Prologue
*Chicago, Illinois – 9am (T-Minus 14 Days)*
He looked up into the clear morning sky. There should be a thunder storm, or at least some ominous dark clouds. The return of such a one as I requires portents to herald my arrival.
He stretched, as one would after waking from a long slumber. His six foot, one inch frame cracked several times as he did. He grimaced at the sound, The frailties of this form never cease to annoy me. He stepped out of the alley way, and into the rush of human traffic that is a modern city sidewalk. As he did, his striking looks caused several women to pause in their passage for a second look. He smiled at them, almost lasciviously. But the pleasures more then balance the equation.
He paused, looking up at the towering skyscrapers above him; the passing cars; the cell phones and portable computers being carried by the busy commuters. Ah, the sons of Adam and daughters of Eve have done well for themselves; very well indeed. He slid on a pair of sunglasses, smiled a most predatory smile, and continued on his way.
-------
*New York, New York* – 9am (T-Minus 14 Days)*
The little shop was dirty, but the coffee was good. Much better then that crap Starbucks serves. Of all the things mankind has discovered, he had long ago decided that coffee ranked near the top. As he brought the cup to his lips, a cold shiver ran down his spine. He dropped the cup, cursing as he did. The scalding hot liquid spilled down his shirt, and onto his pants. He didn’t notice. He stood up, threw a few dollars on the table and headed out the door.
As he walked towards his car, he considered this new development. All these years, they’ve been blaming me for their down fall. Everything I did was for them, but they never cared. They call me a liar, they say I’m evil. He smiled, sadly. They’re about to find out what real evil is.
[IC] Tandem Writing: Heaven & Hell
[IC] Tandem Writing: Heaven & Hell
Last edited by MooCow on Sun Apr 29, 2007 1:09 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Cain is a Whore
Instant Cash is a Slut
Cain is a Whore
Instant Cash is a Slut
Chapter 1 - Randall
(T-Minus 15 Days)
Randall made the turn from I-894 onto I-94, towards Chicago. The trip from Seattle had been relatively uneventful, excepting an encounter with some werewolves who objected to his camping in their territory. All things considered, he was lucky to be alive. One he might be able to take, but the whole pack? Not a chance. Thankfully their alpha had mellowed with age, agreeing to allow him safe passage in exchange for teaching her a minor warding rune. He disliked parting with knowledge, even relatively minor bits like a warding rune. Still, better then death.
His destination was a wooded enclave on the coast of Lake Michigan, north of Chicago, a ritzy neighborhood known as Highland Park, where House Raith kept a family house. It’s current resident, one Lara Raith, was the head of the House. Of course, only a few people knew that bit of information. Most thought she was simply Emanuel Raith’s dutiful daughter. A master of deception and intrigue, she had managed to wrest control of the house from her father sometime within the last year. She continued to allow him to be the public front, considering it better to pull the strings from behind the throne.
Normally he disliked courier jobs, but he hadn’t been to Chicago in several years and it had been time to leave Seattle anyway. The police weren’t going to press charges in regards to that fire, but they’d been rather keen on him leaving town. Of course, had they known what was in that “abandoned” warehouse, they’d have given him a medal. Randall sighed, and muttered to himself, “They never do though. They never do.”
An hour later he rolled his motorcycle up the winding drive that led to the front gate. The guard looked attentive, but bored. Randall took a flip wallet out of his jacket, held up his Courier ID for the guard to see. The guard took the wallet and ID, examining the Grey Council bonded Rune of Peace on the ID for authenticity. Randall waited patiently, knowing that the guard would find everything in order. The Greys may not be the most powerful faction on the planet, but their steadfast neutrality made them good arbiters for certifying such mundane things as Couriers. Even amongst the supernatural, someone had to deliver the mail.
