July 29th, 2015 12:44 am YOUR NAME'S NOT DOWN, YOU'RE NOT COMING IN. [ ] majorursa You could always trust a bear to resort to brute force when things got rough. As a general rule they weren’t afraid to put all that power they possessed to good use and if they were provoked then no opponent was more formidable. There was a very good reason the Faulkner brothers had been hired to work at Bastet, after all, and Wilhelm was under no illusions as to that fact, he was as far from arrogant as a creature could be. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be riled, of course, underneath all that outward steadiness and composure he was truly a force to be reckoned with, he had come dangerously close to killing people before when such extreme action hadn’t been necessary, on at least one occasion he and his brother had had to pack their bags and leave a location in a hurry in order to evade the repercussions of such forceful actions. It was very simple, really. No one laid a hand on his brother or put him at risk in any way. Everyone thought, ignorantly, it was just the females you had to be wary of when there were young involved. Those people had never met the Faulkners, never tested that brotherly bond or the lengths Wilhelm would go to for his younger sibling. Tonight, though, there had been no risk to his brother, Tomas was across the club doing his own thing behind the bar when the scrap broke out and Wilhelm was obligated to step in and break it up. There was not a single thought spared as to what kinds of shifter they were or if in fact they were shifters at all before Wilhelm came between them with a well placed shove to both chests. With the amount of power he possessed they couldn’t stop themselves from stumbling back but the one on his left had thought to surge forward again. Wilhelm had blocked them bodily, he wasn’t the tallest individual but he had a lot of muscle mass, he was a lot broader than the average male and he put that size to good use in order to overpower the troublesome party and guide them towards the nearest exit. That just so happened to be a side door, it opened up to an alley running the length of the club’s side and Wilhelm was just as indifferently efficient and straightforward at shoving the individual through and all the way out as he had been in breaking up the clash in the first place. The doorway was blocked by his broad frame and he levelled a state on the expelled party. “Go home,” he told them. “Or go somewhere else.” Another pause. “I don’t care which.” Wilhelm didn’t mince or waste words. To him the matter really was as simple as that. [ OPEN ] READ→1 TALK MEMORIES EDIT

July 29th, 2015 12:14 am PAYING MY DEBTS TO SOCIETY, SO NO MORE OWING. [ ] bladed While the fire had been raging Rafe had taken it upon himself to watch much of the blaze from a distance, worrying quietly as was his way about the various animals that might be caught in the path of all that destruction. It was natural for a fire such as that one to burn so brilliantly and brutally, Rafe understood that much of course, but that hadn’t stopped him from worrying. Both Forester twins had been raised to respect life as most humans could not -- or chose not to, at the very least -- and though both he and Gabriel hunted their own food regularly there was no wanton waste or needless cruelty. The shots they placed were always well placed, meant to inflict the minimum amount of pain and suffering to the animal in question, and after they had stripped the meat from the carcass they took anything else they could find a use for even if most people would not understand. If there was nothing else to salvage from the body of an animal Rafe always left it where other wildlife could find it, there were any number of smaller predators who could pick from the carcass what he and his brother could not and it gave the death meaning and purpose. When the fires had gone out, finally extinguished, all the fuel and ferocity expended at last, Rafe had returned to his and Gabriel’s little refuge in the park they had taken to calling home. They had been careful about it, any changes they had made were ones that most would overlook and they kept out of sight as much as possible. There wasn’t a great deal of space but they didn’t need much, they hadn’t had a lot to bring with them. Their bows were stashed in a hole in the trunk of a tree along with the arrows and their quivers and in the days following the end of the blaze Rafe took to removing his rage weapon and its ammunition from its hiding place and heading out to practise. There was a reason he could make those kill shots so accurately, after all, Gabriel too, and it never hurt to get in more practise. His target was a crude one carved out on an old cut-off trunk that must have been hacked down -- and poorly at that, it was crooked and hastily done -- years ago, the knife at his belt taken from its sheath so he could use the tip to mark out a rough circle with other smaller ones within. A little basic, certainly, but it would serve its purpose well enough. Rafe had never needed anything beyond the basics anyway. With that done he attached his quiver to his belt, leaving the arrows to hang down his leg, the bow balanced easily and comfortably in his hands. Out here on the edges of town, well beyond the houses and the parks and the schools and other normal places where this sort of thing was not expected he shouldn’t attract any unwelcome attention. That didn’t mean he was going to let his guard down. If anything with the weapon in his hands he was more alert than at any other point, he was armed and capable and should anyone take it upon themselves to creep up on him they might just regret it. [ OPEN ] READ→2 TALK MEMORIES EDIT

