McAnally's Pub

He'd heard of some strange happenings in the area again. Or, someone higher up the chain of command had and has sent him to check it out. He doesn't understand why, as there is a fully practicing professional wizard in the area, but he does what he's told.

Sometimes he thinks he shouldn't, as that's how he ended up with the broken leg before, but disobeying orders is less beneficial than bending the 'letter' of those orders.

So, he's checking out the cemetery, but he's not having much fun with it.

It is officially my birthday.

I don't feel any older or wiser. But, I don't suppose you ever really do.

It's also Halloween. That never changes either. Not sure how I was lucky enough to be born on All Hallow's Eve, but them's the breaks, right?

You'd think having a birthday on a holiday (even one that isn't recognized by the post office) would mean people don't forget your birthday, but it doesn't. There are those people who just don't remember things like that.

Then there are those who wish people would. This year, though, hasn't been too bad. Murphy got me something nice and Molly brought me things that should never be displayed in public anywhere I frequent. Things her parents would not approve of at all.

I'm not usually home on Halloween, so I don't usually buy candy for little goblins to come thieve, but this year's different. I'm home, I have candy and my dog is giving me looks that say he should get a piece or two before the end of the night. Maybe. Chocolate wasn't meant for pets. Just ask Mister. He walked over, sniffed the bowl, turned tail and stalked away back to his bookshelf.

I don't even know if there are kids in my neighborhood. Guess I'll find out tonight, huh?

Rosa has spent just enough winters in Chicago to understand that she needs to have thick clothing for the rapidly approaching cold. This is the reason that she is sitting on a bench in the park and knitting.

To her credit, it is a) still light out and b) underneath a streetlamp anyway. See, sometimes she learns from her mistakes! Sometimes.

Right now she's working on a massive ink-blue blanket, the finished portion draped over her knees.

I was thinking, as my dog nosed at my face this morning, that I need to check on Thomas. I haven't seen him in a while and I should make sure he's not getting himself into any big trouble.

Though, thinking more on that, maybe I shouldn't - because if he is in big trouble, I'll get sucked into it. But isn't that what brothers are for - getting each other out of just as much trouble as they get each other into?

Current Location: Harry's apartment

Alex is on the roof of her building (or is it Thomas' building? either way...) working on her tan. She's wearing a lovely little bikini with the straps untied to avoid tan lines around her neck; she's got the music cranked and she's thoroughly enjoying the lack of anything to do.


Down in the apartment, she's left Thomas a note:

Thomas,

The sun is shining, the air is warm and even though the ice is melting, the water is cold. Find me working on my tan. I've even got myself a little make-shift beach.

Alex

Current Location: manhattan

So, I'm kicked back, reading a book, listening to it rain, waiting for the phone to ring.

This is the part of my job that's a bit on the boring side. I don't mind most of the time. Not until it's time to pay my rent.

Current Location: harry's office

Thomas bought a new bike, Alex couldn't tell you want type it was or anything about it aside from 'it's loud' and 'it's fucking fast'. Neither of these attributes are a problem for her. In fact, she rather likes the 'fast' part a lot. She's holding tight, pressed against his back, loving every speeding moment of the ride. At some points, she can even recognize the scenery. She loves Manhattan.

Current Location: Manhattan

Van Helsing is prowling around the city of Chicago. The weather's warming, in fact, some days, it's downright miserably hot, but still he dons the leather duster. He never complains about being too hot or too cold. He doesn't complain about his job at all, most of the time.

The sun's sinking slowly below the horizon, orange and red and the beginnigs of blue streaking the sky. He's ready to call it a night, but he's really only begun for the day.

There hasn't been much supernatural activity in Chicago of late, but the slow trend doesn't mean he has no need to patrol. There could still be something lurking in the shadows.

In her effort to spend as little time as possible covering House's clinic hours, Cameron is working on some charts that haven't been finished. Besides, she has to make sure B.O. gets fed and has a clean bowl to swim in, since House doesn't seem to have much actual interest in the fish. Maybe Cameron should've gotten him another rat.

There's coffee and a couple bagels beside the stack of resumés on House's desk that is ready to take a hefty spill to the floor with a good breeze. Cameron's read through most of them, but she's certain House isn't interested any hiring any of them.

What should I read next, The Call of the Wild or The Gun Seller? Both have been sitting in my paperback stack for months. The stack's in no particular order. It's not even really a stack. More like a bunch of books tossed into a box. These two just happen to be the ones I plucked out when I reached in with both hands.

Decisions. Decisions.

Current Location: Harry's Office

Cameron is doing some pre-spring cleaning. There are a few boxes she hadn't gotten around to unpacking before, so she's working on those now. Books and decorative items, linens and towels, a few other odds and ends. She needs to get the boxes out of her house and get all of her personal belongings in order before her roommate officially moves himself in.

Of course, she's not sure he's actually agreed to do so. He never did give her a straight answer. He never gives a straight answer. She's well aware of that.


Her house is starting to feel like her 'home' now. Except for that weird prickle-hair feeling she gets in the living room, late at night, when she's alone. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up and she gets chills. It's happened a few times a week since she moved in, but it's only, just now, beginning to worry her a little.

