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Awkward, Table For Three, Please [08 Dec 2007|07:12am] [ mood | anxious ] Julie hummed to herself as she placed the Christmas presents she'd just bought into her truck, it had been a good day filled with bargain hunting and she was looking forward to the upcoming holiday for the first time in years. She'd been too anxious about what her family would say about her disappearance and the story she'd made up to explain it to really enjoy the holiday last year when she'd returned home, so this would be her first 'normal' Christmas since she'd been bitten by Brad (may the bastard burn in hell). There was also her Searchlight family to shop for, even if this year it would be a little smaller with Hannah having gone from waitress to ghostly go between. She especially was looking forward to surprising Connor with the gift she'd gotten for him, and the werewolf smiled at the thought of his reaction. The smile still firmly in place, Julie closed and locked the truck door before walking across the mall parking lot toward the all you could eat buffet. There ought to be a picture of her at the waitress stand with the words 'do not seat' written across it, the restaurant lost money whenever she ate at the place. "You're really going to eat all of that?" They were sitting at a back table, and Justine was eyeing Connor's incredibly full plate as if it was some weird kind of modern sculpture. "Yes, I'm really going to eat all of it," he replied, using his spoon to stir some gravy into his mashed potatos. She had never really watched him eat, so he supposed she could be forgiven for not realizing that he had a bottomless stomach. There was a full bowl of soup next to his plate, and a large glass of soda close to his hand. He'd probably end up having to go back for seconds, maybe even thirds, regardless. "Where are the best places to patrol?" he asked her once his mouth was empty again. That had been what they'd been planning to meet for, at least until he'd realized that Rhiannon was missing, but now that he knew the Slayer was safe he could go about his business. They might even be able to find out something about this Atia, even if it was only secondhand gossip. The redhead shrugged. "You never can tell where the vamps are hanging out," she responded. "Usually around bars and dead-end alleys, though. That pattern never seems to change." They were still prickly with each other, still wounded, but gradually Connor was edging back towards trust. And patrol was usually impersonal, his mind fixed on the slayage, so he didn't have to think so much about the emotional stuff. At least it was a start. "Eat your chicken," he told Justine. "And pass the salt, I can't reach it from here." ( You and Me and Julie Makes Three ) She made her way toward the door, but stopped by the steam tables and Justine on her way out. The other woman seemed to have been giving them space and Julie appreciated that, but there was one thing that needed to be made clear. "Connor seems to trust you so that's good enough for me, but keep an eye out for him. I don't want to see him getting hurt." It wasn't stated as a threat, more of a statement of fact. Julie had included Connor in her 'pack', and the loss of any one of those could affect her in ways she didn't really want to think about. Hannah's death had shown her that. If Whistler hadn't been able to use telepathy to reach her human self that time, she would have ripped out his throat and then feasted on his entrails. Justine had no such defenses as far as Julie knew, though perhaps she'd have other means of dealing with an out of control werewolf. Julie had no idea really. Nice to meet you too, Justine thought. Jeez, talk nice to somebody, try to give them a break so they could have a private conversation, and they pissed on your shoes. "Connor'll be fine," she said aloud. "If anything he'll be looking after me. He's a good kid, tougher than you think." A careful, polite pause. "He likes you. Be nice to him. He deserves it. Okay?" She finished filling her plate and moved off to sit back down. They'd do this patrol thing and then she'd drive him back to Searchlight. Both of them were slowly working their way back to being human. Maybe this time, they'd actually make it. reply