The gates slowly rolled back, and the guard waved him through. He finished the drive up to the front of the house, parking the bike at the front door. He didn’t know if anyone would object, but he didn’t intend to stay long anyway. As he walked up the front steps, the door opened to reveal a servant. The older man appraised Randall briefly; a touch of contempt in his eyes as he took in Randall’s worn clothes and boots. He stepped aside to allow Randall to enter, and said in a bored monotone, “The lady will be with you momentarily. You may wait here if you like.” Randall turned, and smiled with a hint of mischief at the man, “And if I don’t like?” The servant simply regarded Randall silently, a bored ‘why must I always deal with the rabble?’ look in his eyes. “Right”, Randall said, “I’ll just wait for her here.” The servant nodded, and then walked off.
Randall watched the man leave, then began surveying the room. A testament to the wealth of House Raith, the foyer was larger then most apartments he’d ever lived in. The most prominent feature was the large marble staircase that led up from the center before splitting off to either side. He turned and began examining the paintings on the wall. All done in the style of famous Spaniards; Dali, Picasso, Rivera, Botero. He wondered if they weren’t in fact originals. House Raith has certainly been around long enough.
As Randall admired the portrait hanging above the front entrance, he heard the clack of heals on marble, followed by a low, sultry voice, “Randall Cassandall.” Randall turned, and almost lost his breath. Standing on the first landing, dressed in an elegant and professional blouse & skirt that some how also managed to be sensual, was Lara Raith. Even though he had taken the time to prepare himself for dealing with a member of the White Court, he was still struck by her beauty. He dipped down on one knee, bowing his head with a flourish of one arm, “Lady Raith.” He rose back to his feet, and began to walk towards her. She continued down the stairs, meeting him in the center of the room. She laughed gently, and when she smiled it threatened to make his temperature rise (among other things), “Always the gentleman.”
Her smile faded, and she became all business, “So what business brings you within my domain Mr. Cassandall?” Randall looked down as he reached into his jacket, taking a few extra seconds to steady his mind. He pulled an old fashioned message scroll from his jacket, holding it up for Lara to see. “A message? From who?” Instead of answering her, he simply passed her the scroll to examine. As she carefully appraised it, her eyes fell on the wax seal. She paused over it, then looked up at him, one eyebrow raised inquisitively, “House Cassidy? And since when have you begun working for The Department?”
Randall squashed the urge to tell her his entire life story, forcing his face to remain passive. He shrugged, “I’m a courier. I work for whoever can pay my fees. Nothing more, nothing less. Very simple.” Lara stared at him for several seconds, a penetrating, appraising gaze. She smiled, like a wolf among sheep, “Some how my dear Cassandall, I suspect you are quite a bit more then a plain and simple courier.” He returned her gaze, refusing to back down, “Just a courier. Now, unless you wish to send a return package, I’m afraid I must be leaving.”
He turned to go, but she stopped him with her low, sultry voice, “Leaving so soon? Are you sure you would not like to stay longer? My hospitality is well known.” Randall could feel the seduction licking at his defenses like fire around a live tree. For a moment, he considered dropping his walls; Lord knows there are worse ways to die. He managed, barely, to smile and give her a partial bow. “I’m afraid not Lady Raith, though I thank you for the offer. Another time perhaps.” Before she could respond, or he could reconsider his decision to live, he hurried out the door.
He started his cycle, gunned the engine, and rode out as quickly as the road would allow. As soon as he was out of sight of the estate, he pulled to the side of the road. It took several minutes of low, slow, meditative breathing to get his mind back in control of his body. Finally, his blood pressure dropped, and he stopped feeling the urge to turn around back to the mansion. He got back on his bike, and headed into the city. Now to see a man about a job. Been years since I did landscaping, should be relaxing.
(T-Minus 15 Days)
Randall made the turn from I-894 onto I-94, towards Chicago. The trip from Seattle had been relatively uneventful, excepting an encounter with some werewolves who objected to his camping in their territory. All things considered, he was lucky to be alive. One he might be able to take, but the whole pack? Not a chance. Thankfully their alpha had mellowed with age, agreeing to allow him safe passage in exchange for teaching her a minor warding rune. He disliked parting with knowledge, even relatively minor bits like a warding rune. Still, better then death.