July 27th, 2015 10:31 pm DOORS SLAM, LIGHTS BLACK, YOU'RE GONE, COME BACK. [ ] utulo It felt like a lifetime ago now, so distant that it was almost like it had happened to someone else but at the same time it was still so raw, so sharp and so painful in his memory, so viciously relentless in his dreams, that there was no mistaking that it had happened not to some stranger half a world away but to him. Sam too. There was no forgetting what had happened, all that had come to pass, each step leading to the next on a terrible path that had brought him here. What the next step was Noah couldn’t even begin to guess, didn’t dare to imagine either because as soon as he started to believe something good could happen it all turned on its head, snapped back at him with shredding teeth and ripping claws. Noah didn’t dare to hope anymore, couldn’t bring himself to cross his fingers and believe the best would come to pass. Too many terrible things had happened not only to him and his sister but to Raleigh too, the sweet and sincere redhead who would never hurt a fly, the same girl who had looked after him now more times than he could count. More than she should have. What had he done to deserve her kindness? What good deeds had he carried out to warrant such generosity of spirit and self from someone who had so little to give, someone who had lost so much herself? Even before they had met and his own losses had begun Raleigh had been torn away from everything she had ever known, all her hopes and dreams dashed and left shattered on the ground at her feet, abandoned and left behind never to be reclaimed. In her own way she too had lost her family, they had no idea where she was or even that she was alive, for all they knew she was dead and gone forever and they would never see her again. That was how it had to be too, wasn’t it? Their lives as they had known them were over and there was no going back, no undoing what had been done. Justin had taken everything from them and given them nothing to live on, nothing to look forward to. They could live for centuries now with nothing to live for and Noah could think of very little crueller than that. The window to the room he and Raleigh shared -- they had been given one each, separate spaces, but they had been occupying the same space from day one, from the very first moment they’d set foot through the door of the Alvarsson household and neither one of them showed any sign of changing their minds on that front -- was open and the ledge was large enough that Noah could perch himself upon it comfortable, his back to the room itself as he looked out at the town. San Luis Obispo had been his home from the moment he had been born but it no longer felt like the same place in which he had grown up, the streets he could see from his perch looked alien and unfamiliar, so much darker and more dangerous now that he knew what was out there. Werewolves, vampires, shifters, hunters, slayers. It was almost too much to take in. If he had known about it all before he could have done something. Noah told himself that often, it was a fact he was certain of, not even Raleigh with all her sweet sympathy and reassurances could convince him otherwise and he knew that she would try. Should he ever speak that certainty aloud she would do everything in her power to shoot it down, remind him of what she had told him time and time again, that it was not his fault, that there was nothing he could have done. Noah couldn’t believe that. Raleigh meant well, she only had his best interests at heart, but there was no part of him that could believe he’d been powerless to save his mother. His mother. The woman who had given him life and every opportunity her limited income allowed, the one person who had always been there for him when he had needed her. No one deserved what had happened to her but Noah could think of no one who deserved it less. Powerlessness didn’t factor into it, he hadn’t been helpless or defenceless, he’d had weapons given to him by the one person he’d needed to defend his family from in the first place and what had he done with them? Nothing. Noah should have fought, he should have attacked when Justin’s guard was dropped and torn the son of a bitch’s throat out with his bare hands. There was no way for Noah to forgive himself for that failure, for that fatal inaction. He wouldn’t even try. He didn’t deserve forgiveness. [ NARRATIVE; CLOSED ] READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

July 27th, 2015 2:51 am THERE'S TWO OF US, BRISTLING WITH DESIRE. [ ] stripesearned WHO: Elena North & Zachary Laurent. WHERE/WHEN: Bastet. Tonight. WHAT: Two big cats being big cats together basically. ( There was no harm in flirting with him, seeing where it went, enjoying the back and forth. Though she could be hard and cold, sour and sharp with people and though she mostly kept to herself she was still a cat, she was a physical being, one that enjoyed contact and interaction. Elena was not a robot. ) READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

July 26th, 2015 2:54 pm Log: Kir and Ian [ ] kirabo WHO: Kir Marais & Ian Clancy. WHERE/WHEN: Friday, at a bar downtown. WHAT: Exactly what you’re expecting. Unless you’re expecting a fight, in which case not so much. Or sound decision-making? There’s not a whole lot of that either. ((lmao after putting up a placeholder and everything I posted it in the wrong comm, whoops)) ( If he’d had allies left who’d have done something with information about a shifter like Kir without putting a bullet in his chest once they found out how he’d known, maybe he’d have felt a little differently. As it was, fuck it. ) READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

July 8th, 2015 11:03 pm TELL ME WHY THE MEN IN CLOAKS ALWAYS HAVE TO BRING ME DOWN. [ ] scriniary It was not unusual for the light on his desk to be on late in the evening. One of the perks of being the senior curator was that he had a set of keys and could come and go as he pleased, they could hold meetings in the evenings, carry out research in a secure environment. It was a useful position to hold with such a large faction of slayers and watchers in one place. It was also a useful place for the Council to reach him. If he wasn't at the house they used as a base of operations he was in his office at the museum. That was where he was when they called him on this occasion. "Gideon." A dry English voice, one that he knew well. "Burning the midnight oil?" "You know me, Quentin." "We need to talk about Narses." Gideon leaned back in his office chair. "Yes, I would say we do." There was a long silence. A heavy one, then: "We have an agreement with the Elders. One hundred and twenty years ago the Council met with them and we agreed to keep slayers out of their home cities and stop them from engaging the Elders and their inner circle on a permanent basis. We did this to preserve the slayer line, they agreed not to eliminate the slayers." It was safe to say that Quentin Royce-Jones had Gideon's attention now; leant forwards in his seat, the leather and wood squeaking around his shifting weight. "And why would they agree to something like that?" "Don't take that tone with me, Gideon. I wasn't there, this wasn't my doing. But it's what we have to deal with now and you have to see the logic in the decision. At the time this pact was made the Council had enough genealogy on the line to know that the Elders could exterminate the slayers if they wanted to. Records are less detailed than we would like but it's noted that the Elders were frightened of something otherwise they would never have agreed to any of this." Gideon pushed his glasses off the bridge of his nose with his free hand, fingers pinching the bridge and pressing into his eye sockets as if he could keep the headache he could feel forming at bay through sheer physical pressure. "Narses was kindly reminding us of the fact." "Your slayers killed one of his progeny. I'd say he was rather annoyed, yes." "They're your slayers too. They did their job." "Yes. Well. Your job is to keep them in line, keep things under control. We can't renege on this deal, Gideon. There's too much at stake here. We'll talk again soon." That was the end of the call. Gideon sat at his desk holding the dead receiver in his hand, thinking. It would take a while to decide what to do with such a vastly complicated lot of information. It would cause upset in the ranks, that was certain. There would be slayers and watchers alike in this city who would be up in arms over it and perhaps rightly so, perhaps they should be angry about it, about being deceived but which of them had not been at some point? They lived in a world of deception and darkness and to assume that clarity could be brought to such a business was naive. Still, these were people that he cared about in his own way, though it was hard for him to show it, impossible really. Gideon was hardly in charge of them but he did perceive himself to be responsible for what befell them; he had the most experience, the most years on the job, the most slayer skeletons in his closet, haunting him in his dark and quiet moments. This information was a bomb and he did not intend to detonate it lightly lest the fall out add to those ghosts. [ NARRATIVE ] READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

