| Familiar Surroundings |
[27 Oct 2009|07:06pm] |
AU or Canon: AU
Where: Chicago
When: November 2014
Notes: Alternate universe. Post-CL. Disregards epilogues. Different living arrangements.
( Different Now )
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| Rooftop Conversation |
[14 Oct 2009|06:04pm] |
AU or Canon: AU (slightly)
Location: Chicago
Date: 2014
Notes: Takes place after the close of CL, but discounts Rhiannon's 2nd epilogue.
( A Witch and a Slayer )
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| Happy Belated |
[14 Oct 2009|05:28pm] |
AU or Canon: AU (slightly)
Location: Chicago
Date: September 2014
Notes: Takes place 2 months after City Limits closed. Discounts character epilogues.
( A Packed House )
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| Like Mother (Rhiannon's Epilogue, Part 2) |
[22 Jul 2009|07:18pm] |
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( October 19, 2028 )
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| The Greatest Accident (Rhiannon's Epilogue, Part 1) |
[15 Jul 2009|07:39pm] |
You only get one wish.
Not something useful,
Nothing you'd think to ask for
If you had time to weigh it,
Like money to pay the rent and buy the groceries,
A winning lottery ticket,
Health for your aging cat or a
Little bit of perspective.
Not protection for yourself, either,
A life well-lived, free of earth-shattering screw-ups
Or bad decisions or car accidents.
Not even a long, happy marriage.
Kids and a yard and a mortgage payment.
You want those things,
But they're too easy, yeah?
They're the wishes of your conscious mind.
The simple ones.
( Here's a Hint )
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| All or Nothing |
[10 Jul 2009|11:04pm] |
[Takes place just before 'All Good Things Must Come to an End']
Rhiannon pressed a doorbell. The sound went on forever.
She stepped back and braced her hands on her lower back. The Winters house loomed tall and wide, its brick clean, its trim freshly painted. The brunette didn't often find herself in such neighborhoods, where the door would be approached on soundless feet and opened by an employee rather than a familiar face. She felt strangely obvious on the porch. Flexing her elbows, she looked around and made eye contact with a woman next door, elderly, pruning a potted plant. Rhiannon lifted a hand. The woman lifted her gardening claw. "Okay then." She bounced on her toes and waited.
Bartholomew answered the door, in his usual attire, the 'British butler' look, one he couldn't avoid, even if he'd ever wanted to. He was used to receiving guests for Juliet at all hours of the day and night, unannounced in many cases, and he simply acknowledged the young woman he found standing on the doorstep with an appraising glance and courteous smile. Of late the young woman had been spending less time with her friends, and more time with her head in books, on the internet, or in the gym working out. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd had to arrange for equipment to be replaced, or had had to look into more sturdy designs. Especially since her 18th birthday, Bart had noticed a shift in Juliet's demeanour, the care-free sassyness he'd watched for years slowly dissolving away as she'd apparently taken up with some different people, a couple of them he'd seen when they'd dropped by, and nothing like the crowd the young miss normally socialised with.
"May I help you?" he asked the young, bouncing, woman.
( Important Things to Say )
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| Til Death Do Us Part |
[07 Jul 2009|05:19pm] |
Nervous didn't even begin to describe the way in which Joseph felt as he and Rhiannon walked along the sidewalk, just like they did every other time, but he was a bundle of nerves. Hell, even Rhiannon had noticed something was wrong, he was being that obvious about it.
He supposed he should apologize, but he couldn't bring himself to say the words, given what he intended on doing as soon as they reached the end of this particular street.
How many times did a guy ask the woman he loved to marry him?
"Hey," he said after a few moments of silence. "Can we swing in here quickly?" Joseph caught Rhiannon by the waist and leaned down, pressing a kiss to her temple. "My aunt's birthday's coming up soon, I wanna take a look at something for her."
( A Clever Trick )
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| Forever |
[06 Jul 2009|09:55pm] |
A pool cue cracked on a white ball. It sent the others scattering. A green stripe rolled into a side pocket and Rhiannon straightened to watch the others. Between her fingers, she fiddled with the chalk. "You're a fucked up guy, making me play pool with a broken wrist." Across the felt, she saw her friend burning a cigarette. The smoke added to the haze in Firewater, a pool hall and bar with purplish paint on the walls and low lighting. To illicit sympathy, she held up her splinted wrist. The bones of a Slayer healed quickly. They felt worlds better than yesterday and the day before. She flexed her fingers to get circulation going. She figured an emergency room trip for a busted wrist and a punctured leg was a small price to pay for living through it.
"You're solids." She tossed the chalk and waited for Whistler to make a move.
"Consider it training. Get used to handlin' wood in awkward situations." The hatted man studied the table intently, as if willing mental dotted lines to line up from the cue ball to easy shots. None were completely bankable, but he was undeterred. "Three, side pocket." He eased the cue forward, inching the white ball off the left bank and tapped his target. It touched the pocket and held firm.
