| Multiplicity |
[16 Oct 2006|12:26am] |
She’d made the trip once before, but the journey to the White Room still unnerved Jill to her very core.
The way the elevator faded into a vast white nothingness, the way she stood in a sea of nothing. She remembered her hippie art teacher in high school teaching her white was the presence of every color, whereas black was the absence of said, but as she stood in the White Room, wearing a striking black business suit, Jill had the passing thought that her teacher had been full of shit.
Ms. Carter would’ve fit right in at Wolfram & Hart.
The lawyer didn’t move, her eyes trying to focus on anything that might jump out at her in this vast canvas of, well, white. It wasn’t even a useful white, like the snow that used to keep Jill home from school in those Maryland winters when she was a child. Or the white when Oliver…
…well, that was another thought for another time and place. Jill found the White Room too unnerving for anything other than business.
It was even more nerve-wracking when the conduit decided to play a little hide-and-seek.
“Hello?” Jill called out. “Don’t tell me I’m the only one wasting precious life seconds in this creepfest.”
( I love me some me. )
Jill had no way of knowing whether the Partners really wanted that, or if the conduit was merely manipulating her to serve its own needs, much the ay David Gregor had done so many times. Either way, it was a scary proposition, one that just about drove Jill to tears.
Her jaw throbbed, her nose was still bleeding. Jill grabbed a handkerchief from out of the pocket in her jacket, dabbing at the blood as a tear rolled down her eye. She brushed it away, taking a deep breath to steel herself, her eyes locking on the faded Baltimore Orioles hat she kept in her office.
There’d been times in the past where she’d look at the hat and feel better about things, reminded for a short time of the life she used to live, the life where she was comfortable and loved and happy and full of so many dreams.
Now, she was full of dread and fear and hate and…
…wait, the bird on that hat. It…it was green.
But aren’t orioles orange?
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| Mirrors |
[16 Oct 2006|12:42am] |
[Takes place after Meeting and Greeting]
“Ugh... Fucking kill me.”
Rhiannon had a tough stomach. In a fight, she was the variety of ‘get your hands dirty’ girl that didn’t mind a bit of demon slime underneath her fingernails, as long as it got the job done. One very literal experiment with the phrase ‘guts for garters’ had prompted Collins to say she had a stomach of steel. Rhiannon just figured if you were gonna go out, you better go all the way.
But the dilapidated and graffiti-covered stall of the Basement’s only bathroom was another thing entirely. The commode seat was knocked half off. The bowl held a putrid stew of solid waste, bright yellow piss, and some kind of reddish ooze on top. The toilet paper was nothing but a garnish that draped over the lid and crept up one wall like crepe paper.
What did she expect from the public restroom in a demon bar?
She was chagrined at the bile coming up her throat, threatening to make a bad mess worse. Rhiannon stabbed at the brew with the rubber end of a plunger and kicked the flusher. The mess surged up and down before swirling in a futile circle. The plunger stick went round and round like a soup ladle. If her eyes weren’t deceiving her, it actually steamed.
“I don’t think so.” Justus wasn’t paying her enough to deal with this shit-- A little over minimum wage to help him out with ‘odds and ends’. It beat living off Top Ramen, and bought her some time with the sketch book project, but she wasn’t going to get some mutant hepatitis strain for it.
Rhiannon abandoned the stall and cranked the faucet up to ‘scalding’. She pumped angrily at the soap dispenser. When the door swung open behind her, she advised, “I’d hold it, if I were you.”
Slumming.
Not that the bar was without its charms. But the back of Deanna's hairs bristled when she entered the nightclub. She'd heard of it through the underground grapevine, a haven of sorts where humans and demons could interact as long as they played nice. Check Your Fangs At The Door held a double-meaning. You stirred up shit, and you ended up in it.
Like the stench that offended her nostrils as she opened the door.
"I'd hold it, if I were you."
"Yeah probably a good--" the redhead grumbled, catching a glimpse of the dark-haired woman bent over the sink.
Oh. No shit.
For once, Deanna thanked whoever decreed a vampire's reflection would remain hidden from glass. Rhiannon's reflected face was just priceless.
"You know." The door was closed with a foot, giving them a modicum of privacy. "I always thought you were meant for greater things. Turns out I was right."
( Now You Do What I Do )
( Showing Through )
( A Little Advice, Girl to Girl )
"Wait. Did I just give her advice? Fuck on a stick, I'm never gonna live that down."
Deanna swung around and reached for the doorknob.
And missed.
The redhead was a bit rattled at having a civil conversation with Rhiannon.
But she was sure it hadn't been a swinging door.
Eh.
Deanna traipsed through the bar and out the exit. Time to do a little street shopping for a new outfit.
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| Message in a Bottle |
[16 Oct 2006|02:10am] |
There were consequences for forgetting your place.
Heaven or Hell, angels or demons. It didn’t matter where you went or whose robes you tried to touch. A human was only meant to go so far. To know so much.
And when they knew more, little mercy would be shown.
