Morningstar Manor

There had already been three classes – Metals of Choice, Stones and the 4C’s, and Marrying the Stone to the Setting – and they had all been informative, mentally stimulating, and, if Jazz could be honest, a little thrilling. But as much as fun as she was having with the classes, there was something she enjoyed even more…the open workshop time they’d all been granted after the day’s classes. Even after the long hours of study, it was a real highlight to get in there and get her hands on all the bits and glorious pieces of what could be, given time and work, exquisite pieces of jewelry. They’d even been encouraged to work from their own sketches!

Today, Jazz was gleefully returning to a project she’d started the day before. It was, perhaps, a bit ambitious for her first build, but once the idea had come to her she’d known she wouldn’t be happy working on anything else. It was too perfect to pass up.

Or…at least it would be.

Humming happily, she pulled on a pair of soft gloves, yanked a chair up to the table and got to work.

Okay, it's late - and last minute - I suck, but it's not entirely my fault. Some horribly charming man got me all distracted and I completely forgot. I'm going to be out this week - a work, training seminar thing in Virgina. Nothing bad, don't worry, and it's only for this week...so try not to get too wild and crazy, huh?

There was a noise like a kiss being blown and then a soft laugh.

I love you. See you soon.

A productive trip into the village had Jazz returning to the villa with a bounce in her step and a whistle on her lips.

When she found Tom, she slipped up to nibble on one of his ears, arms coming around to present the photo packet she had clutched in one hand. "If any of those there at the bottom end up on the internet," she rested her chin on his shoulder, amused, "I will make you pay."

She wasn't sure how exactly he'd managed to snap photos of her playing in the surf as carefree and bare-assed as the day she'd been born without her knowledge, but figured that was reason enough to have them printed for him.

Cleverness aught to be rewarded, no?

( Read more... )

Included in the attachments are photos: several beach scenes, a pair of villa shots, a photo of the car, a photo of Tom looking handsomely windswept and relaxed while driving the car, another photo of Tom - this time dripping wet in full dress and looking like he might set fire to the camera pointed his way, and finally a snapshot of Tom and Jazz together - looking tanned and happy poolside.

The Cadillac had been waiting for them at the tiny airport, after some 20-30 minutes drive they finally arrived to the luxurious and secluded resort. The main house where all the services were was surrounded by a lush, exotic jungle park-like forest where a handful of large, exclusive villas were scattered a walking distance away from each other to give privacy. They could hear the distant, soft waves at the white sandy beach over the trees, and the sun was setting into the ocean, but it was still warm enough not to wear a thing.

A neatly groomed and well-dressed receptionist walked outside to meet them just as Thomas parked the car.

"Here we are. As far as I understand, our villa is only a short way ahead from here," Thomas said and got up from the car. "All we need now are keys and dinner."

Black suit, black shoes, dark blue shirt, no tie, hair done, chin shaved. The watch, cuff links and one golden ring were there to remind of wealth and status. He had no flowers, but he had something a lot better in his breast pocket for her.

Thomas Avery knocked on the door of apartment 229, then glanced at his watch to check if he was on time. Well, a few minutes here and there...

Tom was a man of style and good taste, so Jazz wasn't inherently concerned when it came to entrusting him with her wardrobe. She was 99% certain that even if he did manage to pick up something truly horrible it would likely be only because he wanted to see her squirm. Still, she took it as a good sign when he picked NOIR as the shop of choice.

He'd been listening - or checking her labels. As a bonus, Jazz was fairly certain, being that she was a regular customer, that not only Rhiannon but her staff also were aware of her preferences and could be counted on to steer Tom in the right direction if he did somehow get off track.

Pleased and smiling happily, Jazz followed obediently into the store and turned to Tom with an expectant, vaguely smug, look. No, she couldn't even pretend she wasn't going to enjoy this.

"Lead the way, Sénor," she batted her eyes prettily, "I'm at your service."

It was, as always, the soft tapping approach of his cane against the floor that gave George Hazeldene away. Her door open and able to catch the sound, Jazz's head was already up, expectant when he came into view. She greeted him as warmly as ever, but still he knocked politely with his cane and asked permission before entering her office.

"I'm sorry, I don't have any tea to offer you," she said once he was seated. "I have lukewarm coffee though?" She gestured to the cup at her elbow with a playful arch of an eyebrow.

