Get in the mix

Beretta? Check. Silver bullets? Check. Knife? Check. Flask with holy water? Check and double check. ID…? Sam ran through the mental checklist, making certain each item was physically accounted for and on his person before taking further stock of his surroundings. At first glance, it appeared to be a normal studio apartment, in a normal city, but the longer he was there, the more it felt like something was off--only he couldn‘t quite put his finger on it. All he knew was that it was giving him flashbacks to the time the Trickster had stuck him in an endless loop of Tuesdays.

He'd checked his cupboards--or rather, the cupboards in the apartment he'd woken up in that morning,seemingly at random--hoping for salt.  Rock salt would be ideal, but even table salt would do--and sure enough--he found a canister of the latter above and to the side of the stove, as well as a bag of the former under the sink. Just like the doctor ordered. Only he told himself it was probably left over from winter...or something. He opened the fridge/freezer with the thought that he should find something non-greasy and hopefully non-disgusting--like waffles--to eat, and there was a box of Eggos. He shut the door, his brow furrowed. He opened the refrigerator door again, deliberately thinking about maple syrup. The real stuff, not Mrs. Butterworth's. There it was. Coincidence? He shut the door again. It had to be. It only made sense that someone would have syrup to go with their waffles. Right?

“Come on, Sam,“ he muttered to himself as he stepped outside, “What is wrong with this picture?” Maybe he would find someone on the street who could tell him where the hell he was.

Ianto slowly caressed the Retcon pill he'd always kept in his pocket for emergencies, carefully turning it around and rolling it between his fingertips. It had become more a token of small comfort than the convenient clean-up method it was intended for, and one of the only things he had brought with him from home.

Really, he ought to throw it away by now, and while he strode through one of the grassy areas, he absently wondered if the expiry date still held in a city's atmosphere which, for all he knew, was on the other side of the universe. That particular thought came to a trickling halt when he noticed a certain someone he'd seen around the city several times, and his hand holding the small pill slowed. Occasionally, he'd come close to talking to her, and had concluded that she lived, or at least worked around the same area. It was a logical guess, anyway.

Pacing over with his hands shoved into the confines of his smoothly-pressed pockets, he offered her a small smile. "Hi. Again."

As Gwen set the large bag of groceries she scanned the new hub for signs of Jack and Ianto. "Guess they must be out so now is my chance to take over the kitchen" since they had been taking turns with meals over the last little while. Tonight would be a very Welsh stew since between missing Rhys and her own still wild emotional state it would act as a small dose of solace. As she found needed supplies she for a split second felt like Owen was nearby, teasing her over something or another. While for a moment she felt like she could hear Tosh typing away on her keyboard while catching up on both paperwork and light hearted gossip.

She fought back a fresh round of tears and channeled her private pain into dinner. Beyond those moments she was doing pretty well: from trying to wean herself off her mirgaine meds (still hearing Owen in her head since he had been trying to get her off the meds before he died) to fitting in among the local police. But her guard was down now: if there was anyone she could really trust Jack and Ianto (along with Rhys) were at the top of the list. As she started a fresh pot of coffee she could hear someone at the doorway of the fake employee kitchen that acted as hub entryway.

Elle was mad, more than that, she was downright pissed off. The City had decided to have a Queen and it totally wasn't her! That made no sense. If anyone should have been Queen it should have been her! She had all the right qualifications. She was good with people. She was powerful. She could get people to listen and win a war.

And she was good with money and... A lot of things like that, things Queens should be good at.

This Harley girl. Well if the city didn't appreciate Elle, then she'd forget about the City.

She started small. She blew up a few wires which caused some power outages. Then she welded a whole bunch of doors shut and locked the owners and customers of some stores, bars, and apartments inside.

Now she was in the park staring at the pond. Staring at the ducks IN the pond. A little shock to send them flying away forever? Or to kill some poor defenseless duck?

Her father would not be pleased, but if it was something the city loved.. Then why not? Who would really stop her?

Zoe thought that the Captain and Wash were gone, for good. And Kaylee hadn't any idea what to do about that. This city saw fit to bring people back from the dead, only to take them away? To give her a captain to report to and then send him packing too? It. Was. Not. Shiny. Kaylee was not okay with it. She was going to finish fixing Serenity and she was going to find Mal and Wash.

