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Summerfest [16 Aug 2008|04:39pm] http://asylums.insanejournal.com/city_limits/38254.html Comment

Not for the Scenery [16 Aug 2008|12:23pm] The North Park Tap was a neighborhood pub a few blocks south of the Lincoln Park blockade, in the Old Town area of Chicago. Its proximity meant that in the months following the original incident, business suffered greatly as residences and businesses were vacated in favor of places less associated with that unfortunate situation. What ultimately preserved the pub was military money. Soldiers got off the clock just like civilians did, and they often went in search of cheap food and whatever beer was on tap. The crowd was a mixed bag, but haircuts were a pretty good indicator of civilians versus military. Rhiannon didn't care who sat on the stool next to her. In Las Vegas, she'd earned her living working in a bar that catered to demons; while she was mopping up the bits and pieces of shattered mugs filled with demon cocktails -- usually some sort of blood mixed with liquor -- she reminded herself that there was a chance she'd overhear something useful while she was down there. The same held true at the Tap. Get enough alcohol in a soldier and one never knew what he or she would end up saying. On this particular Friday night, she wasn't overly concerned with eavesdropping. A long afternoon of apartment hunting had pissed her off to the point that she needed a stiff drink. She sat at the far end of the bar, lazily engaging a Megatouch machine in a card game. There was a cigarette hanging between two of her fingers, which were decorated in henna designs that crawled up past her wrists like brown ivy. She was wearing a tank top, jeans, boots, and a bandana over long, brown hair. The strap of a bra dangled off her shoulder in defeat. Shane had found some links buried in the mess of stuff he'd uncovered on the woman's harddrive and he wanted to continue tracking them down, so had grabbed himself a burger on their way back from the walk to the apartment, knowing Cian wouldn't be in any mood to sit quietly in the room. Especially with the full moon only a few nights away. Cian had entered the bar, one he'd been to before and knew they had a decent simple menu that was food rather than some crazy concoction they referred to as 'haute cuisine' in some of the places he tried. He figured it was probably due to the clientele, something he'd found a little disconcerting at first, but grown used to after a couple of visits. When he entered that night it was no different to most other nights, the barman giving him a nod and already reaching for a glass and filling it with Guinness. It had been another attraction, it was one of the few bars that actually imported the real stuff from home, not the pathetic knock-off copy served in other places. He hooked a leg over a stool and sat down, the large stout put on the bar in front of him. A quick chat and he ordered some food, taking a long draw from the glass when the barman wandered off to put his order in with the kitchen. Cian turned a little, giving himself a view of the bar to the side, where the machines were lined along the wall, dragging the dollars out of punter's fingers. Annie refused to have them in the pub, saying she preferred her patrons to get somethin' for their money. He saw the woman on the end, stopping his gaze on her for a moment longer, the simple fact of seeing a woman in there alone being an oddity that drew his attention. ( Are You Looking At Me? ) ( Mystery-Name Tourist ) Comment

Journey Into Lincoln Park [31 Jul 2008|06:47pm] http://asylums.insanejournal.com/city_limits/23925.html Comment

Journey Into Lincoln Park [31 Jul 2008|04:29pm] Once upon a time, the intersection of Wolfram and Halsted Streets was a busy commercial intersection. It was also quite the cross-section of American commercialism. There was a large mattress factory on one corner, a reproductive genetics institute and a real estate agency on the other, and further down the block, a Kentucky Fried Chicken. The street was often lined with parked cars, and could be somewhat treacherous for pedestrians darting across the roadway, attempting not to get run over by traffic. Most of those buildings were empty in 2013. While the convergence of streets sat on the ‘good’ side of the Lincoln Park perimeter, it was still only a block away from the disaster site, and as such, no one wanted to be near it. The old mattress factory was the only building that remained occupied; it was used to store military surplus goods. Rhiannon’s car was parked in the old, heat-damaged KFC parking lot, behind the drive-thru. There weren’t any streetlamps in that corner, and as such, she was able to wait for the rest of the group unnoticed. The only items she planned to take on the exploratory trip were a few weapons that could be kept close to the body, including her katar and a stake. What she really wanted was the handgun Joseph had given her a few years back; there was no telling what creatures they might encounter in the community, if they even got inside. Shooting from a distance seemed like a very good idea. However, a gunshot going off would make a lot of noise. Hayden drove up a few minutes after the Slayer. A pick-up truck had replaced his old Jeep. He got out of the cab, nodded at her, and shut the door. “Hey, Rhi.” “It’s about time you showed up,” Rhiannon said with a crooked smile, not so much referring to it being 9:01pm, as his general absence since she’d gotten to Chicago. The brunette walked over and stuck out her hand. It was more of a casual grip of their palms than a formal handshake, but it was friendly enough. “What the hell happened to your hair?” She reached up and scrubbed her knuckles on the buzz-cut. “Yeah, I got sick of it,” he said, running his fingers over where she’d touched. That wasn’t the actual reason why it originally got shaved off, but he hadn’t bothered to grow it back. “I’ve got the lights.” He thumbed over his shoulder at the truck bed and went around to let down the tailgate. Its rusted joints let out a squeak. Hayden hefted himself into the back. [Thread: Open to Rhiannon, Kris, Connor, Faith, and Hayden] Comment

