Joanie Wicker | The Wicked Witch of the West (wickedwicker) wrote in bellumlogs, @ 2010-05-31 20:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | dr. watson, wicked witch |
Who: Micah and Joanie
What: Building a Cell for Trenton
Where: The Catacombs
When: Five minutes after this
Warnings: Swearing, sarcasm, and smartassery.
Joanie pushed away from her computer desk, standing up and all but tripping over herself as she scrambled for the door to her bedroom. For the longest time, she had accused the building of craziness. She blamed the building for the monthly insanity, and for the fact that everybody seemed interested in eating each other. It was the building's fault that people died and global warming happened and Paris Hilton was a celebrity. And though she badmouthed the residents all the time - most of them deserved it - she never thought they were truly crazy outside of the building's influences.
Leave it to Micah to shake things up.
She tied her dark hair up in a ponytail as she crossed her living room. Thankfully, Oliver's generous donation for the full moon had been so generous that there was a great deal of junk left over. She grunted, picking up a bag of used magazines and newspapers and slowly carrying it to the door. With a sigh, she dropped it. She didn't have shoes. Swearing to herself, she slipped on her sneakers and picked up her apartment keys. Okay. She had her keys, her materials, and shoes. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt, so she wasn't naked, and she didn't really need anything else. She was good to go.
The walk down to the catacombs was slow. Joanie peered nervously around the edge of her enormous bag of junk as she walked, hoping she didn't slip and break her neck. Somehow, she made it to the lobby alive. She crossed it quickly, trying to look like this was normal - a giant bag of garbage was just something New Yorkers carried around on a normal basis - as she made her way to the stairs that lead to the basement.
Joanie had never been to the basement before. There was supposed to be a field trip there once before, but it was derailed for reasons never explained to her. She didn't lose sleep over it. After all, the Ghostbusters had essentially fallen apart anyway and only picked up at the last minute, which resulted in her and Luther spending 72 hours without sleep. Leave it to the masses to subject the young and old to the worst treatments. Though she had had some sleep to recover, Joanie was still pretty tired from the whole thing. Those six cells were tough, and would stand up to a ridiculous amount of abuse. It was hard, making that from paper. Oh, and the massive amount of drinking she had done on Friday night didn't help.
She entered the basement, passing by the pool. Eyes wide, she progressed slowly. This was uncharted territory, and as the light grew dimmer and dimmer, she found herself getting more and more nervous. She paused a few steps into the narrow passageway to the catacombs, putting her bag down and pulling out a magazine. Rolling it up, she held it tightly in her palm. "Sakeen," she whispered, feeling the paper shift into the form of a knife. She slipped the knife in the waistband of her jeans, skimming the small of her back. Feeling a bit safer, she picked up the bag of stuff and proceeded.
"Micah?" she called into the growing darkness, feeling a chill run up her spine. "Micah? It's me." She wasn't sure if she wanted to say her name to the ghosts and goblins that were surely hiding there. "Micah?"