Haunted Roads

Who: Roxy and Tavin
Where: Old Town Towers
What: Jerzy's cat is loose again, so Rox brings her home
When: Early evening

She'd been hauling in groceries when she'd first spotted the thing - the little furball that went dashing through the open door of her apartment. It looked vaguely like the kitten she'd seen prowling around the hallway days before, one that had been retrieved quickly by a dark-haired kid from down the hall. Was the poor thing loose again? Seemed to be the case, though dashing into Roxy's apartment might have been the worst choice. Sure, she had a cat but she also had a dog who was used to sharing the place with it's feline family member. This new intruder probably wouldn't be welcomed warmly.

Dumping the bags onto her kitchen table, she closed the door before the whole trio was running loose in the building, following the loud growling she could hear down the hall and into her bedroom. Jinx, the cat that already called the apartment home, was curled up on top of her pillow staring balefully at the source of all the noise. Crouched down so that he could peer under her bed - and growly rather loudly - her white pitbull, Saint, had the poor kitten back into a corner. Literally. "Ok, ok, that's enough," leaning down, she pulled him back by the collar, leading him back out into the hall and closing her bedroom door. It took a few moments of coaxing to get the poor kitten to come out of it's hiding place, looking about as traumatized as could be. Little thing probably hadn't expected such a greeting.

Scooping the cat up into her arms, Roxy figured taking it back down the hall was the best course of action. Besides, the kid would probably be out looking for it again so she'd save him the time and effort. She stepped over Saint and grabbed her keys, kitten snuggled up in one arm as she headed down the hall. Her memory couldn't exactly pull up which number it was, though A5 looked to be the right distance from her place. Oh well, only one way to find out. Raising a hand, she knocked loudly and waited until the door opened to hand back over the little escapee.

Who: Chris and Roxy
Where: Crimson Needle Tattoos
When: early evening

It had taken Chris a while to summon up the nerve to actually walk into the tattoo parlor. It was nothing like the little shop in Cypremort where he'd gotten his first and only tattoo done; that shop had been an afterthought tacked onto the end of an anonymous strip mall, and the only service offered there had been ink. No piercings, no modifications, no bizarre jewelry, no bright colors, no loud music. He'd been reasonably comfortable there, and he had tolerated the small tattoo on the inside of his wrist fairly well. It had been an impulse, something he'd done just after Amity had left for the University of Washington.

He wasn't positive why he'd decided to visit the Crimson Needle, beyond the fact that he was killing time before he had to make his way to work for his 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. shift. There were plenty of bars around this neighborhood, but as a general rule, Chris disliked bars. He'd very rarely ever drank, and they were usually noisy and filled with boisterous people with lowered inhibitions. Not good when you didn't like for random strangers to touch you. He found it to be simpler to buy a six-pack of beer at the grocery and take it home on those occasions when he wanted something alcoholic. At any rate, he'd eaten dinner and now he was at loose ends. He didn't have enough time to go back to Old Town Towers, he didn't have his sketchpad with him and he couldn't see just sitting down and doing nothing until he was due at the hospital.

So here he was, pale and skittish with both hands tucked into the pockets of his cargo pants, hanging around the edges of the shop, cautiously looking at some of the tattoo art that hung on one wall. This place made him feel awkward with its red and black decor, the pulsing music from the sound system and the bright lights. He felt like an alien in here, particularly as his attention was caught by a tall man with an inordinate number of metal piercings in his face and ears. Chris frowned as he tried to figure out why the guy's earlobes looked so strange, and he finally realized that there were big holes in them, holes big enough to pass a candy cane through. He blinked and his cheeks colored as his scrutiny was noticed, and he quickly turned his head away. What would happen if that man ever had to go through the metal detector at the airport? he wondered.

If he ever did get another tattoo, he'd sketch it out himself, but looking at the pictures that had already been sketched gave him something to do besides just stand around and look out of place. He guessed he could wander over to the display case of body jewelry... Maybe he'd do that in a minute. Chris turned his head to one side, glancing out from beneath his lashes to see if anyone seemed to be watching him. Nothing, and he repeated the motion to look to the other side. The scary man with the holes in his lobes was on the other side of the shop, and the other three customers didn't seem to be paying him any attention.

One hand emerged from his pocket to push dark hair out of his eyes, and once he'd done that, Chris began walking along the wall toward one of the display cases, the hand finding its way back into his pocket as he went. It was a mannerism that he did not even think about, something that had become a habit years ago. The fewer things he touched, the better. It didn't occur to him that he looked as if he could possibly be hiding something in those pockets when he did that. He'd grown up in a small town, and the thought of random violence wasn't one that troubled him that much.

He stopped at the far end of the display case, his head canted to one side as he tried to figure out exactly what he was looking at. Earrings, nose rings, belly button rings? He had no idea, and he blinked down at the jewelry, one corner of his lower lip held thoughtfully between his teeth.

Who: Jerzy and B-Rox
Where: Old Town Towers, Fifth Floor Corridor
When: Late Morning
What: Here Kitty Kitty Kitty

Jerzy was sure he’d locked the door. No, he knew he had. But the ghosts around here never seemed to care about that. No, they just opened shit anyway. Or closed it. Open and close, open and close, open and close, and on and on and on. Some ghost had serious fucking issues. And people thought Jerzy was strange. Oh, if they only knew.

Closed. Sitting on the couch chilling with a big ol’ bowl of Cap’n Crunch and a coke, he’d just woke up and it showed, in his dress, by the state of his hair. Jerzy heard the front door slam shit. Fuck. “Kitty?”

“Hello?”

He didn’t think there was anyone here, well besides him and Taavi, who was most definitely in the shower. “Taavi?” He asked anyway. “Kitty, kitty? Okay, not funny.” His worry was for the cat, in all this. Someone or something had either just come in, or just left, but Jerzy worried about the kitty. Well, of course he worried about Taavi, but hell, he knew that whatever it was was probably not more badass than Taavi. That guy could kick major fucking ass. Jerzy had seen it.

After setting the bowl and soda on the coffee table (he’d had to brush aside yesterday’s dishes, game cartridges, overflowing ashtray, a bong, and various other items), Jerzy was up and moving. His eyes moved every which direction as the man took on a stealthy stance, shoulders hunched, bare feet falling softly on the rug and then the wood floor. When he saw the door he paused. It was wide open.

Jerzy turned around and around, looking, but made his way finally, on shaking legs, to the door, and out. In the hall now. “Kitty?…” He'd never given the cute little thing a name. After all, she wasn't his to name. Not like she'd be sticking around or anything. But he hadn't expected this.