| Halloween Festivities At Fang Noir |
[29 Oct 2006|07:35am] |
Victoria had been determined, absolutely fixated, on not making Fang Noir a parody of its successful self.
It could not really be categorised as a 'nightclub', but whatever it was, the venue was geared towards the exploration of darker impulses and the last thing the vampiress wanted was for it to degrade into a stereotype of horror.
She drew the line at advertising the Halloween celebrations as 'fanged festivities'. That far and no more!
Really, this sort of a thing was a compromise. She knew enough about occult subjects to realise that it was not a time of year meant for 'evil', so much as appearing to signify a weakening of the barriers between this and other worlds.
Still, business came first... For Fang Noir, it was like Christmas.
For that reason, tonight had no specific historical theme, which made it something of an exception to the rule. It was more one to do with darkness in general. A sort of overview, as it were, meant to represent a culmination of the entire year's thematic luxury.
The entire place was now fitted out like a cross between butcher's paradise and HR Giger landscape come to life. One would not find pretend pumpkins and plastic skeletons here. Not in Fang Noir! No, Victoria had made sure it would be... Well, she had described it as being akin "to an erotic horror film," but even that seemed to fail to do it justice.
It was an artistic marvel. It was glorious temptation personified in architectural decoration.
Even an entity like Elfleda would feel at home in there.
Victoria was dressed as a vampiric Princess. An enriched, costumed tapestry of femininity, black cloak and knives. If ever she looked the part of a fanged temptress, it would be now.
And, if truth were told, she was hoping to engage in more than a few satisfying bites, tonight.
"OK, it's time!" She decided; features shifting to those of the vampiric, as she took her seat in the banquet hall. Those who wished to come straight through would be allowed, as ever. Any who wished to adopt some of the available costumes, however, would drift into the changing rooms first.
Either way, it was going to be fun.
"Let 'em in!"
Outside, the doors opened and Fang Noir's most auspicious night began.
[Open to all characters:]
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| No Secret Handshake Necessary |
[29 Oct 2006|08:58pm] |
The beginning of the lunch rush usually wasn't that bad, but a group of older ladies had driven in from Vegas for the day to see the 'quaint' shops in Searchlight, and they were cranky because of not finding as many knicknacks as they would have liked. Connor passed by their table with a pitcher of water to refill their glasses, smiled politely when one of them asked if he was in school, then assured them their orders would be along soon.
Back behind the bar, he checked on the sandwiches the women had ordered, then glanced at the clock. His own break was supposed to happen pretty soon, but he wanted to at least get the visitors' food to them first.
He'd wait until that was done, then sit down to have a sandwich of his own and a soda. It should only be a few minutes. He hoped.
Emmy had cast a long, hard look at the Nugget that afternoon and felt her stomach lurch into a backflip. She wasn’t much one for cooking, not anymore, and brown-bagging was something she typically forgot about entirely; either she would forget to prepare a lunch, or forget to take it with her in the morning. That particular day it was the former.
It wasn’t that she didn’t like the diner’s fare, either. Most of it was rather good, but she wondered lately at the grease she’d been devouring on a regular basis. Not that any other place she could buy a fast meal would be any different on that degree, but at least it would be a change of pace. Routine could be dangerous; she had learned that one the hard way.
With that thought in mind, she made her way to the Lighthouse. Inwardly, she felt a little guilty at not paying it much attention. After all, she knew it to be partly Jo’s venture, and Jo was after all a friend, even if they hadn’t seen much of each other lately. Once arrived, she stepped in and looked for a place to sit.
The young man glanced up when the door opened, glanced around for a free table when he saw the new customer looking around. He spotted one near the bar, grabbed a damp cloth, then went to do some quick clean up.
"Got a table for you right here, " he said to her, wiping up a coffee spill before indicating the chair. "Things are kinda hectic right now, but it ought to slow down soon. Want something to drink while you're waiting?"
( Chatting Over Lunch )
( Talking Shop )
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| Sorry |
[29 Oct 2006|09:22pm] |
Creepy German doctor lady notwithstanding, Jill was actually feeling pretty good about things. She’d all but dismissed her encounter with…well, herself…in the White Room, chalking it up to the Senior Partners or some other unseen force within the firm trying to keep her in line. If her relationship with Oliver really was problematic, the firm would’ve dealt with it b y now.
