| Road Trip to Texas |
[17 Jul 2008|01:22am] |
Things to Pack for Week @ Mom's House
*20 outfits
*Stolen strappy sandals (my bad, D)
*iPod (download 'Best of ABBA'... annoy Tyler)
*Shampoo and conditioner
*Loud sex toy (buy batteries!!!)
*Cell phone charger
*Cooler w/ ice packs
*Blaaahd
*Deodorant, perfume, body wash
*VOGUE!!!
*Cowgirl hat and boots
*Tampons? Ha! Never again, suckas!
*Toothbrush
*Jack Daniels (not your mother's road trip)
*Put bricks in suitcase. Make Ty carry.
Things to Do at Mom's House
*Eat her food
*Drink her drinks
*Leave hair in the sink
*Use the last square of toilet paper
*Have kinky sex on the white couch
*'Borrow' the Lexus
*Pretend Tyler's the boss of me
*Drain her boyfriend (just a little!! for real)
*Cut pictures out of Redbook
*Adjust her bathroom scale
*****
Dear Vivian,
By the time you get this note, we'll be in the driveway. There's no escape!!!
Love, STAR
*****
Dear Leah,
Here's this month's rent check! Sorry I haven't been around much. Weird nocturnal clock resetting. I'm going to visit my maternal figure in TX. When I get back, let's go out for drinks. Need to suss out when I'm moving into my new petite-yet-sophisticated condo!!! 4 blocks off the Strip, yay for money! BTW I quit the hair salon.
You're the best roommie ever. (Code: Please don't wig and hang garlic around the door while I'm gone. Not that it works well. It's just rank.)
I left you a present on the counter. It's an extra giveaway bag from the 'Carmilla' after-party. Ignore the lame-ass plastic fangs (distribution company woes). Skip to the perfume and Dior sunglasses!
Love, STAR
PS- Curious about funky gray shavings in bowl on kitchen counter? Comfrey root... spell for safe travels! Please don't toss! Spell is WORKING!!!
PEACE.
[Star Exits Stage Left!]
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| A Chapter Ends |
[17 Jul 2008|12:06am] |
Two bags: a carry-on and a suitcase
Are packed and waiting by the door.
Destination?
New York, New York. One first class ticket out of Vegas.
I've found new employment.
No selling books in a sand-trap town.
No slinging drinks behind a greasy bar.
No chasing demon piss out of a urinal with a bucket of bleach.
No carrying a badge that weighs 50 goddamn pounds
(karmic included).
I've got an advance in my hip pocket.
All I've got to do is show up, exercise my god-given ability to
Vanquish the monsters,
Keep the peace,
Be the right kind of Slayer.
God knows it seems like there's fewer of Us
Despite there being more.
I want to tell them
'Wake up, girls. The choice is gone.'
This is necessary.
We are the Trailblazers, the ones who'll show the world
That they don't have to live in fear.
We'll protect them, like we've always protected them.
We'll show them the faces of their saviors as well as the damned.
Hey, Whistler,
How am I supposed to get weapons on a plane?
Just a few days, here and there,
That I'll be gone.
I've made the decision to stay in Las Vegas,
At least for now.
I can't desert this city,
My city,
Our city,
Right as things get so dark.
I watch the taillights, a long chain of
Red. I see them go their separate ways.
I'd be lying if I said
It didn't hurt me. Not from some twisted sense of their
Obligation, but because I've come to love them.
But I don't need them.
That's not an insult. It's the biggest compliment I've ever given myself.
I'm standing on my own.
I am capable of turning my back to
Anything, even
Her,
My foolish way of being a dependent girl inside an independent woman
Is beginning to disappear.
But I'm not alone.
Whistler, my sense of home,
Connor, my friend, not just a
Fighter by my side.
Joseph, my great love, is staying here with me.
I'm so much more than I was when I arrived.
I've got so much more left to go.
-R
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| A Hell of a Ride |
[16 Jul 2008|08:06pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 awake |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Bat out of Hell - Meatloaf |
] |
It was three-thirty in the morning. As she had told Darian, the best time to go was when it was very late and the army jeeps were few and far between. She had packed the important stuff into the trunk of the Plymouth, the money and the guns, then left a hasty voicemail for Deanna on the redhead's cellphone. No time to say goodbye when the getting gone was necessary, and neither of them were the really sentimental type anyway. The world was tiny, besides that. They'd see each other again.
