The Universe's Mixer

Errol stood in front of the house where Peter Parker lived, frowning slightly. He'd seen the scene played in dozens of novels, but having decided to undertake the task of speaking with Beauty's roommate's boyfriend, found himself daunted.

Steeling himself, he walked up the pathway and knocked on the door. All he would be doing was asking Peter his intentions toward that Megan girl. What could truly be so difficult about that?

((Backdated to just after this thread))

With her hand loosely linked with Errol's, Beauty hummed a meandering tune on the walk back to the cottage from the bowling alley. Megan, Peter, Kitty, and Piotr had all gone their separate ways after the game was called, and that was all right with her. Swinging her hand lightly between the two of them, she punctuated the humming with a couple of words here and there.

"It was a nice time," she said to Errol, then started humming again.

And no one had yelled at anyone else. No one had gotten angry. There was that point in the night where she really wanted to shake the pixie for what she not-whispered about Errol, but Beauty had all but forgotten about it at this point. Her skin was flushed and warm, and her eyes were fever bright. The alcohol in her system had begun to work its way out of her, but she still felt cocooned in a warm blanket, a little floaty, and most decidedly happy with everything about the night.

The scent of jasmine floated around them as they walked up the path to her cottage. Her humming dropped off again, and she took the steps up onto the porch, turning into Errol's path when she got to the very top. In this way, she was almost as tall as him, and the extra height was enough to have her grinning. Looping her arms easily around his neck - no strain necessary at all to reach him - she did her level best to keep him there. He was always so proper with her, and she loved that he respected her enough to be concerned for her in that way. But tonight, she wanted him to stay. And she was just tipsy enough to ask him in the most straightforward way.

"I can make tea."

Maybe not the most straightforward.

"What if he doesn't remember how to get here?" Beauty asked, leaving the table for the third time in the last 15 minutes and crossing over to the door. She opened it anxiously and stepped onto the porch, wholly missing what Megan said back to her. It was Friday night at 4:52, and their dates - plus Beauty's special guest and his date - had 8 minutes left to make it here on time. The others - Errol, Peter - she wasn't too worried about. They'd been to the cottage more times than Beauty could quickly count. But Piotr...

Piotr last visited years ago. Yes, it'd been the place she'd insisted he stay - despite the fact that her bed was apparently way too small for the overlarge Russian - but that didn't mean that he really did remember exactly how to get here. It was a long time ago, after all, and so many things had happened since then.

After pacing a bit on the porch, she went back inside and closed the door again.

"Tell me more about this bowling," she asked Megan, to try to distract herself.

The weather in the City was pretty much always perfect. There were days with rain, but they were still mostly warm. But there were still seasons. In fall the leaves fell (the trees were never bare, though), in winter there might be some snowflakes (never anything like the one great storm where the City had gotten carried away), and summers were warm and sunny and nobody had school.

Still, this year, the City felt like celebrating spring. Not any particular holiday. Just spring in general. There were new people around, there were couples in love, and it wanted to have a great big party for everyone.

Overnight, it set up the great festival. Streets all around the park were closed off so that people could walk around without issue. The park itself was expanded to over twice the normal size. A great clearing was made in the center, stretching from one side to the other. There needed to be lots of room.

Through this clearing the City placed tents, stands, and tables. These were filled with food and wares of all types. There were representatives for all the popular shops, as well as some that nobody had ever seen there before. There were stands for balloons for the kids, too, free of charge. And flowers absolutely everywhere. Woven into the stands themselves, laying on tables, set up in vases, growing in every patch that the City was sure nobody would accidentally step on them. Colorful ribbons, some as large as crepe streamers, also decorated everything. The City wanted as much color as it could possibly get.

At one end of the clearing the City placed a small carnival. Rides, games, everything it could think of. Even a petting zoo, though some of the animals within weren't typical farm animals that usually went in petting zoos. At the other it placed a few stages for performances. Concerts, plays, musicians. The stages were all contained within their own invisible sound barriers, as to not disturb one another, but the noise from all could be heard on the main promenade.

It put signs up all over, put notices in mailboxes, ads on the radio, commercials on television, and even made Candy and Frank talk about it on the morning news.

