omnisciency (omnisciency) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2008-08-18 18:30:00 |
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Current mood: | blank |
Who: Media and Big Tobacco (hopefully)
Where: A pub on Madison and 11th
When: Monday evening
What: Media calls Big Tobacco to go for drinks and reminscing.
Rating/Warnings: TBA
An unseasonably cold breeze rustled the sheer curtains framing the balcony doors. The French doors had been open for hours, letting the wind pile leaves in the penthouse. For once, Media didn’t care. Not about the leaves or the dirt or the dust; her impeccable, status symbol of a home was destroyed. The priceless vases lay in pieces on the floor while the artwork was in tatters. Only the rocking chair she was sprawled in had been spared – the rest of the furniture had been reduced to kindling. Even her clothes lay torn and scattered with the jewelry reduced to metal and stone globs that clung tenaciously to walls and floors. Lois Bradshaw had been reported dead of an apparent overdose three hours ago. No next of kin would be located. And ever so slowly, the goddess rose.
The leaves which had drifted onto her fell to the ground as ash. She didn’t even pause to survey the wreckage as she strode for the door. All she did pause to do was create jeans and a shirt. Going nude through the streets of Manhattan was a poor way to accomplish her goals. For the first time that week, Media smiled. The power from virtually the entire country watching the Olympics hummed in her. It was a perfect time to set things into motion. First, it was time to pay an impromptu visit to Big. The incident had put off their tea meeting; he was overdue for a visit.
No one saw her exit the hall – even former neighbors didn’t notice they were sharing an elevator with a supposed dead woman. Media strode out onto the streets of Manhattan and directly to a waiting cab.
Her patience was reaching its limits.
The driver took off at a speed that would have left a mortal terrified. Quite calmly, Media produced a cell phone and dialed his number from memory. “Big, sweetheart, I know we never got our tea but I have something better in mind. There’s a pub on Madison and 11th, if you still feel like reminiscing I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” Flipping the phone closed, she slid back in the chair and quietly watched the city blocks blur around her. With the cabbie’s driving, she’d probably be there in five. Letting her eyes drift shut, Media let the week slowly drain away. To deal with Tobacco, she’d need her wits and her charms. And her power.
Precisely seven minutes later, Media tipped the cabbie and stepped out onto the street. A cloud of smoke enveloped the pub’s entrance in flagrant disregard of all smoking laws. She couldn’t help but smile a bit as she watched a bleached blonde lean into a gentleman for a light.