The only problem was, once she got a hum, and the wires right. She realized the outside of her favorite ship was in dire need of some repairs if it ever hoped to get off the ground. So Kaylee in her cover-alls and a her welding mask set off to fix the nose, and eventually work her way across the whole of the ship. Only it was hard to keep herself rigged to stay up there, weld and hold the sheet metal in place.

This wasn't shiny. This wouldn't do.

She wanted Mal, and Jayne, and Book, and Simon, and Wash, and River, and Inara. She wanted everything to be normal. She wanted her Simon back because then at least he'd hold the metal in place or keep her straight on the rigging so she didn't fall to her death. Or if she fell he'd fix her gorram arm.

Wasn't shiny at all.

The curses that left the mechanics mouth were all muffled and in another language to the natives of the City, but she still cursed and kicked at a loose panel while hanging from the nose of Serenity by one rope.

Not. Shiny.

Cameron was really sick of looking up infectious diseases. She was sick of studying when she should have been working under House. The problem was that the City did not have House, but instead supplied her with a Cannibal by the name of Hannibal, who was completely fictional and terrifying. At least there was Wilson, but Wilson could not fill in the blank that House left.

He was good at something and that was dealing with people who had Cancer. He could not be House.

After giving up studying Cameron found herself back down in the clinic and dealing with patients of all shapes and sizes. But none were that challenging. Drug users that wanted their fix - Out! Kids with the flu, as always, getting shots. Adults with the sniffles convinced they had some kind of rare disease and not the common cold.

Cameron wanted a challenge. Either that or she needed to get out more and stop working here so much. But the Hospital was at home as anything else in this city.

She missed House. She needed House. She was going to go insane.

There was one thing about this City that Elizabeth didn't understand. Instead of Gold, they used paper. It seemed like an odd trade off. She liked the feel of gold in her hand. The height of it, the look of it. Sure, back in England they had writs of credit sometimes, but it was for gold. She enjoyed gold.

She missed gold.

So when she sat down at the counter of the bar she'd wandered into, as she was still on a rum kick, she demanded the city give her gold.

So the bartender laid a shot infront of her that was not rum. It was something that had gold flecks in it. It wasn't the same.

"All I want is one gold coin. Just to hold. Just to look at. Please." She begged no one. Took the shot up and gulped it down in a second flat. It wasn't rum, but it'd do.

She needed to get her hands on some gold. Maybe she really was a Pirate.

It felt like forever since she'd been out and about. Actually, she wondered where she had gotten off to and suspected that on some level she'd not gone anywhere at all, or maybe she'd gone back home. It didn't matter, whatever had happened, she'd been gone in some fashion. She was back now and feeling slightly detached from reality, which was a very odd thought in the City.

Winifred "Fred" Burkle was on a mission. It was probably a very stupid mission, but it was a mission all the same. She was on a mission to see if she was the only one to have gone away. Or more to have faded for a little into whatever clone/drone life was the City. She was rather certain that was what had happened to her. Yes. So, what was this particular mission? Or this phase of it? Heading out to the strangest part of the City to see if it was still there.

She made her way, meandering through the changing streets and looking for that dangerous place, the place of no color, of all grays. The place where he lived. The Bates Motel. Of course, it was possible she'd run into people along the way or someone living there. She hoped on some level that she'd see Wesley or maybe Sam or even Dean, but her objective was to see if Norman was still around, if the odd place that was just outside the City proper was still there.

She was going where the streets had no name, and the rainbow just didn't go. She probably should have brought waffles as a "Please, don't kill me" offering.

HARLEY WAS QUEEN????

Jack stared at the television screen in disbelief. And anger. Lots of anger. He had spent years here doing his best to dismantle this city's structure and place himself into some kind of power. He'd been doing pretty well, too, hadn't he? They'd stopped trying to come after him, he was the proud owner and operator of Arkham. He had money. Goons and henchmen. He had fear of him flowing through the city's populace.

Harley shows up and mere months later somebody gives her a castle and makes her QUEEN?

That was highly unfair.
Uncalled for.
Unlikely.
Unhappy.

