| Petty Crimes |
[15 Apr 2009|12:46am] |
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"Not bad... I know it's new, but you'll adjust."
Katherine had often wondered what it would be like to have a Slayer of her very own. It had been a little while since she last turned someone and trained them up. The Slayer factor was bound to make things different, but like any other pet, Kris would learn. The elder vampiress was lounging back in a chair, counting through dollar bills. Money was still a necessary commodity in the supernatural underworld. You could break in a shop and steal whatever you fancied, but cash hired people to do things and certain products were never on display in windows; they had to be supplied and delivered to secure locations. That meant purchasing power.
Tonight had been more of a test-run, than anything else. Small-scale. Usually, Katherine did not trouble herself with turf wars, but it seemed like an ideal place to teach her newest dove how to grow wings and fly. The body count was as expected and the street gang was no more. Something Katherine could have handled on her own? Without doubt. She needed some flesh and bone for Kris to deal with, though. Her first under Katherine's guiding eye.
The larger, more vicious stuff, was for later.
( Owned )
( Pride Cometh Before A Fall )
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| Game |
[15 Apr 2009|02:35pm] |
Between the close brush at the bar last week and the offer from The New York Post to be their supernatural affairs reporter, Logan had a busy week. He was dreading the call to Grant Norris to turn down the offer, realizing he wouldn't have a good enough reason for doing so in the eyes of the editor. He could just hear Grant now ... You're turning down a return to the lucrative field of journalism for what? Retail?!
Yes. Yes, he was.
It wasn't so much that he loved retail -- though it certainly had its advantages -- but Logan knew he was doing a lot more good running Thoth's Library than he ever would as a reporter for that paper in New York. The Post wasn't nearly the reputable paper the Times was -- for all the former Watcher knew, the Post was some tabloidesque rag that spent all its time and resources tailing Alex Rodriguez and trashing the Yankees if they had the nerve to so much as lose a game.
It was enough to make Logan glad he was a Mets fan.
( I have an idea )
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| A Knock on the Door |
[15 Apr 2009|03:56pm] |
Her injuries from the fight with Grace almost nothing more than a distant memory, and a few other things taken care of, Faith could now focus her attention on informing those close to her that she was no longer incarcerated. The Slayer figured that would've been pretty big news, considering how the local media seemed to foam at the mouth when she was arrested. Then again, being released because she was innocent probably wasn't as juicy as being locked up for a series of grisly murders.
In the nights following her release, Faith had been tempted to hit the streets in search for the real killer, but thought better of it each time. Not only did that have a creepy O.J. vibe to it, the Slayer wasn't keen on putting herself in the way of the police again. She'd told Meg upon her release she wouldn't pry into the matter, and Faith was one to keep her word on that. Besides, she had more important things to do.
With a deep breath, Faith allowed herself a small, sideways grin. She was standing in front of the door to Hayden's apartment, thinking she probably should've done this sooner as her knuckles rapped against the surface. But between her run-in with Grace and a number of other things, the Slayer hadn't really had the chance. She wondered which emotion would prevail for the former Watcher -- relief that she was free, or annoyance that she didn't come see him sooner. Probably a bit of both.
The previous twenty-four hours were unpleasant for Hayden. After Kris didn't check in, he went out and looked for her. The apartment was quiet and dark, her gym the same, and there was no sign of her at her mother's house. So he drove his truck in circles around her neighborhood, slowing down whenever he passed a dark-haired woman, or a person about her size in a hoodie. When he was close to getting reported for suspicious behavior, he came home and crashed on the couch. He slept with the cell phone on his chest, so that if she called, he couldn't possibly miss it. As morning came and still no message, he called out sick from work and checked hospitals. That didn't turn up any leads. He didn't know if that was a relief or not.
( Kris, Prison, and Connor )
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| Collision |
[15 Apr 2009|04:08pm] |
From above, the pedestrian bridge over Columbus Drive looked like an old, sluggish river. It meadered in smooth loops and turns, lengthening the elevated path between Millennium Park and Daley Bicentennial Plaza, like a modernized version of the Great Wall. On nice days, people stretched three-abreast and clogged up the walkway, moving slow compared to the rushing traffic underneath.
"Excuse me." Forgetting herself and manners, Rhiannon shouldered through a couple with her arms lifted, fingers splaying wide, a full-bodied shrugging away of their protests. She hurried onward. Up ahead, an elderly man in a trench and hat walked with unexpected speed towards the plaza. He had a long, pointed umbrella that he used to punctuate his steps like a staff. A small flock of pidgeons hustled into the air and swooped over the highway.
He wasn't the right one. Deep down, Rhiannon knew that. But if she didn't make sure, later on when she put her head on the pillow, sleep wouldn't come, because what if he was so close and she let him sleep away? If she could just grab him and look at his face, search it for more than surprise, that would be enough.
It was a nice day. The sun was shining and people were out and about. Days like this when it was easy enough to find oneself surrounded by people, Jenny was almost always in the thick of it. Today was no exception. She was standing on the bridge, listening to the roar of the road nearby, the whoosh of the wind and the sounds of people. Feet on the pavement and snippets of conversations as they drifted past her. She was standing still.
