It was a good thing Logan wasn't a very messy person.

Though he honestly had no idea what to expect when Janine called him back to accept his invitation to a date, Logan couldn't have imagined they'd wind up back at his apartment after the typical dinner-and-movie fare. An admittedly trite date for this point in the 21st century, but it apparently worked. The former Watcher cringed as he unlocked the door to his apartment and it swung open, revealing a stack of folded-up papers and three leather-bound tomes on the coffee table.

At this point, Logan couldn't even remember what he was researching. He crossed the threshold after his date, closing the door behind him before heading straight for the coffee table. Trying to arrange the stack of papers neatly, Logan folded up a few of the less cooperative pieces before placing them inside the front cover of the top book, setting the stack aside to the floor.

"Sorry about the mess," he said sheepishly. "Though I guess ... better books than crumpled-up beer cans."

( I think I'd rather ... (Adult Content: Mild Sexuality) )

The drive to Bucktown hadn't been that bad, considering Logan decided to go before the later afternoon traffic rush. Traffic was one of the few things he didn't like about Chicago, but like most places, the longer Logan lived there, the better he was able to deal with and anticipate such inconveniences. The former Watcher wanted to bring along his camera and a few other tools he would use when investigating something weird, but he figured that probably wouldn't jive with their cover of being a recently-engaged couple looking for a cheap apartment.

Logan had to admit that while it was solid idea for getting an inside look on the recently re-opened Lincoln Park, he wasn't sure how he'd be able to pull it off. The owner of Thoth's Library wasn't exactly trained in or renowned for acting chops -- the Watchers' Academy never offered Drama 101. Still, it was a prime opportunity for investigation, and since it was in the middle of the day, he figured there was little, if any, danger.

Climbing the steps to the second floor of the brick three-flat, Logan scratched the side of his neck. He'd gotten a little too close with the razor that morning; he didn't break skin, but Logan had that annoying after-shave itch that wouldn't go away. His red button-down hung untucked around his chest, his blue jeans perhaps a little much for the spring Chicago heat. Then again, Logan hated shorts, so he didn't mind.

Knocking on the door to Janine's apartment, Logan stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, listening to a dog barking downstairs and a couple birds chirping in one of the trees. He wondered briefly if this was what the complexes in Lincoln Park would look like once they were complete.

( Mr and Mrs Smith...Sort of )

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 )

After checking his workshop for accoutrements that would go with the bar he was making for Toby, Bastian found himself seriously lacking in hinges and other odds and ends. He liked to use brass, the soft gleam of the metal offsetting the dark wood, and he'd sat down and made a list of the things he needed. Menard's was having a sale, anyway.

He felt a little out of place in the store, heavy boots and day's worth of beard setting him apart from the other patrons since he was currently the only man inside, and he imagined the others were looking for things for their kids' projects or something. The Cajun listened to the piped-in music as he padded up one aisle and then down the other, a plastic basket in one hand. He wanted to keep making that initial good impression, to stay on the right foot.

Janine's job wasn't sets. But in every small operation, there was always some responsibility shunted onto someone who complained that the particular errand wasn't in their job description. She couldn't really afford to make a big fuss about being handed off tasks, though, since she often sometimes had to do the same to her other co-workers; if there was one thing the brunette was not, it was a hypocrite, or at least she liked to think so. So it was that she found herself in Menard's.

It was a large hardware store, but unlike places like Home Depot, it also carried an array of other items, including things for smaller crafts and projects. She scoured the aisles, chewing on the black cord from her necklace and pushing along a small metal shopping cart.

( Sharing the Aisles )

Logan wasn't quite sure how to feel.

The protestors had stopped making his storefront their place of residence, and for that the former Watcher was glad. He didn't know the details of why, since he'd made a point in recent weeks to steer clear of the news in all its various forms, but Logan didn't really care. The noise and the chants and the hatred were no longer camped out in front of his place of business, and that was really all that mattered. Some customers that stayed away even began coming back.

Still, the bookstore owner couldn't shake a vague feeling of dread. Not because the latest shipment of vampire and werewolf texts was late -- the UPS guy said he'd be there at 9, yet the clock was approaching noon and still no brown truck.

No, it had been almost a month and a half since Diego's appearance, and no sign of the vampire since.

Was Izzy right? Was there really nothing to be worried about? Logan wondered if that was the case; he no longer trained a Slayer, and Francis had been dead for over a year now. What would be the point in making Logan's life hell again? The vampire made it perfectly clear how little Logan mattered to him, so maybe he'd decided to skip town and leave things as they were.

Only Logan knew Diego better than that. The creep would show himself again, when least expected, and the former Watcher shuddered to think what his next entrance would entail. All the mystical security measures had been taken, at home and here in the store, but still, Logan wasn't comfortable.

