Who: Jo Harvelle and OTA Where: Caritas in LA When: Around 11pm Rating: PG-13ish because of some light swearing from Jo
The '75 Chevy pickup rumbled to a stop and the engine died with a faint cough. The sound reminded Jo that she needed to find a good mechanic and get that checked out, soon. As she cut the headlights and flicked on the dome light, she shot a quick glance out the window at the street. It was empty at the moment, which was good. She shrugged out of her jacket and held it up to examine the sleeve, then sighed at the sight of the tear in the fabric. "Shit." She'd just gotten the thing a month earlier, when her previous jacket had been lost to blood stains. Shaking her head, she tossed it into the seat beside her, then held out her arm to examine the scratch that coincided with the tear in the jacket, and cursed again. It didn't look too bad, but she'd still have to treat it to avoid infection. She reached under the passenger seat and dug out her first aid kit, opening it up on the passenger seat. She made quick, efficient work of running an alcohol pad over the cut, hissing softly at the sting, then slapped a bandage over it and pulled her jacket back on, making a mental note to stitch the fabric soon.
Movement from outside the truck caught her eye, and she killed the dome light, mahogany eyes gazing out the window. Two figures who were dressed really warmly for the weather (considering it was 78 in the shade in LA, even at night) were passing by on the street. They turned down an alley and disappeared. For a moment, she hesitated, considering, then shrugged as she made her decision. Why the hell not? She reached into the bag that sat on the floorboard and pulled out two knives, sticking one into her jacket pocket, the other into the top of her boot. She then pulled out a small handgun and slipped that into her other jacket pocket, deciding to forgo the shotgun for the moment.
Pushing the door open, she hopped out, then headed down the alley the couple had gone. It was empty, with the exception of a brightly lit sign reading "Caritas" about halfway down that sat on the wall above a set of stairs that seemed to go down. She hesitated, then slowly made her way to the stairs and walked down them, then pushed open the door at the bottom, not sure what she might see. Stepping inside, she blinked a little at the bright lighting, then stared in disbelief at a stage across the room. Standing on it, a woman who had blue skin and dreadlocks was belting out a Madonna song. She shook her head a little and started to look around, her shock slowly growing at the strangeness of the...'people'...sitting at the tables.
"What. The. Hell." She muttered under her breath, one hand moving into the pocket with the gun. Was this some sort of messed up sci-fi convention...or something worse?