His destination was a wooded enclave on the coast of Lake Michigan, north of Chicago, a ritzy neighborhood known as Highland Park, where House Raith kept a family house. It’s current resident, one Lara Raith, was the head of the House. Of course, only a few people knew that bit of information. Most thought she was simply Emanuel Raith’s dutiful daughter. A master of deception and intrigue, she had managed to wrest control of the house from her father sometime within the last year. She continued to allow him to be the public front, considering it better to pull the strings from behind the throne.
Normally he disliked courier jobs, but he hadn’t been to Chicago in several years and it had been time to leave Seattle anyway. The police weren’t going to press charges in regards to that fire, but they’d been rather keen on him leaving town. Of course, had they known what was in that “abandoned” warehouse, they’d have given him a medal. Randall sighed, and muttered to himself, “They never do though. They never do.”
An hour later he rolled his motorcycle up the winding drive that led to the front gate. The guard looked attentive, but bored. Randall took a flip wallet out of his jacket, held up his Courier ID for the guard to see. The guard took the wallet and ID, examining the Grey Council bonded Rune of Peace on the ID for authenticity. Randall waited patiently, knowing that the guard would find everything in order. The Greys may not be the most powerful faction on the planet, but their steadfast neutrality made them good arbiters for certifying such mundane things as Couriers. Even amongst the supernatural, someone had to deliver the mail.
The gates slowly rolled back, and the guard waved him through. He finished the drive up to the front of the house, parking the bike at the front door. He didn’t know if anyone would object, but he didn’t intend to stay long anyway. As he walked up the front steps, the door opened to reveal a servant. The older man appraised Randall briefly; a touch of contempt in his eyes as he took in Randall’s worn clothes and boots. He stepped aside to allow Randall to enter, and said in a bored monotone, “The lady will be with you momentarily. You may wait here if you like.” Randall turned, and smiled with a hint of mischief at the man, “And if I don’t like?” The servant simply regarded Randall silently, a bored ‘why must I always deal with the rabble?’ look in his eyes. “Right”, Randall said, “I’ll just wait for her here.” The servant nodded, and then walked off.
Randall watched the man leave, then began surveying the room. A testament to the wealth of House Raith, the foyer was larger then most apartments he’d ever lived in. The most prominent feature was the large marble staircase that led up from the center before splitting off to either side. He turned and began examining the paintings on the wall. All done in the style of famous Spaniards; Dali, Picasso, Rivera, Botero. He wondered if they weren’t in fact originals. House Raith has certainly been around long enough.
As Randall admired the portrait hanging above the front entrance, he heard the clack of heals on marble, followed by a low, sultry voice, “Randall Cassandall.” Randall turned, and almost lost his breath. Standing on the first landing, dressed in an elegant and professional blouse & skirt that some how also managed to be sensual, was Lara Raith. Even though he had taken the time to prepare himself for dealing with a member of the White Court, he was still struck by her beauty. He dipped down on one knee, bowing his head with a flourish of one arm, “Lady Raith.” He rose back to his feet, and began to walk towards her. She continued down the stairs, meeting him in the center of the room. She laughed gently, and when she smiled it threatened to make his temperature rise (among other things), “Always the gentleman.”
Her smile faded, and she became all business, “So what business brings you within my domain Mr. Cassandall?” Randall looked down as he reached into his jacket, taking a few extra seconds to steady his mind. He pulled an old fashioned message scroll from his jacket, holding it up for Lara to see. “A message? From who?” Instead of answering her, he simply passed her the scroll to examine. As she carefully appraised it, her eyes fell on the wax seal. She paused over it, then looked up at him, one eyebrow raised inquisitively, “House Cassidy? And since when have you begun working for The Department?”
Randall squashed the urge to tell her his entire life story, forcing his face to remain passive. He shrugged, “I’m a courier. I work for whoever can pay my fees. Nothing more, nothing less. Very simple.” Lara stared at him for several seconds, a penetrating, appraising gaze. She smiled, like a wolf among sheep, “Some how my dear Cassandall, I suspect you are quite a bit more then a plain and simple courier.” He returned her gaze, refusing to back down, “Just a courier. Now, unless you wish to send a return package, I’m afraid I must be leaving.”