Current Location: Cameron's House

It isn't that Rosa stops paying attention on purpose ... it's more that she does it without really noticing. At least it's still early in the evening when she steps into the park so there's nothing dangerous, but unless someone taps her or she runs into them, she's probably not going to notice them.

She's thinking -- about what she's going to do with her engagement ring and with her engagement in general, about how Harry is and how she should go to see him, about the papers that she has to touch up or finish off.

Cameron's at home, she's got dinner in the oven and she's swishing a duster around the top of the piano - wouldn't want it to get dirty. The duster may swish over a few other pieces of furniture around the place, but for now, just this.

To see her through the front window, she probably appears a bit dazed or like she's in a dreamland somewhere. She's thinking. Her mind wandering off to somewhere else, it should be back soon.

She hadn't spoken to Harry since she had dropped by on St. Patrick's day, and now it was the weekend...so naturally, Rosa found herself milling around the general neighbourhood that Harry's apartment was located in near what could be described as the very beginning of the evening.

Probably not the smartest thing to do, but she wasn't sure what she was doing there in the first place. Their last meeting had been awkward (to the point where she had gotten upset enough to take off her engagement ring and store it in the top drawer of her nightstand), so she wasn't eager to have another.

And yet ... she did want to. At least some things would become resolved if she did.

That said, please feel free to bother the poor girl sitting on the bench in the dark park. She probably needs the company.

Current Location: streets of Chicago

Business is slow.

Contrary to popular belief, I don't really mind that on some days. Today, I mind. Why today? Because in today's mail I received a polite note from my landlord about my rent. I'm a little late with the rent this month. Okay, a lot late. I can't help it that Mouse and Mister both needed annual check-ups and I needed a few repairs to the Beetle... all at the same time.

That little bit of change from the Council isn't as much as one might think.

I could try that savings account thing, but I don't know that it'd work out as well as everyone thinks.

Current Location: Harry's office

It's a little after nine a.m. Cameron's fed B.O. and is working on the coffee. There isn't much to do until there's either a case or her boss makes his morning (closer-to-noon) arrival.

On his desk are three fellowship applicant files awaiting his perusal. Someone thinks he needs to hire the rest of his team. This time, that someone isn't Cameron.

They've had a few cases, nothing spectacular, but some interesting ones that they've been able to solve without killing the patient. The number of clinic hours logged though, is a testament to the boredom level.

Cameron takes a seat at her computer to go through House's e-mail.

Current Location: Cook County Hospital

Happy Birthday, big brother.

Cameron is happily creating some concoction or other in her kitchen. Soft music plays in the background while she works. The only other sound is the 'clink' of the spoon on the side of the pot as she stirs its contents.

In the oven she has other goodies baking. She's in cooking / baking mode for some reason. Besides, it's keeping her busy.

Current Location: cameron's house

Oh sunlight, how I've missed seeing you during the pre-dusk hours. Only, I prefer that you not pierce my poor tired eyeballs when you greet me. Really.

Though, I am much less tired than I was, say, thirteen hours ago. Hell, I'm only getting up now because there is a fifty-pound ball of hair on my head attempting to suffocate me with nothing but it's tail.

My morning workout consists of getting said ball of hair off my head - it's like doing a set of bicep curls or bench presses, depending on the direction of feline flailing; getting myself out of the bed - that's a lot like, you know that scene in The Princess Bride when Buttercup pushes Westley down the hill? Yeah, that rolling down the hill part, only not quite as far. Once I'm on my feet, I'm pretty good to go, except for the hurdles I have to jump to get into the shower. There are two - one is the aforementioned ball of fur and the other is a much larger ball of fur, this one of the canine variety. So, with the triathlon out of the way, it's time for a chilling and very brief shower.

Current Location: Harry's Apartment

( Summary of Mac's on LJ - part I (warning for spoilers through Dead Beat) )

( Summary of Mac's on LJ - part II (warning for spoilers through Dead Beat) )

Welcome to McAnally's!

(copied from user info; copyright Jim Butcher)

McAnally's is a pub a few blocks from my office. I go there when I'm feeling stressed, or when I have a few extra bucks to spend on a nice dinner. A lot of us fringe types do. Mac, the pub owner, is used to wizards and all the problems that come along with us. There aren't any video games at McAnally's. There are no televisions or expensive computer trivia games. There isn't even a jukebox. Mac keeps a player piano instead. It's less likely to go haywire around us.

I say pub in all the best senses of the word. When you walk in, you take several steps down into a room with a deadly combination of low clearance and ceiling fans. If you're tall, like me, you walk carefully in McAnally's. There are thirteen windows, set up high in the wall in order to be above ground level, let some light from the street into the place. Thirteen mirrors on the walls cast back reflections of the patrons in dim detail, and give the illusion of more space. Thirteen wooden columns, carved with likenesses from folktales and legends of teh Old World, make it difficult to walk around the place without weaving a circuitous route - they also quite intentionally break up the flow of random energies, dispelling to one degree or another the auras that gather around broody, grumpy wizards and keeping them from manifesting in unintentional and colorful ways. The colors are all muted, earth browns and sea greens. The first time I entered McAnally's, I felt like a wolf returning to an old, favorite den. Mac makes his own beer, ale really, and it's the best stuff in the city. His food is cooked on a wood-burning stove. And you can damn well walk your own self over to the bar to pick up your order when it's ready, according to Mac. It's my sort of place.