The celebration would go from sunrise to midnight. At sunset, the City would have a bonfire, complete with a pig roast and s'mores. At that time, it would move the park closer to the water, creating a beach between for the bonfire to settle on.

Time. Time was an issue. Time was always an issue unless time wasn't, but usually time was an issue. There was a time when time wasn't a problem, other than finding how to spend it. Time as a commodity; time was valuable. Ticktock and they don't stop?

Charlie Crews was a little confused. His mind tumbled over and over on time. Now and then it would hit on memory, and even on loss with acceptance and gain. He didn't understand what exactly was going on, but that really wasn't a new feeling. The confusion was a little new; he usually had an idea of what he didn't understand or know.

He woke up in an empty cell, feeling a little like he'd gone on a bender, which wasn't what he normally did. Not usually. He took a deep breath, cleaned himself up with some things in his office, and headed out. He had to find answers and to start to straighten out what exactly the question was he needed to answer. He also felt the need to find Ted and Jennifer, and a few others.

So, with the need identified, he decided to go walking. While driving was more fun, walking didn't hurt. He'd been a beat cop once, and with some of things he did, he wouldn't be surprised if he was demoted to it again. He'd just walk the streets until he found an answer, or a question.

Some years ago, four scarred and stained and spindly wooden table legs held up a singular tiled tabletop -- a tabletop that itself had been itself holding up a number of brightly-colored bits and baubles. In the middle of this chaos, hiding under tarnish and tangle, Beauty found a small chandeliered string of tiny bells no larger than the length of her palm. She loved the set immediately, rescued it, polished it to gleaming brightness, then brought it to Bookmark Books and gave it a position on the inside railing of the front door. Since then, the delicate sound of bells heralded the coming or going of anyone passing through the front door.

From the force she put on the door this afternoon, the sound turned dissonant and harsh. It was neither a bound that set her over the threshold of the door, nor a leap... Someone watching might have called it a storming, if storms could ever be deployed from such a slender frame as hers. Before the door closed, Honour stalked from the front of the store to the middle aisle that ran the length of the bookstore. She hurried down that aisle, looking for customers -- and when she found the only one in the store, she approached that man with a very bright smile.

"Congratulations!" she said cheerily. "You're Bookmark Books' ten-thousandth customer! Your purchase today is on us. But naturally, there are conditions -- aren't there always? We can only allow you to take as many as you want if you can get to them and get out the door within 60 seconds. Ready?" She checked her watch on her wrist. "One-- two-- three -- go! Go!"

Fifty-three seconds later, Beauty cheered, "Great job, sir!", threw the lock to the door, flipped the sign so that 'Open' was facing into the bookstore, and closed all the blinds. When the shadow of the last customer passed across the blinds, she raked a hand through her hair and turned.

Beauty never had called about getting trained in shooting a gun. Jo could only assume that the other woman had chosen other means for protecting herself. She hadn't heard anything from Ted about Beauty being in further danger, but after awhile she started to worry just a bit. She thought that it couldn't hurt to check in and see for herself that Beauty was alive and well.

She just needed to do it in such a way that didn't seem overly pushy. Stopping in at the bookstore and acting as though it was a coincidence seemed the best option for that. Jo found the shop easily enough and let herself in, the bells tingling as she did so. She didn't immediately spot Beauty behind the counter, so she started to browse the aisles in hopes that Beauty might turn up. And besides, she might just find something to take home. Jo liked reading when she got the downtime to do so and being in the City seemed to mean more downtime than back home, as much as she hated it. Of course, it also meant that when things got dicey, they got really dicey and there was nowhere to run, so there was that.

For a while he had felt out of place in this new city. Every little anomaly kept him on his toes. He'd observed with reserved incredulousness all the noise and colours and vivacious people on the streets, half-wondering if this was some vision of a dystopian future (the irony of the past re-created wasn't lost on him) that he'd wake up from.

But the uneven bricks that lined the buildings he walked past were rough and cool under his fingers. It didn't seem so strange to be out of place after all when everyone else seemed to have their own quirks and stand out in their own ways. A conformist in a city of individuals could pick up rather quickly that everyone was as out of place as he was.

He'd wandered about aimlessly, turning this way and that, learning something new around every corner until his feet brought him to a glass window with city guidebooks on display.