She was already on Highway 95, headed south towards the Arizona border. The night was clear and warm, a moon adding to the lights of her headlamps as they cut through the darkness. The windows were open, allowing the desert wind to ruffle her hair, and the radio was tuned to the classic rock station, Meatloaf belting out the best travelling song she'd ever heard;
Like a bat out of hell
I'll be gone when the morning comes.
When the night is over
Like a bat out of hell
I'll be gone gone gone.
Like a bat out of hell
I'll be gone when the morning comes.
But when the day is done and the sun goes down,
and the moonlight's shining through,
Then like a sinner before the gates of heaven,
I'll come crawling on back to you.
Reuben didn't know she was on her way. Just as well, that, it meant she could try and surprise the little shitkicker for a change. They'd get drunk and fool around for a week or so, then see what was what. Not like she didn't have plenty of cash to tide her over for a while. Better to just lay in the cut and wait for this stupidity to calm down.
She'd see the States again. Maybe even Sin City. The world was an endless playground when you were immortal. And hadn't it already been a hell of a ride?
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| Oliver and Hannah |
[15 Jul 2008|09:53pm] |
Oliver's sleep was surprisingly peaceful, but that might just have been the sedatives. He woke up slowly, feeling a heaviness in his bladder, and the call button brought a nurse bustling into the room with a bedpan. There was a television bolted to the wall, the remote on the bedside table, but he didn't reach for it.
The casts on his legs were a stark white, and he glowered down at them. He'd never broken a bone before, much less two at once. He hoped the doctors had been able to set them properly. A limp was a souvenir he didn't want.
He sagged back against the pillows, looking at the silent television. He wondered how the wreck was being explained, the presence of those decidedly not human bodies at the scene. He hoped Homeland Security fucking choked on the bad publicity.
Hannah’s ethereal presence filtered into the hospital room. She arrived tentatively; she was a little unsure of herself, because she hadn’t been Oliver’s knight in shining armor after all. In fact, if it weren’t for a terrible wreck, he might still be holed up someplace secret.
When she came into solidity, Hannah was over by the window. She was nothing more than dust particulates floating in a shaft of sunlight. Slowly those specks became girl-shaped. She gnawed on her lip. “Oliver?” She looked at his leg casts. Ouch!
Perhaps it was that he was getting used to her appearances, as if the way she materialized had a sound like the wind picking up, her petite frame slowly becoming solid to allow him to touch her. Maybe it was simply because he was in love with her.
Oliver's head turned towards on the pillow so that he faced the window, and a weary smile touched the corners of his mouth. From heaven, all things really are possible.
"Hello, love," he said quietly. "Please excuse me if I don't get up. I'm rather indisposed at the moment."
( The 'We Hate Hospitals' Club )
( A Booster Shot of Sorts )
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| A Final Letter |
[14 Jul 2008|04:50pm] |
Dear Victoria,
By the time you read this, I'll probably have caught my flight. I guess it makes me chickenshit not to say goodbye face-to-face, but I felt like it was better to do it this way. More chance of a clean break this way, for both of us.
I've decided to take a job with the Watcher's Council, and they're flying me out to London to participate in their training program. Searchlight has gotten too small, and the current climate is making Vegas impossible. So I'm taking my do-gooder act on the road, all the way across the ocean to see if those English folks can be useful to me, or at least if I can be useful to them.
I saw the stuff about Carmilla in the paper, the publicity for it. I guess this is the part where I should say congratulations, but I can't do that. I've been enough of a hypocrite and you're probably tired of me lying. I saw her picture, though. Star's. I was right, she is beautiful. Just like you. You guys make a great...something.
I hope you get everything you want. I mean that, okay? Even if I can't tell you its wonderful, I never want to think about you being hurt or disappointed. So take care of yourself, and of her too, I guess. Its going to be harder than ever to live in this world now. I want you to keep safe.
I love you, and in my heart I'm hugging you really tight while I say goodbye. I don't know when I'll be back in the States, only that I probably will be at some point. After that, I have no idea of what will happen. I don't even know if I'll see you again. Might be better if I don't. I was only able to tell you
no once.