He turned to go, but she stopped him with her low, sultry voice, “Leaving so soon? Are you sure you would not like to stay longer? My hospitality is well known.” Randall could feel the seduction licking at his defenses like fire around a live tree. For a moment, he considered dropping his walls; Lord knows there are worse ways to die. He managed, barely, to smile and give her a partial bow. “I’m afraid not Lady Raith, though I thank you for the offer. Another time perhaps.” Before she could respond, or he could reconsider his decision to live, he hurried out the door.
He started his cycle, gunned the engine, and rode out as quickly as the road would allow. As soon as he was out of sight of the estate, he pulled to the side of the road. It took several minutes of low, slow, meditative breathing to get his mind back in control of his body. Finally, his blood pressure dropped, and he stopped feeling the urge to turn around back to the mansion. He got back on his bike, and headed into the city. Now to see a man about a job. Been years since I did landscaping, should be relaxing.
Last edited by MooCow on Sun Apr 29, 2007 1:10 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Cain is a Whore
Instant Cash is a Slut
Cain is a Whore
Instant Cash is a Slut
Chapter 2 - Chester's Chicago Chiminage...
He sucked on the rolled cigarette, feeling the smoke rasp into his lungs and spread it's warmth through his body. A light, tingling sensation as the nicotine filtered into his bloodstream, just like always. Knocking the ash lightly from the end, he scratched at his beard, the dark, bristly hairs making a sound like sand-paper. He was starting to wear through the soles of his boots. Would have to look into that. His jeans had seen better days as well, and the less said about his shirt and his oilskin longcoat, the better.
"Are you going to call, fold, ante up, or what?" Distractedly, he brushed a lock of lanky, black hair behind his ear, grey eyes glancing over the cards, across the table. Seemed he hadn't gotten it all snug into a braid like he used to.
"Patience's a virtue, friend. Just considering my next move's all..." Which was true. He just wasn't thinking about the cardgame. The man opposite him spat, a dark glob of tobacco-juice that spattered on the dusty floor and sent up a little puff. The abandoned office made every sound echo.
"Fuck patience. You here to play cards or not?" The guy was missing several teeth and sported a big, grizzled grey beard. A dark brown streak from the chewing-tobacco matted it, though. They were five, all told, none of them well dressed, all of them society's outsiders. Mundane society, that was.
"Keep your shirt on, Amhreshaad... For all our sakes." That came from the youngest of them, a latino sporting several tattoos down his arms, wearing a stained t-shirt and jeans that looked like they could double as a mechanic's oil-rag. He grinned, perfect white teeth unnaturally bright. "The man says he's thinking. So let him think." The old man scowled, beetled brows drawing inwards before settling back in his ancient chair.
"Don't seem right, Quazteel. He's come for advice! You know the rules as well as I do." The old man grumbled. The latino nodded.
"Yeah, I do. He's new, Amhre. Let him find his bearings, hey?" That brought a snort from a third player, and elderly black woman wearing far too much makeup and clothes that belonged on a body fifty years younger. She fixed Quazteel with a hard glare.
"Quaz, I don' make it my business to tell the rest of us what to do. So why don't you shut the fuck up, hey?" Fingers with excessively long, fake, nails tightened on her cards, the bent cardboard crumpling a little further. A tanned, powerful hand grasped her wrist gently.
"Relax, Mother Charlie," the final player, a large man in what looked like an old butchers frock, soothed. "He's come to us to learn. We should be grateful, no? It's not like we get many visitors..." As the woman snorted with contempt, he turned and fixed Chester with a penetrating look. "Though the others are right. You've waited long past time, Chiminage. Play the cards. Show us your hand. Or fold. Unless you want to bet more...?" He grinned, showing brown, unhealthy teeth. Unnaturally sharp.
Chester swallowed and looked down at his hand, then back up at the four. "I call, Chernizisj. I call." They all drew breath.
Quazteel smirked and tossed his cards carelessly onto the table. Pair or fives. "I got shit an' shit-all," he grinned, leaning back and placing his arms behind his head.
Amhresaad grinned nastily, placing down his hand with relish. Ten of Hearts. Ten of Spades. Ten of Clubs. "Three kind, kid," he growled, glaring around the table.
