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Honesty in a Strange Place [20 Nov 2006|12:31am] Desolation. The word rolled over in Deanna's mind as the black car finally crawled to a stop just on the edge of the Vegas strip. What was left of it. The highway was a maze of charred vehicles and rotting flesh. More than once the high beams caught the blank stares of vultures as they refused to move for the oncoming vehicle. Birds of prey playing 'chicken'. They knew who had the upper hand in this world. Give it three days, perhaps a week, and there was every possibility the vampire and the slayer would be added to the menu. Whatever slim hope existed that things would be better once the duo reached Las Vegas were dashed onto the toppled remains of the Stardust Casino. No lights blazed to welcome weary travelers. Broken signs hung precipitously, lamp posts swung overhead like so many Swords of Damacles. And the smells. Deanna's enhanced senses picked up the scent of wildlife nearby. Wolves for certain. And others. Foreign. They gave the redhead goose bumps. She silently nodded to Rhiannon, pointed to various points to give silent warning to just what lurked just beyond sight. "What. The. Fuck." “Ugh.... hold that thought.” A finger raised between them, and Rhiannon practically rolled out of her open door and lurched toward the back of the car. She bent at the waist, squeezed her kneecaps, and lost her dinner all over the ash-coated pavement. Splat. Not her finest moment. When her stomach stopped heaving, she wiped her mouth and looked up. “God. It stinks out here.” Like old meat and defecation and burnt skin and sulfur and worse. Any attempt at pursuing a bombastic one-upmanship with the slayer had been burned away along with anything resembling plant life in this world. And if it hadn't been for the fortuitous circumstance that Deanna hadn't eaten before being sucked into this reality, she would have been opposite Rhiannon upending the contents of her stomach as well. Deanna took a larger sniff to get a better sense of what laid in wait, and gagged. That particular sense was now restricted if not completely useless to her. In an uncharacteristic act of generosity, the redhead climbed out of the car and walked to the slayer, ripped off the right sleeve of her silk shirt and handed it to the brunette. "Unless you've got paint masks in the trunk, this'll be the next best thing." Rhiannon snagged the fabric with two fingers and held it to her nose. She couldn’t make herself tie it on yet. Her lungs ached for a deep breath, her nose for a fresh one. But the air here was as dead as the populous. No telling what kind of toxins she was sucking down. Still. It was unlikely that the fragrances tickling her olfactory senses would dissipate behind silk. Better to get used to it now. The slayer straightened up and walked over. “On a brighter note... We left that thing in the dust miles ago.” She went into her pocket and pulled out a battered pack. Shook it a few times. “And I’ve got about nine cigarettes to go before I lose my mind.” ( Incoming! ) ( Words Instead of Fists ) reply

Taking Stock [20 Nov 2006|07:15am] [ mood | confused ] So... I went back in time. There. I've said written it. I did the whole cowgirl thing - 'cept I didn't, 'cause of the whole women-still-in-bondage stuff. Not that I mind that, but... Y'know. Not the fun kind of bondage. Oh, yeah, almost forgot. Some little guy with a taste for hats tagged along, too. Called 'Whistler'. And, um... Yeah. From the underworld and all. Let's take stock, shall we? In the last few months, I've... (A) Met a witch, minus broomstick. (B) Managed to succumb to some kind of Voodoo whicky-whack with the same, trashing a very expensive hotel in the process and doing God-knows-what with anyone who worked in there. (C) Met a vampire. Yes! A vampire, boys and girls! With the blood and the fangs and bats and all! Well, maybe not the bats. Gotta' ask. (D) Made like a DeLorean. See above. Fate decided to have me dressed like a nun during that, by the way. Go figure. (E) Discovered Star isn't returning my calls. Not returning anyone's, actually. Heard the police got called in and stuff. Yeesh... I liked her. Seriously. Dead? Maybe, which brings me onto... (F) Witnessed the sight of my driver laying dead on the car, got attacked and almost raped by a gang of undead fangy things and discovered my condition's got a fucking 2.0 upgrade!!! Sweet baby Buddha! Hey, it kinda' saved my neck, but... Damn. Worried much? Uh-huh! What if I, like, get to my thirtieth and... You know. What if I've turned into some big ole' crab monster or something? (G) Received about ninety-billion E-mails asking me if I want to enlarge my penis. Yeah, sure... Right. Enlarge someone else's, maybe... So, all in all, kind of a hectic schedule, wouldn't you say? I know I would. Have. Whatever. Sort of makes me wonder if Mariah Carey had half of this stuff to think about. reply

Putting your friends to work. [20 Nov 2006|11:25am] No sooner had Lorne settled into his big leather desk chair did the doors of his office burst open at the seams, giving way to the immense presence that was Meredith Underhill. "And good morning to you!" the brunette boomed as she stood in the doorway, tray of coffee in one hand, the other stretched out infront of her in a dramatic open-palmed gesture that spoke volumes of 'Behold! For I have opened the doors in a loud and boisterous manner!' Lorne perked an eyebrow, then half stood, feigning a mock look-around his office. Warily, he eyed the brunette. "Alright, who are you and what have you done with Meredith?" he asked her cautiously. "I kicked her ass back to Cranky Town," Meredith responded with a curt smile as she shut the door with the heel of her foot and walked into the office. She approached Lorne's desk and pulled a coffee cup out of the tray in her hand and set it down infront of him. "One grande no-fat decaf caramel machiatto," she announced, and then grinned as she turned the cup around. "Look, the barista drew a smiley face on it." ( Running on a hope. ) reply

Job Security [20 Nov 2006|02:06pm] Being sober was painful. The sun was too bright, even through the lenses of his sunglasses. Oliver looked up at the Wolfram & Hart building, one hand shading his eyes further before he stepped into the air-conditioned interior. He didn't even know if she'd see him or not. The lobby was as sterile as ever as he crossed the marble-tiled floor, and he got into the first elevator going up by himself, hands tucked into his pockets. He wanted a cigarette, but he'd deliberately walked out of his suite without them. A form of penance, perhaps. Would she see him? He reached Jill's floor, stepped out into the foyer. Her secretary was nowhere in sight, and Oliver swallowed before approaching the door. He had the worst sense of impending doom in the world. If he was lucky, all he'd get was a slap, but she might well spit in his face besides. Apparently, even his love was fucked up. What else was new? Knock, knock, knock... ( Relationship therapy...of a sort ) "I really don't like this place," Oliver said in a whisper, and he slid both arms around Jill's waist, his eyes closing. Well, at least now everything was out in the open, for better or for worse. He knew what he'd do for her, what he'd already done for her. Trust was the issue. The issue, the symptom, the disease, pick your term. They'd just have to see what happened down the road. Nobody was dead yet. [Conduit-as-Lilah was written by Jeff.] reply

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