Morningstar Manor

He had called as requested, Nick wasn't a big customer but paid up front and moved in the right circles to refer like minded people, and now was waiting to meet his new customer.

Eight pm, near the statue and he had been told she was drop dead gorgeous.

How many could there be like that?

In previous visits over the years, Jazz had picked plenty of pockets in the happy little square, but Monday had been the first time she'd ever been caught. Chances were good that no one would recognize or bother her - cities were good for breeding folk who minded their own business - but there was always the possibility....

And, of course, if she bumped into Him again...well, it bore a little caution. Yesterday she'd expanded her hunting grounds to a different part of the city; today, she was lying low and sticking close to the circo. Doing a bit of legitimate work for a change. Handing out some free passes to the fortune teller.

Because Carla was weird like that.

Most people stayed as far away as possible from their jobs on their day off, but not Bea. She loved the Mocha. It smelled better, looked better, was much cooler and offered better people-watching than her little apartment on the fifth floor with her mother did. 

So there she sat at a little table for two with the opposite chair empty, reading Pride and Prejudice and Zombies.

Man, zombies were kind of gross.

Eli had come in from working a weird shift and been unable to sleep. So he'd gone to the gym, found that too stifiling and went on a run. Now with his ipod strapped to his arm and sweat beading off his body, he entered the lobby. The air conditioning hit his skin and made him grin, feeling all the goosebumps and relief.

"Hell yes. Just what I needed." He said, to nobody in particular but more just to say it.

Urquhart was leaning outside the door leading from the Mocha into the garden, coffee in one hand, cigarette in another.

Looking up at the clouds, adding some of his own, and making lists in his head.

For once it seemed like Deacon's luck was turning for the better. The pusher in the ER had given him information that he'd been looking for for what seemed like ever. That Allan Kinyon was involved in some major dirty dealings they'd known for a while but they'd never been able to find enough to get him. But with this new information Deacon might just be able to work something out to buy them a little time.

Sitting at one of the coffee tables in the Morningstar Manor coffee shop, the Mocha, he sipped his coffee and read over his notes again. Yeah - this just might work.

Less positive was Charlie, entering from the lobby and looking a sight with a very black eye and a pair of borrowed jeans that were too short for him. "Tea please," he said to the blonde at the counter and raised his eye brows as she snickered. The tea when it came was weak and watery and her grin was even more malicious.

"Have you ever heard the term schadenfreude?" he asked and when she said she hadn't he suggested she look it up sometime. She didn't seem pleased, but that, Charlie decided, was HER problem. He had other things on his mind.

Deacon had watched the exchange and chuckled softly. When Shaw turned away from the counter he waved, catching his attention, and motioned him over to the table.

( Read more... )

Some of the things Sean helped himself to were easy enough to dispose of. Cash for instance - he needed to eat as well. Little bits and pieces could be given to friends as gifts or swapped for a toke or even a baggie. "Uncle" was usually happy to accept bags and coats as long as nobody was about to see Sean hand them over. But credit cards, passports and other high value items were a bit more chancy for Sean to deal with himself.

Luckily he had a 'friend' and knew where to find him. ( Read more... )

Trevor had taken the whole week off and Anastasia had to say that she was quite enjoying the time with her husband.
Classes were over, Trevor was home, and there was no one but them, no obligations, no problems at all, really.  It was perfect. 

She'd let Trevor sleep in for as long as she was able to stand it before she crawled back in bed and lay on his back, nuzzling the side of his neck.

"Wakey wakey," she whispered into his ear, stroking her finger over the lobe.

Micah Grey had taken a late lunch and was only just now getting back. Nevermore Books - named after his favorite Poe tale - was fairly new to Vine Square but had been doing okay for all that. The bookstore was like any good bookstore should be: small, dim and musty with books stretching up to the ceiling and going all the way to the back of the narrow storefront. Well most of the way back anyway. There was a wall eventually with a doorway closed off by a curtain that lead to the stores in the back.

Micah turned the 'Closed' sign to 'Open' on the door, unlocked it, and went back to his spot at the desk, slipping his wire rimmed glasses on and beginning to go through the stack of books that had been delivered earlier that day.

