The Universe's Mixer

Dean had finally given in and found some place to sleep. It was out by the Park, some rundown house with a couch that didn't look to be infested with lice and vermin. It was a roof over his head and a floor under his feet. Or that had been the plan.

Unfortunately, as he was finally getting some personal time watching his favorite pair of exotic dancers bat playfully at each other with pillows, he was woken up by the world collapsing. Or in his case, the far wall being knocked in by what looked like a very large chicken leg. Even if he felt like he was still in a dream, he got to his feet, pulled his Colt, and thought of firing. Then he got a better idea, as the damn thing was trying to claw its way into the house; he got out of there.

( What he saw when he got outside didn't help clear anything up. )

"Well, let's give this a try", he suggested to himself.

While speaking with Jean-Paul, a thought had occurred to Howl. He had no idea if his magic still worked in this place. His feelings torn between hope and fear, he wandered the streets, eventually finding himself in a park. He located a conveniently secluded spot, and sat on the ground.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to start out slowly. He took a blade of grass, breathed a few words over it, and watched it bloom into a flower. Easy stuff, but a great relief none the less. Feeling more confident, he let his magic increase in difficulty, conjuring butterflies, then cloud shapes, finally transforming himself into a dog. He only held it for a moment, but it was enough.

( He still had his powers )

Fangtasia aside, Veronica was adjusting to the City reasonably well.

She'd found a key in her pocket she didn't recognize, but it was attached to her other keys--including the key to her room in Quantico. With a little bit of work, and a few phone calls, she'd found the building it belonged to.

It was an apartment building.

She looked at the mailboxes and call buttons, searching for her name. And sure enough, it was there. V. MARS 423. A dark haired girl with huge eyes had smiled at her. She must be a neighbor, Veronica figured.

She'd gone up to the fourth floor, found 423, and keyed the lock.

And gasped.

The bedroom was half her room in Neptune, and half her room in Quantico. The bed was her bed at home. Her closet had her clothes she'd taken for the internship.

And the living room looked like the waiting room from her Dad's office. There was even a stained-glass window.

Veronica put her bag down and sat down hard on the couch, looking around. She half expected Backup to come running in, or her dad to ask her to file something. The filing cabinet that'd belonged to her during high school was there--next to what looked exactly like her desk.

She thought of something, and her hand covered her mouth.

Getting up, Veronica went back to the closet and opened the door again.

The gear that came with the internship was there. There was an FBI sweatshirt, all of her reports and books were on the floor in a box, and... the gun they'd given her was in the box, too.

Veronica closed the closet door and put her back on it, then slid down the wall and sat there. She felt like crying. It was nice to know what the City expected of her--and to know it was what she wanted for herself, too, to continue down the road to becoming Agent Mars, instead of just Veronica Mars, PI. She had to decide what to do-- to go to the City's law enforcement offices, open her own investigation business...

"I wish you were here," she said, to no one in particular.

Logan still didn't completely believe Charlie's explanation of the City after his meeting with the detective, but he couldn't find a way out of the City and hadn't been able to find any familiar landmarks, such as the Neptune Grande, Hearst College, hell, he'd even settle for Neptune High at this point.

He couldn't even find a hotel that looked decent and so, when it became late enough that he knew he needed to sleep somewhere other than a park bench, he settled for a hostel. The clientele were strange and the bedrooms, if you could call the tiny closets with a cot bedrooms, were crappy. But Logan managed to sleep all the same, telling himself that he would wake up the next morning and this would all be a dream.

He did wake up the next morning, but there was no sign that he'd dreamed anything. Instead, he opened his eyes to cracked and peeling yellow wallpaper, like something out of the 70s that hadn't aged well, a stained carpet, and a stiff neck from sleeping on the cot.

Logan changed into a clean t-shirt that had thankfully been left in the room. Whether for him or not, he didn't care. Walking around covered in his own blood did not appeal.

He went to check out and handed the clerk his credit card, taking note that his wallet was a lot thinner than he was used to. Instead of 10 platinum cards and a few crisp hundreds, he found two credit cards that he didn't remember having (though they had his name on them), a key card labeled "The City Institute," a student ID for the same institute, a meal plan card again for the same institute, two ten dollar bills, and his driver's license. Well, at least the license looked familiar.

The clerk, a man in his early fifties with graying hair and a kind face handed the card back to him, an expression of sympathy on his features.

"I'm sorry, son, but this card was declined. You must be over your limit."

Logan stared at the man as though he had two heads. Over limit? That couldn't be possible. He grabbed the other card from his wallet and practically threw it at the man.

"Here, try this one."

A few seconds later, the man looked up at him, same sympathetic expression.

"That one was declined too."

"Maybe you just don't know how to read your machine," Logan spat out. "Look, dude, I have a trust fund with a 7 digit value. I have the money to pay for this."

"Well, unless you have another card to try, I'm afraid you don't," the man said kindly. His sympathy was only starting to irk Logan more. "Look, the City usually provides for its new entrants, but perhaps it just hasn't got to you yet. I can't let you stay here another night without paying, but the room's on me for last night."

"Like I would want to stay another night in this hellhole. I'm telling you, man, the money should be on those cards."