He hit the wall hard on the way back out. He hit it soaking wet and freezing, with arms too stiff to reach out to soften the blow, and a forehead that went unprotected. There was water in his lungs. Something was ripped inside the fleshy part of him, too; a wounded organ inside his rib cage.
Blood leaked from under the black-wet of his pant legs. It dried on the balls of his bare feet, and in the creases of his heels. Somewhere in his shoulder, one bone grated against another one. It felt wrong. Out of joint. Jagged. It throbbed in the makeshift sling from his pack. It screamed when he dragged himself out of the mines. And now his body doubled in pain every time he tried to swallow.
Hayden knew more than he bargained for. He saw the snake in the weapons closet. The flick of a switch that put Searchlight under darkness on the fourth of July. The invisible force that pounded a knife into the back of his own hand. The spirit that a witch accidentally channeled, and unleashed a mass murder on Wolfram and Hart.
Power that great was ugly, no matter its intentions. Light or dark didn’t matter. It was unforgiving in its quest to get what it wanted. And it wanted him gone. It had since the start of his snooping around. The Exile had secrets. He wasn’t meant to tell.
The bag he packed was small. He couldn’t carry more.
But he left a loaded note, amidst all the research that Alexis and Corbett could have if they wanted it, or leave and it wouldn’t make a difference to him. Hayden was done. He had gotten what he came for.
He dragged himself into the Jeep with one thing on his mind: to get to Kris, before he could be punished for it.
‘Like a leach it feeds on the blood we spill. In chaos we’ll break the lock.’
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| The Hiring Process |
[16 Oct 2006|08:13am] |
| [ |
mood |
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 calm |
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| [ |
music |
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Workin' For The Man - P.J. Harvey |
] |
Tucking the back of his shirt-tail in, Connor crossed the parking lot of the Lighthouse Bar just as the place was due to open. He'd passed by at the end of his patrol last night to find out their business hours, then crashed for the night.
He pushed the door open, then stepped out of the early-morning sunshine into the bar's somewhat dimmer interior. No 'Help Wanted' sign out front was a warning that he might not find work here, at least not right off the bat, but he was willing to give it a shot.
He offered a smile to the woman behind the bar, said, "Morning. I was looking around for the manager. Are you who I talk to about maybe getting a job here?"
( Random Interview )
Connor's smile turned into a grin, and he ran his fingers through his hair idly. ""Looking forward to it," he said honestly. "It'll be nice to settle in for a while, maybe make this a semi-permanent thing."
After a brief pause, he said, "If there's a sheet or anything, I can put my name on it for shifts. I need to pick up some things from the store first, so I'll probably let you get back to business." As he spoke, the door swung open, and a weary looking trucker slouched his way through the door.
"I'll be in tomorrow, see if I can talk to this Nyx. Thanks for giving me a chance."
"Of course," Jo said as she slid a blank schedule form across to him. "Put your name and availability on here, bring it with when you come back around."
She got a drink for the trucker and smiled. "Have a good afternoon Connor, you're welcome for the chance." Least she could do, everyone was new once in this town.
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| Still |
[16 Oct 2006|10:30am] |
I smell some bullshit coming.
Let’s imagine for a minute that this entire world is the intricate, highly-detailed work of some story teller. Someone who crafts tales and fables, whether for monetary gain or for simply pleasure, it makes no difference in this example. But this great author, who ever he or she is, they make the rules. They predestine the inhabitants of this world into good or evil, or any variant shade of gray, and they commit this deciding act in their imaginations long before we are ever conceived physically.
I shall refer to this being now as Creator.
Creator, when I was imagined for this story, deemed me to be special from birth. Creator equipped me with an extremely high IQ, an imagination that I never grew out of, and a gift to be able to create. Creator invented a son who inherited all of his best qualities.
Everyone else, all of the non-characters in this world…they were set up for the sole purpose of knowing me. Of promoting me, of pushing me, of molding me into something that could be useful in this fictional world, something that could do things that most of these people could only read about in stories.
I was hailed, I was respected. I was a valued son of the country, of my family, and of Creator.
And then Creator decided the story was old and boring. He wanted to shake things up, and I suspect this was the plan He had for me from the very beginning.
I smell a betrayal coming.
( On the Subject of Knights and Knaves )
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| You Don't Know Me Now |
[16 Oct 2006|05:05pm] |
The air was damp in the last few hours before the sun came up. The first signs of autumn always took her by surprise in Nevada. Like that sun-baked land should never have to deal with getting cold. Out in Searchlight it was strange, how the hard earth felt with frost spread across it, shifting and gritty underneath your feet. It was a little less out of place in the city, especially in her neighborhood.
The railroad tracks had a dull look. Rhiannon’s shoes crisscrossed one another, a step taken at a time to carry her farther down the line. Now and then there was activity, empty cars being hooked together or pulled apart, a slamming sound that ricocheted off the warehouses and bounced down the alleys in between.
