| One Last Time |
[26 Oct 2006|03:23am] |
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mood |
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 sad |
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------ Non Journal Entry ------
Joseph had lit cigarette after cigarette and none of them had been enough, there wasn’t enough cancer in the world to make him feel better. He was sure that if he died, they could open up his chest and see nothing but the black of nicotine and tar and maybe a little of what people referred to as his soul.
He’d sat at the airport, watching plane after plane take off and land and he hadn’t moved towards the gate that would take him away from Vegas and away from her.
Joseph didn’t have it in him to be early, to get there on time to secure his seat; he just didn’t. Maybe it seemed too final, too much that last goodbye he’d never been able to say.
So instead he opened up his phone and called the only person he wanted to. It clicked over to voicemail so he just talked. “Hey Rhi, it’s me. I’m at the airport and I’m just sitting here watching the planes and thinking about how much all of this fucking sucks.” He gave a soft laugh void of any and all humour. “I guess I’m calling because I didn’t get a chance to say all that I wanted to say the other day. Maybe this is wrong, me leaving a message on your voicemail expecting you to listen but I love you Rhiannon and I can’t leave without saying these things to you.”
Joseph just rubbed a hand through his hair, “I want you to know that when it’s done and I’ve finished all of this, I’ll find you. I swear on my mother’s grave, I’ll find you. I don’t care how long it takes, how far I have to go, I will find you.”
His voice had never sounded so serious in his whole life. “I’m not asking you to wait for me, I’m just saying that when I’m done, I’m going to find you and maybe you’ll have a great guy by then but damn if I’m not a selfish sonofabitch when it comes to you.”
Joseph gave a sad smile, “I love you, Rhiannon. Don’t forget that and don’t forget me because I meant what I said, you’re my cuore.” He then glanced up when the announcement that gate 3B was now boarding and he exhaled a ragged breath. “That’s my gate so I’d better go or else I’m never going to go.”
He leaned down, picked up his bags and started towards the gate. “You look after yourself and never forget I’m always one phone call away if you ever need me. This isn’t goodbye, Rhiannon. Not by a long shot. It’s just an ‘I’ll see you later’.”
Joseph gave his ticket over and then paused to mutter, “sempre il vostro,” before he hung up the line and started the walk towards the plane.
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| The Old Bat |
[26 Oct 2006|02:44pm] |
This was definitely a top up night.
Nobody told Samantha how cold Nevada could get at night once the summer took its annual vacation, so it was with mild annoyance she keyed the top back over her shiny convertible. One of the few perks of receiving a job she still wasn’t sure she was qualified for, and really the only thing David Gregor had ever been good for.
Sure, she abhored everything Wolfram & Hart stood for, but she wasn’t about to give up the Corvette.
A thick leather coat would be massively helpful at this point, though, as Samantha could see the breath pouring from her chattering lips as she walked toward the car, noticing how so many others had left the garage to go home for the evening.
Sadly for her, slaying wasn’t her only after-hours job.
( Shooting people...not the best of motivational techniques )
Grace holstered both weapons, her shoulder rig concealing them beneath her jacket. "Have a nice night, puppy," she muttered to the Slayer's retreating back.
There was likely to be a back-stab in the making, she knew that already. But she was on it. She'd call Levi, get him to peek in on his little worker bee and make sure the bitch stayed above ground for the day. If the Lieutenant had any sense, he'd know to work with her and not be the sand in the crack of her ass like everyGoddamnbody else. If nothing else, there was always Tristan.
All in a night's work in the city of sin.
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| The hitch. |
[26 Oct 2006|06:48pm] |
"What in the bowels of flaming Hell is this?!" Lorne nearly shrieked at Russell, his bartender, the normally melodic and velvetty demon voice rising octaves higher than any male should ever speak, "I ask you to do one simple thing! One!"