He stepped back from the felt, reached over to the raised table and took the soft-pack in his hand. Whistler shook out a cigarette and lit it. "You gonna tell me more about the fight, or just leave it at 'She's dead, Jim'?"
( Not So Simple )
( He's Gone )
( Turkish Prison )
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| Last Call |
[05 Jul 2009|10:51am] |
The line-up at Barnes and Noble began before their doors opened at 10am.
The protest started two days before.
The strong, the fearful, many counting themselves as devout church-goers, carrying placards and chanting, praying for God’s wrath to reign down and smite the blasphemers. The throng, a gathering of less than 20 at first, soon to grow over a hundred, attempted to chain themselves in front of the bookstore. Tempers flared, accusations and spittle thrown, before police were called. The movement was ordered across the street, to stand behind metal barricades usually reserved for parades.
They would not be deterred. An unholy thing (or the next Anne Rice, take your pick) was due in moments to grace their presence. And all in attendance – the worshipers, the curious and the righteous – would have their moment with the vampire named Deanna.
( Yin and Yang )
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| Owning the Neighborhood |
[29 Jun 2009|02:17pm] |
"Wait, hang on a sec." Rhiannon braced her shoe on the seat of a bench. The nylon laces of her newest boots tended to untie themselves. Not wanting her footwear to fly off during a kick, she double-knotted them and tucked the ends. "I should've just glued the soles on the old ones." She tugged her cargo pants down and caught up to her friend. Because of conflicting schedules, they didn't patrol together -- or beat one another up for fun -- as much as in Las Vegas. She missed it. Tonight was a chance to catch up and see if they could get into any trouble.
At his side again, Rhiannon stuck her hands in her pockets. Only two blocks from her apartment, not much had happened in the way of conversation yet. "So hey." Her elbows swayed forward and back. "You gonna entertain me with stories of Connor's New Social Life while we look for things to kill? I could like that. Especially if it's tragic." She smiled.
"When isn't it tragic?" the Destroyer cracked, his tone only half facetious. "The last woman that came near me turned out to be a damned succubus. It wasn't exactly romantic. I'm starting to think all women need to have warning signs around their necks, different ones for different situations. It'd save me a lot of time."
The night was clear and warm, and for once there was actually little troubling his mind. "I don't know, I guess things are looking up, griping aside. I took Clemence to dinner and we had a good time. It takes some of the pressure off to not be constantly worried about what she thinks of me. It gets tiring after a while."
( A Monkey On His Back )
( Fangirls )
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| Burdens |
[18 Jun 2009|10:12pm] |
Kevin Parkinson suppressed a sigh as he pulled away from his ex-wife's house, where his seventeen-year-old daughter was home fresh from a three-day stay in the hospital, after getting beaten half to death by a vampire of all things. It was bad enough that Denise had sole custody of Jennie, but letting a child go off and try and kill all sorts of evil and brutish creatures in the night for years was grossly negligent, as far as he was concerned.
If Denise's bloodsucking lawyer weren't so damn good, he might have been able to do something about that. Paying Child Support and Alimony on a construction worker's wages in San Francisco meant he barely had enough money left over for living expenses, let alone another court fight that would have cost thousands he didn't have. No, despite how angry he'd been when he'd first found out about Jennie's 'calling', Kevin had little choice but to simmer in silence and try not to show how worried he was for his daughter's safety.
The past two days had been his worst fears confirmed. He hadn't even been sure Jennie would survive at first when the doctors had told them the extent of her injuries. Fortunately she healed fast, and the damage didn't seem to be as bad as they'd first feared, so they'd been able to bring her home today.
If he'd stayed at the house, he would have just gotten into a screaming match with Denise over how she was parenting their daughter, which would have led into all sorts of other baggage the two parents still carried with them. That wasn't what Jennie needed to see or hear, so instead of letting himself vent at his ex, he'd just made sure Jennie was resting comfortably before kissing her on the forehead and telling her he'd see her tomorrow.
( Laying Blame )
[NPC Kevin Parkinson was written by Tim]
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| Foul World (AU Rhiannon & AU Connor) |
[10 Jun 2009|04:56pm] |
"This world is foul."
Connor muttered the words as he stalked into the building he and the other Inquisitors were using as their headquarters, closing the door behind him with an overly-controlled motion. He took a long deep breath, the mask of the air purifier tucked out of sight, then crossed to where he'd set up his maps, pinned to the wall with tacks. He picked up a pen, circled the name of the park where the succubus had escaped, started marking likely spots where she could go to hide. If she used her abilities, she could possibly use some unfortunate human as her accomplice. He wished he hadn't missed.
As far as he could tell, he was alone in the building, which suited him as his mood was rather dark. He disliked failure, especially in himself. There could be no more mistakes, not if the heathens had gotten so desperate as to carelessly assault someone in public. They must all do better from here on out.