She smoked her cigarette. Her scalp stung from where Deanna pulled on it. At least she was clean now, clothes changed, hair washed and a couple shots of alcohol down the hatch. It was odd how clarity only came when Rhiannon numbed herself, just a little bit. The thoughts in her head would spin until she gave them a reason why they couldn’t. And then it all just fell in a line, neat and easy, the conclusions obvious.
In case the feeling went away, she kept walking.
Tristan nursed the rest of his bottle of Jack Daniel's. He glanced around the bar, watching everyone interact. No one bothered him, but they kept watchful. He could feel them looking over their mugs at him, judging him, interested but not interested enough to approach.
Finally he finished his drink and picked up the file. He threw some money on the table and left another black business card. Jackson, the bartender, would know who to give it to when the time was right. Then he left and went to the valet to get his bike. It was in perfect condition. He chuckled to himself as he put the file away in a saddle bag. It was black again. Weird how the mind could play tricks on you, he thought.
He had it started in one kick. With a little salute and a tip to the valet, he was off.
There wasn’t much traffic near the old Oxtech building anymore. The explosion and all the bad press made it hard to sell the property, so it was still just a burned out hull. Rhiannon knew a nest of demons had made the basement into a shelter. Now and then, she picked one off when it got bold and worked its way to her end of the neighborhood.
She stopped walking and climbed on the side of a separated railroad car. The door was open. There was nothing in it but pieces of trash a homeless person had left behind. Her feet dangled a little ways above the ground, and she watched the quick approach of single headlight. He might’ve been lost, or it could be a horny biker with some dumb broad on the back. The kind of girl who thought being screwed in an empty railcar was some kind of adventure.
Tristan wanted to unwind a bit before heading back to his place. He had a few hours to kill before the sun rose, so he took the Harley out into a warehouse district to unwind before turning back to head home. He wasn't speeding. For once, he took his time, almost lingering.
His senses were over the top as he approached some railroad cars. They looked lonely, he thought. Without purpose. Yet they stank of demons and trouble. Perhaps the landscape was just a facade to hide the darkness.
Shadows caught his eye. A movement of feet dangling back and forth. His eyes narrowed. Slayer. He could feel her. He slowed the bike. A part of him wanted to just turn around and leave be. He had his fill of Slayers lately. He didn't need further complications in his unlife just now. But something made him pause.
Rhiannon heard the engine slowing down. Maybe he wanted to ask something after all. Or maybe he thought she was an easy target. It didn’t make a difference. She flicked her cigarette on the rocks and hopped down. It was still too dark to see much, especially with that bright light glaring in her face like she was on some kind of stage. Rhiannon put a hand out to block it and walked closer, squinting.
Tough to say if that prickle down her spine was coming from him, or the new family in the neighborhood. The stake in her waistband was enough to settle up the risk. “You gonna kill that thing or what?” she called over the noise, and waited for her eyes to adjust behind her fingers.
( Just Who I Never Wanted to See )
( What Are You Waiting For? )
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| Weirdness and relationships |
[16 Oct 2006|07:00pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 blah |
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| [ |
music |
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Dune Score - Destiny |
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Peanut butter. Cereal. Cold cuts from the deli. Wonder bread. Milk, but two percent, not that skim crap. The stuff was like drinking paint wash. Mallory trundled her cart down the aisle in the grocery store, narrowly avoiding running into a young teenager as the girl dodged around her.
And a couple of cans of dog food. She was going to have to stop feeding that stray her table scraps or it would weigh a ton before the year was out. So dog food for the animal. And a toy. Dogs liked toys. A rubber ball or something.
Apparently she had become a dog owner without quite realizing it.
Julie still felt a bit guilty about leaving Judah on his own the night she went out on the town with Hannah, but she hadn't had a choice since the event had already been scheduled. The poor man was stuck a hundred years in the future and she was the only person he knew.
She'd dragged him up to the Wal-Mart in Henderson and bought him a few pairs of clothes so he wouldn't stand out, and a few books to read. That made her feel a little less guilty since he could go out and about to explore without looking like he stepped off a movie set.
Right at the moment she was going down the frozen foods aisle, gathering things for the apartment. Even though they lived over the bar and could raid the kitchen downstairs, there were some things that a bar just didn't stock. Frozen peas being one of them.
( Waffles or Breakfast Pizzas )
( weirdness and relationships )
"I'll talk to Oliver in a couple of days," she told Julie. "I need to get back to Vegas anyway to continue the job hunt. I'll have him call you if that works."
"Whatever works for you works for me Quinn." Julie told the other woman, grateful for the help. She looked down at her cart, cataloging its contents and trying to see if she missed anything. "I think I've got everything I came in here for. Thanks for your help Quinn, I really do appreciate it." She told her friend.
"Well, that's what friends are for, to borrow a cliché. I'll be in touch in a couple of days." The redhead glanced at her watch, made a face.
"And now I have to get home so I can put this stuff away and then cook something that resembles dinner. I guess I'll see you later?"
"Definitely," Julie gave her friend a hug and started over toward the checkout lane "Just give me a call."
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