Mother Charlie threw her hand down in disgust, looking away with a sour expression and snapped "Nothin'!". That just left Chernizisj. He looked soberly at Chester, perhaps trying to gauge a reaction? He wouldn't find it. Chester was too used with this by now. Slowly, the hulking man placed his cards down, one by one. Nine, seven, ace... All of the cards were Hearts. "Flush," he murmured, eyes locked on Chesters. Chester swallowed, and slid his cards down on the table. The others leaned forward expectantly.
"Full house," he whispered.
***
He lit another cigarette as he left the run-down officebuilding, willing his hand to be steady, eyes scanning the street, the people walking by. That had been close. His shirt was drenched with sweat, but it had been worth the risk. Those four were old and powerful, in their way, and so they'd been able to give him a lot of information. He shifted his duffel-bag on his back, making himself comfortable as he began to walk, slowly feeling his tension bleed away. Vampires and wizards, the occasional fae... None of which would be very interested in him, he hoped. Everyone was thoroughly distracted with each other.
Leaving me to slip through the cracks, he thought, smiling faintly. Perhaps this time he could manage to avoid getting entangled in something, or incurring debts to spirits. Chiminage. The things he'd had to do to placate some of them... And the one, particular spirit who'd borne the name. Shivering, he snatched a newspaper from a street-vendor as he passed by, deft hands flashing out and back. Time to check the job-offers. He was beginning to run out of money in a serious way, and he didn't feel like rummaging for food in dumpsters. Something caught his eye almost immediately.
Hmmm. Looks like it might be worth a shot. I like working with plants. They don't get me in trouble. He noted the adress and went looking for a laundromat. Clean clothes would be necessary. Then the cheapest hotel he could find.
He sucked on the rolled cigarette, feeling the smoke rasp into his lungs and spread it's warmth through his body. A light, tingling sensation as the nicotine filtered into his bloodstream, just like always. Knocking the ash lightly from the end, he scratched at his beard, the dark, bristly hairs making a sound like sand-paper. He was starting to wear through the soles of his boots. Would have to look into that. His jeans had seen better days as well, and the less said about his shirt and his oilskin longcoat, the better.
"Are you going to call, fold, ante up, or what?" Distractedly, he brushed a lock of lanky, black hair behind his ear, grey eyes glancing over the cards, across the table. Seemed he hadn't gotten it all snug into a braid like he used to.
"Patience's a virtue, friend. Just considering my next move's all..." Which was true. He just wasn't thinking about the cardgame. The man opposite him spat, a dark glob of tobacco-juice that spattered on the dusty floor and sent up a little puff. The abandoned office made every sound echo.
"Fuck patience. You here to play cards or not?" The guy was missing several teeth and sported a big, grizzled grey beard. A dark brown streak from the chewing-tobacco matted it, though. They were five, all told, none of them well dressed, all of them society's outsiders. Mundane society, that was.
"Keep your shirt on, Amhreshaad... For all our sakes." That came from the youngest of them, a latino sporting several tattoos down his arms, wearing a stained t-shirt and jeans that looked like they could double as a mechanic's oil-rag. He grinned, perfect white teeth unnaturally bright. "The man says he's thinking. So let him think." The old man scowled, beetled brows drawing inwards before settling back in his ancient chair.
"Don't seem right, Quazteel. He's come for advice! You know the rules as well as I do." The old man grumbled. The latino nodded.
"Yeah, I do. He's new, Amhre. Let him find his bearings, hey?" That brought a snort from a third player, and elderly black woman wearing far too much makeup and clothes that belonged on a body fifty years younger. She fixed Quazteel with a hard glare.
"Quaz, I don' make it my business to tell the rest of us what to do. So why don't you shut the fuck up, hey?" Fingers with excessively long, fake, nails tightened on her cards, the bent cardboard crumpling a little further. A tanned, powerful hand grasped her wrist gently.