Email [29 Jul 2008|10:44pm] To: "Connor", "Kris", "Faith", "Hayden" From: R.I.Lee@gmail.com Subj: Ready to Roll Alright, crazy kids. Who's ready to go on a little tunnel exploration with me? If so, meet me at the corner of Wolfram and Halsted on Thursday night at 9. I suggest we all travel light. Nothing gets the neighborhood dogs barking like dropping a samurai sword on the pavement. ;) Think 'evade military binoculars'. Hayden- Saddle up long enough to meet us with some magnum-powered flashlights, yeah? If I'm not mistaken, you had caving lights in NV. Rhiannon Comment

Some 'Us' Time [28 Jul 2008|04:54pm] So for the last couple of days Joseph Tropiano had been working towards making his new apartment comfortable and liveable, which of course meant making sure his belongings got shipped to the right place and somebody on the other end of the telephone line understood that he needed his life in boxes as soon as possible. He hadn't paid what he had for bad service. The apartment itself was quite open plan, with little to no doors between rooms. There were hard wooden floors that stretched from the bedroom to the living room but then changed the moment you hit bathroom or kitchen, because the covering for those was different, those had the easy to clean laminated kind of floors. Suited Joseph down to the ground. Not that he was dirty by any stretch of the imagination but the less stress he had at home the better off he would be. View wasn't particularly wonderful but the moment you stepped out of the front door you were immersed in life and it was what Joseph needed after Vegas. There was no way he could live in a quiet neighborhood, not after all the razzle dazzle of Vegas that had on more than one occasion set his blood on fire. However, he was on the fifth floor so he could escape the noise if he wanted to and his bedroom was set back from the road so he wouldn't have trouble sleeping. Even if he still had nightmares. The good thing about this apartment block was that the lift worked and the stairs were clean, no trash or half asleep drunks lingering at the bottom in the hopes of finding somewhere warm and safe for the night. Joseph had been to a couple places before this one and he'd seen one too many of those people and had promptly turned any offer he was given down. Besides, Donna? Seemed nice enough and content with the amount Joseph had paid up front so she had left him to his business. Something Joseph appreciated, given his need for privacy when it came to his personal life. Currently he was making runs up and down stairs in nothing but a tank-top, jeans and converse sneakers, helping the delivery men with some of the things they'd managed to get here on time. One of those things being his bed and he could have kissed the guy in charge but refrained, settling instead on an agreed beer later for all the hard work. "That?" Joseph muttered as he carried one of his boxes in through the front door which was painted a shade of brown to go with the decor of the building, apparently. "Needs to go into your room on the left. Yeah, the bedroom." "What are you mumbling about?" A pretty brunette with long, muscular legs wandered out of the kitchen. She wore a pair of red cotton shorts and a black tank top, and was barefoot. For the moment, she was preoccupied with fastening her hair into a knot on her head. It had grown quite long in recent months, and now hung several inches past her shoulders, when she let it. While the boxes came in, she had made herself useful unpacking them. After nearly five years together, Rhiannon had a pretty good idea how Joseph liked his kitchen. "Are you talking to yourself?" she teased and dropped her arms. It was a rarity for anyone to see the couple in such casual circumstances, but the movers wouldn't know the difference, or have any clue what kind of weaponry they were unwittingly unloading in the apartment. ( Put It Over There ) ( The Right Place ) Comment

A New World View [25 Jul 2008|09:53pm] Navy Pier was nowhere near Lincoln Park or the secret freight tunnel leading into it, but for Faith, it seemed like as good a place as any for a meeting with Rhiannon. She wanted it to be a well-lit, public area in an attempt to cut down on the chance of interruption by vampires, and Navy Pier was nothing if not well-lit and public. In simpler times – hell, as recently as a year ago – it would’ve been too public, swarming with people who had no clue of what really walked among them. But since the whole world knew now, secrets weren’t as much of a priority. So what was the big deal if Faith and Rhiannon talked shop amidst the pretty lights and the giant Ferris wheel? The Slayer had to admit, it was pretty. So pretty, Faith found herself lost in it for a moment, forgetting about her surroundings and the fact that her left elbow still ached from her fight the night before with the Undead Dozen. Looking out in the water, Faith saw the reflection of all the lights in the lake. It was truly one of the most beautiful things the Slayer had ever seen, and she actually found herself in awe. Until this point, Faith had seen nothing about this city that truly impressed her. But Navy Pier at night – Faith couldn’t believe she was standing here, when as a child she considered herself lucky if she ever got out of Massachusetts. “Wow …” "Yeah, that's pretty cool." Rhiannon walked up beside the other Slayer. She hadn't talked to Faith in ages, or seen her in even longer. However, meeting her had left an impression on Rhiannon, so she recognized her on sight. She folded her arms and shared the view. "I just can't get over how there's water here," she said wryly. "Water not in a synchronized fountain." For the slimmest of seconds, the brunette almost missed Las Vegas, but it was not the kind of city she saw herself settling down in for good. There was too much glitz. "How's tricks?" she asked, leaning her hip against the railing. ( 4x4? ) ( Ball Sports and Shitty Hotels ) Comment

