| Dear Diary - Leaving Las Vegas |
[08 Jul 2008|01:53pm] |
Well, this whole thing's been a real kicker in the pants, huh?
Vegas... Ah, what can I say? You came to be the Mistress of my heart. Unfortunately, that's not so much in the romantic sense, as the S & M one. You give me what I need, but just when I'm having fun, you go and get out the barbed wire and electrodes.
From that guy with the orange juice fetish, right through to the life-size rendition of Godzilla's buddies coming to town, up to, well, now, really. I got equally attacked and befriended by vampires, joined in a march of strippers and probably seen more freakiness than Sharon on her biggest high (although, I'm starting to wonder if her panic attack about being stalked by invisible Fraggles wasn't real, after all this). I met witches, went back in time, got to play Special Agent, made dad hyperventilate every time I got my face in the news and almost been killed more times than I remember.
No. Seriously. I don't remember. You think I didn't want some chemical enhancement, after going through some of those things?
Unfortunately, I've also lost people, as well as found. Hannah? Big shout-out to ya', babe, wherever y'are! I fully expect you to bust on out of those big swirly light-pool things in the sky, one of these days! Take care of that driver dude, if you see him. Didn't know him too well, but... Eh... Not a pretty way to go.
And it's stuff like that, which made my decision for me. I'm leaving Las Vegas (man, I always wanted to say that). My agent said I've landed myself a big, shiny contract in California. Time to go assault Beverly's Hills and pray she likes me!
I left Star a message. She's invited to my last gig. I think I found out where that guy with the hat lives, too... Whistles McGraw? Ah, I dunno'. Whatever! Little cowboy guy! I asked around and some people said they think they know the guy. Hopefully it's the same one. If not, I just left an invitation to come see me, with some total stranger. Likewise, with Purity. Pretty sure I got her number right, anyway.
Vegas, honey! Love ya'! Love ya' even more, if you didn't try to kill me so much! Toodles!
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| Social Grace |
[08 Jul 2008|08:03pm] |
It took half a day to get out of the hotel room Rhiannon rented in the Orleans.
In the hours between, while the police blocked off the streets, she paced the place, feeling pretty strung out. When Elfleda left the building, she didn't take all of herself. The fragrance remained, and the dirty spot on the wallpaper, and the leftover headache of having metaphysical fingers wriggling her brain. If Rhiannon were paranoid, she would've sworn Elfleda left her entourage behind, too, to keeping nagging her about the offer-- voices under the bed, behind the mirrored closet door, behind the shower curtain. But it was nothing.
She opened the windows to get some fresh air. Then she emptied most of the mini-fridge and passed out staring at a documentary about Roswell.
Having learned her lesson the night before, Rhiannon suggested a rooftop when Connor texted the next night, looking to meet up. She picked a retail space on a dead corner, Rochelle and Salton. Around 9 o'clock she jumped from a waste management bin to a hard-to-reach fire escape ladder and jogged up the rest of the steps.
He was waiting for her when she arrived, sitting with his back against a rusted air conditoner and watching the stars struggle to shine through the haze above the city. He'd brought his pocket knife along, along with some bandages and a small bottle of rubbing alcohol. There was a Coke sitting next to him in a sweaty glass bottle.
He'd seen a Jeep full of uniformed soldiers drive past just before he started his climb to the roof, stared after the vehicle long after it had rounded the corner and disappeared. He wondered what they thought they were doing here. Maybe it didn't matter. Orders were like that.
When he heard footsteps gritting across bits of broken glass, he cast his gaze in that direction to see the Slayer crossing the expanse of roof. "I was hoping you'd be able to reach the fire escape," he said, getting up dusting his jeans off. "Are there many patrols out?"
"What am I, short now?" Rhiannon cut the sarcasm with a smirk and met him by the AC. The Destroyer had about four inches on her. If she wore boots. She looked over the roof ledge and didn't see any vehicles on that side of the building. "There's a lot of cops on the Strip, especially on the north end, up by Sahara. There was a hotel fire earlier. I think somebody pulled a Carrie in the casino."
Satisfied that they were alone, she stuck her thumbs in her hip pockets. "So. What's up?" A hot breeze blew her hair into her eyes. Lately the air smelled bad, like garbage and smoke and exhaust fumes. The city was emptier than before, but the people who stayed behind were making the landscape look more like the set of a disaster flick than Las Vegas.
"I brought that home surgery stuff you asked for," Connor said, holdng out the plastic bag he'd brought the supplies in. "To finally deal with the tracking device. I can't promise I'll be as neat as a real doctor, but I'll do my best."
He wasn't being evasive, at least not entirely. He still felt a little heavy around the edges and would not turn down support if it was offered, but he wasn't shattered. His hands would be steady when he went to make the incision. "It probably won't even scar."
"Aren't we kind-over over scars?" That was a simple but unconsciously loaded question.
( Emotional Surgery )
Connor snorted out another laugh, ducking Rhiannon's hand and feeling not quite so self-conscious anymore. Learning by example was something he'd done in the past, so maybe this time he could put that to positive effect instead of a negative one. He would have to learn this someday, anyway.
"I'll try to follow your shining example, O Great Guru."
"Bring sunglasses. I'm a veritable beacon of social graces and couth."
Rhiannon sat up and patted her pocket. "Now where are my smokes?"
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| This isn't goodbye |
[08 Jul 2008|08:33pm] |
The packing was done. Everything that hadn't been packed into her bags had either been dropped off at Goodwill or left neatly piled on her bed for her roommates to do with what they pleased. Once the decision had been made to leave she wasted little time in getting her things sorted, for several reasons.
First there was no point in waiting once she'd made the decision to leave, she might just chicken out and decide to stay in Searchlight. The second, more sentimental reason was that her goodbye with Connor had almost broken her heart, and she hadn't wanted to make the pain worse for them both by lingering. Once everything was packed she wasted little time in leaving the Lighthouse, it was easier that way.
That left one final goodbye to be handled face to face.
( Sisters of the heart )
She wouldn't cry. She would not cry. This wasn't goodbye, they just weren't going to be seeing each other for a while.
"See you around, Mal." With that, she backed out of the parking space and drove out onto the highway.
Julie didn't look back. She didn't dare.
Mallory watched the truck until it was nothing more than a speck disappearing down the highway, her hands still in her pockets. The July sun was hot and unforgiving on her shoulders and the back of her neck, and there were tears trickling down her cheeks. She waved once, just before the vehicle vanished from sight even though Julie would never be able to see it, then turned and walked back into the diner to get something to go. She had packing of her own to do.
Packing and a letter to write.
"I love you, Julie."
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