( Just Between You and Me )

The UPS delivery man always refused to enter the theater, for mysterious 'legal' reasons, and Janine was the only one available to get the packages from outside whenever he arrived. Her co-workers all seemed to develop a selective case of invisibility, which was quite unfortunate since the two boxes she was trying to heft up seemed to weigh more than the brunette herself. She had failed to grab her coat on the way out of the building, and as she attempted to rearrange the parcels, she could feel the renewed cold biting into her. The last of the day's sun did little to help.

The days were finally starting to get a little longer, but the sun was still going down at around six. Connor was idling on the sidewalk, counting his quarters and watching the yellow and green sign for theBP gas station flicker in the new dusk. The onset of evening meant it was time for a caffeine jolt in preparation for patrol, and the Destroyer picked lint out of the palm of his hand to watch it flutter away on the breeze. Had to feed the machine.

( Never Noticed Before )

Will Carruthers had decided to treat himself. After nights of stalking the streets for more leads on the Orpheus trade, and generally spending his evening killing things, he decided to take in the Chicago nights in a less murderous way. So he looked at the theatre listings. He ruled out Steppenwolf immediately, as after you’ve seen Glengarry Glen Ross once, you really know all you need to about David Mamet. But at the bottom of the newspaper page, he saw a listing for a small troupe, Act Macabre, doing an adaptation of Dante’s Inferno. That piqued his interest.

The evening, though, did not get off to a good start. He asked his girls if either wanted to attend with him, but they begged off, talking about patrol and other work. It seems giving them a good work ethic had backfired on Will. I really should make some friends who I can go out with when we’re not killing things, he thought, as he put on a collared shirt and some slacks and headed out.

The theatre was small, and for a local production, the acting was very good; the sets and costumes were well designed; and the demons were convincing. Maybe a little too convincing. Peppered in with the traditional Dante were some real demon species and some really horrifying images. Now this could be the product of some thorough research. Or it could be more. Theatres made for great haunts for vampires and demons, as long as they avoided matinees. Maybe some of the people working on this production were more than they seemed.

After the curtain call, Will headed around to the back of the building, looking for a stage door. He saw actors, walking out, chatting breezily. They all seemed normal enough. When it seemed quiet, Will slipped a lock pick out of his pocket (yes, he had planned to not work that night, but if he cleared out all the tools from his pockets of his duster, he’d be emptying for hours). The lock was a simple one, and with no further ado, he was backstage.

Janine was stalking around backstage amidst a flurry of activity, grabbing plastic cups of drinks out of actors' hands if they were still wearing one of her costumes. She had worked too hard on them to have them stained with cheap red wine. "Change, then celebrate," she told them briskly. Truth was, debut performances always made her nervous. Sure, she wasn't out there on stage, but the fruits of her labor were. And the actors didn't have to watch themselves as they paraded about, but the brunette was treated with a perfect view of how her designs flowed and moved, if they worked or not. She couldn't not watch from the wings, her hands clasped tightly as she did so.

( Backstage )

( Shop Talk )

The end of the straw poking out of Janine's iced coffee was chewed to the point of uselessness. Her fingers strayed over the keys of her notebook computer, the toe of her black suede boot tapping a staccato rhythm against the leg of the table. She cringed as the sound of grinding coffee beans impeded her creative flow. Another patron at a nearby table looked up and shot her a glare, and Janine pulled the straw away from her mouth long enough to utter a disgruntled, "What?" The man shook his head and returned to his unfurled newspaper.

The usual subjects had been exhausted. Lincoln Park was old news after several days of furious forum posting. Vampire attacks were old hat, and she wasn't getting anything useful -- just the bland, perfunctory reports in the crime blotter section of chintzy neighborhood papers. 'Unprovoked vampire attack at the Berwyn Red Line stop, 9:04 PM. Victim in stable condition, perpetrator not apprehended.' What vampire attack was provoked, anyway?

She needed something hefty, something that would start people talking. No amount of chai would give that to her, unfortunately.

Whistler counted five more grey hairs in the mirror when he'd gotten out of the shower. That was an odd saying, wasn't it? 'In the mirror'? That suggested that the image opposite was the one suffering from the color change in hair follicle. Even that was incorrect. Hair follicles were part of the skin that collected the cells that grew hair, attached to sebaceous glands. And his sebaceous glands were in a revolt, many jumping ship for putting up the white flag of surrender.

Gods help him should he ever consider a toupee.

( You'd Be Surprised )

If the Agent told the woman the true story of Jonah and whale, she'd see their 'revisionist' take on Melville's classic wasn't too far off. "Sounds a bit outta left field, which makes it right up my alley," he laughed. Whistler shook her hand warmly. "I'll have to look out for that.

"You take care, Janine." He offered a smile. "And I'll be sure to click on that site soon as I can."