FWD: Hayden's Info [24 Jul 2008|01:37pm] ( Info Forwarded to Purity, Whistler, and Faith ) Comment

Assembling the Team [23 Jul 2008|10:42pm] "There's no way in hell I'm seeing this." It went without saying that Rhiannon Lee spent a lot of time outdoors, particularly at night. Because of that, she came across her fair share of criminals. Usually she was investigating strange noises on a side street, and found kids breaking into cars to strip the radios, or testing residential areas for unlocked doors. Once she happened across what looked like a vampire, but turned out to be a widower grave-robbing his dead wife. Apparently those rings on her fingers were worth a pretty penny at the pawn shop. This though... this was new. Her car, a 1980s model Nissan that literally started 'puttering' on the drive to Illinois, was parked on the open-air roof of the hotel garage. After getting a text from Connor that he was in town, she asked him to meet on the roof. There was a maintenance man in her hotel room, fixing a cracked seal around the base of the toilet. The hotels in Vegas looked better than the El Rey, but she was having doubts. So here she was, busting through the exit door, to discover a street thug crouched at her back tire. He was siphoning gasoline. She went for the direct approach. "You pick the shittiest car in the deck to rob? You deserve to get punched." The thug spun around and snarled. "Oh hello..." Rhiannon raised her eyebrows. "This just got guilt-free." One benefit of having a motorcycle, other than being able to avoid paying an arm and a leg at the gas pump, was that it was easy to park. Connor found a spot close to the hotel Rhiannon had mentioned, then ran his fingers through his hair after removing his helmet. Well, at least it didn't look like a dump, and the neighborhood was okay. He tromped towards the stairs leading up to the roof, passing a tired-looking man who was headed for the ice machine, a plastic bucket in hand. They exhcanged silent nods, and the Destroyer's shoes made hollow sounds on the metal stairs on his way up. He wondered what it was about rooftops that made it easier to talk. He heard the snarl just as he reached the top of the staircase, and the hairs on the back of his neck stirred as he saw the line of Rhiannon's back faced away from him. He, as usual, was unarmed, but when his fists were lethal enough who needed a stake? "You need some help taking out this trash?" ( It's a Long Way Down ) ( Friends in Common ) Comment