When there was a soft jingle at the door he looked over his shoulder and glanced at the bell before making his way over to the display counter. The array of fiction behind him was admittedly tempting to look at but for now he needed to know more about this place.

Flipping through one of the books he'd picked up, he seemed more curious about the texture of the paper than he was about the actual contents printed between the folds.

Everyone was a little mad, sometimes. Her sisters had gone strange after leaving Paris. Her father, a little before. But then there were some who never came back from it. Beauty wondered, as the front door of Dr. Crane's Asylum swung closed behind her, when the man first stepped into insanity. It seemed he never moved away from it since.

And to think she hadn't seen it until now... He'd seemed so normal when she first met him. They'd even danced. When they met the second time, in the cell where she'd been placed, Beauty'd had little time to reflect on Dr. Crane's sanity before the drugs began. But today, she saw it as clearly as she could see the sidewalk pavement in front of her. He'd said as much: he was insane. Would there be any redemption for him? She thought no.

Beauty's chin set firmly. If he couldn't be brought back, then there was only one thing left: to protect others who might fall before him, to keep what happened to her from happening to someone else. The police in the City were clearly no help. She'd reported her kidnapping and torture already, and yet he remained in his asylum, untouched. What, then?

She didn't have a moment more to think on it, before she turned the corner and encountered an entirely different man. Her answering smile for him died as quickly as she saw his expression.

The Bat was back out on the streets. There had been reports of kidnappings and murders. Zoe had stayed away too long, ignoring those things she simply didn't want to and wallowing in her own misery. These were not things the Bat did; there was a city to protect. People needed saving. More people than her own small circle.

So, the Bat was flying again. The Batmule moved easily enough; she had plans to show her husband this particular vehicle, knowing he'd appreciate it. It hadn't been taken from Serenity, as it was fitted for the Bat and what the Bat did. The Mule itself had probably never moved unless Wash decided to move it - Wash or any of his visitors. His new circle of friends and family.

The Batmule flew over the City, and the Bat looked for anyone who needed help. The traffic was a little different this time of night, so those traveling alone on the somewhat empty streets were easier to see. The infrared scanner built into the Batmule was sometimes very helpful - who was carrying those things that could be very dangerous.

9:30 p.m. never carried such weight. It'd taken Beauty nearly all day to convince herself that it was a good idea to return to the bookstore, and the sun had gone down before she'd managed to call the cab. On the ride there, she restlessly smoothed and smoothed midnight silk with her hands. The tremulous jangle of the metal on her wrist mirrored the fluttering in her stomach. Dread. She'd never felt this when knowing she was going to see Errol. As the cab pulled up to the closed bookstore, she nearly asked the driver to take her back to Ted's. But no -- no. She looked at the glass of the front windows, faced the terror of her memory, and set one foot outside. Then the other.

She didn't quite run behind the building, but it was a near thing. Finding the space between the wall and the great trash bin full of cardboard boxes, she all but hid herself, grateful for the shadows. Just in front of her, the back door of the shop where she still technically worked... and before her, then few minutes wait until closing duties were finished.

Shifting her weight nervously, hand on her wrist to keep the bracelets silent, she waited with rising anxiety, lips moving in frank and desperate prayer. Please hurry. Please hurry.

Jesse didn't feel good about what he'd done to Wash. Fighting a man that drunk wasn't fair to begin with. But his pride just wouldn't let him sit and take the attempted beating that Wash was trying to bestow. He knew that he had to tell Zoe before she found out some other way. Considering what she did with a lot of her time these days, Jesse didn't have any doubts that she would. He'd decided that he was going to let the bruises from the fight sit. Linger as they would naturally. It was only fair. Unless he went and healed Wash as well, making those marks of their encounter go away felt cowardly.

He supposed he could go heal Wash, but wasn't certain the other man wanted to see him right now.

Instead, Jesse took himself to a little outdoor cafe that had some really excellent and wonderfully unhealthy foods. He ordered himself a double plate of beignets and sat down to consume them. He'd not had the fried treat in a long while, and he was feeling a touch homesick for deep south cooking. Maybe he also wanted to wallow just a little bit.

