The Universe's Mixer

It wasn’t just John’s disapproval Sherlock had to contend with. If it had merely been disapproval, Sherlock wouldn’t have sent John out on a lengthy number of complicated errands claiming they were essential to solving the mystery of The City; go to the police department, go to City Hall, check out the hospital and see if he had a job waiting for him.

They were all crap errands, really. Sherlock didn’t yet care about the result. He needed time to go the library again. None of the Aurthur Conan Doyle stories were available but it hadn’t taken him long to stumble over the library’s massive collection of DVDs. While John shied away from the recent BBC miniseries Sherlock went right to it. And paled.

He also collected-- alright, the technical term may have been lifted-- a number of other DVD collections; Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the new series of Doctor Who. He would have taken more but Sherlock hadn’t met many others yet.

So when Sherlock finally returned to the flat he was hunkered down on the arm chair, watching the television with a listless expression. A high school aged Buffy was on the screen talking in her characteristically quippy dialogue to her little friends. Sherlock wanted to claw his eyeballs out with his fingers and pressed the fast forward button on the remote. The stack of DVDs was right next to him. Sherlock was on top. He’d meant to watch his own first but hadn’t brought himself to do so; Sherlock and John’s doppelgangers stared at him from the cover.

Was this the big secret? ( The City watched too much telly? )

Amy had found a quaint little hostel which catered to new arrivals. Until she had income she would have a bed to sleep on, a place to shower, laundry food to eat and employment opportunities shoved down her throat. Specifically kiss-o-gram jobs. How did the City have so many openings for kiss-o-grams? Couldn't they have a nice bicycle messenger position available instead?

Amy wasn't that desperate yet. The food at the hostel was terrible (cheap mac and cheese or ramen) but Amy wasn't desperate enough yet. Instead she decided to hit the street and explore. How could she resist going into a bar named Fangtasia?

After showing the girl at the front door her ID, Amy just barely of age to be in the establishment, looked around with a surprised expression on her face. She felt very inappropriately dressed-- particularly because she wore color. She'd never seen so much black and leather. She smirked despite herself. Vampire themed bar? Really?

"...Vampires aren't real," she said to herself. Walking to the bar she ordered a water. When the bartender gave her a look, Amy was quick to lie: "Designated driver." Despite the fact she'd come in by herself. But Amy was could be clever and at least this way she wouldn't get dirty looks for being broke. She hoped.

It had taken Watson a little while, but he'd finally found an opportunity to get out to the hospital. The trip was part of a day long round of errands and he'd saved it for last - mostly because Jennifer had suggested that there might be some sort of job set up for him, and if that was the case, a quick drop-in might turn into several hours of waiting about. He'd dressed for the occasion, but not dressed-up; he'd worn nicer slacks and a button-up instead of one of his pullovers. His wallet, complete with identification, was tucked into his pocket.

Once he'd reached the place, Watson went in the front doors and found his way to the desk.

"May I help you?" The woman on duty asked.

"Yes, please - I'm Dr. John Watson," John replied. "I'm new? To the City. This might sound a little mad, but it was suggested that I might have a job waiting? I thought it would be worth the time to check."

"Have a seat," the woman said. She was wearing a little plastic nametag that introduced her as 'Janice.' "I'll check with HR to see if any paperwork has come through."

"Right." John took a step backwards. "Thanks."

The indicated seats were arranged in a 'U' shape around a coffee table. They were plastic and wholly uncomfortable, as was the way of a hospital. John chose one and random and leaned forward to grab a magazine.

Fred had been having interesting dreams lately. She couldn't really put her finger on what made them interesting, but she knew when she woke up the next morning they'd been something...different and possibly spectacular. They were certainly disturbing. She was probably just dealing with her recent visit in the loonybin and her apparent recent loss in friends and family. It was just her subconscious' way of dealing with trauma, but she didn't know how well it was working it out if she couldn't remember what the dream was when she woke up. It was a little frustrating.

Fred Burkle wasn't the pushy type. Not often, but she wanted the City to listen. So, as she stepped out of Angel Investigations, locking up behind her, ( she decided to give it a little talking to. )

It was funny how a few little things could change a person's perspective.

When Raven had first come into the City, she'd been sad and lost. Lonely. It had been a natural reaction to the loss of everything she'd known, but time and perspective had done a lot for her. Now she had a job - real responsibility and real trust from an owner who barely knew her. She'd been to a nightclub that welcomed everyone, demon and human alike. While dangerous things still happened, none of them were specifically about her. No one wanted her dead. No one cared what sort of blood was running through her veins.

She felt normal, and she'd discovered that normal? Was kind of amazing. It didn't make up for the lack of her loved ones, but she'd have been lying if she'd said that she missed the constant attacks and manipulations of the darker Powers.

Today, for example. She was having lunch in the park. There was a nice little bench that she'd claimed for herself. Her turkey sandwich was delicious. Somewhere out on the lake, ducks quacked.

No violence. No trouble. Just food and people-watching.

Baba sat in a quiet room, a bowl of water before her. She put her finger in it and started to make slow circles. It was an old trick really, scrying. There was always a chance someone could have wards up, or the City wouldn't allow for such. There was always a chance she could look into something or somewhere and be looked back at. Baba wasn't worried. ( She was waiting for something... )