Re-Entry [19 Jul 2008|07:38pm] July 2013 Las Vegas, Nevada Rhiannon Lee took a step back from the canvas. A shaft of sunlight from the westward-facing windows put the brush strokes into sharp relief. Her apartment stank to high heaven of linseed oil and turpentine. She'd been meaning to open the door for half an hour and get some air circulating in there; she just never got around to it. There were years when having an afternoon to paint had been a luxury. Between day jobs and night patrols, and whatever sleep or social life the Slayer squeezed between, there hadn't been time or inspiration. It was a sacrifice she made without much bitching and moaning; It was worth it. These days, life was a little different. At twenty-six years old, she was better at the balancing act. For a year, she'd been the only Slayer in Las Vegas, which was enough to keep her chasing shadows. But the freelance work she did for Whistler paid the bills and kept her out of the daily grind. She flew out for a week or two per month, she did her job, and the rest of the time was Rhiannon's to spend. She glanced at the bathroom door, which was cracked open. She heard the shower cut off and Joseph's foot squeak against the tub tiles. He was one thing that hadn't changed, a person who hadn't scattered to the winds when the world tipped on its axis. Rhiannon's teeth clicked on her paint brush. Wondering something about dinner, maybe, but then her cell phone rang. She wiped her hands on a rag and flipped it open. "Hello?" "Yeah, this 900-SLAYER? I got a real sweet deal on some holy waterpistols. Blessed, straight from the Vatican! His Holiness didn't take too kind to posin' with 'em, they come in neon!" Probably a joke. Probably. When it came from the owner of that voice, it could sometimes be difficult to tell. The last adventurous caper had involved a shipment of demonically-possessed bananas. A situation only compounded by how the apparent cargo manifest had got somehow mixed up with a container of battery-powered marital aids. Still, helping out a Slayer to fight the forces of evil was not always a conventional occupation. "It's Ernie!" Rhiannon's skeletal informant clarified. "An' I got an infestation problem you'll just be dyin' ta' see... You remember what went down in Chicago? Big evacuation, quarantine...?" With a literal shake, Rhiannon got the dumbfounded look off her face. "Hey... You're weird." As if being an animated skeleton with personality wasn't strange enough, Ernie seemed to thrive on finding ways to be as odd as possible. Although pistols loaded with holy water weren't completely useless, it smacked a little too much of The Lost Boys. She could do without the comparison. "Uh, yeah, I remember Chicago." Rhiannon rubbed the back of her neck. "Some portal opened in Lincoln Park. The neighborhood, not the lame nu-metal band. Everybody went Chernobyl-victim." After placing her brush on a table, the brunette opened the front door. Heat blasted into her apartment. She fanned the door to stir up some air. "Basically," her caller answered, giving a momentary raise of what still amounted to shoulders. "Can't say as it's improved the property values. Wouldn't go suggestin' a trip to the zoo, neither." Ernie's voice seemed to be producing an echo. The signal was still relatively good, but mostly because he had stopped on one place, where he knew the reception was mostly fine. If the line was clear enough, one might also have picked up dripping water and the odd squeak of a rat. "Well, they put up a regular Berlin wall around the place, top to bottom. The thing is... I don't think the Mayor kept his maps too up to date. 'Cause I found a way in and out o' the, uh... 'Zone', as some of 'em like t'call it. I prefer 'neighborhood'. Makes it not so spooky when all ya' wanna' do is go for a stroll in the park." The voice lowered and Ernie's eyeless skull looked around, confirming nobody important was catching wind of his end of the conversation. "I figured, hey... A thing like this? We either need you down here or some of ya' girlfriends. Preferably, both." Rhiannon frowned. In July of the previous year, the Lincoln Park incident had been world-wide news, a story so disturbing it cut through all the other media hype about demons and monsters and government conspiracies. Hundreds of innocent people (maybe more) had been injured. Actually 'changed' was more apt, some beyond recognition. There were facilities for those that had been captured. As Rhiannon understood it, others had simply been gunned down, considered too gruesome and unresponsive to be rounded up. No doubt still more had been left behind. The 'missing persons' reports were said to be enormous, after that incident. She leaned on the door frame. "You worried about what might get out of there?" It could be that, though Rhiannon would've been sorely tempted to get in there and look around, had the place been deserted. All disasters had a certain magnetism to humans. It was the kind of bent fascination that had people staring at car wrecks. Since this was one giant, supernaturally themed car wreck, it held a serious interest for her. Also, there were reports that when the Chicago portal did its occasional re-opening, it often happened in or around Lincoln Park. "Heh, it ain't that simple," Ernie apologized, knowing the conversational waters were about to be muddied. "It's not just what might get out. It's what might get in, too... That's pretty much the land of damnation, out there. Lotsa' stuff to exploit, if you're in that frame o' mind. Sooner or later, it won't just be you who gets wind o' this. Even if they seal the freight tunnel, someone could always clear it out, again. If they're that determined." Because this was a double-edged sword and sometimes it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. Not least, because, in some ways, this was the perfect bait for would-be adversaries. "Think on this, Xena... Remember how Vegas used to be? That'll be Chicago, not long from now. A regular shadow-magnet. You still wanna' hunt down the biggest and baddest? This'll be ya' choke-point." "My choke-point?" Rhiannon smiled and used her hand to block the sun. "Stop it, you're turning me on." A sound came from the bathroom, and she glanced at the door for a second go-round. This time, chewing her lip, perhaps a little on the worried side. "Chicago for good," she mumbled, flipping the thought over and letting it cook some more. Was there any possible way she could get 'Vegas' out of Vegas?. It wasn't just about her anymore. So why was her blood pumping faster already? Las Vegas had its share of serious demon problems and always would. But nowadays Rhiannon got her real kicks on the road with Whistler, when the PTBs pointed out a problem area and said, 'Kill it or subdue it, either way, get rid of the problem.' Too bad Rhiannon didn't want to take trips to see the action. She wanted to pack her bags, head to the midwest, and park her shit right in the midst of it. If she had her way, the decision would've already been made. "Alright. Don't worry. One way or another, it'll get taken care of." She pulled the door shut and paced inside. "So tell me about this tunnel..." ******* ( Messages: Whistler, Connor, Purity, Kris, Hayden, Faith, Logan ) Comment

