Repose

Who: Sparrow and Evelyn
What: A ride home
Where: Highway, near the school district
When: Afternoonish
Warnings/Rating: Doubtful

She never came this way. Except that wasn't true at all.

It wasn't that it was far, because nothing was really far, not here. Not compared to subways and buses and across the country. Everything felt small in this town, and the ringleted blonde that walked along the side of the road, she felt small too.

The day was cold, bitterly so. Her dress was the 1920s, burnt orange and sleeveless, thin and to the knees. It was a beautiful thing, embroidered and with appliques that clung on despite the passage of time. She remembered buying the dress in Virginia, and she'd only been there once, on her trip out here. She remembered, and she allowed herself to remember, because she wasn't sure how long the memory would be there for her to clasp and hold.

She wore a thick coat over the dress, sage and pea-coat, and her stockings were white, and her boots were brown. She would look transient, if not for the quality and cleanliness of the clothing. And her hair, her hair was too brilliant bright blonde for someone who didn't shower regularly.

Still, she was a sight, there, wandering near to the schools and wondering why she kept being drawn here. She didn't have any children, and she didn't know any children. She never wandered close enough to be threatening, to have someone call the police and say there was a strange woman around the children. But, in her head, she knew that it was the school that drew her near, like moth to flame, and even on that bitterly cold day.

She ventured a little closer than normal, and she could almost hear the sound of laughter dancing on the cold wind. It felt like holidays, and holidays made her yearn for people, and the holidays made her yearn for things, and the maw in her soul seemed to widen with the winter chill. She walked, as if that would make it any better, even a little better, even better at all.

[Just after this.]

[Locked to Daniel W]
[......] Sorry I said I'd punch you. [...] I [...] overreacted.

[Locked to Lou D]
Lou, you can't box us out, huh? I'm [...] I overstepped. I'm sorry. Hate me all you want, but talk to your sister. She didn't do nothing wrong.

[Eddie was at the bookstore the second it opened. He hadn't slept all night (nerves, worries and ghosts made sure of that) and was eager for a cup of coffee. This wasn't exactly the most thrilling spot for a date and the early hours made sure there wasn't any low-light romance. That, of course, was intentional. Eddie was fine pretending things were okay between himself and Muerte, but he wanted to know who she had become and if it was too different from what he remembered in New Jersey. He thought there was less pressure to be Edison Needles, as well, which would likely make her happy. Eddie could put on an act for anyone, including her and he thought it was unfair if he did so this early in the game. She'd get sick of it fast, like eating too much cotton candy and then riding the tilt-a-whirl. Whether or not she'd get sick of him bare bones and bitter like black coffee, well he didn't know for sure. Maybe it'd be easier if she did. After all, Eddie yearned for his lonely life before half of goddamned New Jersey landed on his doorstep. But, lonely? That'd kill him, almost twice as fast as heartbreak. He'd pick the troubles of family, love and friendship over and over until he didn't have any of it left.

It frustrated him. Probably more than he managed to frustrate anyone else. And, wasn't that sort of funny?

He was dressed as casually as he could manage. Which, of course, wasn't very at all. A bright green and gold checkered sweater vest over a white button up shirt and a tie polka-dotted with 8-bit ghosties didn't scream subtle so much as old nerd. He had obviously embraced the latter, finding it a good way to express his eccentricities. Most people would look at him, his line of work and decide it made perfect sense. Eddie liked harmony, he liked people to think every experience with him was smooth sailing. He taught the same to his carnies. It made their individual mysteries inviting without letting anyone get too close.

Eddie got his cup of coffee with weird flavored creamer (candy cane) and made his way back to the science fiction. He had called Muerte a little before, reminding her to stop by the bookstore before cutting the conversation short, afraid that a long talk on the phone might ruin the morning. He wanted this to be special despite the mundane surroundings. God help him.]

[After talking to Eddie.]

[Call to the Mean-Eyed Cat]
[Ring!]

Who: Daniel Webster & Ceil Love
What: meeting
Where: Webster's Vinyl
When: nowish
Warnings/Rating: TBD; nothing egregious anticipated

( Ceil didn't do alone very good. )

[Louis D]

so an envelope might be dropped off at your establishment. it's legal. but if you don't mind holding it until oliver picks it up, i'll bring coffee the next time I come to meet him. fair?