July 17th, 2015 1:46 am set this place on fire, watch the flames rise higher. [ ] abovenature A little before lunch on Thursday it started without much in the way of warning, just a spark and a coil of smoke and then the flames started to spread. The wildlife sensed it before it got to them, they spooked and fled before the blaze could catch them in their dens and nests and the clearings where they grazed. The trees went up like kindling, as dry as the underbrush was there was nothing stopping the flames from sweeping in all directions, claiming everything in its path. The forest fire was merciless and unrelenting and it grew to such a fierce and daunting size so quickly that the emergency services couldn’t hope to stop it from spreading beyond the trees. For days they would fight the flames to no avail, it would rage on for an entire week before it was finally extinguished, reaching as far as Highway 41 before it finally burned itself out. San Luis Obispo seemed determined to attack itself, tearing itself apart, and there were only a few people in town who might suspect it was more than the summer heat that had started and fuelled the flames. Earthquakes, tornadoes, now a forest fire. The Hellmouth was unhappy, deeply so, and clearly it wasn’t done yet. [ PLOT NARRATIVE; CLOSED ] [ please note that the fire does not reach the town itself! ] READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

July 9th, 2015 12:26 am FIRE MEET GASOLINE. [ ] regalstripes WHO: Elena North & Zachary Laurent. WHERE/WHEN: Friday 3rd July, somewhere in the business district. WHAT: Two tiger shifters meet when they're both on the job! There's a bit of bristly territoriality but not much. ( Zach stopped listening when the scent reached him, caught on the breeze and whipped in his direction by a sudden change in the air and his shoulders squared, his spine ramrod straight as he turned his head, every sense on high alert. Tiger. So distinct and so powerful. Unmistakable. ) READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

July 8th, 2015 11:30 pm i'm gonna fight 'em off, a seven nation army couldn't hold me back. [ ] bloodsheds It wasn’t uncommon for him to head out with Ana at his side nowadays but there were times when he couldn’t help but go out alone, he had been a solo hunter for so long that it just didn’t feel right to always have company. That was nothing against Ana, of course, she would point out the pragmatism of two of them patrolling the same route and being able to watch one another’s backs in the process and it was hard to argue with that kind of logic but Thaddeus knew he wasn’t easy to live with, he was short-tempered and irritable, he was tense and frustrated so much of the time that that had to be difficult, even for someone with the kind of seemingly infinite and endless patience possessed by the woman he had come to share so much of himself with. Hunting alone got him out of the apartment, gave her some space, it was his strange way of giving her a break when she would probably tell him she had no need of one. There was another benefit to going it alone, of course, and that was the violence of it. When he was with Ana there was aggression and intensity, those things were unavoidable, but when it was just him and a vampire and no one looking on with any thoughts or opinions about his behaviour he could just unleash. Thaddeus could let it all loose, hold he could take it all out on whatever monster he’d set his sights on and not have to feel sorry for it later on. Not the killing, there was no regret or shame or remorse there, there never would be, but there were times when he didn’t go straight for said kill. Times when he did more damage than he needed to, caused more pain than was really necessary. There were times when Thaddeus was cruel and ruthless and as twisted and unhealthy as that probably was it helped him. ( That was what he told himself, anyway. ) [ RENÉ ] READ→8 TALK MEMORIES EDIT

July 7th, 2015 8:42 pm [ ] livetoslay Birthday’s weren’t really Graham’s area of expertise. She’d never really had that many great ones of her own and she could think of few things more torturous than planning them for someone else. It was so rare that she found herself in a position to be celebrating with someone who considered the same things she did “fun”. Other teenagers would have rather spent the night out dancing, possibly drinking, and generally raising hell when and where they could. Graham loved finding trouble as much as the next person, but her version usually involved weapons and a fight for her life. At least, where some of the other Slayers were concerned, she was in good company. While she knew that Ford could do without the trouble and the whole risk of death thing, her Watcher’s interests were not so peculiar to her that she couldn’t figure out something to do for his birthday that he would enjoy. Or at least she hoped he would. That was another part of the planning that Graham despised. There was so much risk in arranging things, working hard and putting your feelings on the line. It may not have been such a big deal to others, but Ford was her family and if she flubbed up on his birthday, she knew, deep down, that she wouldn’t handle it well. It had taken her several hours this morning to come up with an abomination of cake, and several more to clean up the war zone that had erupted in the kitchen. She’d gotten brave and headstrong -- traits that weren’t exclusive to the field, apparently -- and tried for something a bit more extravagant than the regular box brand of cake. Eggs, flour, sugar, butter: who knew that many components went into making something that should have been simple. She certainly didn’t. But when all was said and done, she decided that the end result was too hilarious not to share. Taking the icing she had bought, she piped giant misshapen stars and flowers along the edges before scrawling out ‘Happy B-day Ford’ in letters that were barely legible. At least this wasn’t the only thing she was planning on giving him today. With a smile on her face that was more amused than it was proud, Graham went out in search for her Watcher. Finding him, she made sure she was in his line of sight before waggling the pathetic, blackened cake at him. “Now, tell me this isn’t the most amazing thing you’ve ever seen in your life.” [FORD] READ→1 TALK MEMORIES EDIT