A Chapter Ends [17 Jul 2008|12:06am] Two bags: a carry-on and a suitcase Are packed and waiting by the door. Destination? New York, New York. One first class ticket out of Vegas. I've found new employment. No selling books in a sand-trap town. No slinging drinks behind a greasy bar. No chasing demon piss out of a urinal with a bucket of bleach. No carrying a badge that weighs 50 goddamn pounds (karmic included). I've got an advance in my hip pocket. All I've got to do is show up, exercise my god-given ability to Vanquish the monsters, Keep the peace, Be the right kind of Slayer. God knows it seems like there's fewer of Us Despite there being more. I want to tell them 'Wake up, girls. The choice is gone.' This is necessary. We are the Trailblazers, the ones who'll show the world That they don't have to live in fear. We'll protect them, like we've always protected them. We'll show them the faces of their saviors as well as the damned. Hey, Whistler, How am I supposed to get stakes on a plane? Just a few days, here and there, That I'll be gone. I've made the decision to stay in Las Vegas, At least for now. I can't desert this city, My city, Our city, Right as things get so dark. I watch the taillights, a long chain of Red. I see them go their separate ways. I'd be lying if I said It didn't hurt me. Not from some twisted sense of their Obligation, but because I've come to love them. But I don't need them. That's not an insult. It's the biggest compliment I've ever given myself. I standing on my own. I am capable of turning my back to Anything, even Her, My foolish way of being a dependent girl inside an independent woman Is beginning to disappear. But I'm not alone. Whistler, my sense of home, Connor, my friend, not just a Fighter by my side. Joseph, my great love, is staying here with me. I'm so much more than I was when I arrived. I've got so much more left to go. -R Comment

The Road We're On [09 Jul 2008|12:58am] Finally returned to Searchlight after an orientation that lasted days, if not a week, the first thing Whistler did was scour the local news. Granted, the Powers had given him all he needed to know, but it lacked the human angle. Knowing an event was one thing; understanding the emotional ripples was quite another. The internet was on overload. When he could log on, the blogosphere was rife with conspiracy theories, cell phone videos of various events, dusted-off instructional videos from the 1950s on how to handle cataclysmic events ('House in the Middle' was always his favorite) but mostly, mostly, there was panic, fear, and uncertainty. Leaders of nations did their best to explain the unexplainable, and it wasn't helping. He loaded up on Jolt cola, cigarettes and pre-wrapped ham and cheese sandwiches, and took the long walk from his doublewide into Las Vegas. Military personnel and transport kept a discreet presence but it made its point: we'll protect you but we're not exactly sure how or what from. Tossing the wrapper from his third sandwich into the trash, he finally approached Rhiannon's warehouse and made the climb up to her door. Rhiannon heard the footsteps from her couch. She was sitting flipping through a two-year old phone book, trying to find a single sub shop that still had delivery guys. Apparently people didn't like approaching random door stoops anymore. The fates of a dozen missing Pizza Delivery guys was suddenly in perspective. "If you're a looter, come back later," she yelled, holding her index finger on a number and listening to her cell. Apparently the number she had reached was no longer in service. ( Nothing To Steal ) ( The U.N. and Emily Post ) Comment

The Last Temptation [27 Jun 2008|11:57pm] A sort of belated madness set over the city, after the initial shock of the revelation passed. With the President's address, the full weight of a new world reality rested heavily on morale. There were those who continued rioting and looting and venting their frustrations in destructive ways. The mass exodus carried on, though highway traffic was nightmarish. But in increasing numbers, people began to go into nonfunctional states. They wandered about lost, having been ousted from hotel rooms or robbed of their cars. When stranded without a place to go or a direction to pursue, they simply walked. But here, they were also thwarted. A national curfew had been put in place. At dusk, everyone was to get inside. While it would be impossible to capture all who disobeyed, the local policing forces and national guard managed to force businesses to close. Enforcement vehicles patrolled the streets, shining spotlights into dark corners, and pronouncing the curfew loudly to any who lingered. People were literally horded into the nearest buildings. It was the price to pay for pushing their luck. Rhiannon got stuck in such a trap. She was patrolling near the Orleans hotel when she rounded a corner and found herself face-to-face with a police car. Reversing directions only pointed her at another one. The area was blocked off. Rather than pick a fight, the brunette put her hands up, voicing a tired, "Alright, Christ," and went into the hotel... Where there was profit to be made. Management claimed that no one was allowed to loiter. Since the casino and bar were closed, there was nothing else to do but pull out a bank card and get a hotel room. Luckily, over thirty rooms had gone prematurely vacant. Under normal circumstances, Rhiannon would've cursed a blue streak and hit the nearest emergency exit, but leaving was rendered impossible. With a mental attitude of 'fuck it', she dragged ass upstairs and locked herself in a standard single. The decor in Orleans was a supposedly modern take on art deco. The walls were alternately red or rust or burnt orange. The furniture, white with turquoise accents. The throw pillows were shaped like tubes. Rhiannon grabbed such a tube and tossed it in the air, pacing around despite feeling as if she were an engine running on empty. The television as distraction? No. The only thing on was that god-forsaken man's face, reciting his inspirational script over and over and over... As if it wasn't his administration that made Project Integration possible. Rhiannon rubbed her wrist, where the chip was hidden, then forced herself to toss the pillow aside and check out the mini-fridge. "I seem to recall a bath..." Elfleda's voice. Unmistakable. One of those moments where she deliberately used that strange ability of hers to link with both mind and physical ears. Neither exclusively one, nor the other. Even when it came of sensation, it seemed the Corruptress teased. As ever, when next she spoke, it was purely with what could only really be described as vocal chords. Whether or not Elfleda physically still possessed any, of course, was a matter for personal interpretation. the last time they had met, Rhiannon had helped her to ascend back to hellish throne. As of now, she just casually walked directly through wall. What could she want now? "It's all a bit of a puzzle, isn't it?" ( An Invitation ) Comment