Jesse sat away from the other customers so that he could smoke and not bother them, and because he didn't particularly want to be around anybody else.

There was something oddly appealing about putting on fancy clothes and going to large, decadent events, Errol thought. He would have thought that it was just the pleasure he got from breaking the taboos of his old life, but it seemed to be shared by enough of those that he'd met to decide that it was something commonly shared. He found that common bond of humanity pleasing.

But the events were also occasionally overwhelming, and he was glad to drop back into his ordinary routine and comfortable clothes, letting himself in to Bookmark Books with a bag of breakfast pastries. Back into Bookmark where things would not be quite the same--not since the opera. And accompanying Beauty to the wedding reception. Things were different now. Not bad, but--different. He'd given that a lot of thought, lately.

He made a point of setting the bag of pastries down noisily, announcing himself, a new habit. Near-silence had its time and place, but he felt guilty when he made Beauty jump in surprise.

Opening night for Verdi's La Traviata ran as smoothly as the City Opera House manager designed it. He allotted a certain number of complimentary tickets to be distributed by high-performing members of his production. Those lucky enough to receive these tickets were placed on a special guest list and personally escorted by the house staff to their box seats. The manager himself claimed a seat in Box 5, which was otherwise empty.

Tonight, the crowd glittered and shone brightly under the warm glow of the opera house. Attending the opera was as much about high art as it was about being seen. With every playbill this night came an invitation to the opening night celebration following after the performance. There, all would get their fill of the glamor brought out by opening night.

When the lights in the auditorium dimmed, so too did the chatter. Then began the orchestra, casting its spell with rich, full-bodied music. The pianist, one Hannibal Lecter, would be remembered by musical types for his mastery. But there was limelight enough for others, as well. The production's Violetta, Ms. Christine Daeé, sang soprano with a curious and heady combination of seduction and fresh youth, while the Flora of the opera, Ms. Enigma, carried the darker mezzo-soprano with an expert's touch. And when the lights came up, it was to the roar of an audience recognizing the triumph it just witnessed.

Once the curtain calls were done, the crowd began filtering down the staircase and into the Grand Foyer, where the night was just beginning. The wine flowed; the violins hummed -- a triumph indeed.

Charlie wanted a book. Charlie wanted a new/old book. Charlie wanted to take his partner with benefits to get the new/old book. Charlie wanted to see a friend's place of work where he would take his partner with benefits to get the new/old book. Charlie was a very busy man.

The detective had heard Honour say that she worked in a bookstore, or had one. He'd done a little digging around and found a few places that might fit. So, under the ruse - a very poorly built one that would fall should his partner ask the right questions - that he wanted to buy a book and he needed her help, he headed out to find where Honour worked exactly. He wanted to make sure she was working for the right person, doing above the board things. He didn't think she'd mean to do something illegal, but innocents did fall into really bad situations when they were too trusting.

"Bookmark Books. First one on the list. Think we'll be lucky and I'll find the book in there?" He smiled at Jennifer. "Then we can get something to take to the park. There's this really shady spot that I'd like to show you. Poems, fruit, and park. Think that could be nice."

Hunting. Pam was ever careful about feeding; she didn't do it out of fear so much as wanting to avoid inconvenience. That blond hunter had been quite a pain in the ass and then some. So, instead of bothering with the alleyways some nights, which did make her feel a little like she was feeding on vermin, she went to the park to chase down a few late night joggers. They did give a good run when they were frightened. Also, the chemicals produced by fear made the blood interesting, much better than what it usual in the City's people.

It was after one of these little excursions that Pam felt sated enough to sit on a bench and just stare up at the stars. They weren't right. They weren't how they should be back home, not that she was an expert, but being a vampire did give her quite some time to become acquainted with the little night lights.

The petite blond leaned back against the bench, her eyes lifted to the heavens. Her hands folded in her lap. She wore a button up blouse, pale pink almost thin enough to see through, and a pair of black pants, not Mom pants and definitely nothing one would find in the GAP or Old Navy. The shoes were simple black ballet flats, which probably cost enough to pay for a good night out including the dinner, show, and drinks. She might have just run down a jogger, but she looked like she'd just gotten out of her little Tommy's PTA meeting.