July 8th, 2015 12:29 am GOT A GUN FOR A MOUTH AND A BULLET WITH YOUR NAME ON IT. [ ] flashbangs It was a regular shift at the bar. Boring, even. Lucky did what she had been doing for months; she pulled drinks, took tips and traded barbs if she had to. Drunks weren’t that hard to handle, you just had to know what kind you was dealing with. Some of them got touchy feely, some of them got mad, some just cried a lot and she had dealt with most types over the course of her bar life. This was not the first one she had tended after all so she saw the signs of a fight in the first stages of a disagreement at the other end of the bar, it was just that she couldn't actually get to it in time to do or say anything that might diffuse it. Anyways sometimes a fight was gonna break out between people no matter what anyone said or did. Seemed like this was gonna be one of those times. Lucky hadn’t seen how the altercation had really started but she scooted around the bar quickly, shoving the glasses she had been carrying onto the surface as she went, forgotten. “Hey,” she called, “hey, c’mon, cut it out fellas.” [ WARREN ] READ→1 TALK MEMORIES EDIT

July 7th, 2015 11:59 pm i’m a goner, somebody catch my breath. [ ] volpes WHO: Alex Martel & Regan Katz. WHERE/WHEN: Regan’s house after this. Backdated to May! WHAT: Regan patches Alex up after their close call and things get a little bit intense. And then there's wine because they've earned it. ( It was stupid, so idiotic to get closer when there was such force within her telling her she should pull back and away, but she was contrary and she was a thrill seeker, a stubborn mule and she wanted to apply the pressure, she wanted to know, down below everything that was frightened and worried and broken, that she could still feel something. ) READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

July 4th, 2015 12:38 am [ ] jackalheart Padraig & Raksha // At and art gallery with a lost child ( But it's too late, I'm no longer full...Just uncomfortable ) READ→3 TALK MEMORIES EDIT

June 30th, 2015 11:56 pm I'm the rush of a bleeding heart, I'm the bruise of a rough start [ ] mercenary_cat Who: Raksha and Ris When: Around sunset, June 30 What: Taking a walk, random meetings?? Where: Down the street from Seacliff cause hey, ocean and boredom Less than two days from the full moon, the familiar edge whispered through his veins. Old enough to keep that iron self control, but so much less desire to. The salt soaked breeze rolling in from the not too distant ocean soothed it and sparked more all at the same time. Water scent always pleased the tiger instincts and the brine taste just slightly reminded him of blood. The sound of the Seacliff bar drifted towards him, though he'd paused a good ways down from it. Some moons he wanted the fire of interaction, the predator within feeling playful enough to tease and perhaps bite a little. Others, solitude drew him, the excitement of the party scene only a reminder that he was on the outside. Too much in too many ways and in the end, no one stayed. The damage done to his apartment was repaired but any set of four walls only felt like a cage even when they weren't. He'd been out to the strip of land he'd claimed as territory earlier in the day, satisfied that none had attempted to trepass. Boredom and the ongoing tickle of adrenaline had driven him to wander SLO since, with no particular destination in mind. Golden eyes slightly unfocused watched the ripple of waves against the sunset, other senses attuned to his surroundings and any approach. It was still warm enough, especially with his usual resting temperature, that he'd forgone a jacket. Olive green cargos and black tank top were more than enough. The slight army vibe the clothing choice gave amused him, given the years among the IRA that no one would guess occurred. Not military in the strict sense that people today were used to, but an army of sort nonetheless. The sound of footsteps had muscles tensing imperceptibly, though he didn't look away from the view. READ→3 TALK MEMORIES EDIT

June 30th, 2015 1:13 am put your heart into every word you say, all your failures a cornerstone. [ ] defendo Even now weeks after the fight her bones still felt sore and stiff and exercises like this one seemed to take twice as long as they normally would. Muscles normally so accustomed to these movements complained and protested to the twists and stretches and her breathing hitched where it normally stayed steady as the worst of the injuries she had sustained twinged and pulled uncomfortably. Cass stopped, regaining a normal standing position as she brushed the length of her ponytail back over her shoulder with a sigh, lifting one arm to wipe sweat from her brow. It was normal, she told herself, to feel this way, to ache and grow weary after shorter periods of time given what she and Cameron had been through. The key to getting better, getting back to normal, was keeping up a routine, working her way back into it. If only it was that easy. When Chelsea had been badly hurt as well, so soon after Cass and Cameron had had the fight of their lives against an enemy who had very literally tossed them around like ragdolls, she hadn’t been able to keep from thinking something truly terrible was coming, that perhaps that something might take them all down in the process. As unusual as it was for slayers to be housed together the way they all were, collected in one place like a specialist unit on a secret mission, it was rarer still for experienced fighters such as them to fall like dominoes. It was bad enough that this team -- that was what they were and Cass refused to see it any other way -- had suffered losses in the recent past, two slayers and a watcher, but to be batted around like mice at the mercy of hungry cats was almost more than she could bear. The towel she had stepped to the side of the room to claim to wipe the sweat from her face and neck and chest was tossed back down on the bench with a huff of a breath that made her tender ribs ache. Hands settling on her hips she closed her eyes, shaking her head, knowing exactly what Lincoln would say, what Cameron and Kim and Erin and all the others she trusted with her life would say. So clearly she could picture their faces in her mind, hear their calm voices, feel their reassurances as if they were right in front of her, surrounding her and making her feel safe and steady. Cass let out the breath she didn’t even realise she had been holding in, feeling the tight tension bleed from her shoulders as she did so. Something was coming, yes, but they knew that now. They hadn’t known it before but after their near-misses and close calls they were better informed. Knowledge really could be power sometimes and Cass had faith in those around her, in the knowledge that they possessed and the things they could do with it. Picking up the towel again she folded it quickly and deftly in her hands before she made her way towards the stairs. That was enough for today. Tomorrow she would come back down here and start again. Recovery took time, even for a slayer, and she was certainly no exception to that rule. [ NARRATIVE; CLOSED ] READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