[26 Jun 2008|12:02pm] ( ”Voicemail ) ( ”Voicemail ) ( ”Voicemail ) ( ”Voicemail ) Comment

Always in Times Like These [25 Jun 2008|09:08pm] Even the elusive couldn't escape the sheer chaos reigning through the City of Sin. People turning on each other in fear and confusion, demons cascading in throngs through the streets demanding to be noticed and acknowledged as existing, like retro gay activists marching proudly... They were here. They were fierce. And they were climbing over humanity. Given the circumstances, it was no wonder that Purity finally roused herself from her apartment, equipped with as many spells, herbs, little trinkets and mystical crystals as she could carry. Or stuff in her cargo pants. Well, take no chances, anything and everything could and probably would be on that very same street. That was her philosophy right now, at least. She had to find Rhiannon. Not completely sure why that woman in particular, but realizing that every time she had participated in saving this forsaken city, that Slayer was always there, too. It could only be a good thing. Besides, the more the merrier when the streets were paved with ghouls. The brunette in question was on Paradise Road near the Riviera. After Corbett wandered off, she began to walk, looking around for a way to be useful. Normally when disaster struck, she had a plan of action. Normally the affected area was limited. Normally there was an enemy, easily identified by its non-human nature and desire to kill things. This was different. To call it chaos was fair. The trouble was in labeling the wrong-doers. There were demons wreaking havoc, but there were also humans acting out at random, chasing down suspected demons that weren't doing any harm. How was she to know who to defend? Where to start first? How did you fight a battle with no endpoint in sight, no signs to let you know you were winning? Rhiannon eventually gave up trying to make it make sense. All she could do was react when it was called for, and go until she couldn't go any longer. Then she'd rest and start all over again. She was sweaty, covered in vampire dust, and fed up. Half the dumpsters off Paradise were on fire. A few shop windows were broken out from looting. A stoplight had gone down at the intersection with Sahara, and cars kept flying through at break-neck speed. All of that was the doing of regular people. Rhiannon stopped long enough to trip a mugger, whose arms were full of purses. She kicked the knife out of his reach and watched it skid into the gutter. Either Purity's eyes were playing tricks on her or that was Rhiannon down the street from her. She ducked her shoulders, her booted feet picking up the pace. If it was the Slayer she didn't want to risk losing her and wasting time. Hands clutched her jacket around her waist as she moved swiftly. Someone was yelling, the sound of another shattered window echoing through the streets like a lone wolf cry calling out for a response from his pack. Out the corner of her eye the dark witch saw staggered movement. Turning, she was just in time to watch a young woman cross the road, as a car zoomed through the broken stoplight straight for her. "Look out!" ( Damn Ghosts ) Comment

Call Me If The World Ends [23 Jun 2008|03:58pm] Okay, coming to Las Vegas for the night was officially a bad idea. Corbett could tell that much as he stood in front of one of the myriad of hotels in the city. He couldn’t tell which hotel it was, given his eyes were fixated on the sky above. The colors were striking in their depth – the blues, purples and whites just … coagulating in the sky; that was really the best way the Watcher could think of it. He ignored the panicked masses as they ran around him, the occasional elbow catching him in the arm or the side. Corbett shut the door to his car, his mouth agape as he removed his glasses. It made the mass in the sky blurrier, but the Watcher had a feeling he knew what was up. The cat was out of the bag, and things were getting worse. He remembered the incident at the Winter Solstice, when a portal opened up and chaos reigned. This wasn’t an opening, but given recent revelations, he understood if everyone else didn’t know that. “Bollocks,” he said to himself, taking his eyes off the sky to see if there was anyone about not fleeing in terror. In a taxi parked nearby, the driver rolled down his windows and turned up his radio as loud as it would go. What blasted to pedestrian ears was not music, but a broadcast from the national government. ”This is a message from the Emergency Alert System. This is not a test. The Department of Homeland Security has elevated the terror alert level to red, indicating a severe risk of terrorist attacks across the nation. Just after 9:30pm, widespread reports of…” A horn blared and interrupted the broadcast. Rhiannon slammed her hand down on the hood. “Watch out!” she yelled. “Wake up or get out of the car!” She cursed and kept moving through the crosswalk, now noticeably favoring her left knee. Once on the sidewalk, the Slayer bent over and stuck her fingers through the rip in her jeans, poking around her kneecap for any damage. Corbett made his way carefully through the crowd, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of the warning he heard. Homeland Security trying to help people – if it weren’t for Homeland Security, none of this would probably be happening in the first place. No Project Integration, no media leak. No media leak, no mass hysteria. Simple as that. The Watcher found Rhiannon amongst the masses, saw she was favoring one of her legs. This was obviously bad, much worse than Corbett originally thought. In an instant he flashed back to the Solstice again, glancing at the sky once more before kneeling by Rhiannon. “What do you think?” he bellowed above the chaos. “Armageddon?” Rhiannon looked up. Ah, Corbett. At least he wasn’t cowering under a table somewhere; there were some in his profession that might. “Yeah,” she called back, straightening up. The brunette kept flexing her knee until it popped. “And I get taken out by a car full of humans. Are you seeing the irony?” ( Mob Scene ) Comment

