| From someone who's been there. |
[09 Nov 2006|05:58pm] |
Julie had come up to Vegas alone after seeing Judah safely back to his motel room that night. She needed time away from Searchlight, away from Judah and away from all the shit she'd been through in the past six months. The GreenRoom was an odd choice for that, given it was a supernatural hangout, but Julie had always been curious about it and figured now was as good a time as any.
She was on her fifth margarita and finally getting drunk. Damn her werewolf metabolism! It even made getting a good buzz difficult. That was all Brad's fault. "Should dig up th' bastards corpse an' shoot 'im again." she slurred into her drink, and then downed the rest of it.
"Hey Russell, another strawberry margarita please" she called over to the bartender, having already gotten on a first name basis with him. While she waited for the bartender to make her drink she watch ed as a truly ugly demon did a surprisingly good cover of a Shania Twain song up on the stage. "I must be drunker than I thought," she muttered to herself "he actually sounds pretty good."
The demon actually looked a little like the singer too, but the red scales ruined the whole thing.
It was business as usual at The GreenRoom.
The second Lorne was able to peel Superman's incredibly constricting super-undies off his poor demon ass, he knew he was completely and totally done with Hallowe'en. Maybe even for the next couple of years. His groin would thank him for it. Not that he really used it anyways, but there was only so much spandex one man could take in a decade. One night was one night too many for Lorne.
It was a welcome relief when the holiday had passed, and the Pylean was somehow glad to hear poorly sung karaoke once more. That, and he could wander around his Nightclub and socialize wearing a suit that didn't come inclusive with a cape and stupid red boots; just a nice pair of Gucci loafers and a neatly folded ascot. What more could Lorne ask for?
( Wastin' away again in Margaritaville. )
( Paint it black. )
( Kindergarten? )
( Getting to the point. Finally. )
A friendly smile was given. "I know it probably wont hold any weight for you at this point, having just met me and all," he added, finally, "But if you ever do need someone to talk to, my door is always open. And as far as I know, I'm going to be around for a very, very long time."
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| Small talk at MickeyD's |
[09 Nov 2006|07:33pm] |
The sun was just about to go down, and the streets of Searchlight were splashed with reddish orange light as the sky gave over to darkness. It was getting dark a lot earlier now that the year was almost out, and Connor looked up at the first few pale stars as they began to twinkle high above his head. Christmas in Nevada. He should probably call his parents soon, just to let them know he was all right.
He slipped a hand into his pocket, brought out some bills and looked at them. He'd eat at McDonald's tonight, then probably do a patrol. Maybe he'd run into that big-mouth on the motorcycle again. This time he'd smack him right off that bike.
The young man pushed open the door after passing the familiar Golden Arches, ordered a large coffee and a cheeseburger. And, as an afterthought, some fries.
GW pulled into the local McDonald's after a long day of rehearsals with the band. They'd gotten an early start since the studio had extra time free in the morning, and had rehearsed several songs in their existing set as well as worked on new material. The Cajun Devildogs were on the rise and GW intended to keep it that way, they wouldn't get complacent on his watch.
He walked into the store and ordered a quarter pounder meal with an apple pie on the side.
( non journal entry )
"You bet podna," GW smiled in response "Tell ya what: you call me sometime an I'll get you two tickets to de show at de Orleans. You can take a date an show her a good time, non?"
He finished up his fries and collected the leavings to shove it all back into the paper bag for easy disposal. Once done with that he took a bite of the apple pie and grinned.
A date? Connor's smile stayed in place, but his blue eyes went a little solemn at the suggestion. He hadn't had a date since he'd broken up with the girl he'd been seeing at school, and while he had made strides in keeping himself stable he didn't know if he was ready for much else.
Baby steps. Everything was baby steps.
"I'll call you in a couple of days," he told the older man, finishing off the last of his coffee. "I should probably get on home," he added, making to get up. ""I'm supposed to call home before it gets too late, plus I should run by the grocery store first." And possibly make sure that the girl, who was now standing at the back of the line, was actually going to eat something solid. He might linger around a bit, just in case.
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| Graceful Cocktail Hour |
[09 Nov 2006|08:19pm] |
He smiled slow and silver, a dangerous grin if there ever was one. Elise had always rather liked that about Alexander Cane. Purveyor of fine books and magickal wares in the bustling city that was Las Vegas, he had always been on her must-see list when she visited there.
Leaning on the glass counter, he crossed his arms and stared at him, grin still slowly spreading.
“You look well, dear. Much better than the last time I saw you… drugged and leashed, right?”
Elise pursed her lips. “Obviously, that’s been rectified. Now, Mr. Cane, can you help me, or no?”
( Cane's Apex )
( Voluntary Manslaughter )
( First round's on me )
( Sharks )
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| Show me the money |
[09 Nov 2006|10:24pm] |
"Ow, ow ow OW!"
So distracted Andre was from the arc of electricity that had connected with the ring on his right hand, he hadn't noticed the metallic box burst into flame and toss sparks onto the tiled floor. His assistants scrambled for a fire extinguisher and released copious amounts of carbon dioxide gas onto the device.
So much for experiment fourteen. Make sound a solid, they requested. Something percussive that could work as a barrier. A contract with the Department of Defense was the ultimate prize, something the Las Vegas branch of Wolfram and Hart coveted (for whatever purpose, he didn't care). Andre wanted the perks that came with a successful conclusion. He enjoyed the recognition, the extra responsibility. Especially in this reality. His doppelganger was, like himself, a wunderkind with electronics. Just not today. Andre -- thanks to his predecessor -- was king of this particular section of the castle.
The way this project was headed, he'd be lucky if they didn't have their overall budget slashed by Friday. And Andre didn't relish the thought of being reduced to a regent of a fast-food burger fiefdom.
( Status Report? )
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