June 29th, 2015 11:55 pm i can't get my head around it, i keep getting smaller and smaller. [ ] tornaway “He’s just really weird, y’know?” One of them was playing music on their phone, the tinny little speaker kicking out enough noise that a human wouldn’t have picked up on the voices, they were low and hushed, their words dropped so no one would overhear them. Caden wasn’t human though, his senses were so much keener than theirs would ever be. They had no way of knowing that. As they talked about him, throwing the occasional sly glance his way across the break room where he sat in the corner with his back to the wall so that he could see the entire room, he heard every word, tried not to hear them, but everything was so clear they might as well have been speaking to him directly. “He never talks to anyone?” “No. Well, except for his girlfriend.” “Girlfriend?” “She works here too.” “No really, girlfriend?” Caden really didn’t want to listen to them. He wanted the music to be louder, wanted to be wearing headphones, wanted to go deaf, anything but sit there and listen to them. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what his co-workers thought of him, wasn’t as if he was unaware of their opinions of him, but there was a big difference between knowing those things and hearing them from across the room in hushed whispers like there were dirty secrets. “Oh my God, how the hell--” His chair scraped loudly against the floor as he pushed it back, no longer hungry or able to pretend otherwise, losing his ability to act as though he couldn’t hear those people exchanging rumours and disbelief and questions. Caden had to get out, had to get some air. Abandoning his lunch on the table and skirting his way around the room he told himself he was fine, that everything was fine, it was just a small hiccup in an otherwise ordinary day. The world closed in as he made his way through the warehouse and out of the newly repaired back entrance, fighting to breathe and wondering dimly in the back of his brain how far from the building he would need to go before he could get air down to his lungs. Caden hoped it wasn’t far. It would be a shame if he got fired and Isabelle would be disappointed. Caden hated disappointing her. [ NARRATIVE; CLOSED ] READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

June 25th, 2015 10:19 pm YOU'RE MY GUIDING LIGHT. [ ] isolare WHO: Thaddeus Reynard & Ana Kirsch. WHERE/WHEN: Right after this. WHAT: Phone log! ( The concern was still buzzing in the back of his brain like insects, persistent and impossible to ignore, and as he headed for the door he drew in and let out a long deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. ) READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

June 19th, 2015 11:24 pm the world around us is burning but we're so cold. [ ] bloodydeath Serena was normally more aware of her surroundings, more so these days than ever before she couldn't let her guard down but that was exactly what she'd just done, allowed that guard to slip and her attention to be pulled away from the world at large. She was more focused on the screen of her phone than she was on anything else and it meant that she was relying on her other senses to guide her around obstacles that were in her way. Not really a wise thing to do, especially not in a city that had a higher than normal percentage of people that would gladly run a stake through your chest but Serena had apparently forgotten that fact, at least for the time being. The area she was in wasn't overly crowded, there were people about but most of them, like her seemed to be more focused on what they were doing than what anyone else was up to. That suited her fine, she wasn't going to bother them and in turn she hoped they wouldn't bother her. This would have probably been the case if she hadn't have set herself on a collision course with someone who seemed to want to avoid others. So lost in her own world she didn't see the stranger she was headed towards. If the guy had been moving then maybe she would have picked up on him and moved around him but he was stationary and she didn't realise he was there. She walked into him, a small noise left her as she collided with his solid form, she reached out and placed a hand against his arm to steady herself and also show concern. It was the expected course of action after all. "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you." Serena looked up and the minute she saw the look on the man's face she knew she was in serious trouble, there was a hint of something wild in his eyes, there was nothing she could do and she knew it, a fight was inevitable and judging from the look on his face if this guy had his way it would end with her corpse on the ground. [ grayson ] READ→1 TALK MEMORIES EDIT

June 15th, 2015 11:41 pm THE SEAS BOIL OVER AND THE WIND AND THE WATER MAKE A GRAVE FOR YOU AND I. [ ] vanguarded WHO: Narses, Chelsea Avery, Kim Tsukino. WHERE/WHEN: Out in the sticks of the city, where no one can hear you scream. WHAT: Narses sets out to track down a slayer whom he can give a message for the watchers; he finds Chelsea and Kim just happens to be in tow. Things get bloody, of course. ( Hello, ladies. Nice night for a walk? ) READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

June 8th, 2015 10:48 pm and the air was full of various storms and saints praying in the street as the banks began to break. [ ] abovenature [backdated to earlier today, before this, obviously!] It happens without warning, a fine June afternoon broken by a freak weather phenomenon the likes of which the town and its occupants are becoming all too familiar with. Out of nowhere the winds pick up, the sky grows dark, the clouds thick like shadows and then they appear, twin cones of destructive power arcing down towards the ground. When they touch they tear, ripping anything not bolted or cemented down into the air and tossing it with reckless abandon. One touches down outside of San Luis Obispo, spooking animals and sending hikers hurrying back to their vehicles, wherever they had been parked. The second hits within the city’s boundaries, people start screaming and running, damage that has only just repaired is done anew and brief though the tornadoes are they are harsh and forceful. There is no missing them, no mistaking them, and no explaining them. They are not the only extraordinary and inexplicable phenomenon that occurs, as the tornadoes touch down the waters lapping against the shore spout violently, bubbling upward as though volcanic. And then, as abruptly as they all began they pass, the waters still and the clouds part and everything returns to normal. As normal as things are likely to get on the Hellmouth at least. [ PLOT NARRATIVE; CLOSED ] READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