I better close this out before I start crying. There's been enough of that already. So. Goodbye, Victoria Foxworth. You're in my heart forever. I love you.
Mallory Judith Quinn
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| Crash Landing |
[14 Jul 2008|11:37am] |
He doesn't know where he is. A bed somewhere, a semi-comfortable one and not the cot he'd occupied before. He feels like he's been asleep for a long time. The room is white, the sun coming through the window making the whiteness glare in a way that hurts his eyes. Hospital.
How did he get into the hospital?
He remembers being taken out of his cell, walked down a narrow corridor among echoing footsteps and muted conversations. Counting helmeted heads while seeming to stare at nothing, regulating his breathing and heartbeat and listening to his feet slapping gently against the floor. There had been a grimness in the air, a feeling of urgency. Someone spilled the beans, at least that's what he guesses. Now the situation was being...cleaned up.
( Wakey-Wakey )
"My Hannah." Even the blonde's name is sweet to him, sweet as the water he'd drunk, and he nods. If he sleeps, his head will stop spinning. His eyes slide shut, and he lets the fatigue carry him off.
A self-rescuing prince.
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| The Golden Age of Cinema |
[12 Jul 2008|11:58pm] |
She'd missed the debut; if there was a golden ticket inviting her to the premiere Deanna wouldn't have received it. Between the time spent healing at Grace's abode, and returning to the Wynn to find out her belongings had been placed in storage and the suite given to another couple (the hotel manager hautily announcing it was bad publicity to have a vampire in residence), the redhead had missed more than a few momentous occasions.
Deanna slipped into the theatre just after dusk, popcorn purchased from the concession, and settled into her seat for what was truly a marvel of cinematic delight. While most of the audience debated after the final credits whether the actresses in Carmilla were truly vampires or not, she knew better. And, she also knew, Victoria had finally created her own childe.
She slipped by the departing throng and paused to admire the poster. Development Hell. That brought a smile to her face.
Thread open to Star and Victoria.
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[12 Jul 2008|11:54am] |
She had just finished packing one suitcase when the cell phone on the wooden nightstand nearly vibrated down to the carpeted floor. Clemence sighed from her perch on the unmade bed and reached over to grab the flashing phone. She flipped it open and held it to her ear. "Yes?"
"We closed the deal on the house," the voice on the line replied. Clemence smiled wanely. "That's great." Her older brother David and his long-time girlfriend had been shopping for real estate in Wisconsin. He cleared his throat and continued. "I think you should come move in with us." That made Clemence pause her compulsive clothes-folding. "What are you talking about? You know I'm moving to California. I already put a deposit down." The blonde frowned.
"I'll reimburse you the deposit," he said dismissively. She could just imagine him waving his hand as he said it, as if trying to bat away an annoying fly. "Okay, but why do you think I should impose on you and Angela?"
"How could you be imposing if I'm the one asking you?"
"Answer the question, David," Clemence replied impatiently. She gave up on her mountain of freshly laundered clothes and walked over to her tiny bedroom window, staring out at the desert contemplatively. She thought she had an inkling of where her brother was going with his odd and random request.
"It's just that ever since you took off to Nevada, you've seemed...different. Even more so now in recent months." He paused, in an attempt to word things carefully, she assumed. "And we all thought that maybe you're a bit isolated up there?"
She laughed dryly. "I know it's a small town, but there are people around."
David's voice took on a slightly serious note. "We both know that no matter how many people are around, people you don't know, you still tend to isolate yourself." Clemence didn't have any snappy comeback to that.
"Okay," she conceded, "but it's not like I'm withering away or anything. You don't have to worry about me." As she stared out at the sandy expanse beyond her window, she knew that wasn't completely the truth; her family did have justification to worry about her, they just weren't aware of the reasons why.
"You worry about us," he countered. "So we're allowed to worry about you. Besides, you're the youngest." Clemence rolled her eyes. This was the back-up logic that they always used when they were out of arguments.
"I can tell you're not going to give up on this, so...just let me think about it, okay?" For the first time in the conversation, Clemence was being completely truthful. She would carefully think about, weigh all considerations thoroughly. Because honestly, she didn't think California would be far enough away. Not far enough away from the life she had lived in the past year and a half.