Look Up [22 Jun 2008|03:54pm] Rhiannon stood on the sidewalk that ran along Las Vegas Boulevard, gaping at the sky. Between the outlines of two buildings, she could see the Circus Circus hotel. Up above it, partially hidden by clouds, an amorphous shape began to bulge and wobble. It was blue and purple and white. So bright that it outshone the neons and headlights of oncoming cars. The Slayer was not the only one who saw it. Half the people on the sidewalk had also stopped in their tracks. Around the corner, a pick-up ran into the back of a taxi cab when its driver got distracted. The gateway that once led to a hellverse had reappeared above the resort. Unlike before, it didn't scar the ground with lightnight strikes, or pull demons and innocent people into the sky. It simply hovered, as if waiting. A prickle ran up Rhiannon's neck. Seconds later, what could only be described as a spectre wandered by her. It blinked and fizzled before disappearing into the side of the Angiers motel. "What... the hell." Comment

Sinners and Saints [16 Jun 2008|11:03pm] Rhiannon sat on the trunk of a stranger's car, twirling a stake between her fingers. It was dark outside, nearing 10pm, and she was waiting for Connor to meet her. The plan was to take a walk, maybe grab a coffee, and hash out their reactions to what was going on in the news. Vamps weren't around much. Apparently some were old enough to remember crowds with pitchforks, and had taken a subtler approach to hunting. Not all humans had that kind of wisdom. In the wake of the biggest supernatural news since Roswell, families around the country did things like host board games nights or rent movies, remaining in the quiet safety of their homes. Of course, they kept an eye trained on the television set in case of breaking news. But in Vegas at least, people were out drinking and gambling like always. Rhiannon supposed some addictions were stronger than fear. People would always take their chances on a rough neighborhood just to get to a dealer, card or otherwise. Dimly she recalled that sort of feeling. She brought her legs onto the trunk and folded them beneath her. "Idiot." Connor seldom read the paper, but since the news had broken about the government's interest in the supernatural he'd been picking up the Beacon to keep track of any further articles. Currently he was at the tail end of Logan Guevara's final missive for the newspaper, and he wasn't happy about it. Leaning against a mailbox, the Destroyer read through the article again, then wadded the paper up in disgust and stuffed it into the closest garbage can. What a moron. It was instigators like that who caused riots. He pushed off from the mailbox, then continued his trek. He had heard about the stand-down through street gossip, and he supposed that with the heat off it was only a matter of time before the feeding frenzy started again. He hadn't seen much trouble yet, but it felt like the whole city was a powder keg with a match dangling over it. All it would take was one spark and then BOOM. He saw the Slayer across the street, seated on the trunk of a car, and he lifted a hand in a wave before crossing against traffic. "I think it's finally summer," he said to her, pulling his sweat-damp shirt away from his chest. "Seen anything moving tonight that shouldn't be?" "Yeah. These." Rhiannon held up her stake and made a confused face. It had an orange price sticker on it. "They're selling for 4 bucks a pop at the Worthy Christian Book Store. Next to the bottles of holy water." She passed the merchandise to Connor. "Bad quality. Good luck getting it through the torso. Still. Why didn't I think of that? I could sell my whole collection and take a trip the Bahamas." ( What Ifs ) ( Practice ) ( Rumble in the Street ) Comment