June 6th, 2015 11:44 pm I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes, I saw the sign (Repost to Clarence!) [ ] bbkiller Jessica had come to this town for one reason -- to get into a whole lot of trouble. Despite her somewhat younger age for her species, she felt the tug to go there as much as the next undead creature. And she'd heard the stories too -- that there were more Slayers there than almost anywhere else in the world. More shifters, too. More everything, really, which she had found doubtful when she first arrived and saw how….pedestrian it all seemed. She still wasn't too sure, based on her last few weeks here. It seemed so quiet, sometimes. But then the weirdest shit would go down. Like that earthquake. She'd been imagining something straight out of Escape from LA, buuuuut she guessed that was a little unrealistic of her, if she was being fair. She'd give this place a little while longer, she supposed. She wanted to at least get to see a Slayer kill something. She'd heard they had magic powers, and she really wanted to see someone light somebody else on fire with their eyeballs. But, for now, the closest she was probably going to get was watching Mad Max: Fury Road for the second time this weekend. Now that seemed like a future that would be fun. And now that she was immortal, she could hopefully live to see its inevitability! Still drinking out of her super-sized Coke, she wandered lazily down the sidewalk, ignoring the sights and sounds of the San Luis Obispo nightlife, opting to instead look for different rocks and bits of trash that she could kick down the street. The smell of another supernatural was what piqued her interest just a bit, causing her to look up and kick a can hard in that direction, hoping she would hit something (or someone). (Open to Clarence! Don't mind us, just moving the scene up a bit due to some unexpected schedule mix-ups! CARRY ON!) READ→1 TALK MEMORIES EDIT

May 31st, 2015 10:44 pm 'cause the devil's in the details, and he's taking his toll. [ ] commontongue The rooms René Lemaire had given him six months ago had become comfortably familiar since then. Luis knew every corner and shadow, every path the light took across the walls as the sun rose and set each day, every mark on the paint where a photocopied page had been taped and then torn down again. He had long since stopped noticing just how fine the rooms were, how casually expensive. He had stopped staring at the view from his window, wondering how much of his yearly salary it would cost to even rent a room with this view, never mind buy a house. It had all become routine and normal, and as he'd pored over pages and pages of frustratingly complex encryptions, he'd almost found himself getting truly comfortable. Compared to his old life, this place was far from a prison. But a gilded cage was still a cage, and all the doors and windows locked from the outside. No matter how comfortable he became, he could never forget that he was a prisoner here. They might let him out every once in a while, grant him the privilege of fresh air, treat him with kindness and respect, but if he ever tried to leave, Luis knew how quickly all that could be taken away. He lived each day with that knowledge hanging over him, enjoying their kindness and wondering when it would run out, wondering when they would tire of his slow progress and decide they had no further need of him. Wondering what would happen to him if he actually cracked the code. Luis was a smart man, he knew better than to think they would let him walk free. He knew so much about them now, so many of their secrets, so many of their weaknesses; just knowing of their existence could have marked a man they didn't need for death, and he knew so much more than that. Plans, needs, vulnerabilities. The supernatural world had always survived by secrecy and deception, and Luis, with his academic's mind and near-perfect memory, was a threat to that now. He'd seen how his keepers dealt with threats, and he didn't imagine he would be any different. They would kill him, or they would make him one of them, and if those were his only options Luis knew which one he would choose. And so he made himself easy to live with, easy to keep in captivity. He didn't complain, he didn't object, he didn't beg to be let go. He kept quiet and conciliatory, ingratiated himself as much as he could to the people keeping him under lock and key, and he hoped that would be enough. If it wasn't, then this gilded cage with its beautiful view would be where he lived and died. (narrative) READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

May 31st, 2015 11:48 pm SOMETIMES YOU GOTTA BLEED TO KNOW THAT YOU'RE ALIVE AND HAVE A SOUL. [ ] kitsunes WHO: Alex Martel & Regan Katz. WHERE/WHEN: After the earthquake, Alex's building. WHAT: When she can't get hold of him by cellphone Regan goes looking for Alex and finds him trapped in a collapsed stairwell. (  Before he could stop her she was making her way down, scaling the jagged and jutting edges with all the ease he expected of her, he had known for a while now that she was an adventurer, things like hiking and climbing and surfing came to her as naturally as breathing but seeing it in execution was something altogether different. ) READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

May 31st, 2015 5:38 pm [ ] mercenary_cat Backdated to Thurs May 28th; location Montaña De Oro “The sea is emotion incarnate. It loves, hates, and weeps. It defies all attempts to capture it with words and rejects all shackles. No matter what you say about it, there is always that which you can’t.” With all the repairs needing done to his apartment building after the quake, Raksha hadn't spent much time there in the recent week or two since. Maintanence and repair people of varying types had been in and out, starting to grate on his instinct of territory. He tended to keep a ready bag packed in the car most of the time anyway, so taking the frequent day trips he'd been on was easy as starting the ignition. Most of his pay after rent went to food and keeping the necessary possessions in top order; the latter being the car, weapons and gear related to his longer running profession. Which meant the Trans Am purred serenely along the drive to Montaña De Oro. The rougher scenery of the area appealed to him, including the lesser used beach there. Especially close to dark when there were no humans to frequent it. Sharp-edged coastlines with their striking angles and wilder winds always reminded him of a home he didn't admit to anyone. Ireland was synonymous with the word even the many decades since he'd set foot there. The cliffs at De Oro didn't impress as Moher did, but they still had a bit of the feel. He'd been here enough times in the years in SLO that it was becoming unofficial territory. No scent of human remained as he stepped onto the sand, eyes adjusting easily to the coming dark. The fire of sunset was gone, leaving shadowy violets and indigo in its wake where horizon met ocean. A different ocean than the one he'd known as a child, but ocean nonetheless. The rush and crash of waves on the nearby cliffs mingling with the softer splash of tide going and coming was a lullaby all its own. He could relate to the endless fluid intensity of it, finding himself mirrored in the nature surrounding him. Here there was no suppressing instinct or fake smiles, not that he did much of the latter to begin with. But the relief of no pressure to do so, no feeling of stares buzzing across his skin when the tiger was too close to the surface. Here he didn't feel too big for the room, to much for the people around him. Even with Izzy or Aidrian, that feeling had sometimes come. The difference was they'd seen it and loved him for it. Because of, not in spite of. There was a world of difference between the two. But Izzy was gone and Aidrian far away. It was only him, but Raksha was used to that. [OPEN or can be a narrative] READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