( OOC )



Bookmark Books.

Beauty stood on the sidewalk the morning of her first day back, bag of warm croissants in one hand and a letter in the other, and let out a satisfied sigh. She was still feeling a little bit under the weather from her unexpected inebriation the night before and the subsequent sleeplessness it brought -- but if she looked just a touch less rested than normal, it was obscured by her excitement to be back at work.

It felt like home.

When she pushed the door open and heard the little bell chime, she couldn't help herself; she laughed. It was a wonderful sound, that bell. Traipsing into the used bookstore, she took a deep breath and filled her lungs with the scent of book glue and old pages and... coffee. The scent caught and tugged at her center. She smiled so widely, her face ached. "I brought croissants!" she called toward the back of the store, where her co-worker was undoubtedly unboxing books to shelve... or, more specifically, reading selections of the new arrivals as he unboxed them. She couldn't stop smiling. Part of her -- the part that had stood before the mirror for longer than needed this morning -- was nervous/excited/nervous to see him. But the other part was still so grateful that he was even here in the first place that she could hardly wait to lay eyes on him again.

Sliding the letter behind the register in the front of the store, she set the croissants by the coffee, found the stash of small paper plates she kept, then set two of the pastries on two plates and turned to bring them back into the store. The tiny bells around her ankle chimed as she moved.

Today, she had visitors coming, which was enough to put an extra spring in her step. Eric and Lestat had both promised to stop by, and she should let Errol know. The rest of the day stretched itself in front of her, filling her imagination with possibilities and excitement. Oh, she really couldn't wait! For now, though -- croissants. And then books. Books! She was bouncing on her toes and it wasn't even 9 a.m. yet.

Fred felt a little more relaxed. She did her best to avoid the theater, hoping to keep from bumping into the second Eric or Erik or Erich...that name really wasn't her friend at the moment, even if she'd only met two in the City so far. She was curious, which was certainly her downfall; she knew curiosity did kill this particular Fred shaped kitty, and she had to work to keep from letting it do so again. She was curious about the dancing, yet she knew that she could find the truth some other way.

She hadn't any real direction for this particular jaunt. She had considered going to see Annie to show off the tablet she'd been allowed to keep, but the City didn't seem that interested in letting her. Then again, she wasn't trying too hard to get there. She held the tablet close to her, much like she had her clipboard before it. Now, she just walked along, smiling to herself.

Now if she could avoid the crazy. Maybe something a little more comforting?

( ---- )

It felt odd to say that he had his job back when Errol felt as if he'd never left. The layout of the store had changed enough so that it didn't feel as seamless as returning to his apartment, but books were books and it was easy enough to turn on the coffee pot, make sure that the sign in the door said "Open," and he began to browse himself for a book to settle behind the counter with.

Or he would have, if curiosity hadn't gotten the better of him and he picked up one of the City newspapers left out near the coffeepot instead. Since arriving in the City Errol did his best to avoid the news. After Libria, he preferred to live in an insulated bubble. But a long absence meant that the City had possibly changed around him. That bubble could have changed without him knowing. It was safer for him to know than to exist in happy ignorance right now.

He sat back behind the counter, a paper unfolded in front of him, and soon began making notes of back issues to find in the library. Apparently things had been very interesting since he had been here last.

Errol's apartment was back where he'd left it, more or less, and the landlord took his long disappearance in stride. All of his belongings, few enough though they were, were inside when he opened the door. While Errol was a habitually neat person and not given to clutter, he noted that the few things that he remembered leaving out--a book on a table, his coat left over the back of a chair--were still there, as if he'd never left. He rested his hand on the black Cleric's coat for a moment before gathering it up and hanging it in his closet.

He stood aimlessly for a few minutes before deciding to go for a walk. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around the idea that he'd been gone for so long. Years, it seemed. Logically, it made sense. If the City was what Beauty said it was, and arriving as he had he didn't have much reason to doubt outlandish claims, there was no reason to believe that something as odd as being sent away and then returned could have happened. But he needed to see the City for himself. See what had changed. Cement it in his mind.

He left his apartment and turned down one of the City's streets with no destination in mind, keeping a brisk pace and looking at everything. If nothing else, he had always enjoyed the sights of the City.