"Always with the fucking feathers," Sterrin grumbled as she was handed a set of large, pink feather fans that were a few shades lighter than the feather-adorned pink g-string she was wearing.

"They love you and those fans," Dick shot back as he headed out of the dressing room, completely oblivious to all the naked women and breasts around him. "And you like money, doncha, doll?"

Sterrin flipped him off behind the fans and went back to applying her lipgloss in the make up mirror attatched to her vanity. She hated all these fucking feathers. They made her eyes itch.

"It could be worse," Rebecca said as she took her seat at the vanity next to Sterrin's and plucked the tiny blue and white sailor cap that matched her barely there blue and white sailor outfit from her hair. "We could be swinging on poles and jiggling our asses to hip hop. "

Sterrin rolled her eyes. "Like that's any less honest than what we do here."

"And anyway, at least you got to be in the advertisements for this place. That should make you some extra money," Rebecca continued to argue.

Sterrin was all about earning some money, not that she thought those ads would do anything. It was just those fucking fans with her eyes peeking out behind them. Nothing interesting.

"Always with the fucking feathers," she grumbled again under her breath and  stood to slide her feet into the nearly six inch high heels. Strut, pout, smoulder, rinse and repeat. It was the same formula every night, and it hadn't failed to make her money thus far.

Sighing, she took to the stage to do just that.

Today is the day.

It was the same mantra every morning. Today was the day she would leave. Today was the day her life would change. Someone would sweep her off her feet. She'd win the lottery. She'd make a new friend. She'd create a piece of art that would really get her noticed and make it seem like all the money in scholarships she'd won to Rutherford was worth it.

Except she never did.

She pinned back the bangs of her long, dark hair with a clip and looked at her face in the mirror, not lingering too long before moving to pull on a pale blue cardigan over her white tank top and jeans and slid her feet into black ballerina flats - never heels. She was tall enough without them and she didn't like to stand out more than she already did. It was also too warm for a sweater, but when she didn't cover her arms there were too many questions about the scars covering her arms. Some self-inflicted, some done out of malice by a man she'd rather forget. Plus as she was a barista in the Mocha, that usually meant that she waited on some very prestigious people every now and again. It wouldn't do to advertise what a wreck she was.

She left her bedroom and paused in the living room where she pulled a thin blanket up over her mother, passed out on the couch still in her Manor maid uniform, and headed out of the small staff apartment.When she arrived at the Mocha she smiled at Joy before moving to take her place at the counter. It was a decent job. The pay was alright for the amount of work she was required to do, and it gave her a little extra money.  Who couldn't use that?

She gave her first customer an honestly genuine smile.  Just another day.

Poor Charlie was exhausted after everything that had happened last night and Seth didn't have the heart to wake him. So he'd let his friend sleep and left him a note letting him know that Seth was headed down to the gardens for a bit of drawing in the sun.

And after a brief stop in the Mocha for a large cup of coffee that's just where he was, sitting on a bench in the morning sun, sketch book open on his lap and drawing a lovely woman kneeling by the flowers a little ways away. The woman wasn't actually there when he looked up, but he drew her anyway. It just seemed right.

Detective Deacon Ferrell sighed as he stepped out of one of the cubicles in the ER. He jotted a few more notes down on his pad then closed it and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans. The pusher was one of the usual suspects and Deacon wasn't surprised to see he'd gotten on the wrong side of one of his suppliers and wound up in ER - again. This time he'd been a little more forthcoming with information and Deacon would have a good deal of paperwork to do tomorrow when he got back to the station.

As it was he was supposed to have been off duty a good hour ago and was more than ready to get back home and relax.

"Detective."

Deacon looked up at a uniformed officer that was headed his way.

"Ah c'mon, Drew, I was about to go home," Deacon said with a groan and the uniform smiled.( Read more... )

iPad resting against his knee, Nick flicked a finger across the screen to turn the page of this weeks NME. He nodded with satisfaction as he found the album review and again as he read it. The kids in the band probably wouldn't be pleased at the laconic tone of it, feeling that the NME was old hat and UK based to boot, but those in the know would read and make a mental note. It was a good review and he had made them all work hard to get it.

He sipped his coffee and turned another page, this time looking for gossip.

