| Adventure (Alec's Epilogue) |
[22 Jul 2009|08:05pm] |
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mood |
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 giddy |
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( Bright Idea )
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| Beautiful Places (Hannah's Epilogue) |
[18 Jul 2009|11:46pm] |
Captain's Log: September 27, 2014
Location: Italy
This is Hannah, reporting to you LIVE from a farmhouse in Tuscany, where I'm taking part in La Vendemmia (to the uninitiated, that's the grape harvest)! And guess what? The host family sent me to bed with a bottle of wine and I am soooooo drunk! In fact, it's a miracle I can spell drunk.
Let me take this opportunity to thank my sponsors, the FABULOUS Powers That Be, for granting my lifelong wish of globe-trotting. The first leg of Hannah's World Tour has started out great. Okay, my butt is killing me from today's horseback riding lesson, and I'm kinda dreading my cooking lesson tomorrow, which apparently involves making pasta from scratch, but I'm in good spirits!
I have a travel buddy! His name is Dmitri and he's from... crap, I dunno, someplace outside St. Petersburg. We met yesterday when we got to the farmhouse. He's staying in the room across from mine. He's helping me with useful Italian phrases, such as 'Where is your bathroom?' I've discovered he's kind-of a prankster, though, because the first time around, he actually had me saying, 'You smell of rotten cabbage'. But don't you worry... he'll pay! Oh, he'll pay. There's a dead lizard waiting under my poor Russian friend's pillow (before you ask, no, I did not kill it myself...sheesh).
Anyway, I better get to bed! Tomorrow, I'm going into town to buy a postcard for Oliver. Next week, it's back to work in the coffee shop. Then begins the countdown until my next trip in January... Brazil!
This is Hannah, signing off.
PS: Holy smokes, Dmitri. That was the girly-scream heard 'round the world.
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| Wishes Fulfilled (Fran's Epilogue) |
[18 Jul 2009|09:42pm] |
Francess Penn
Birthplace: Chicago, Illinois
Ensemble Member Since: 2017
Productions With Wells Stage Company: 5
Francess Penn studied English and Performing Arts at the University of Illinois at Chicago and abroad at University of London. She first appeared at Wells Stage Company in the 2017-2018 season opening, The Doctor's Wife (Young Molly, u/s Theresa). Other credits include Fiddler on the Roof, Love Stories, A Christmas Carol, and Hair. Miss Penn will play Julia in the upcoming season of Home at Last!. She credits her success to her family and her dear friend Avery.
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| Life is Good |
[18 Jul 2009|01:20pm] |
It might’ve been Logan’s day off, but he learned a while ago that business owners still had things to do even when they weren’t actually working. In this case, the owner of Thoth’s Library had a phone call to return and a new order to place. That meant camping out on the couch with the television on mute, a sea of papers strewn about on the coffee table in front of him.
The Chicago Tribune had called again wanting an interview for a feature on the store; Logan again declined. He supposed an argument could be made for free publicity; people could read the article and decide to check out the store on their own, but the former Watcher wasn’t comfortable letting the media in – particularly after the fiasco surrounding Avery and the local TV station.
He just knew that would come up again if he let the Tribune weasel its way in.
“Ms. Ravencroft,” Logan spoke once the other line picked up, the black receiver trapped between his left ear and shoulder. “It’s Logan. It’s going great, some books I can’t keep in stock. Which is … kinda why I’m calling. I need another shipment of your Witchcraft and Vampires.
( Off-Day Business )
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| Reflections |
[17 Jul 2009|10:15am] |
Time moves differently in hell.
A few weeks in the earthly realm becomes over 20 years below (or sideways, or second star to the right, take your pick).
And they sure had a funny way of welcoming demons.
Torture. Pure, unadulterated, pull-your-fangs-out-with-pliers, kind of pain. You'd think, given all I'd done in my two hundred plus years, the bodies I've sent their way, there would've been a parade at the very least.
But that's not how it goes. Equality for all. Unless you're pure-bred (and vampires sure as hell aren't, not even the demon part that forces out the soul and take over) you don't get air miles. Or water. Or a reprieve from the rack.
When the white light broke through (and you should've seen the nasties scatter, you'd have thought St. Peter was blowing his horn -- maybe he was, they'd poured lava into my ears by that point) all I could think was... okay I couldn't think. But it felt nice. Like a warm bath on a cold winter's night. Which was a really odd thought because since being vamped, I never really felt cold. Or hot. Or... anything, really.
It was a memory. A wonderful blanket of emotion surrounding me. And the voices. Such a song, penetrating my scorched ears. A melody in my head.
Thanking me.
( An offer I couldn't refuse )
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| Typical O'Hare Shit |
[16 Jul 2009|02:14pm] |
( Voicemail for Rhiannon )
( Voicemail for Avery )
Faith sighed, flipping her phone shut. She'd heard horror stories about O'Hare International, but as she stood at her gate, black backpack slung over her right shoulder, the Slayer realized they were true -- and then some. Not only was her non-stop flight to London delayed for the seven hours, there were rumblings of Delta adding an overnight stop in New York.
Why? Who knew, but it looked like Faith wouldn't be setting foot in jolly old London anytime soon.
With another sigh, the brunette plunked herself down in one of a series of black, barely-padded seats. Glancing to her left, Faith saw a little boy engrossed in his Nintendo DS, his body shifting every time he pushed a button, his mouth mimicking the digitized explosions. To her right, a middle-aged man was loosening his yellow tie and removing the wedding band from his finger.
Faith rolled her eyes. She had a sudden urge to kick that guy right where it hurt. Not only would it hurt like hell and be humiliating in a terminal full of passengers, it would also render his upcoming rendevous moot.