In a quiet corner, Rhiannon sat calibrating her instruments. On a walk through the Lincoln Park area, the levels on the handheld gear went haywire, and afterwards nothing carried on her person at the time seemed to work properly. She took a few of the wrist-mounted gadgets apart to see if moisture had gotten in, but the gears were dry as a bone. Working with a light and magnifier, which could be fastened over the eyes like a pair of glasses, she painstakingly reassembled the gear.
( Riding on a Man's Coattails )
( Panic )
[OOC: All inquisitors should receive Rhiannon's patched copy of the transmission, contained within this scene.]
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| Email Regarding Doppelganger |
[06 Jun 2009|05:12pm] |
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( Email to Connor, Whistler, Purity, Hayden, Kris, Juliet, Logan, Izzy, Sonya, Faith, Toby, William )
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| Not Her Joseph, Not His Rhiannon |
[06 Jun 2009|04:31pm] |
Joseph had steadily been working on making connections and getting to know people off the beaten track, none of those closer to him than the guy who ran a small diner a few blocks away from his pool hall.
He'd been going to it quite regularly for the last couple of weeks, discussing the happenings of Chicago and everything else, including trading information for money. It helped to know people in this town, aided Joseph in keeping as much trouble away from his doors as he could. He wasn't about to delve back into a world he'd made the conscious effort to leave behind. For himself and for whatever future he had with Rhiannon.
A couple weapon trades here and there for people weren't about to drag him that much deeper into the Hell he was sure he was destined for at the end of his life. "Hey Paul," Joseph greeted as he slid onto a stool and smiled at the man behind the counter.
"Joseph," Paul said with a warm smile. "You managed to get some time away, huh?"
( What's in a Hot Dog? )
( Who is Hitler? )
****
( Text (Joseph to Rhiannon) )
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| The Problem of Integration (Inquisitors Lee and Haig) |
[01 Jun 2009|06:25pm] |
In the early part of the new millennium, as the paper industry declined and news went online, daily papers collapsed in the shrinking market. Somehow, the Sun-Times kept a toe-hold, enough to keep a Sunday edition in circulation. Rhiannon knelt at a solitary street corner stand, where a half-dozen once huddled together. Inside a plexi-glass panel, the front page announced the week's biggest headlines. She balled up her gloved fist and wiped grime away to get a better look.
"I can't believe they still have these." It was spoken with wonder. She stood up. Behind her, a storefront window reflected her image. The Inquisitor's hair was wound into a severe bun on the crown of her head. The thick sleeves and pants of her uniform were uncomfortably hot in the May climate of this city, Chicago. Even the wind blowing down the busy street was of little use, heated by the exhaust of automobiles. She looked at her hunting partner.
Warner glanced briefly at the newspapers, his expression impassive as his gaze returned to the street. "I don't understand this place," he told Rhiannon, his voice verging on monotone. "Despite the scourge that's so obviously present here, they still walk freely and carelessly." He gestured to an upscale bar across the street where a group of people were gathered, waiting to get in. The male Inquisitor frowned, resisting the urge to draw a weapon. "I think we should make a sweep. Perhaps in one of these places. I need to understand what we're dealing with here."
Rhiannon nodded, quelling her interest in the idiosyncrasies of the world to focus on the objective. A horn blasted in the intersection, which a spurt of evening traffic had brought to a standstill. She stepped off the curb and walked between the vehicles. "Shall we find one that isn't quite as monitored?" she suggested. The bar was noisy and dark, but the primary problem was waiting in a queue, where a security detail might check them for weapons. When they set out, she had left her heavier equipment at the warehouse the squad acquired, but a pat-down would reveal gadgets beneath detachable panels in her shirt and trousers. Also, it would be highly inappropriate.
( Observations On the Street )
( A Waitress With Horns )
( What's a Hamburger? )
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| Caveman Tactics |
[27 May 2009|04:20pm] |
Rhiannon was in a good mood.
She jogged downstairs and left her apartment building at a trot, blowing past the only other tenant (the software engineer) at the mailboxes. All he caught was the smell of cinnamon incense, the sight of her ponytail, dyed auburn, and the back of her outfit, a navy tank top and tight-fitting jeans. Her earbuds blasted an old Skinny Puppy track. Its distortion and crunching riffs made a strange accompaniment to the afternoon. She took public transport across a few neighborhoods and hopped off near Connor's place. On her way up the road, she kept her eyes on the blades of crab grass sprouting in the sidewalk cracks. She almost missed him. He was about a block ahead of her, heading in the other direction. She picked up the pace to catch up.
"Boo." Rhiannon knocked her shoulder into his. She wound up the white wires of her digital music player.
He'd been looking up at the sky, watching the way the clouds scudded across the blue expanse as he walked, realizing that he could still tell what time it was just by tracking the position of the fiery orb. Even for city living, some skills never lost their usefulness. Connor adjusted his cheap sunglasses, then took a staggering step to the left when his shoulder was purposely bumped.
( Summertime and the Living is Easy )
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