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mood |
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 okay |
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Chloe had pocket threes, and the flop had a three, a six, and a jack. Trip threes was a fairly good hand. "I'm all in." She pushed her remaining chips into the center of the pot.
It was time to double it up, or this round was over. The tournament cost her ten thousand for a seat, and she'd already won several tables. She'd leave with thirty thousand even if she lost this hand. Compared to the 1.5 million the winner would receive however… Chloe had never made it all the way to the final table. Her goal wasn't even to win the entire thing. Just making it to a final table… was that too much to ask?
Robert showed no expression on his face. He couldn't accuse Chloe of slow playing this hand. It was hard to tell with her. Sometimes she played so aggressive she was all over the place, and other times she sat back and leapt upon you at the last possible moment. He studied his cards, played with his stack of chips, and then matched her bet. "I'll call you."
They were the last two at this table. The winner would advance to the next round, the loser would have to pack up and go home. Chloe laid down her two threes, displaying her set. Robert shrugged and smiled, and put down his six and eight.
Things looked good for Chloe. The turn card was another face card, a king. No help to anyone. Chloe's fingers itched. "Come on…come on," she whispered. That's when the dealer flipped over the river card. Another six. That gave Robert three sixes! Damn it!
Robert smiled and shrugged again. He shook Chloe's hand. "Nice game. Better luck next time."
Chloe sighed and shook his hand like the good sport she was. Phil Laak, affectionately nicknamed the Unabomber because of his grey sweatshirt he always wore pulled over his head, smiled at her as he walked back. "Too bad, Ace. Maybe you'll win next time." He of course had just beat out everyone at his table. One more to go until the finals. "Gonna stay and watch? Jennifer is still playing." Jennifer was Phil's girlfriend. She was a mean poker player on her own, and Chloe had never beat her either. Some day…some day.
"Nah, I better get back to the diner and lick my wounds." Chloe gave him a smile and then went to collect her winnings. Thirty thousand was nothing to sneeze at.
It was forty five minutes later when Chloe's convertible black mustang pulled into the back of the Road Kill Grill. Her father was there to meet her with a hug. "Sorry, pumpkin. You'll get 'em next time."
Chloe hugged him back and kissed his cheek. "I didn't do too bad."
It wasn't long after that before Chloe found herself with an apron on, and a bar towel in her hand. She flirted with the regulars and poured coffee. They gave her unsolicited advice on her poker game, and of course she smiled and nodded and promised to try it that way next time.
For the most part, Chloe had no complaints. The only thrills and spills came from her poker games. Life was good and predictable.
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