Clearly she had forgotten her place in the hierarchy of things. Clearly she needed to be taken down a couple of pegs. Queen. First he would find a way to make himself king. Then, with all that power, maybe he'd cut off her head. Like King Henry. Or maybe he'd just lock her up in a tower. Or maybe he'd just beat her into submission like he usually did. Queen.

Queen!

There was no excuse for this at all. None. He was the most criminal of the criminal element. He was the scariest of scary. He was the most mischievous of the mischievous. The cream of the crop, the cat's meow.

He was The Joker.

Ratso didn't open his eyes until the bus came to a stop. He felt like shit. Felt like shit and smelled like piss. But that was mostly because he'd made an unscheduled rest stop about three hours ago before he hit the Florida state line. Joe had been a pal, a real pal, and gotten him a change of clothes so he wouldn't look like the homeless cripple that just pissed all over his bus seat. Even though that was the goddamn truth. The bus stopped with a lurching motion that jerked Ratso out of his sleep. Boy, what a sleep. A deep sleep if ever there was one. He was sleeping so hard he thought he might have been fuckin' dead. But he wasn't dead. He wasn't dead and he didn't feel as bad as he had back at the "rest stop." He still felt like shit, like his bowels might erupt at any minute, like his teeth might fall out, like his brains might start leaking through his eyeballs -- but he thought he might be able to walk. Fuck yeah, he might be able to walk!

He made a snorting snicker which was immediately followed by a violent hacking cough.

"Ha, ha! Hey, Joe! We in Florida now, Joe? Musta fuckin' missed. Musta. Slept like I was fuckin' dead, Joe. Betcha thought I was dead, huh? Ain't that right, Joe? ... Joe?"

Ratso glanced beside him at the empty seat.

"Hey, where'd ya go, Joe?"
( It was then that he realized the entire bus was empty. )

The yellowish envelope on his desk had his name on it. His proper name.

Indy poked it. It crunched. He looked at it, carefully, trying to see if he recognized the writing, but he didn't.

DR. HENRY JONES JR.
C/O CITY COLLEGE
DEPT. OF ARCHAEOLOGY & HISTORY
1195 EDISON ST. STE. 45
THE CITY
THE WORLD
THE UNIVERSE

"Andrea?"

The secretary didn't answer. Indy sat down at the desk and removed his glasses, ripping the envelope apart. Ah... the crunching had been caused by some plastic coating on the inside. It looked like bubbles. Full of air. He poked one. It burst with a loud pop. Indy heard a chuckle.

And as he turned toward the sound, he removed his father's diary from the envelope and cursed under his breath, quite quietly.

The cottage where she lived had taken to dressing her - whether or not Beauty agreed with the cottage's idea of fashion. This morning, she'd had a good long row with the invisible force over its latest decision on what she was to wear. The dress it left on the foot of her bed had been entirely too clingy, entirely too daring, entirely too thin, entirely too inappropriate for... for anything, and above all, entirely too pink for Beauty's tastes.

There was little choice in the matter. In the end, after her quiet denials, her pleading requests, her firm insistence, and finally an all-out physical battle to stay out of the dress, Beauty found herself, disheveled, panting, and exhausted, sprawled on the floor of her cottage. ( And most decidedly IN the dress. )

Her afternoon at the museum with Jeannie left Betty feeling a little out of place. Something was definitely not right about all those post-its she had received and since Jeannie hadn't died that afternoon, or anytime thereafter since there were no news reports, Betty was discounting the rest of them as some sort of prank. Some sick, twisted prank.

Which meant that she was left with nothing to do. A state of being that sat quite well with the Reaper. No reaping meant there was time for shopping and maybe even looking for a new apartment. Her current one wasn't appealing to her any longer. Betty wanted something newer, something chic, something upper scale.

She didn't do with squatting in substandard residences. Didn't suit.

Walking along the sidewalk with a bag in hand of her finds for the day, she smiled and enjoyed both the weather and the break from work. It wasn't like she was getting paid to reap souls or anything. No, shopping was a far better way to spend the time.