He held up a hand, chuckling, and declined. "No matter, my dear, no matter. I'm here on business. No refreshments required."

Jazz's smile went lopsided, "I'm flattered, as always, Mr. Hazeldene, but, as I've said before, I like it here at Michaels Bros. I don't-"

She cut off as he grinned, his eyes glinting secretively as he wagged the head of his cane at her. "Ah, but you haven't heard what I have to say yet. Perhaps once we discuss it, you'll change your mind."

Jazz looked at him carefully, head tilting as she considered her response - but before she could get it out, she was interrupted by another unexpected visitor.


(OOC: Slow burn plot is slow! :) For convenience, the first part - from back in January - is here.)

Late in the evening, Jazz's phone beeped as it received a message from Thomas.

Gorgeous morning shifts! That's why we're going shopping on Friday and dancing on Saturday. Any objections?

Stopping for a cup to relax with after work, Jazz didn't at first pay any mind to the copy of The Herald on the table next door, but when she caught the words "Morningstar Manor" during an idle glance curiosity got the better of her and she lifted the abandoned copy for her own reading pleasure.

She didn't know who Olivia Page was (other than, apparently a senator's daughter and a radio host) so that story held little interest for her, but the other one...well, that was more entertaining. Chuckling and mouthing a silent, amused 'wow' she made a mental note to show it to Tom when she got a chance. This was just the sort of thing he'd have a few sneering comments about. And those were always fun.

~.~

Someone else in the Mocha had read The Herald today, but he wasn't nearly as amused. Hubbard had hounded Riley all day, needling him, taunting him about his much publicized move to Morningstar Manor.

It all made sense, Hubbard crowed inbetween takes, Riley was lonely and looking for a boy toy of his very own! It set Riley's teeth on edge - not the topic of the insults, Riley was secure enough in his sexuality to not let something that petty bother him, but the fact that Hubbard was daring to in the first place! Moving to Morningstar had been a strategic one-up, a boost in stature that the rivals had both known Hubbard would be hard pressed to duplicate. But now that the little prick had ammunition to fire back with....It wasn't quite as satisifying a victory anymore.

Mood still foul, ego still smarting, Riley took his copy of The New York Times (a real respectable paper) and settled at a table outside.

Father's Day was Sunday and Adam, for once, was prepared ahead of time. Not only did he already have the prerequisite card, but also a gift card to the local Bass Pro Shop (a.k.a. Dad heaven). All he had left was to get the pair in the mail. And he would.

But first, the scent of fresh cookies leaking across the lobby from the Mocha was too powerful to ignore.

~.~

Their trip may not have been until July, but that wasn't stopping Jazz from shopping early. At a lovely, sun-warmed table by the window she surfed on her laptop, occasionally reaching into the small plastic box she'd brought home from work beside her to dig out a strawberry and dipping the fruit into the froth atop her latte before idly munching.

It wasn't a tropical cocktail and the strawberries were technically supposed to be for Cleo (who wanted to make a Strawberry Shortcake), but it did get her in the mood for swimsuit shopping.

She'd woken up in some strange one room place, which smelled funny, and was most definitely not the apartment she shared with Jazz. Her clothes, or what she thought had to be her clothes, were strange too, not what she would normally wear, and although she put them on to return to the apartment, they went straight into the bin once she took them off again. She'd showered, for too long and under water just slightly too hot, scrubbing at her skin and hair to make sure they were clean as clean could get. Then she'd stood there, under the hot spray, trying to figure out why she felt so confused, sad, almost lost. As if she'd been looking for something, something so important that she just had to find it, but, she had no idea what it was. It took her a few minutes to work out she was crying, but then, she couldn't stop herself either.

It was some time later before she was sitting on the sofa, wrapped in pink, sheep patterned fleecy pj's, bright pink socks, and a thick fluffy blue and pink check blanket. She could just about smell the chilli shepherd's pie she had started, and feel the warmth of the hot chocolate through the mug she was holding. She still felt wrong though, as if there was something missing, not just because Jazz wasn't home but worse than that, and Cleo sat there, alone, feeling cold still, unable to get warm. She wanted desperately to call Jazz and tell her to just come home already, because right now, she needed so badly to just know her sister was all right. That and a hug.