May 30th, 2015 10:32 pm placeholder before it gets too far away from me! [ ] howtohunt Birthday narrative :( READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

May 29th, 2015 2:13 am and nobody knows where to go when they come to a fork in the road. [ ] majorursa [backdated to may 13th, after the earthquake!] The woods was likely the last place anyone would expect to find Wilhelm Faulkner at any given moment in time, he hardly struck people as the most outdoorsy of people but the simple truth of the matter was that he felt more at peace in places like this. Surrounded by trees and shy wildlife he was calmer, more content, less tense and tightly wound. Things were simpler and he liked that simplicity, appreciated and admired it for what it was. There were no lies or falsehoods, no facades or deceptions. Nature was nature, plain and simple, often cruel and ruthless but always balanced. It always made sense. Even the quaking made sense, Wilhelm understood it for what it was and as the ground trembled as if in terror and the trees creaked and groaned and swayed, the animals skittishly scampering into holes and burrows and dens he rested one hand against a solid thick trunk and waited. Waited for it to pass. Because it would. Wilhelm knew that it would because earthquakes did not last forever, they shouldered and barged their way in, roared and rumbled and brought things screaming down to earth in shards of rubble and ruin and then they went away again, sated and spent. There would be aftershocks, smaller and shorter spells of shaking. Those too would pass. For the duration of the quake Wilhelm remained in that one place, listening to the sounds of the world around him. Listening to nature. Feeling it. Once it passed and the earth stilled once again, a few leaves and other small green and brown fragments, light debris, tumbled quietly down to the ground Wilhelm almost smiled. It wasn’t long after that that the scent reached him, something so wild it was out of place here, Wilhelm had to pause and consider the smell for a few seconds before he recognised it for what it was. Hyena. As he had told Mariska he had encountered them in the past, didn’t particularly care for them, thought they were dirty fighters but he and his brother were living proof that not all of one particular type could be tarred with the same brush. Bears did not live with their own kind, after all, not typically, and yet Wilhelm and Tomas had been together for decades. “I know you’re there.” There was no need to raise his voice, a low throaty rumble as it was, almost a growl but lacking the primal aggression their kind could so easily conjure and put out there for others to hear, for others to sense. Unless this hyena gave him good cause there was no need to be hostile. [ GRAY ] READ→4 TALK MEMORIES EDIT

May 28th, 2015 11:03 pm it's not that we're scared, it's just that it's delicate. [ ] notaman It hadn’t been all that long since the two of them had fled their captor and made a bid for freedom, not even six years, they had both of them been prisoners for longer than that and there was still a part of Grayson that was adapting. There were times when he stepped out of their home into the daylight and flinched, bright and almost scalding as it was. So dangerous to the woman he had come not only to trust and admire but also love. It was trust that had seen him following her from that darkness and those chains and into their hard earned freedom, admiration that had had him listening to her stories and learning all that he could about her. It was love that made him offer up his own blood so that she could sustain herself, so that she could live. To spare from harming others Grayson not only permitted but encouraged Aurelia to feed from him instead, to take what she would otherwise have to take from others. It was the least he could do for her, she had saved his life in more ways than one, spared him from an ugly and prolonged death, kept their captor from taking Grayson’s bones to add to his vulgar collection. All things considered giving her his blood was nothing, compared to everything Aurelia had done for him it was meagre and paltry, barely comparable at all. She had given him a reason to keep fighting, she had helped him to find the strength to push forward instead of continuing to slide back, if it hadn’t been for her he would have lost all trace of humanity and regressed fully into that wild and feral mindset the Collector and those others had brought out in him. Grayson had a lot to repay and not much to offer, regardless of how Aurelia saw things in his mind the debt was so great that he would never be able to come close to what she had done for him. Anything he could do was what must be done and it was not because he felt obligated, because he thought she expected it of him. It was because he loved her, because he couldn’t stand to be without her, because they were in this together now and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. With that in mind it shouldn’t have mattered where she was getting blood, only that she was getting it at all, but to Grayson it did matter. A great deal, in fact. In his mind it was his responsibility, it was what he could do for her and therefore what he must do. As much as it might have seemed like stripping control away from the woman he loved that was not it at all, there was no guarantee that the human woman’s so-called donors were as willing as she claimed them to be and Grayson had had difficulty trusting others, strangers, for more than a decade now. Aurelia was the first, just as she would be the last. That was the problem, though, the reason for the conflict in his mind, the doubt and the uncertainty that had him pacing their home inside and out, restless and disquieted and unable to sit still for long. If Aurelia trusted this woman enough to buy what she was selling then what right did Grayson have to question it? None, really, it was her life and her decision how she sustained it. All she needed from him was his support, his loyalty, and his love. Those things she would have from him in full until the day that he died. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t continue to worry, though, until he found out one way or another where that blood was coming from he would fear for her safety and want nothing more than to shield her from harm, in whatever form it might take. [ NARRATIVE; CLOSED ] READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