Elizabeth was beginning to believe she actually was becoming more like Jack as the days went on. It wasn't the swagger or really the crazed actions. It was the rum. The rum that never seemed to be enough or was always there for her. She was a beautiful intelligent woman and yet rum seemed to be the only thing that stuck around these days. Not that she'd gone out of her way to make lasting friends. Not when her mind had been on William and on the fight that was probably already over. Beckett would be dead, or alive and she'd still be stuck here.

Without William because she hadn't seen him. Without James who was dead. And without Jack since he was either very busy or they just never seemed to cross the same paths. That was for the better. She was getting caught up in him for awhile there and she had to take the time to stop and forgive William before any of this made sense.

William had gone against all of them, against her, but he'd done it because.. because Jack always did it? Or because he hated Jack? Or because he expected Jack to make it out of the bind with no trouble?

She couldn't ask him. She wanted to ask him. She kept asking the City for him and yet, no matter how sweetly she worded it or how many curse words she invented, the City didn't want to give William over.

Or James.

But it did bring her moe rum.

Laying there on the deck of the Pearl with the sun shining down on her was comfortable Her hat half over her face. An old looking bottle of rum in one hand.

It alwas did give her rum. Maybe one day it'd see fit to give her something else she wanted.

Harley draped herself over the throne casually. As though it was every day she sat on an actual throne. In a throne room. ( In her very own castle! )

The castle was massive. Expansive. Inside it was filled with finery specifically made for it's new resident and owner. The closets were stuffed full of elegant clothing. And if it wasn't all what the occupant wanted, it would all change with a mere thought.

It sprouted up in the middle of the park. With earth rumbling, car-alarm-activating shakes and quakes. The trees moved out of it's way, some of them ending up almost sideways, but still rooted firmly to the ground.

Televisions all over the City clicked on (or changed channels) to announce the new ruler. Banners fell fluttering open over buildings showing the face and name of their new sovereign.

Every law that would be put into effect, every want that could possibly be wanted, every part of The City was willing to bend to the new leader.

At least for a little while.

Harley had been happily strolling down the street, window shopping… okay, casing a few places for later. Because really, why buy when you could steal? And there was a hot little number she wanted to pick up to model for her Puddin’ later. Red, short, flirty. Just like her.

So there she’d been, strolling along, minding her own business when it hit her. ( BAM! )

Jeannie stood outside of the cabin that she was now calling home, a place she shared with her new master. She paced around the outside of the building several times, quietly muttering to herself as she tried to find the perfect spot for what she wanted to do. Finally, she chose the south side as there was a good deal more room there.

Standing with her feet planted, the djinn crossed her arms at chest height, one over the other. Then, concentrating and taking careful aim, she simultaneously blinked and nodded, her pony tail swinging forward to brush her cheek. Moments later, she was clapping her hands in delight at the results as she looked at the brand new stable. It may not match the cabin, or look much like a modern stable… in fact, it looked a great deal like those found in ancient Bagdad. It was exactly what Jeannie had intended to create.

( Now for the horse. )

Shepherd Book was, by nature, a doer. Oh, he liked a find conversation, no doubt. A good discussion of philosophies and thought was always a fun exercise in stretching his mind, and that was something he felt folks should always strive for. Balance between keeping the mind sharp and the body toned, that was important. After all, it was written that the body was a temple. But when it came down to it, he wasn’t one for sitting still.

There was a goodly amount of traffic in his church, the church he inherited when he arrived in this place, and that was all well and good. But he still had a fair amount of time on his hands. Time that could be spent doing more than just keeping the grounds and the buildings clean and tended. He’d been thinking on it some, and while cleaning the parsonage, he came to the conclusion that the house was really too big for just one person.

( He should share it. )

Liz was bored. Not a lot had been going on with The Ghostbusters, and although Liz appreciated having the job, she wished there was more excitement.

She lit a cigarette as she stepped down the apartment stairs to head to work. She liked smoking while she walked, but to be perfectly honest, she liked to smoke while she did almost everything.

One thing that she had noticed was that her powers seemed to be more under control here in The City. Nothing seemed to make the fire want to burn, not unless she told her powers that it was time. She liked that. She felt like she had more freedom when her powers were under control.

She strolled down the street, not paying any attention to where she was going.