| Have Wheels, Will Travel |
[18 Sep 2007|11:54am] |
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Friends of P - The Rentals |
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Rhiannon's second phone message had motivated Connor to find the nearest phone book and start checking junkyard locations. He remembered fighting the Defiler the last time, and whoever went down there was going to need heavier weapons. He found three locations that seemed close by and scribbled down the addresses for future reference.
There was only one problem.
No vehicle to get there, and no way to get the stuff to Fang Noir once he found it.
He loitered around the the diner for most of the morning, then the Lighthouse after his shift was over, hoping that one of the local ranchers would come in so he could ask them for a ride. But as it got later and later, it looked like the answer to that was a resounding 'no'. Connor slapped his pockets, thought about calling the Slayer back to explain the situation, then decided against it. He'd said he'd do what he could, that meant it was up to him.
He wandered over to the general store, bought a Coke and some potato chips, then sat on the curb and ate while watching the parking lot. His kingdom for his own wheels...
( Not Friends, Not Quite Strangers )
"It sounds like it's for a good cause. Maybe I'll come by the bar in a week or so, you can buy me a couple of beers instead." Mallory tipped her head in the direction of the passenger door, and the young man started moving towards it. The world just seemed to get smaller and smaller every day. Which reminded her...
"By the way? Hannah says hello, and that she's okay where she is." Mallory smiled at Connor over the hood of the truck, then opened her own door and climbed behind the wheel. Taken aback by the statement, the Destroyer paused, an uncertain smile flickering across his face, and then he got into the vehicle, looking at his new companion a little dubiously.
Yeah, they were going to talk about a lot of interesting things.
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| Kerosene |
[18 Sep 2007|11:05pm] |
Excerpt
Letter to Jennie Parkinson
San Francisco, California
“...If there’s one thing I’ve learned from slaying that never changes, it’s this. It doesn’t pay to go into a fight unarmed. It doesn’t matter if you’re dealing with one vampire or an army. You never really know, so don’t get cocky. If you go in with only your fists, you’re asking for trouble. Pick a weapon besides a stake. Make it yours. Carry it. Anything you pick up along the way that you can’t carry in your pockets, you keep tucked someplace safe, like your weapons trunk, and hope it’s for a rainy day in hell.
With an enemy like the Defiler, it’s even worse. Here’s the hitch. We don’t know how to kill it. You’re probably wondering why we’d go after it half-cocked, but if we don’t get there fast enough, this thing ends the world. Jennie, I don’t think you’d like it in hell. There’s not much room for roller skating.
So how do you kill what you don’t understand? There’s always blind luck. I’m a fan. But in this case, we got every brain that’s in-the-know to put their thinking caps on and we asked them to bust a few blood vessels over it. Teamwork. Now we’re putting together a multi-front assault. It’s like waves of soldiers, only everybody’s got a different kind of gear. First off, we go in packing serious fist power because this thing’ll probably have an entourage, and we need to get them out of the way. Then we go after the Defiler with anything we can. Makeshift weapons, religion, chemicals, spells, and different kinds of fight tactics with different strengths (ex. there's even a vampire, ask me about him later. Long story short, NEVER get sidetracked into thinking immortal bloodlust is sexy and mixes with Slayer; it’s been done and it never ends well).
If all else fails, we might have to torch the building with him in it. This means we need a lot of oil. Flammables are better than explosives because you’ve got more time to duck and cover, maybe a little less collateral damage. So how’m I going to pay for barrels of oil with no Watcher handing me an allowance? Not to mention getting it there when I don’t have a truck? Looks like it’s time to improvise...”
*****
Rebel Oil Company
Highland Drive and Western Avenue
Las Vegas Industrial District
September 18, 2011
“How many barrels you say you want?”
“Who said anything about barrels?”
Rhiannon watched Merrell’s fangs wear the toothpick down. A strand of saliva hung from the wood, delicate and reminding her of a spider web. Maybe the chewing helped lube the gears in his head. He was a doer instead of a schemer, and more parts practical than evil. That’s what happened when a truck driver of 30 years got turned into a vampire. She waited for the light bulb to come on.
“You want me to steal a whole truck of it?”
Rhiannon slid her hands in her pockets. “Yeah, Merrell, I do. It’d be a whole lot easier than me rolling barrels down the street, don’t you think?” She had an image of old tires bouncing off curbs. Little children folded up inside, spinning round and round.
He tugged on his cap brim. Between him and the Rebel Oil headquarters, railroad tracks bisected the landscape and a fence protected valuables on the property. No doubt the place had security. Probably not just rent-a-cops either. “How much money you got?”
The Slayer hiked up her eyebrows. “Trust me, not enough. But I’ve got a back-up payment plan.” She picked up a small cooler and set it on his truck bed. Inside, ice chips shifted around. Rhiannon slid the top back and showed him the currency. It was a packet of blood.
Merrell ripped the toothpick from his mouth. “Are you kidding? Fresh blood, I can get that off the next person walks by.”
Exasperation. “No, actually you can’t.” Rhiannon rolled up her sleeve and showed him the band-aid in the crook of her elbow. “It’s mine?”
And now the wheels were turning. Merrell harrumphed and peeled the pink plastic off her arm to give it a closer look. There was a tiny hole, the size of a needle prick. The vampire’s yellow eyes tripped back to the packet in the cooler.
Rhiannon pulled her sleeve down. “I’ll give you this one now and another one after, as long as you show up with the truck and a hose. You aim where I tell you to and not before. Deal?”
Faced with an offer like that, the vampire couldn’t exactly say no.
So he didn‘t.
*****
Excerpt
Letter to Jennie Parkinson
San Francisco, California
“...Yeah, it’s gross and it’s not exactly in the Handbook, but just remember that those rules weren’t written by women like us. So we write our own.
-Rhiannon”
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