Repose

Who: Carver and Temperance
Where: the Catholic Church
When: after dark and fuzzy timelines
What: using the church multi-purpose room after hours
Warnings: tba

( Mavis smiled, hope beaming out of half-dead blue eyes and Carver nodded solemnly. )

[Thursday afternoon shows a change at the carnival. The fortune-teller's tent has a sign on it indicating that it is closed for the foreseeable future, while one of the trailers gets emptied out. Its previous occupant doesn't take much with her, it seems, judging by the number of boxes and items left outside with a sign indicating "Free" on them. There are some treasures in there, it seems. Hand-knit things, boxes of tea that were hardly touched, an emerald ring still in its jeweler's box. It's all been left for the taking, and the former occupant of the trailer was last seen checking into the old motel in town. There were whispers that she was quite the mess when she left, face bruised up something fierce with one eye blacked and her bottom lip split. People talk about the fight there yesterday, but the rest of the details are pretty murky. But someone's left, and it's pretty clear she's not coming back.]

Who: Steve & Meredith
What: A run-in
Where: The Motel
When: Today!
Warnings/Rating: Probably nada.

( She felt numb inside, like she was moving through a haze, disconnected from the rest of the world. )

Hey.

Who: Atticus & Janus
What: Talking
Where: Bus Station
When: @ 10 pm
Warnings/Rating: Probably safe. Janus is a very safe little demon.

Atticus was a homebody. Didn't leave the Carriage House often. Wasn't that he was a recluse, but the world outside wasn't captivating enough to get him dressed and out the door much. He had his creature comforts, and he didn't need more than that. Was a lazy way to live, but Atticus was lazy, so it was fitting. But he didn't mind going out, not as a rule, and tonight was temperate. He'd grilled a burger, and he'd thrown a jacket over olive cargo pants and a faded gray sweatshirt, neckline torn and dark hair curling through defiantly. His Walkman was tucked in his pocket, and music played through spongy headphones, plastic band squashing down unkempt curls.

The walk to the bus station passed with Atticus singing to himself. No one was out late in Repose. Not on the main road. Bars, diners, but not along this sidewalk, and Atticus let his mind wander to how different this place was than the Bronx. Was idle thinking, and Atticus didn't let it get deep enough to mar his journey. There was plenty to think about here, and it was easier not to think about anything at all. Life was less messy that way, and Atticus hated mess. Was bad enough he was going to the bus station to discuss potential exorcism spells. But Atticus was worried about Carver doing something without his permission, and he knew it would only piss off the ghosts. They wouldn't leave, because the ghosts were attached to him. Sure, the B&B had its own, but Atticus carried them with him like relationship baggage.

His singing turned to humming. Open Arms without words, he pushed open the door to the bus station. According to the clock on the wall, it was 10 o'clock. Atticus had a cigarette tucked between his fingers, and he wondered if smoking inside was acceptable. Probably not, but he didn't stamp the smoke out. There was a book making his back pocket bulky, and his glasses were tucked with his Walkman. Atticus looked for the counter, and he walked that way on scuffed Converse. Acrid and cold air followed in his wake, extending menacing arms in a warning embrace.