The clerk just shook his head.

"You'll have to learn quickly to be nice to those who want to help you in the City. It's the only way you'll get by here. I believe this transaction is finished."

Logan pushed away from the counter, shooting the clerk a glare. He turned and stormed out of the building, slamming the door behind him.

After a few phones calls and talks with supervisors, he discovered that both credit cards-with limits of $500 and $250 were over limit, and past due to boot. Who would have a credit card with limits like that anyway, Logan wondered. What a waste of plastic.

Shouting the Echolls name at the supervisors he talked to didn't seem to get any sort of helpful reaction. Neither did hanging up and trying to contact his accountant, who didn't appear to be reachable in the City.

Logan was about to toss the smartphone that wasn't even really his against a nearby building face when it rang. He turned over the phone and glanced at the caller ID, which read: "The City Institute-Financial Aid Office."

Curiosity won out over annoyance. And besides, this was just one more person he could take out his temper on. Logan answered the phone.

"Hello, is Logan Echolls available?" a perky female voice on the other end of the line asked.

"This is Logan," Logan said, steeling his patience. "Who is this?"

"This is Maryanne from the financial aid office at the City Institute. I'm just calling to confirm your work-study appointment set for this afternoon at 1pm."

"I'm sorry, what? Those two words don't belong in a sentence together," Logan said. Work and study were two things he avoided pretty much like the plague.

"Mr. Echolls, it's imperative that you meet to discuss your work-study assignment. Without it, you won't have access to enough financial support to continue your education, or to cover your room and board."

Logan opened his mouth to argue and then hesitated. Room and board? Well, if he was stuck here for the time being, having some place to stay besides the flea-bitten hostel was appealing. Not to mention that his stomach was already rumbling. Logan fished the meal plan card out of his pocket and turned it over his hands, studying it.

He couldn't come up with any better options at the moment.

"I'll be there. Where is it?"

"In the financial aid office in the City Institute," Maryanne supplied, as though that much should have been obvious.

"Yeah, yeah, but how do I get to the Institute?" Logan asked.

"You could walk, or take a cab, or the subway. Whatever your intended method of travel."

Logan rolled his eyes.

"Yes, but where is the Institute?"

"It's on Institute Way. Some days we're on the East side of town, some days the West. Today we're right across the street from the City Botanical Gardens. It's a nice view, though I'm not sure how long we'll stay here. But as long as you allow yourself plenty of time to arrive at your appointment, there's no excuse for tardiness."

Kidding. She had to be kidding. Logan pulled the phone away from his ear and glared at it.

"Well, thanks for nothing," he grumbled and hung up.

Logan pocketed the phone again and looked at the street signs. First St. and Main St. were visible at the nearby intersection. Great. Just great.

Financial aid. Work study. Credit cards with $500 limits. Even without the fire and brimstone, this had to be some sort of hell.

Every morning, Veronica read the paper. Some mornings it happened later than others, but it always happened. She simply had to be informed to do her job. And this morning... this morning, when she got to the personals (a favorite with her and her Dad, and always entertaining or heartbreaking), Veronica had dropped her newly-purchased coffee on the pavement:


Former playboy turned one-woman man seeking that woman. She's tiny, blonde, sometimes annoying, stubborn, headstrong, too smart for her own good. Smells of marshmallows and promises. If you're here, please call ♥221166


After responding to the personal ad that she knew was directed at her, Veronica went over to the newspaper office, her heart thudding in her throat.

Logan.
( Logan was here. )

There were copies everywhere. On your front door step, your night stand, your car. There were stacks of them at every office, every coffee shop and all the government buildings. Street vendors started using them to wrap their food. The homeless started using them for blankets and insulation. Trying to destroy the paper didn't work because more than likely, you were only going to run into another one once you turned your back.

( THE CITY LOVE CONNECTION: V-DAY EDITION )


( OOC Information! )

Frustratingly, Logan didn't find the City Institute across the street from the City Botanical Gardens. Just as Maryanne had said, the Institute seemed to have moved.

Or at least, that's what Logan would think if he believed that it was possible for streets and buildings to move. Instead, he tried asking for directions three times and instead got maddening answers of "I saw it a few blocks that way yesterday." and "I'm pretty sure it's on the far North side of the City today."

Finally, he took a turn down a side street, about to give up entirely on finding the mythical school, and found himself right in front of a large sign declaring the property as the City Institute.

"About damn time," Logan muttered to himself and entered the campus. Once on campus, finding the financial aid building was a snap, but by then Logan was so frustrated at the entire City 'experience' that he was in a surly mood.

Maryanne turned out to be a petite brunette with a cheerleader smile. She greeted Logan enthusiastically, despite the glare he gave her.

"I'll just let the counselor know that you're here. He should be with you in a minute."

"Just ducky," Logan said with a sarcastic grin. Apparently, the sarcasm went right over Maryanne's head, because her smile merely widened. She gave him a little wave and then dialed her phone.

"Logan Echolls is here to see you sir," she practically sang.

Logan rolled his eyes and slumped over in his seat, still wondering what exactly had possessed him to make this appointment. His stomach rumbled again, as if to remind him.