The Universe's Mixer

There was a yawn and a stretch, pushing a lithe body against stretchy red and black material in a way that would make most teenage boys blush and cover their crotch. It had been known to stir the blood of a few adults too. But it didn’t effect anyone today. Because there was nobody there. A fact that didn’t sink into the waking woman’s mind right away. Because she was still half asleep.

That was the problem with sleeping off hours and not having a regular schedule, which is what forced long naps like this, but it really couldn’t be helped. It wasn’t like being a villain was a nine to five gig, so a henchwench couldn’t be too picky about when she got her beauty sleep. Rolling onto her side, she blinked blearily at the clock that was still a little fuzzy trying to make out the time. Then she remembered that particular time piece was broken, having been bounced off the back of her head last week when she’d been so foolish as to make a correction to something Mr. J had said.

She shoulda known better, really. He was a sensitive soul, her Puddin’, and he could hardly be blamed for not wanting to appear stupid in front of the boys. Creative people were always a little more temperamental, because they connected with their emotions more. And her man was definitely creative. He was practically an artist. He was…

( Surprisingly quiet. )

((Just FYI, the dialogue in italics is these two speaking in Beast, which is (as far as I can figure) a mix of mostly body language and limited telepathy-ish, with some occasional vocal bits thrown in.))

Two days had passed. Two days of confusion where neither Firekeeper nor Blind Seer had any clue where they were or how they had arrived. There had been drowsing in the heat of the day, when it was too warm to travel to Hawk Haven from the Iron Mountains, and then there had been this new place, with its new smells and sounds and sights.

( Once the initial anger and confusion had passed, Firekeeper had to admit that it could have been much worse. )

As evening fell, the glow of the small fire illuminated the underside of the bridge, and the smell of roasting squirrel spitted on a stick began to waft out. Blind Seer snored next to her, a mound of thick gray fur who made sure to keep her between him and the fire, for fear of catching himself alight. She kept a careful watch on her dinner, huddled in on herself, dark eyes catching the firelight.

Gasp.

Blink.

And Inara's eyes were open, frantically scanning the landscape, trying to gage her surroundings. She was standing in the middle of a busy city street, near the mouth of an alley, and people brushed her as they passed. A young woman muttered an apology reluctantly, her tone resentful as Inara looked at her in surprise. A man in his forties touched her arm with his fingers and smiled. Inara stood very, very still, willing her beating heart to slow, and tried to remember what happened.

Slowly, it came back to her. She had gone out for a walk again. Admittedly, not the safest thing to do since the murders began, but it was broad daylight and the streets were full. Apparently, that hadn't made a difference.

She had been shot before. She knew what it felt like. But this time, she'd hardly felt anything at all. A pinch, tremendous pressure bearing her forward, then the slow blossom of pain through her body. Then nothing.

Inara bit her lip, hard. Things were making less and less sense every day. First she had been mysteriously transported to this City, along with people from all times and places. And if that wasn't impossible enough, she had just come back from the dead. Because she had known, she knew she was dead. There was no proof, of course, but she knew it with a strange conviction.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Inara began to shake. Despite all of her extensive training and carefully maintained composure, there was only so much she could take. Suddenly, it was all too much, and all she could do was put one foot in front of the other as she began to stumble in what she hoped was the direction of home.

Dean decided to go with a plain black tee-shirt, his favorite red shirt and his leather jacket that was once his father and a pair of jeans before heading out the door. At least the jeans didn't have rips in the knees, worn from use cause rarely did he go out and buy clothing being he hardly had money as it was.

After having been given direction, Dean headed out to Angela's apartment. At least he had told her what to look for and well, this was gonna be something relaxing for a change. And it wasn't long before he pulled up, hoping he wouldn't have to honk his horn.

Given an excuse to dress up, Angela took it. She fixed her hair, letting the long brown curls fall around her shoulder, applying a bit of makeup, and slipped on a top that definitely showed off 'the girls'. A pair of jeans and flats completed the ensemble and she grabbed her purse to watch for him at the window.

When she saw the Impala pull up she smiled to herself. A nice car wasn't necessary, but always a plus. She headed down to meet him.

Dean had the music up loud, cranking out an AC/DC song that he was singing along to when he saw a door open and Angela emerge from her building. He quirked an eyebrow at her. A smile spread across his lips before he turned the radio down and climbed out, moving around to open the door for her.

"Angela? Dean," He introduced himself. And of course he checked out the girls as he bent to open the door.

"Nice to meet you, Dean." She smiled, slipping into the car as he held the door open for her. She admired the interior as much as the exterior of the Impala, and truth be told, Dean wasn't so bad to look at himself.

"So, where are we going? I have to admit, I don't know much about the nightlife around here." She shrugged.

Dean noted how she checked out his car. At least she didn't complain it wasn't something not so up to date. That was a bonus. "Oh, I spotted this bar that looked good. Looked clean," even though he usually hung out in dives. "TVs, some pool tables, loud music," he informed her as he started his baby and was pulling away from the curve.