| Clearing the air |
[02 Oct 2007|09:25pm] |
Julie had watched the news coverage of Fang Noir's destruction anxiously since she'd realized the extent of the damage. The building had been transformed from nightclub to hollowed out shell, with clumps of rubble sticking out from the basement.
All three cable news channels had led with the nightclub's destruction on the morning newscasts, with reports of people killed and injured. Through it all there was no sign of Connor and she didn't know if he were alive or dead.
The werewolf paced back and forth in the living room of the upstairs apartment that she shared with her coworkers, trying not to worry and failing miserably. She and Connor weren't even in a relationship yet, not officially anyway, but whatever else he was to her Connor was a friend and there had been no word.
( Need a ride )
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| 11 Months |
[02 Oct 2007|09:41pm] |
It was a long shot and Joseph knew that, but Vegas was all about chance and he figured if he didn't at least try, then he'd never know.
He left his apartment and followed a once very familiar path, but it was now completely foreign to him, and he just soaked up the changes as he made the walk. It wasn't long until Rhiannon's apartment came into view and he paused, tipping his head back and letting his eyes run over the walls and he took a slow breath.
Fuck, he needed a cigarette.
Joseph rummaged through his pockets until he had a near empty pack clasped in his hands. He slid a cigarette between his suddenly dry lips and then bowed his head until a flicker of flame had it lit.
With another deep breath he drew in a lungful of smoke and reached up to scrub fingers through his hair, wondering why something like this was so damn hard. He'd smoke this cigarette and work out what the hell he was going to say and then figure everything else out later. Joseph was good at thinking on his feet, after all.
Joseph leaned back against the wall, bowing his head for a brief moment as he flicked ash aside before bringing the cigarette right back up to his lips.
It was disturbing how calming smoking a cigarette could be. Really disturbing.
For Rhiannon, this was the most regular of recent days.
There was no impending apocalypse, no concern for a dead or dying friend, no guilt, no unthinkable fiend waiting beneath the city, and her with no idea how to stop it. Lastly, there was no age-old enemy asking Rhiannon for help, of all the things she’d rather give.
The past was full of strange days. Red letter days.
Today was just regular.
She had the television on. It was an impractical set, outdated in design and capability. The screen measured just twelve inches across and was coated with almost as much dust. She didn’t have cable. A rigged system of antennas brought the local channels for news, the only thing Rhiannon cared to know. It was past time for that though, so a late-night variety program made background chatter.
The side speaker broadcast peals of laughter. The brunette watched a celebrity explain her new film with exaggerated hand gestures and porcelain-veneer teeth. Rhiannon, on her stomach, cradled a couch pillow to her cheek. Her eyes blurred past the duo and focused on the set backdrop. It was a sparkling skyline of New York City. She had never been there.
A glass of coke fizzed on the table. She reached for it and considered the logistics of drinking on her stomach. Adjusting elbows, it could just be done.
( Knock, Knock )
( Talking in Circles )
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