"Call me back tomorrow, will you?," her brother requested. "Of course," she replied, her voice softening.
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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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| 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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| On the Dusty Road |
[09 Jul 2008|07:12pm] |
Hannah Flynn grieved.
Gone were the good old days of Searchlight, when the Nugget was full of familiar people, and the Lighthouse was a fun place to go for a drink, and her best friends were only a few trailers away. Hannah had passed away, but as long as the faces of her old life remained, she had a 'home' on the earth plane. They kept her memories alive. They made it seem like nothing had changed. Now, as she watched them part ways, leaving one another behind, her best and last years slipped away, too.
Soon, nobody who ate at the diner would remember Hannah Flynn.
Thinking that way made Hannah feel downright selfish! But she couldn't help it. She had wanted them to stay forever, just the same.
But people had to move on. People like Julie. It wasn't too fun to admit, but it was a good idea. That musty old town couldn't love Julie the werewolf, like it loved Julie the cute bartender.
Hannah's official business was the spirit world, but she wasn't above pulling strings. After she became a ghost, Hannah used it to spy on Devon O'Connell, former boyfriend, forever friend. Now Julie was on a quest to find Devon, because she believed he was the only person who could help her. Hannah didn't know if it was true, but if Julie believed it, she wanted to make her wish come true.
Dropping in on the living was a shock-inducing thing; She had the decency to wait until Julie pulled the car over to pump gas. "Wow... Six-fifty a gallon?! Cripes, am I glad I'm not driving a station wagon these days!" Whomever bought her old Gremlin at the auction must've been doing a happy dance. That thing could go for light-years on fumes.
[Thread: Open to Julie and Hannah]
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| The Road We're On |
[09 Jul 2008|12:49am] |
Finally returned to Searchlight after an orientation that lasted days, if not a week, the first thing Whistler did was scour the local news. Granted, the Powers had given him all he needed to know, but it lacked the human angle. Knowing an event was one thing; understanding the emotional ripples was quite another.
The internet was on overload. When he could log on, the blogosphere was rife with conspiracy theories, cell phone videos of various events, dusted-off instructional videos from the 1950s on how to handle cataclysmic events ('House in the Middle' was always his favorite) but mostly, mostly, there was panic, fear, and uncertainty. Leaders of nations did their best to explain the unexplainable, and it wasn't helping.
He loaded up on Jolt cola, cigarettes and pre-wrapped ham and cheese sandwiches, and took the long walk from his doublewide into Las Vegas. Military personnel and transport kept a discreet presence but it made its point: we'll protect you but we're not exactly sure how or what from.
Tossing the wrapper from his third sandwich into the trash, he finally approached Rhiannon's warehouse and made the climb up to her door.
Rhiannon heard the footsteps from her couch. She was sitting flipping through a two-year old phone book, trying to find a single sub shop that still had delivery guys. Apparently people didn't like approaching random door stoops anymore. The fates of a dozen missing Pizza Delivery guys was suddenly in perspective.
"If you're a looter, come back later," she yelled, holding her index finger on a number and listening to her cell. Apparently the number she had reached was no longer in service.
( Nothing To Steal )
( The U.N. and Emily Post )
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| Awful Dark |
[09 Jul 2008|12:36am] |
It got awful dark in the crypt once the sun went down. That was how Spike wanted it, which was why he’d gotten rid of the candles.
Who wanted light in a dark time like this?
Spike had barely moved since returning to what could loosely be described as his home. Not that he couldn’t – his wounds had healed nicely – but with everything going on, the vampire didn’t exactly relish the thought of being the target of another mob scene.
No … right now, merely keeping to the shadows and hoping against all hope some foolishly brave humans didn’t stumble into his crypt looking for a little piece of the vampire action was his main priority. It was one of the typical reactions following the worldwide revelation of the undead; some panicked and kept to themselves, while others decided to take a stand and fight the menace – regardless of how prepared they were.
Truth of the matter was, Spike wasn’t necessarily convinced he hadn’t deserved it. Yeah, it was sort of on the screwed up side that he was attacked by those he had saved not long before, but was it really that unjustified? People wanted to lash out against the vampires and Spike was a vampire – could he really blame them for what they did?
No, he couldn’t.
( What day is it? )
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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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| 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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| 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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