Russell cleared his throat nervously. "Well Boss, there was a bit of a mixup at the costume shop," he tried to explain, holding up the garment bag which held the offending outfit. "This is all they had left. Well, except the ballerina costume."
Lorne snatched the garment bag out of his bartenders hands and scoffed, his red eyes hard and narrowed. "I would have taken ballerina over this," he scowled darkly, "Anything but this... this.. travesty. This embarassment. You'll have to kill me before you think I'd parade around my own nightclub wearing this. Ugh. Oh Lord, help me."
"It's not really all that bad," the bartender offered, "I mean, I've seen you wear paisley, stripes, and lamé all at the same time. Hell, I thought maybe your closet had a seizure that day and you were.."
"Honey, I am going to have a seizure if you think for one second that I am going to wear this bloody costume tomorrow night!" Lorne nearly yelled. A vein was noticably visible on his forehead and his nostrils were flaring. Red eyes bore holes into Russell, and if they were capable of shooting laser beams, the bartender would have been fried to a crisp. "Get me another costume! Anything but this!"
"But Lorne, that was the last one.."
The demon threw the garment bag over the bar counter and his hands went to his face, horns protruding through his long green fingers as he sighed wearily. When he brought his hands down, his face was resolute. "Fine, I don't wear a costume at all then, easy enough."
"Wait just a goddamned minute," the bartender spoke up, "You've been bitching and pissing and moaning about this fucking party since the idea wormed its way into your mind, and you think for one second that you're going to back out on this? Damn it, Lorne. Suck it up. Wear the bloody costume, or I am going to have your whole entire staff walk out before we open the doors."
The demon gaped, red eyes wide, then they narrowed slightly. "You wouldn't," he countered.
Russell crossed his arms infront of his chest. "Try me."
A long pregnant pause. Lorne grit his teeth in careful deliberation. To call the bluff, or not to call the bluff. Fists curled, and the demon's brow lowered. "Damnit Russell," he scowled.
The garment bag was snatched off the bar and Lorne stormed off towards his loft like a kicked puppy with his tail between his legs.
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| "Sex Bomb" set off in Barbary Coast! |
[26 Oct 2006|09:38pm] |
"Sex Bomb" set off in Barbary Coast!
Authorities suspect biological agent used in popular nightclub.
By Alex Dewinter
Authorities are still trying to determine what caused a mass orgy in the popular nightclub Drais After Hours located in the Barbary Coast Casino late last night that left a twenty one year old man dead and a number of people injured.
Mark Templeton, 21, a construction worker from Oklahoma City was pronounced dead at the scene. The Coroners Office is scheduled to perform an autopsy later today to determine cause of death and if any illegal substances were involved.
Government officials speaking on condition of anonymity speculate that this could be a type of weaponized bio-agent. Terrorism has not been ruled out as a cause, although officials admitted the possibility was unlikely.
Dr. Richard Preston, chair of the Biology department at UNLV dismissed talk of a 'Sex bomb' when contacted by the Beacon for comment. "To achieve the kind of mass effect with some type of bio-weapon you would need an understanding of human biology and technology more advanced than anything out there today. Besides that, I can't imagine any government or terrorist group wanting to create a weapon that causes people to make love not war. Maybe someone dumped a batch of Ecstasy into the kegs as a prank, but there's no such thing as a 'sex bomb'."
The Drais remained closed today as authorities continued to investigate the scene.
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| Sex Bomb, Sex Bomb, You're a Sex Bomb... |
[26 Oct 2006|11:59pm] |
Deanna'd taken a side trip to Searchlight, hoping to find Sonya. Hallowee'en was approaching and she couldn't think of a better date than a girl with her own wings.
Sadly, no sign of her.
The night was crisp and good for a walk, stop off at the diner and a truly horrible cup of coffee.
It was then she saw, for the first time, a rag named after the county, the Clark County Beacon. The cover story was read five times. Her coffee cold and stale before she took a third sip.
"Dammit, why do I always miss the best parties?"
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