( Score )
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| Epilogue: Ephemera of New Stories in the Desert |
[16 Jul 2009|10:34am] |
( Read more... )
Submitted by: Dew
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| The Greatest Accident (Rhiannon's Epilogue, Part 1) |
[15 Jul 2009|07:39pm] |
You only get one wish.
Not something useful,
Nothing you'd think to ask for
If you had time to weigh it,
Like money to pay the rent and buy the groceries,
A winning lottery ticket,
Health for your aging cat or a
Little bit of perspective.
Not protection for yourself, either,
A life well-lived, free of earth-shattering screw-ups
Or bad decisions or car accidents.
Not even a long, happy marriage.
Kids and a yard and a mortgage payment.
You want those things,
But they're too easy, yeah?
They're the wishes of your conscious mind.
The simple ones.
( Here's a Hint )
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| In Spite of Herself |
[14 Jul 2009|11:54am] |
[Takes place before the final thread.]
While this wouldn't be Jill's first time in a courtroom, it would be her first time sitting in the witness' chair. As the FBI's lead investigator in the case of Travis Dunegan, a Springfield, Ill. native who was overseeing an international human trafficking ring with the help of a vampire cult just south of the Loop, Jill was to give a deposition making the prosecution's case for the harshest penalty possible.
The shift in roles made Jill nervous, and she sat alone in a room adjacent to the courtroom with her left leg bouncing up and down. The silence of the room made the agent even more uneasy. She stared at the mahogany table in the center of the room, she stared at the window with half-drawn blinds, barely letting in the July sunshine. She stared at the painting across from her of a Chicago judge from days gone by, whose name she didn't know.
Jill was also on-edge because she knew who represented Travis. Not only was Wolfram & Hart doing everything it could -- probably literally -- to make sure Travis never saw the inside of a jail cell, the firm was probably also in on the trafficking network. The agent had no proof of this, but her experience as a former attorney with the firm was enough to give her an educated guess.
She fiddled with the small silver cross hanging around her neck. She'd taken every precaution to make sure the judge and the jury and the prosecution would protect themselves against whatever tactics Wolfram & Hart would employ. The FBI never explicitly said this, but Jill had a feeling they considered her invaluable because of her experience with and knowledge of that law firm. Considering how many dirty pies Wolfram & Hart had its demonic fingers in, it made sense.
( It's a pity, really(Adult Content: Violence) )
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| All or Nothing |
[10 Jul 2009|11:04pm] |
[Takes place just before 'All Good Things Must Come to an End']
Rhiannon pressed a doorbell. The sound went on forever.
She stepped back and braced her hands on her lower back. The Winters house loomed tall and wide, its brick clean, its trim freshly painted. The brunette didn't often find herself in such neighborhoods, where the door would be approached on soundless feet and opened by an employee rather than a familiar face. She felt strangely obvious on the porch. Flexing her elbows, she looked around and made eye contact with a woman next door, elderly, pruning a potted plant. Rhiannon lifted a hand. The woman lifted her gardening claw. "Okay then." She bounced on her toes and waited.
Bartholomew answered the door, in his usual attire, the 'British butler' look, one he couldn't avoid, even if he'd ever wanted to. He was used to receiving guests for Juliet at all hours of the day and night, unannounced in many cases, and he simply acknowledged the young woman he found standing on the doorstep with an appraising glance and courteous smile. Of late the young woman had been spending less time with her friends, and more time with her head in books, on the internet, or in the gym working out. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd had to arrange for equipment to be replaced, or had had to look into more sturdy designs. Especially since her 18th birthday, Bart had noticed a shift in Juliet's demeanour, the care-free sassyness he'd watched for years slowly dissolving away as she'd apparently taken up with some different people, a couple of them he'd seen when they'd dropped by, and nothing like the crowd the young miss normally socialised with.
"May I help you?" he asked the young, bouncing, woman.
( Important Things to Say )
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| All Good Things Must Come to an End |
[10 Jul 2009|06:31pm] |
Like Las Vegas, the city of Chicago had learned to fear the sky.
Its residents knew of portals. Great rifts that opened between worlds, releasing entities and energies that could have no earthly origin. Some of the former had proven powerful enough to injure dozens, to tear down buildings and churn up the asphalt of city streets. But the latter were far worse than winged monsters or renegade demons. Energies could not be struck down by brave heroes with swords and stakes. They could not be hidden from. They could render monsters out of human flesh, make strangers out of lifelong neighbors, toy with people's personalities and lives.
In another city, a mysterious crackle of white energy might be viewed as a weather phenomenon. It might be a subject of wonder and awe. But here, in the shadow of Lincoln Park, people understood that rarely was such a disturbance benevolent.
When the writhing mass of electromagnetism appeared over Lake Michigan on July 10, 2014, people began to gather. The beach at the end of North Avenue offered the best view of what could just as easily be an apocalyptic event as an atmospheric fluke. As day faded into night, the portal that had caused so much chaos two years past only intensified in brightness and size.
Whatever it was, it awakened caution in multiple dimensions. Even heaven and hell felt the ripples of energy as the portal bulged, preparing itself for an explosion that remained a mystery even to demigods.
By the end of the night, an answer would come.
[Final Thread: Open to All!]
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| Confirmation |
[10 Jul 2009|01:37am] |
She placed the cardboard box that she had taken out of storage on the table and next to the leather bound diary with the unusual lock. The photos inside the diary and the passages that she had read so far had been on her mind for days.
Kathleen first thought this was a cruel joke, but it did not make any sense why Mr. Guevera would have gone through all this effort to fabricate this diary. It was not about her life, but of Kathleen Valentine, Her Majesty's Royal Inquisitor; wife of Logan Guevera; and daughter of John Valentine.
( Discovering the truth )
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