| Sunglasses |
[10 Jul 2008|12:00am] |
Faith couldn’t remember the last time she had to wear sunglasses.
Granted, most of that was because of the hours the Slayer kept. Working nights, sleeping during the day a lot – in some ways, Faith had a lot in common with the vampires, outside of the part where she was destined to spend her life killing them.
Under normal circumstances, Faith wouldn’t have waited for daylight before leaving the Nevada desert. She would’ve simply packed a bag, hopped on her bike and gotten the hell out of dodge. But these circumstances were anything but normal.
Mandatory curfews at night curtailed both work and play for the Slayer, as did the increased police presence. Faith heard rumblings of military brigades at the borders of other cities, soldiers charged with inspecting everyone who came in or tried to leave. Paranoia was on the rise, and Faith didn’t really blame anyone, considering nearly a month ago some disgruntled government agent popped up on television giving away all the world’s nasty secrets.
Boy, Faith hoped Markowitz was dead by now. Or at least in a shitload of pain.
( Last reflections )
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| Getting Out of Dodge |
[10 Jul 2008|11:12pm] |
The casino was nearly deserted when Grace pushed through the doors, and three more people left when she arrived, looking at their watches and muttering to one another about the curfew and how it was such a bitch to come to a place like this and not even be able to stay out after dark. The vampire heard something like, "Fucking army bastards..." before the little group departed, and she really couldn't agree more. A girl couldn't unlive like this.
Well, at least she was almost out of here, onto freer, if not greener, pastures.
She'd arranged to meet Darian tonight, and she looked around for the Dealmaker before making her way over to the bar. One drink, maybe two. As she lowered her weight onto a padded stool, she lit up a smoke, wondering where the hell the past two years had gone.
Meanwhile, Darian was at a craps table, talking it up with the dealer. The demon seemed stoic tonight, more himself. His hands were in his suit pockets, and the beard he'd grown out was gone. He watched the dealer talk, leaning back when her hands gestured a little too enthusiastically. If there was one thing Darian hated, it was someone coming uninvited into his personal space.
Becoming more disinterested by the moment, his eyes wandered over the hardcore gamblers, still were scattered about the casino and bellying up to the bar. When he caught sight of Grace, he interrupted the dealer with a hand gesture and walked over. "I'm curious," he said, "If you get caught outside, does that government identification still get you out of hot water?" He brushed a piece of lint off the nearest stool and took a seat.
"I wouldn't know, they haven't caught me yet. I'm a fuckiin' shadow of a shadow." Grace already had her drink in front of her, a double bourbon with no ice from the top shelf, and she was nursing it while watching the few other patrons wander back and forth from the craps table to the slots machines, and occasionally to the bar. "Why, you worried they might not buy you as one of them anymore?"
She swiped an ashtray from the spot two seats away from her, tapped her cigarette into it. "Business gettin' sparse?" she asked Darian. "Or is the current ambiance just adding to the desperation?"
( In Her Company )
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