Tonight was the last night. By the time the sun peeked over the horizon the circo would be all all but gone, the rides and tents dismantled, the people retreating to their trucks and trailers. They would be back, but when? Or where? No one could say for sure. For Jazz, it was truly an end. All the confusion, the uncertainty, the things she couldn't explain - it had somehow led her to this moment. They wouldn't notice her missing, not until it was too late. They'd be miles away, setting up in some new place, and she'd be here. Right here.

In the dark she hurried. Luck had helped her in finding that women's shelter, she hoped luck now would help her getting back to it without trouble. In one pocket she fingered the slick cellphone. A talisman...and a promise. A promise that she'd make this work somehow. Idly she wondered if out there, somewhere, right now her sister - sister! - was thinking of her.

I'll find her, she told herself. On the tail of that, came the image of him in her mind. Thomas Avery. He was, really, the reason for all this. His insistence, the way he'd looked at her before they'd parted....

She paused at a crosswalk, checking for traffic even as she smirked lightly. She rather hoped he'd think of her, even if he'd never admit it. He was far too proud, too...superior to admit to something like that about likes of her.

The clock atop a nearby church began to chime the hour, the bell breaking the night with it's deep, lonely tones. She found herself shivering, as she listened. She'd never liked that noise, so dark and sad. It made her want to go home and find people to keep her company, remind her she was alive.

She turned, deciding to do just that and....stopped. Right there in the middle of the street. A car screeched to a halt, almost clipping her, but she didn't seem to see it. She didn't seem to see anything, she was lost...lost....The cab laid on the horn and Jazz jerked, suddenly back.

Back - from where?
( Read more... )

In hind-sight, letting Mr. Thomas Avery make a scene probably hadn't been the best idea. Jazz hadn't considered that word would get back to Papi and that he'd come looking for the spoils. She'd meant what she said, of course, and when he asked where the goods were she'd lied. Told him she'd been caught before she'd been able to get away with anything.

The bruises would take a while to fade, but at least he'd remembered to leave them in places she could cover this time.

Even without that small boon, she decided as she stood in the cramped kitchen of her trailer pouring herself a bowl of cereal, it'd have been worth it. He'd offered to help her, had smiled at her....She cradled those memories close and smiled even when she stretched to put the cereal back in the cupboard and her back protested violently.
( Read more... )

Jazz slipped out the backside of the tent, pausing a moment to button her shorts, before moving through the shadows along the overhang toward the front.

Already the hawker was back to work, Belinda now, older than Jazz and a redhead, as the tease at his side. Jazz leaned, pushing up onto her tip-toes as she tried to try to see over and around all the bodies gathering, fearing for a moment she'd lost him in the crowd - but no, there he was. Over by himself, looking so out of place.

He doesn't belong here.

Quietly she slipped toward him.

She got close enough to speak, hesitated, then said, "You could have smoked inside. No one would have cared."

It had been no trouble for him to get a new cell phone, but even Thomas Avery couldn't get new cards or a driver's licence overnight. He relied on cabs to get around until he got his licence back or a new one instead, but short distances he could walk especially when the weather was nice. He lit a cigarette as he walked by the Vine Square to the kiosk on the other side to buy smokes and the paper before heading home.

He had made a police report about the theft, but something about it didn't sit right with him. There was something about that woman that kept haunting in his mind, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Deep in thought he walked in a dark, sharp suit, this time with another designer watch in his wrist since the Armani one was taken.

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.

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! )

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.

Sunday morning the park had appeared as it always had: fresh and green and full of growing things, but by the time the nearest residents had settled in for the night its transformation had begun. The trucks and trailers roared into place and a veritable anthill of human activity swarmed over the grounds. Monstrous metal skeletons rose up to pierce to the sky, tents fluttered into shape, lights flashed and flickered....

The Cirque du Rêves had come to town.

The residents worked tirelessly, readying for the Monday morning opening.

Not a one of them seemed surprised when the dizzying strobe of red and blue announced the arrival of local law enforcement.

One even, a young dark woman, seemed to have been waiting for it.

She broke away from securing a tent attached to the backside of a truck and moved closer, watching the uniform climb out of his vehicle with the same wary, mistrustful eyes one might see on a feral dog.

She knew what he was here for.