The Universe's Mixer

Jeannie paused on the street, holding the door open for a darling elderly couple that was leaving the diner. They were holding hands, smiling at each other, and the djinn did not wish for them to stop doing so just for something as silly as opening a door. She was, in fact, in a very light frame of mind due to the holiday.

More than one person that day had made the assumption that because she favored pink and red in her wardrobe, that she was enthusiastic about Valentine’s Day. That was not why she wore the colors, but she did very much like to see people being kind and helpful to one another. It was a little bittersweet, as Christmas was. Why could mortals not do that all the time, rather than just once in a while? She understood why they could not continually give extravagant gifts, but the little considerations could and should happen all the time.

( She was also very in favor of being given chocolate on a regular basis. )

The dead girl was in the alley, behind a corner store that sold dry goods. The cold and the melted slush on the pavement made her smell like refrigerated flesh dipped in imitation jasmine, a bizarre meat-chemical smell. The corduroy of her jacket was musty and sour, the fabric was worn at the elbows and loose on the collar. Runaway. Probably not more than eighteen, if that. Little thin, but healthy. Logan rolled her over and her head lolled on her shoulders. Rigor hadn't set in yet. The marks on her neck were black with old blood. Her eyes were blue, dimmed, empty blue. She looked afraid. Poor thing.

Logan sniffed, then sniffed again. What the hell was that? Smelled like... smelled like dust. No. Like flesh so old it was dust. What the hell smelled like old flesh gone to dust?

Leaving the girl (he had nowhere to take her, and there was nothing that could hurt her now), Logan hunched down in his jacket and followed the scent. The cold made the metal on his bones ache, but in the kind of way that reminded him it was there, reminded him how many times it had kept him alive. The bar, in contrast with the windswept street, was filled with strong earthen smells warmed by sour body heat and fermented hops. That old dust smell snaked through the spilled beer, wood polish and body odor. Logan huffed the scents out of his nose and shoved through the crowd, looking for a killer.

Two minutes later, the first man crashed through the window, and the roar of the brawl was interrupted by the tinkling bursts of shattering glass as he hit the ground and rolled into the street.

Ted was not happy about this at all. Not happy one bit. He was in a morgue. The door to the morgue was locked. All the rest of the power in the place had gone off, the morgue staying connected only because it was on it's own power grid. Probably because of the bodies, Ted thought. You had to make sure those bodies stayed cold, or things could go wrong. Evidence lost. Not to mention the smell.

He'd come in here to try to find a working phone. The door had closed and locked itself behind him. He assumed it was some kind of safety measure. Ted didn't know enough about morgues to say for sure, though.

He looked around the room and sighed.

This was probably better than being outside. Charlie would be trying to find a good thing about this, so Ted was going to try too. He'd try really hard. He didn't think that it was really going to work. But he was going to try.

"So." He said, leaning against one of the cold counters.

Logan wasn't the type of guy that needed fancy digs. A lot of the time he didn't need a roof at all, but this City was pouring snow like it was going out of style, so he buttoned up his jacket and went looking for a place that would give him the least amount of trouble. Sometimes he was lucky and found a bar, but this time not so much. The homeless shelter housed all sorts, and the varied scents that hit him along with the heat of the shelter took a bit of adjusting.

Eventually he picked out the scent of a thin soup (beef stock, carrots, barley) but looking around at the crowd, he figured the rest of 'em needed it more than him. He chose a bench in a corner and settled back with his thick hairy arms heavy over his chest. Just have to wait out the night here, then head out again.

Xanadu had come to the shop early only to discover at some point in time, the door had been busted open. A quick check of the inventory and nothing appeared to be missing, though quite a bit of it had been moved around. Cleaning up the inside of the shop had been easy enough. The door, however? She had difficulty determining the full extend of the damage and how badly the paint had chipped on the molding. One call to a lock smith later and Xanadu decided to keep the door propped open until it could be repaired. She debated on calling The City PD to file a report. While seeing a certain detective again would have been nice, the seer decided to look into the matter in her own way.

Until then? Xanadu sat behind the register and worked on crafting a set of ruins. She took special care in carving each piece evenly, but occasionally pricked her fingers with the blade in her hands. On purpose or accident, she didn't appear bothered by it and continued working regardless.

In the aftermath of the Undead Plague, Xanadu no longer wore the extravagant silks or intricate hair ornaments in theme with the rest of the shop. She wore plain sunglasses to cover her eyes, stuck to jeans, an oversized sweatshirt with the neck cut out so her shoulder peeked from the opening and a pair of smart looking athletic shoes so she would be ready to run in case of the next disaster. Coupled with her apparent youth Xanadu hardly resembled the store's image or the name on her own business card.

Scavenger Hunt. Pair off. Each pair has to find:
- The tooth of a four fingered homeless man
- A unicorn's eyelash
- Blowfish venom
- A pocket watch
- Mittens