When in Rome [08 Dec 2007|10:04am] It was impossible to think around the commotion of the Ring. Of course, it wasn't the sort of place that people went to exercise their brains. People went to air dirtier habits, like putting money on whether a fighter would escape with all its parts intact... even fervently hoping they wouldn't. The combat continued until somebody died. It could get tacky, at times, when a pulse was discovered on an unconscious participant, and the opponent had to keep bludgeoning away. Darian was keeping a low profile. If the Overseer noticed the Dealmaker in attendance, he'd probably order an unpleasant removal. So he hung back near the exits, getting a feel for the hired security. He was supposed to pay them off and, with Grace's help, orchestrate a hostile takeover of the venue. Not tonight, but soon. Midway through the second match, he felt his phone vibrate. Darian stepped out on the concourse, where the jeering was muffled, and answered the call. It was Phillip, head concierge at the Bellagio and go-between for Darian and his clients. Plugging his open ear, Darian gave a listen to Phillip. His responses were loud and clipped, as was the case whenever a new client attempted to renege on payment. The distraction took him farther down the concourse, out of the way of spectators and the single vendor, who pedaled beer. She'd been running her hands along the crevices of the multi-verse, seeking something out. While it was not true that she was omnipotent, she did have her spies, her ways of gathering information. There was a particular spark she was after, a particular smell. Breathing deep, she allowed the odor to draw her forth, blocking out the tummult surrounding her as if it didn't exist. Regal. Imperious. Filthy. Warped. Atia. "A fine night for combat," she said to the impeccably-dressed man standing next to her, giving him a borderline disinterested look as she fell into step beside him. "Reminiscent of the Coliseum. The only thing that's changed is the year. Beasts will always fight." Her voice carried despite the finger he'd put in his ear, so she knew he heard her. Heard her down in his bones, in his guts, where the creature beyond the human facade lived. She was wearing a simple white tunic and leather sandals, her arms exposed to the night air. "You do not mind if I walk with you, do you?" A coy smile, followed by a touch to his arm. Lingering on the surface of his psyche before withdrawing. She was not without her resources, could likely do grievous harm to him should she so choose, but he'd succeeded in interfering with something she'd wanted done, no matter how briefly. It made her curious. "Most strange," the Corruptress remarked. "The girl struggled for a few moments, but she eventually succumbed. What I did not count on...was you." Darian stopped walking and pulled the phone away from his ear. From the small speaker, Phillip's voice could still be heard, asking Darian if he was there. He was no longer interested. He closed the device and put it in the inside pocket of his coat. ( You Must Be Atia ) reply

Red [08 Dec 2007|12:53pm] That was all Clemence could see. She was on her back, lying on something hot and gritty. Lightning bolts of pain coursed through her head as she sat up. Slowly, she opened her blue eyes and the red disappeared. The sun. That would explain it. The blonde looked down at her clothing. Same outfit as...yesterday? The day before that? White t-shirt, black shorts, tennis shoes. What exactly had happened? Frightened by a sudden thought, Clemence's hand flew up to touch the side of her neck. Then the other. A sigh of relief issued from her lips. A latent fear had always been being attacked by a vampire, and bitten. She did not like being bitten. That wasn't her problem, though, not now. Right now, the issue was...sand. Whomever had left her here did not take much care...sand had found its way into her clothing due to wind, and she had shallow surface scratches on her legs and hands, as if she had fallen into brambles. Had someone done this to her? And what exactly had they done? Couldn't it be that she had just gotten really drunk? But she hadn't been out drinking in quite awhile. In fact, she had been working as far as she could remember. Like a dutiful citizen. Finally, Clemence stood, brushing the sand off her shirt and legs, shaking it out of her hair. She patted her pockets. She still had the key to her trailer, but her wallet was gone. She muttered an epithet as she scanned her surroundings, trying to figure out where she was. Then another, this one not muttered, as she saw where she was. The same spot where her car had bitten it when she had first come to Searchlight. She grimaced as she realized she would have to make that particular trek once again. An hour and a half later, Clemence was tired, sweaty and dehydrated. The McDonald's came into view, and she could have cried in relief and joy...until she felt like weeping. She had no money. She stopped, trying to keep her legs from buckling under her as she considered her options. People in small towns were nice, right? She had helped a few people in her day. Certainly someone would see her condition and agree to buy her something to drink? The blonde tried to straighten up her appearance. She sauntered up to an older teenaged boy who was sitting and eating at one of the outdoor tables. Before she could even smile, though, a noise behind her made her freeze. The tinkling of a bell, the sound of gears grinding, wheels crunching on the dirt. Its presence filled her with a sudden, irrational revulsion. She whirled around. Another teenaged boy, rolling leisurely up to the other who sat eating. He was balancing himself, feet on the ground rolling him along. Clemence glared. Then she pounced. A hard shove and the boy was tangled up in his bike on the ground before she had even realized what she was doing. He had let out a startled yelp, and the sitting boy stood up. "Hey, what the -" but before he could finish, she was off and running. She had to make it to her trailer, lock herself inside, and never go to that McDonald's again. All thoughts of pain and dehydration were gone now. reply