But they hadn’t, leaving Jill free to do as she pleased whenever she wasn’t on company property. And she was making good use of that privilege, standing at the door to her boyfriend’s suite at the Bellagio. She always enjoyed coming here, not just because she got to spend time around the man she loved, but because the place was just so damn nice.
Jill didn’t know how Oliver could afford such luxury, but she wasn’t busting down the door to ask, either.
Instead, she merely rapped her knuckles against the wooden barrier, listening for any sign he was home.
( Can love really be enough? )
"I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry, please..." It was a mumbled mantra, one that no one could hear except for him.
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| Unintentional Design |
[29 Oct 2006|10:05pm] |
Well, that was strange.
Corbett didn’t remember his dresser being that close to the window. Come to think of it, he didn’t remember the frame holding an old picture of him and Teresa sitting on the left side of the dresser, either.
No…the frame was definitely on the right side. It had always been a suspicion of Corbett’s; picture frames go on the right side of whatever surface they were decorating. Dressers, tables, walls…always on the right side. The left side was just bad.
The Watcher never bothered asking why, just accepted that as the way it was.
But there the picture was, on the left side of the dresser. The same dresser he could’ve sworn was farther away from the window than that.
“What the bloody..?” Corbett asked himself, unlit cigarette trapped between his lips.
He didn’t rearrange anything in his room—at least, not that he could remember. The Watcher was considering moving into a new place soon; why would he take the time to rearrange something ultimately meaningless like a dresser and the picture resting atop it?
It certainly wasn’t in the interest of feng shui; Corbett knew for a fact how big a load of crap that was.
Okay, so…think, Corbett, think. You’re a sodding Watcher; it’s your job to figure this sort of thing out.
“Right,” he said to nobody, considering he was the only one in the room. “I didn’t move the dresser, or the frame on top of it. And yet…the frame is on the other side of the surface, and the dresser is a good six, maybe seven inches closer to the bloody window.”
The Watcher paused long enough to light his cigarette, tossing the lighter on the bed before going back to his pointless expository speech. Or at least he was, until something else about the picture frame caught his attention.
Corbett grabbed the frame, examining it so closely he had to remove his glasses before taking a couple quick drags of his smoke. His eyes glazed over the sterling silver frame before taking in the sight of a younger, more properly-dressed Watcher standing behind his charge, a young girl who wanted badly to be chosen as the next Slayer…
…and apparently, was purple. And kinda swirly.
Corbett nearly dropped his cigarette at that point, but the thought of possibly setting the apartment on fire didn’t thrill the Watcher. He hadn’t seen Matthew in forever, but if he did still indeed live in or have some sort of stake in this place, having it go up in flames would most definitely be a bad thing.
He stared at the swirling purple abyss that had been a picture of Teresa for several moments, his brow furrowing in confusion while his cigarette burned unattended between his fingers. None of this made any sense, and it didn’t take the Watcher in him long to kick in, as he tossed the frame onto the bed and reached for a stack of books.
Brushing the dust off one of the tomes, Corbett examined the leather cover before putting his spectacles back on and opening the large volume. He thumbed through page after page of tiny, nearly indecipherable text before closing the book and sighing in obvious frustration, again removing his glasses.
He glanced in the general direction of the picture frame, expecting to see the purple swirl again. Instead, Corbett only found his lighter. Putting his glasses back on, the Watcher glanced about his makeshift fortress of solitude…only to find the dresser and the picture frame back where he’d remembered them being in the first place.
And the purple swirl had been replaced by the same radiant picture of his former charge.
Now that? That was really strange.
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| Favors & Rewards |
[29 Oct 2006|11:19pm] |
A squad car rest in front of what appeared to be an abandoned warehouse nestled somewhere close to the campus of the University of Nevada-Las Vegas. The car was almost impossible to see behind the cluster of trees casting shadows over the sidewalk, and that was exactly the way Samantha liked it.
She hadn’t filed any official paperwork before taking the cruiser, so if anyone were to spot it and do a little unsolicited investigating—well, the Slayer didn’t want it to come to that.
It was already 11:45 am, which meant time was running out on her. Sam managed wheels, but there was still the matter of her arm to attend to. It’d healed a little, but the bullet was still lodged in her arm and she had to ruin a perfectly nice shirt in the interest of keeping the bleeding in check.
When this was all over, Grace owed her a shirt, at the very least.
( Samantha asks Rocky for a favor... )
( ...and gives Rocky his reward. )
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