If you were fast on your feet and knew your way about, the airport could be a really good place to hang out at night. Most travellers were careful of their belongings but some weren't and some, and especially the long haul passengers, were tired enough to be careless.
( Read more... )

The morning had gone well, the demonstration at the Michaels Bros store had been successful, and the books and DVD's were selling well. With the launch of his personally chosen cookware range coming out in a few weeks, things were looking great. It helped that Mr Spencer Michaels had treated him to lunch, courtesy of his personal chef, at the Manor itself. Gregori loved the City, but spent more time on the road just lately, or out in California where most of his series were filmed.

Now though, with lunch and some fine wine behind him, he said goodbye to Mr Michaels, and called for his car to be sent round, he then headed for the elevator and waited patiently for it's arrival, admiring the decorative trim and indeed the entire ambience of the building as he stood there. Once the elevator arrived, he stepped in, and pressed the ground floor button, humming to himself and reviewing his schedule in his mind. Tonight he had a dinner with another potential advertiser, they paid a fortune to advertise in his programmes, they knew he was popular. The elevator didn't stop all the way down, but ran smoothly, until with a quiet 'ding' it announced it's arrival at the ground floor, and the doors slid open almost silently.

On the other side of the doors, in the lobby, stood a woman around her 30's, with brown hair reaching over her shoulders, chocolate eyes, and wearing a simple flower patterned dress with a white cardigan on top of it to avoid a too revealing look. She was just digging her keys from her brown bag of fake leather, as she looked up when the doors opened.

( So this is where you've been hiding? Nice place... )

She'd been back for some time, but Papi would only see her when he was ready and not a moment before.

Now, finally, after leaving her to sweat it out, he took a seat across the table from where she stood and she laid out her acquirements before him, like an obedient pet, eager to please. She watched him reach for the pile, his eyes darkening and swore that for a moment she could actually see the dollar signs dancing in his gaze.

Oddly, she had the most unusual feeling...something she'd say was almost like - violation - when he picked up the leather wallet and starting going through the contents. She shook herself quickly and waited.
( Spanish Heavy Conversation, Ahoy! )

"Slick?" Sibyl said, poking her head into his apartment. "You there?"

It wasn't like him to leave the door open!

Nor was it like him to leave his apartment looking like it had been burgled. CDs and DVDs strew the floor, cushions were off chairs and the large TV was a shattered ruin. If Sibyl had been sensible she might have left but from the bedroom came the faint sound of breathing, harsh and shallow.

"Oh God, Slick, what happened!" she exclaimed, stalking through the wreckage on her high heels. Normally, she'd kick off her shoes on these deep carpets, but not with all the broken pieces of glass and plastic. She pushed open the bedroom door.

( Blood and gore! )

Setup had finished not long after after the departure of the City's pride in blue and the gates had swung open to accommodate eager folk promptly at 9 a.m. The roar of mechanical beasts filled the air, punctuated by the excited screams of happy patrons. Game vendors barked across the midway, each vying for the attention, and open wallets, of the crowd. The scents of frying dough and candy floss hung heavy on the breeze.

The first day was always the busiest, when all the attractions were still fresh and exciting to the minds and spirits of the locals, and the residents of the circo were out in force to make the most of it.

All except one.

Estrella Gonzalez, a night performer by trade, was enjoying her afternoon far from the sights and sounds of the circo. The little square was just as lovely as she remembered from their last tour, the little ice cream shop still open - the owner still just as susceptible to charm and flattery.

Polishing off the last of her complimentary ice cream she lounged beneath the statue in the park in a deep, comfortable slouch. Half her brain dozed, perfectly relaxed, completely at ease with everything she was enjoying here and now...The other half monitored the people going about their business around her, watching, wanting to be prepared if anyone should happen along who could make her afternoon even more profitable.

The TV was on but neither Emily or Audrey were watching it. The 12-year-old girl was filling the washing machine in the kitchen after dinner, while her mother was starting ironing in the living room. Their apartment was one of the smallest in the Manor since Emily with her job as a cook in the low-priced and thus popular steakhouse couldn't afford much. Still, she had wanted to live in the Manor to give her only daughter the best environment to grow up that she possible could.

( A distracting TV show )