Newsworthy Events [10 Jun 2008|10:20pm] *Rap, Rap, Rap* Rhiannon waited for a response at Whistler's door. Meanwhile she jiggled her legs and looked around. It was another dry, dusty night in Searchlight. Faint kitchen sounds drifted from neighboring trailers, and she could hear a family watching television. 'This... iiiiis Jeopardy!' She wedged the collection of newspaper articles between her knees. To pass the time while Whistler plodded around, she pulled her hair into a ponytail and tightened it. Since his return, Whistler had steered clear from media, both in printed and televised form. Staring at the Weekly Examiner and its questioning 'Do the Dead Walk Among Us?' articles with grainy, (possibly) doctored photographs, was enough to send him into spasms. And sadly, those rags were closer to the truth than he liked. But reading true misery day after day -- wars fought overseas, how base humanity could be to one another -- after a while it got to be too much. Instead, he started journaling. The Agent wasn't sure why. It wasn't as if his experiences would inspire a generation of future Slayers, or provide insight on how to shine a light into dark corners. This was... personal. He'd tried to fill in over fifty years of backstory in his history with Meg and was sure he'd left out all the best (or worst) bits. And there was much she didn't want to know, either. But someone might. Someday. He didn't like the word that popped in his head to describe his new activity, but Legacy was the one that fit. The three raps against the screen door caught his attention and, carefully marking the page with the purple ribbon, Whistler closed the book and shuffled to the door. When it opened, Rhiannon's mouth was already in 'go' position. "Good, you're here." She pulled back his screen door and let herself in. "We need to talk." When her mind was set on a conversation, the Slayer was a tornado bursting onto the scene. The trailer's interior was lit by sunset and a table lamp. Her eyes adjusted quickly. It was forever since she'd been in there, so Rhiannon nosed around for anything new. All she noticed was a notebook that looked recently attended to. She dropped her bundle of newspapers on top, giving Whistler a none too subtle message. 'Me first'. ( The H-Bomb ) ( Family Pains ) Comment

Bedside Manner [19 May 2008|02:37am] After breakfast with Connor, Rhiannon walked back to her loft. She took a hot shower and slept face-down on the bed for hours. When she awoke, her body felt different, the muscles sore from the fight and the deep slumber during which she hadn't moved much. A pinkish-brown bruise had surfaced next to her mouth. She wandered to the kitchen in a stupor and fixed a glass of ice water, which she sipped and put on the bruise. It made her face feel marginally better. It was during that moment of relief that Rhiannon saw an envelope by the front door. It must've been slipped across the threshold while she was knocked out. Upon opening it, she found a note in Joseph's handwriting that gave a new address, and a key she could use to let herself in. The thought of going over there made Rhiannon's stomach do a weird swirling thing. "What says 'sorry I almost put you in federal custody?'" she mumbled and looked around the apartment for cues. An hour passed before Rhiannon got to his temporary home. The building wasn't his style, and maybe that was a good thing. It was a drab, claustrophobic place but it wouldn't draw any suspicion. A neighbor's dog yipped at the Slayer from a nearby apartment. She could hear its tiny, sharp-nailed paws clicking on the floor. She dug the key out of her pocket and turned the lock. There weren't any lights on in the living room and the blinds were closed. She shut the door and let her eyes adjust. "Joseph?" The silence stretched out. Rhiannon shifted her feet. Even with the key, she felt like she was breaking and entering. As she began to pick out more of her surroundings, she saw that the place was furnished, but not with Joseph's things. The lamps and upholstered furniture were a little outdated and impersonal. She had a paper bag in her fingers, which she considered putting on the coffee table, but decided to keep with her. Rhiannon's boots disturbed the vacuum lines on the beige carpet as she went down a hall with bedrooms flanking it. The door on the end was cracked open. She nudged it farther and saw a lump under the sheets. "Joseph?" After Joseph had slid the envelope under Rhiannon's door, he'd slipped back to his hideaway apartment, the one the government couldn't have known anything about. He'd patched up his various injuries as best he could, a finger taped off as a bone needed to heal. Maybe it was the sudden lack of adrenaline but he'd only managed to pull off his shirt before sleep had crept on him and he'd hit the mattress. He rarely slept peacefully so even as Rhiannon inched her way through the apartment Joseph stirred restlessly and he murmured a few faint things in a tongue that very few could understand unless their family came from Italy. It took Joseph a few moments to realize Rhiannon's voice and the familiar sound of her boots weren't figments of his very active dream and he slowly came back to consciousness. Joseph turned over, promptly putting hair in his face, opening bloodshot eyes that were more than a little obscured at this point. "Rhi?" he mumbled thickly, voice heavy with sleep. "S'that you?" The extremely dim lighting just picked out the sharper angles of Joseph's features and glinted off the necklaces around his neck. She smiled. "If it's not, might be time to grab a weapon," she said, keeping her voice low. The brunette let herself in the room and put the bag on the nightstand. How Joseph looked when he was sleepy always touched something in Rhiannon. It was endearing and sexy and impossible not to touch him. She hooked a finger into his hair and pulled it out of his eyes. "So can I come in?" she asked, teasing. Looking at the corner of the sheet, she was tempted to crawl in beside him. ( Wake Up, Sleepyhead ) Comment

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