May 26th, 2015 11:12 pm WHO IS THE LAMB AND WHO IS THE KNIFE. [ ] toetags Perhaps Juniper would never know how she had been talked into going to Sang on a Tuesday night, all she could put it down to was a stressful few weeks -- months -- and the peer pressure of a group of like minded friends. They had all been through a lot in the last few months. The city had been through a lot. Killings and earthquakes, all manner of horrible things in the last few years that she did not want to spend the evening remembering. Most of the time she was reluctant to go out; she liked the quiet, she was bookish and scholarly and when she wasn't in the morgue she liked to be at home with her dog, reading or else working on a paper, but tonight she was with a group of the medical professionals in the city who had gotten a night off from the insanity of post-quake SLO. Finally. Juniper leant on the bar and signalled the tender for another round, settling back onto her flats again to wait while he got the drinks together for her and the rest of the group. No heels tonight, her feet were still humming from long hours spent running hither and thither for the last few days. Not that it mattered much, they were all dressed down casual, just blowing off steam. It took her a moment to realise that someone was filling what had previously been an empty space next to her at the bar and that they were looking at her. Someone very fluid in motion. Someone who seemed to be examining her intently before speaking to her. Or rather hitting on her: "Are you a doctor? It's hard not to notice who you're here with. We should be buying the lot of you drinks after last week." In a way it was flattering; she was by no means old but it was still somewhat pleasant to complimented even through inference. Still, she wasn't interested. Certainly not by someone who was staring at her quite so intently. [ ZACH ] READ→1 TALK MEMORIES EDIT

May 26th, 2015 7:16 pm THERE'S A GOD-AWFUL SHITTY FEELING OF DREAD IN MY HEART. [ ] beshield backdated! Hospital smells and hospital lights and hospitals sounds. They melted together into a blur over the course of a few days so that Lincoln was no longer wholly sure when he had last seen the sky. Not that it mattered much to him, his own comfort was the last of his concerns when he knew that Cassandra was so badly hurt. It was not that she had not been hurt in the past, either. Slaying was a messy business, a brutal one, far worse than being a soldier to his thinking; these girls never chose to be what they were, they never chose to have power and responsibility that destiny and lineage thrust upon them. They were drafted by time and nature. It gave him a sick feeling at times like this, when he knew that a bright young woman like Cass who by rights ought to have her whole life rolling out in front of her feet was instead lying in a hospital bed, a bag of broken bones and bleeding cuts. Lincoln stood in the cafeteria and pressed the heels of his hands into the sides of his head, staving off a fluorescence-induced headache. Staring at the coffee machine he ran his hands back over the shaved hair over his ears until his fingers could lace at the back of his neck. Cassandra and Cameron were experienced slayers, they had been out patrolling together and yet something had hit them hard enough to take them both down and out, to reduce both of them to crumpled, battered messes. The sinking feeling of horror was one that Lincoln had needed to grow accustomed to, something much more difficult to train himself for than any battlefield fear. This was a feeling of perversion and doom closing in on them -- on him -- and he did not know how to handle that. After a long time stood trying to remember what James had even asked for from the coffee machine he hit a number of buttons, paid for the coffees and made his way back upstairs. Up the stairs instead of the elevator because his knees were aching from sitting and standing still for too long. "Couldn't remember how you take it, mate." Lincoln sat down heavily in the chair next to James, holding out a cup of hospital coffee for him. After that he was silent; he would have asked if there was any news, if the doctors had anything to share with them but if there was then his fellow watcher would volunteer it, he was sure. [ JAMES ] READ→1 TALK MEMORIES EDIT

May 25th, 2015 9:57 pm this is a prayer for the souls of the departed. [ ] closerange In the clutter of photographs and memorabilia that covered the walls at Seacliff, bright and comfortably messy, it was easy to miss a single old picture of a group of young soldiers. Seven of them, none over twenty-five. They stood with the easy confidence of young men, taking their first steps on foreign soil they knew they could beat into submission, smiles creasing their faces and sunlight glinting off their dog tags. All swagger and certainty, not yet tested but certain they would pass. It was dated 1968, and it had been taken in Vietnam, but it could have been taken anywhere. The smiles, the confidence, the heady mix of masculinity and callow youth, would have been the same. Nobody in the bar that evening, or any other, would have recognized any of the faces. The one face they might have known, the one they saw almost every time they walked in, had been behind the camera -- Ben Levine had taken that photo just hours after his unit had set foot on Vietnamese soil, and he had kept it ever since, although the story behind it had changed as the years had gone by. At first they had been his friends, his brothers in arms, the truth. He'd told stories about them, remembered the ones that had come back in pieces or not at all, kept them fresh and real in people's minds. Then they had been his brother's friends, then his father's. One day they would be his grandfather's. They would be further and further removed from him, until their lives had never even intersected in the stories he told, and only other supernaturals would ever know that these were men he'd known, fought beside, bled beside, remembered. And Ben would be the same, unchanging, never a day older than he was right now, while the men in the photo who still lived grew older and older and older. At each of their funerals, he would be the same. In a quiet moment he raised a glass to them, remembering the men who had died over there, and the others who had died since then, who had given up a part of themselves in Vietnam and waited years or decades to give up the rest. If anybody noticed, they didn't think anything of it. A salute to those who had given their lives before his time, a nice gesture, that was all. Not a remembrance of the men he'd been young with, and stayed young without. He set the glass down, empty, and just for the night he missed the days when he could tell their stories as they'd really been. (narrative!) READ TALK MEMORIES EDIT

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