( Stop! )
( Prove You're Serious )
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| A Confession |
[15 Apr 2009|04:57pm] |
To: "Juliet", "Whistler", "Hayden", "Purity", "Kris", "William", "Izzy", "Logan", "Connor", "Faith", "Sonya"
From: R.I.Lee@gmail.com
SUBJ: New Threat
Hey.
If you've tried to get in touch in the past few days, I'm sorry. I couldn't deal with the phone. I should've sent this sooner. Not doing so may have put you in danger. All I thought about was myself, and how I couldn't admit what's happened.
There's a dangerous man in Chicago. He's stealing people's abilities. I don't know how yet, or why, just that he found me and another girl, Jenny. We don't know who else.
( What We Know )
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| Intimate Strangers |
[15 Apr 2009|07:03pm] |
The Golden Nugget Pancake House.
He'd gotten directions off of Mapquest, locating the address while still on the plane in between fitful naps. He hadn't even been back to the hotel yet, wanted too much to find the greasy spoon that first text had come from so he could be sure he wasn't insane. He was torn somewhere between hope and fear, the last few days a blur. He didn't even know what time it was, his watch was packed away in his luggage.
Oliver had watched the last of the customers trickle out of the establishment, bidding each other good night as they departed, and he lit one cigarette off of another as he watched the last set of tail lights disappear. He'd taken a cab from O'Hare, then waited in the parking lot until everyone else was gone. If this was some kind of sick joke, he didn't want to reveal himself as a fool to a bunch of strangers. He was almost pacing, his white shirt standing out in sharp relief against his black suit jacket, shoes crunching over tiny pieces of gravel. He had never trusted the universe to be kind to him, had never had any reason to, but if this was real...if this was real he might have to re-think that a little.
( Hello Again, For the Very First Time )
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| In the Trees |
[15 Apr 2009|08:23pm] |
Melinda usually didn't make it a habit to walk alone through the East Campus of UIC when it was deserted like this. It was late at night, the only light provided coming from the metal posts of lamps that dotted the sidewalk, and the twinkling pinpricks of yellow off in the distance that signified downtown and the Loop. The skyscrapers were dark, lumbering figures that towered above the landscape, and they made the brunette feel that much more alone. There was nothing to be done for it, though: she had spent too long in the library, lost track of time, and found that her usual path home was blocked by construction. What was normally a five minute walk turned into a fifteen minute one.
The temperature had swooped down into the high 30s while the telekinetic had been studying, and she wasn't dressed for it. She was wrapped in a black cardigan sweater, clad in jeans, and her low-heeled boots echoed off the concrete as her steps picked up pace. Perhaps the telekinetic should have grabbed someone from the library, asked them to make the trek with her. Surely someone else in the place must have resided in the same building as her. But the thought hadn't occurred to her then, and even if it had, she wouldn't have carried it out at the risk of feeling ridiculous.
Brown eyes scanned the center of campus for an emergency phone, one that wired directly to UIC police. There had been a lot of crime alerts popping up lately in her inbox, attempted and successful muggings, assaults. And while she knew she had one method of protecting herself, her confidence was eroded slightly by the feeling that, if this were a horror movie set, this was would be the moment the monster jumped out and surprised her, in a bad way.
A college campus was an easy place to make a woman disappear.
( Another Firefly )
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| Fanged Bodyguard |
[15 Apr 2009|11:37pm] |
Her head felt packed with fuzz. She groaned, her eyes flickering open. Something was scratching her neck and exposed skin. Dried grass and something else, dirt. Melinda was on her back, her black cardigan unraveled, the purple t-shirt underneath showing. It was cold, and she felt ill. The telekinetic attempted to sit up; it seemed to take Herculean effort on her part. After a moment, she was hunched over herself, one arm wrapped around her abdomen. Nausea and chill ran through her. Tears stung her eyes; she hated crying, but she had no idea where she was, or what had happened. Trying to cast around her mind, the memories and sensations were murky and nightmare-like. The freakishly strong figures who had picked her up, the sharp sting against her neck.
A wall of panic hit her, and her hands scrabbled around the grass. Her phone and her keys were gone. Left on the concrete of campus. Where was campus? Looking up, she could see that the lights of downtown were a lot further away than they had been. The tears began to fall. The brunette didn't know the city that well yet. She could be anywhere, in any neighborhood.
Thea's search for dinner was coming up empty so far on this night. Granted, she'd only been out and about for an hour or so, but the vampire wasn't used to not being able to find her first meal of the night so soon. It was annoying, and in spite of the fact that she wasn't one to naturally be afraid, Thea found herself looking over her shoulder and stopping at every random noise, making sure some stake-wielding goody-goody wasn't after her. Thea appreciated the answers Bethany gave her, but this was one of those cases where ignorance really was bliss.
Making her way through one of the many parks in Chicago with the intent of taking a shortcut to the neighborhoods west of Soldier Field, Thea's ears soon picked up the soft whimpers of someone in tears. She stopped in her tracks, letting the sniffles and cries sink into her ears. A small grin played across the vampire's pale features -- someone was suffering. If there was one thing that whet Thea's appetite, it was pain. Physical, emotional ... it really didn't matter.
( Fucking starving )
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