Ludicrous Speed [08 Dec 2007|04:08pm] At just after 9pm, Rhiannon settled on the curb at 1401 Rainbow Boulevard. She lit a cigarette. A cold snap had taken the temperature in the city from mild to cold in only a day. The concrete underneath Rhiannon's jeans reminded her of it. If she sat there too long, parts of her would go numb. So here's hoping he wasn't late. She pulled her leather coat tight and watched as her breath fogged the air. Behind her, motors revved. The Mini Grand Prix was busy, even in the winter months. The noise from its four tracks was massive, the sounds rising and falling as the miniature cars circled each speedway. On a scale of unlikely places for Rhiannon to be, this had to rank Top 5. But the thing was, she had promised Joseph another round of gambling. She could be obvious about it and hand him a deck of cards or a pool stick. Chances were, he'd beat her. Or she could surprise him. Besides, Rhiannon thought, tapping ash into the gutter, she could use something a little less serious. Even if she did plan to seriously kick his ass. A car slowed down and she stiffened, thinking it might be Joseph. But the driver only rolled down his window, checked the prices on the gate, and kept going. Rhiannon rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. "Breathe," she whispered, a nervous laugh to herself. "Jesus." A weird shot of anxiety made her knees jittery. She masked it by standing up and stamping on her cigarette butt. Joseph had been up to the early hours of the new day, mostly because he couldn't sleep to save his life these days. He hadn't been able to sleep through the night since his mother's death and the subsequent events that unfolded in New York. Sleep cost too much; he had learned it the hard way. At the memory, Joseph's fingers lifted to scrub at the scar that marred his neck, but he quickly lit a cigarette to give his hands something to do. Idle hands were the Devil's playground, after all. It was after he hit the traffic in Vegas that Joseph realized he was a mixture of excited and nervous, adrenaline warring with anxiety. It was a strange combination. He was curious about what Rhiannon had in store for them and how she intended on winning back the money she'd lost to him over a game of cards. The girl had more tricks up her sleeve than all the magicians in Vegas put together, and it was one of the things he'd always loved about her. Given that it was slightly cooler in Vegas these days, Joseph had opted for warmer clothing, leather jacket over the top to keep the heat in. The streets were littered with people looking for fun, women dressed in little to nothing and suffering for it. There was something to be said for practicality over aesthetic appeal; not that the men were any better. He flicked the filter end of his cigarette and ash was scattered in the wind - leaving small trails of grey behind - as Joseph accelerated and left the wicked world of the Las Vegas nightlife behind. Tonight was about something different - about meeting Rhiannon on her terms and seeing what she had in mind. A little after nine his car drew up in the front of a Mini Grand Prix and Joseph cocked an eyebrow, chuckling softly and lowly from deep down in his chest. He stepped out of his car, slamming the door shut and exhaling smoke in one smooth movement. "Well... this is different," he commented, raising his voice a little so Rhiannon would be able to hear him. He'd spotted her early; hadn't been able to miss her. He offered her a slow, really easy smile, like he had absolutely no troubles in the world. "Yeah?" Rhiannon dug her fingers deep inside her pockets, where it was warm. "You know me. I'd rather die than be predictable." It was more a joke than anything to be taken seriously. Jokes were good. In the absence of liquid courage, they loosened her face into a smile, so she didn't look tense enough to snap in half. She doubted there was any alcohol sold at a race track. Damn it. The brunette meandered to where he stood. She was dressed simply, jeans and a thermal, boots and jacket. Her hair was down, a little effort to cover the fang-shaped scar that refused to budge, no matter what cream she rubbed on it. Rhiannon knew it was only a matter of time, but where memories of Deanna were concerned, less time was better. Don't think about that now. Think about him. Think about life. ( Racing ) reply

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