| Confirmation. |
[10 Dec 2006|07:20pm] |
"Merde" GW muttered, pencil clamped firmly between his teeth as he worked on his latest composition.
Tried to work on it might be a better choice of words. Crumpled sheet music paper littered his desk and the space around his wastebasket, evidence of past attempts that were deemed not making the cut. Normally writing music was a simple process for him, he'd been honing his craft since he was a teenager, but for some reason tonight it just wasn't happening.
"Fuck it," the Cajun took the pencil out from between his teeth and set it on the desk before getting up and walking to the spare bed. He'd put his fiddle down there earlier when he had tried to put the music that was rummaging around in his head down on paper.
"Mebbe I just need a break," he picked the fiddle up, checked the tune and set bow to strings.
Knock, knock, knock.
Meredith didn't know how long she actually stood at GW's front door before her knuckles made contact with it. Her mind was somewhat scattered, overly pensive, and she felt strangely detached. Too many questions ran through her head, none of which she could make any sense of.
She hated having to come to GW whenever she felt like this. The last thing she wanted was for him to think he was nothing but a punching bag. He was so much more to her than that, but she needed someone else right now, someone to give her confirmation that she wasn't going completely and totally apeshit.
( A shoulder to lean on. )
"It'll make Christmas worth while this year," Meredith whispered to GW, "To have Elian home again. I want to bring him home to Lorne. It would be the best Christmas present ever."
GW nodded "It would be," he agreed quietly. The musician wasn't sure what had happened to cause Elian's return, but he couldn't imagine a better present for Lorne and Meredith both.
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| Homeward Bound |
[10 Dec 2006|08:21pm] |
The pair had arrived in the interior of what seemed to be some vast, monolithic temple. Erato had said little, other than to advise the girl to head into a small room and wait. It was no cell, but was certainly sparse, save for what appeared to be a miniature shrine of sorts. Quite whether it was dedicated to Erato's kind or not, who knew? There was, however, plenty in the way of arcane symbology carved into the black, stone walls of their surroundings.
And although not precisely dripping in evil, it did not seem to radiate an aura of love and kindness, either.
Of course, perhaps that was just as well, considering Leah's own familial heritage.
She was left there for several hours, the door having been shut with an assurance from Erato of her eventual return and then... Nothing. Just silence.
Silence and a subtle, primordial heat.
Perhaps she was expected to simply meditate there, but regardless of precisely how much time had passed, Erato stayed true to her word. A sound of lock unlatching itself and hinges swinging free.
"Leah..." But the identity was voiced with uncertainly. This version of Erato was not familiar with her. "This is your name, yes...?"
( Scared out of her wits )
( Lost and found )
( Go home )
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| A werewolf and a... Connor? |
[10 Dec 2006|08:26pm] |
After finding a place to lay his head for at least a couple of days until all of the auditions he'd scheduled cleared up some, Oz figured it wouldn't hurt to make a run to get something to eat. He'd been living off of jerky and bottled water for the better part of a week, driving his trusty van across the desert from one place to another.
A friend of his from before he had left Sunnydale was the only person that was still in contact with the werewolf, and through him Oz was tracking down musicians near and far in order to find a group to play with. Among other things. The music scene was looking glum on the East Coast and it didn't seem to be picking up any the further west he drove. All in due time.
Pulling into the parking lot of the first place he saw, not even bothering to look at the name, Oz killed the engine and exited the van, heading for the entrance. A dark pair of aviator sunglasses made it possible for him to see without having to squint, and for a moment he paused at the Indian statue by the door. A nod was given to the inanimate object before he moved to pull open the door. "How."
( Socialization: Oz style )
After Connor had gone, and once he polished off what little soda was still remaining, Oz rose from his seat at the counter and moved for the door. It was already growing dark outside, but that didn't stop him from slipping on his shades again, his gaze lingering on the setting sun even as he moved for the parking lot.
While counting off how many nights he had left until the full moon, an old habit that never seemed to fade, Oz slipped into his van and pulled out to try and find the motel he'd booked a room at earlier in the day. He'd pick up a newspaper tomorrow in order to search through the wanted ads and the obituaries.
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| Down the Rabbit Hole |
[10 Dec 2006|08:35pm] |
If the Sonic RepulsorTM didn't earn Andre a big, fat Christmas bonus, and maybe a snog under the Mistletoe with that icy brunette from Accounting, nothing else would.
He'd worked feverishly since his discussion with Virgil, when the proverbial lightbulb lit up over the idea of pitching the sound blast into the higher, less detectable frequencies. His staff were run aground, everyone slept and ate (and other things, given how Bonnie and Joquim snuck off three times in as many days) the project.
And their initial test was a resounding success. Two small speakers built into a flak jacket, a battery pack cinched into the largish belt, and the IPOD-sized device sewn into the lower vest. Just hit 'play' and it created a thin sonic shell that repelled anything that came within a foot of contact.
Sure it made the wearer's ears bleed too. They could compensate with industrial-strength earplugs.
Unless it was a brainwave frequency thing. But every great invention had a few kinks. And it wasn't like they were going to make him wear the vest for the military testing phase.
Andre, excited to pass along the news, dialedthe first three digits to Virgil's extension.
The phone exploded as he pressed the fourth.
So did the glass case at the opposite end of the room.
An arc of electricity stretched forward, wrapped itself around the slim scientist. The sensation was akin to being the fly as a curious four-year old boy tears its wings off.
The energy was too familiar. It was home, calling him back. Fingers scrabbled for any purchase as Andre felt himself being dragged towards the window. That harrowed universe, upset at the escape, demanded his return.
A hand took hold of the vest and, as he lost his footing and was tossed about like a limp ragdoll, Andre somehow managed to hit the right button.
Despite landing backwards on shards of glass, Andre didn't move. Cuts and bruises he could deal with.
The sound wave pushed back the lightning, released its grip on him.
But it would return, that went without saying. He'd opened the door and it stayed ajar. It was a matter of time. Andre couldn't wear the jacket twenty-four-seven, even if it was the only thing that could keep the monsters at bay.
Unless.
He built a bigger model.
And aimed it at the rift.
That would close the walkway between worlds. He was sure of it.
All the components were in the lab, and he had the exhausted staff to help.
It wouldn't take more than twelve hours; ten if Bonnie kept her panties on.
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| One Small Step for a Man |
[10 Dec 2006|08:37pm] |
"Ohfuckohfuckohfuck!!!"
Well, that wasn't supposed to happen, Andre chided himself as he dodged exploding metal from the Repulsor Mark II and shards of electricity from the growing rift.
Instead of pushing the rift back, he managed to wedge the damned thing open. Permanently.
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