[Oliver K]

might have a prospect.

Who: Brett & Sasha
What: Sasha confronts the roaming locksmith.
Where: Trailer Park
When: As Sasha is relocating.
Warnings/Rating: Some swearing. Complete.

( If this was one of those legitimate mythical good samaritans she had only ever heard about, she wanted to meet them. It was the equivalent of finding a unicorn being ridden around by a leprechaun to chase bigfoot. )

Who: Ethan and OPEN
What: playing games
When: Early Afternoon
Where: The Rec Center - Theater classroom
Rating: TBD

The kids were back in school after the holiday, which meant Ethan's afternoon class was up and running after a week off and while it didn't start for another couple hours, he was still in the classroom, sorting through costumes and props, making stacks that seemed to have no sense. They were for a game: a Viking hat, a cape, a giant spoon, in one pile, while other piles had fake handcuffs and poofy tutus for his students to try and put together a story with what they were given. It was always one of the more interesting ones, and with them still probably riding high on a holiday full of too much food and approaching Christmas, he opted to try and use their chaos rather than contain it.

He had the music playing, something he could shake to while he divided up the piles, tiara on his head for safe keeping (he'd found the little girls fought over that prop), bouncing from one end of the room to another, just as full of energy as his young students would be.

[Call to Eddie N]

[On the heels of her conversation with Reece. Late night. Ring.]

Who: Claire & Max
What: Breakfast and chatter!
Where: Max's Diner
When: Early morning.
Warnings/Rating: Highly unlikely.

( And now she's living in a shack on the firing line, With a fridge filled with French bacon, Mouthing all the words of a famous mime, For whom she's commonly mistaken. )

[locked to sasha j.]

I'd ask if you were staying out of trouble, but I wouldn't want to waste the character count.

[locked to elan l.]

Guess I should stop pretending I'm not around.

[delivery to cris m.]

[Left in the break room at the precinct, a container of chocolate chip cookies. Written on the purple post-it:] We need a proper doughnut shop up in here

[Sent to Deputy Stephanie M.]
[A very harmless Carnival ticket. No note.]

[Meredith J.]

Have time for a reading?

[Public]

I could have sworn I heard Latin chanting at the church, yesterday. That's not typical for a small town, is it?

So. If i wanted to find a cat... Not that you have them, you mostly have dogs right? But if I was looking for one? Like one that could be a pet.

Who: Selina C and Jack P
What: Breakfast
When: Shortly after Thanksgiving
Where: The (bad) diner

The weekend slumped on from the surge of poor decision-making and exploratory surgery on bank-accounts, toward a clear-eyed week. Jack emerged, as did the start of the Christmas season, bleary-eyed and jaw and throat roughened with blond grizzle and aimed steadfast for the diner on the other side of town from the newspaper office lodged over the bookstore. Across town was safer. The food could be relied upon to be pure grease, and the owner wasn't cheerful. Jack regarded most cheer as obnoxious when hungover, and cheer without reason cruel and unusual punishment.

He would, in the eventuality, scrape himself clean of the detritus of a weekend determined to forget the season. Buried in take-out, the TV gone to snow and the better part of a bottle of tequila sunk in vain-glorious effort to wipe out the weekend, he had the best of intentions toward sobering up properly, to write yet another yawningly boring set of articles on bake-sales, church drives and Christmas preparations. It would be dull. It would be destined, as the lovely pair that graced the music shop, served to remind him, as the recipient for bird shit.

This was morbidly depressing, and he trudged into the diner on the less salubrious side of town, better-scrubbed but still bloodshot about the eyes, the faded washed-blue set on a sprawl of newspaper by writers who actually wrote prose that wasn't chewed over until it was about as appetizing as boiled porridge. Distraction in the name of a beautiful woman never went amiss. Jack brightened: particularly when she had fond associations with good alcohol.

"I thought you were a good side of town kind of diner," he commented, over steaming black coffee that smelled strongly of burned beans.

I'm looking for a cat that would make a good pet. You don't have anything at your hospital that needs to be adopted do you?