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Strange Nights [23 Mar 2008|12:20pm] [ mood | surprised ] [[Non Journal Entry]] There are moments in life where you’re defined as a person, some of them are large in meaning and others insignificant in their passing. Joseph has had many moments where he’s proven the kind of man he is and they haven’t always been great or wonderful. Sometimes he looks at himself in the mirror and sees a shadow, almost as if the devil is only one foot behind him, just waiting for him to fuck up again so he can lay claim to a soul that’s been tarnished one too many times. He’s a religious man but he doesn’t necessarily believe in Heaven and Hell, but he does believe in good and evil and the way in which a person can swing between the two. There is no judgement just a simple form of coming to terms, everybody needs to dig deep and do things that aren’t always the right thing. It’s how the world keeps turning. Joseph drops his head and beneath the spray of water, closing his eyes and opening his mouth to taste water. It’s only when the phone ring that he turns his head and regretfully pulls himself away, fingers snagging on a nearby towel to wrap it around his hips until it sits low enough to expose hipbones. He steps out and rakes his hair back, moving through to his living room to pick up his nearby cell-phone. “Joseph,” he mutters, voice low and accented through a haze of smoke that now encircles him as a cigarette hangs from the roughened edges of his fingers. “Yeah?” Joseph exhales and flicks ash aside, pacing restlessly. “I can do that. Give me about two days and then see me at the Lucky Strike.” A couple more words are exchanged before Joseph ends the call, gaze catching on the case that holds the gun he’d gotten for Grace. Funny she’d never called back. Joseph leaves his cigarette between his lips and steps away, shedding his towel as he slips into his bedroom and goes on the hunt for clothes. There was work to be done amongst other things. It was only when he notices something out of the corner of his eye that he stops, eyebrow twitching. What the…? He turns and frowns. Is somebody watching him? Joseph does what he does best in a situation like this: acts natural and plans his next move. He dresses and picks up the nearest weapon, preferably something close combat. It’s a knife, slips into the back of his jeans easily enough. He pulls on a t-shirt and finds shoes then leaves his apartment, hopefully the peeping tom hasn’t seen him or if they have they might think he’s leaving for the day. It doesn’t take Joseph long to get into the building across the street and up the required flight of stairs, he counted them when he noticed the person watching him. Whoever it is, is on the second floor and behind the door that is three from the left. It doesn’t take long for Joseph to pick his way into the lock and it’s with a resounding crack that he brings the other man to the ground. He’s wearing a suit, that’s new. Joseph pulls the knife from his jeans and steps back, pushing the door shut. He’s going to get answers, one way or another. Reply

Discussions Of Fact [23 Mar 2008|03:41pm] [ mood | refreshed ] It was a Saturday evening in the heart of Las Vegas, the rich and the privileged had taken to the town in style. Women dressed in only the finest of dresses and men adorned with the most expensive watches and the fanciest cars, clearly enjoying showing off their wealth to those less fortunate than themselves. Of course there were a few amongst the many that stood out from the crowd of repeats and copycats. One of those was Bethany Richards. She was elegantly dressed in a red silk dress that clung to her every asset and showed both wealth and taste without having to go over the top like the other ladies attending this social gathering. Not much had been heard on the grapevine about the project underway by the Government. Bethany had chosen her side, for better and for worse. It would all come to a head eventually and she planned to be there, fighting for survival with teeth, nails and knives. Currently she was sipping at a glass of champagne and taking in all the sights and sounds. The way in which the light played off the crystal chandeliers and sparkled over ostentatious earrings and necklaces that hung from necks Bethany was sure she’d rather strangle than watch. Her gaze travelled from the people to the marbled flooring beneath her feet, hard to miss it with the way her heels clicked against it. Clearly the owner of the hotel had gone to extreme lengths to ensure only the best for his place, given that the marble was etched with art from Michelangelo. She’d spoken to many people and laughed at some of the worst jokes she had ever heard but all in the interest of business and securing her name amongst the wealthy. Bethany finished off her glass and turned her gaze back to the party, familiar faces and unfamiliar blended together in front of her eyes. Bethany swept some hair behind her ear then caught the scent of a familiar someone on the air and turned her gaze away from the crowd, inclining her head to catch his eyes with the greatest of ease, not that hard to do when her eyelashes seemed to go on for miles. And in the next second she was gone, vanished before his very eyes, but if he was to look close enough he would see her moving away from the main crowd and into a nearby room. It wouldn’t hurt to speak in private. [Thread: Open to Darian] 35 Comment Comment | Reply

Twisted [23 Mar 2008|07:40pm] Rhiannon's hand was tired. She'd been wiping up the aftermath of a demon fight for hours. The fact that an actual fight had broken out in the Basement was painful enough without the muscle cramping. It hurt business when peacible demons got word that the bar wasn't as safe as advertised. Truthfully, it was the first such glitch since the spell of neutrality was cast upon the place. Justus had never run into trouble, but sure enough, a week ago a warlock managed to bring it down. He didn't have any specific goals, he said; it was just a prank. But an argument broke out between two regulars. Justus didn't get all the specifics, but he knew it had to do with the Feds, and the perception that a 'traitor' was in their midst. That scuffle led to an all-out brawl, once everyone realized the spell was down. Now there were bloodstains on the floor, the walls, even the goddamn ceiling. Not all of it was red. It looked like a couple of paintball guns had gone off. It definitely did not smell like paint. Where had Rhiannon been during all the action? Out in the desert dealing with Atia, even though she was on the schedule at the bar. Her punishment for not playing referee was clean-up duty, and since she had every intention of keeping her day job, she had to suck it up and just do it. She shook her arm out and sat back to survey progress. Half of the floor was clean. The other half was a biohazard nightmare. She snapped her rubber gloves on tighter and reached for the rag left floating in pink mop water. "I hate you," she called out to Justus, who was somewhere in the stockroom. "Just an update." [Thread: Open to Agent Sparrow] 14 Comment Comment | Reply

Letters from Home [23 Mar 2008|10:09pm] Looking down at the envelope in his hands, Connor wondered if Whistler himself ever got letters. Was writing to a mind-reader redundant? He hadn't been inside the Agent's trailer since Hannah died. He wondered if the blonde's ghost ever lingered there. He hoped not, the thought of it made him itch. His shoes left prints in the loosely-packed sand as he walked across the front yard, then up the steps to the door. He'd left a vague voicemail earlier about dropping by, but hadn't mentioned the reason. Knock, knock... He felt like an expectant father. Bags were packed at the foot of his bed, ready to jolt out of the double-wide at a moment's notice. Not an exact moment. When (if) Hannah returned from riding the Ghost Train with good news, Whistler planned a stop-over at Rhiannon's apartment to inform her of his road trip. In another time he'd have asked her to join, but it didn't seem right now that she was back with Joseph. The Agent didn't want to present the wrong image. "What is... American Idol?," he shouted at the television. "Sorry, the question is 'What is Survivor'? Survivor." Alex Trebek lived to mock the hatted man, he was sure of it. A series of raps sounded against his screen door. Hannah would be so polite, but she wouldn't have needed to knock. And Rhiannon would've just barged in and taken a beer from the fridge. Corbett wasn't due back so soon. "C'mon in, Connor," he shouted, and tossed a piece of popcorn at the flickering, pixelated image on his screen. ( I lost on Jeopardy, baby ) Reply

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