"Relax, Mother Charlie," the final player, a large man in what looked like an old butchers frock, soothed. "He's come to us to learn. We should be grateful, no? It's not like we get many visitors..." As the woman snorted with contempt, he turned and fixed Chester with a penetrating look. "Though the others are right. You've waited long past time, Chiminage. Play the cards. Show us your hand. Or fold. Unless you want to bet more...?" He grinned, showing brown, unhealthy teeth. Unnaturally sharp.
Chester swallowed and looked down at his hand, then back up at the four. "I call, Chernizisj. I call." They all drew breath.
Quazteel smirked and tossed his cards carelessly onto the table. Pair or fives. "I got shit an' shit-all," he grinned, leaning back and placing his arms behind his head.
Amhresaad grinned nastily, placing down his hand with relish. Ten of Hearts. Ten of Spades. Ten of Clubs. "Three kind, kid," he growled, glaring around the table.
Mother Charlie threw her hand down in disgust, looking away with a sour expression and snapped "Nothin'!". That just left Chernizisj. He looked soberly at Chester, perhaps trying to gauge a reaction? He wouldn't find it. Chester was too used with this by now. Slowly, the hulking man placed his cards down, one by one. Nine, seven, ace... All of the cards were Hearts. "Flush," he murmured, eyes locked on Chesters. Chester swallowed, and slid his cards down on the table. The others leaned forward expectantly.
"Full house," he whispered.
***
He lit another cigarette as he left the run-down officebuilding, willing his hand to be steady, eyes scanning the street, the people walking by. That had been close. His shirt was drenched with sweat, but it had been worth the risk. Those four were old and powerful, in their way, and so they'd been able to give him a lot of information. He shifted his duffel-bag on his back, making himself comfortable as he began to walk, slowly feeling his tension bleed away. Vampires and wizards, the occasional fae... None of which would be very interested in him, he hoped. Everyone was thoroughly distracted with each other.
Leaving me to slip through the cracks, he thought, smiling faintly. Perhaps this time he could manage to avoid getting entangled in something, or incurring debts to spirits. Chiminage. The things he'd had to do to placate some of them... And the one, particular spirit who'd borne the name. Shivering, he snatched a newspaper from a street-vendor as he passed by, deft hands flashing out and back. Time to check the job-offers. He was beginning to run out of money in a serious way, and he didn't feel like rummaging for food in dumpsters. Something caught his eye almost immediately.
Hmmm. Looks like it might be worth a shot. I like working with plants. They don't get me in trouble. He noted the adress and went looking for a laundromat. Clean clothes would be necessary. Then the cheapest hotel he could find.
Geneticists have established that all women share a common ancestor, called Eve, and that all men share a common ancestor, dubbed Adam. However, it has also been established that Adam was born 80.000 years after Eve. So, the world before him was one of heavy to industral strength lesbianism, one assumes.
-Stephen Fry, QI
-Stephen Fry, QI
"Kris!"
The sound of a fist pounding on wood permeated the fog of her head. A storm, a big one...she wondered if it was still raining. She opened her eyes slowly.
"Kristina, I swear, if you don't open this door...well I don't know what I'm going to do yet, but you won't like it!"
She stared at the ceiling, something was off. The fog in her brain cleared slightly. It was the living room ceiling. Propping herself up on her elbows, she noticed three things. It was brilliantly sunny outside, the wall off windows in her apartment giving a dazzling view of the city. She was still dressed in the evening gown from last night's arts gala. And she'd just cut her finger on a shard of glass on the floor, likely part of the coffee table that should have been where she was laying.
"Damnit Kris..."
She heard the sound of boots clomp down the hallway, the voice of her agent Anne Reeden fading. With a feeling a dread, Kris picked herself up off the floor and looked to the dining room table. Her heart sank as she saw the gift wrapped box still there. There hadn't been any storm. She'd had a vision and passed out, and had missed the arts gala completely. Anne was going to kill her.
The sound of a fist pounding on wood permeated the fog of her head. A storm, a big one...she wondered if it was still raining. She opened her eyes slowly.
"Kristina, I swear, if you don't open this door...well I don't know what I'm going to do yet, but you won't like it!"
She stared at the ceiling, something was off. The fog in her brain cleared slightly. It was the living room ceiling. Propping herself up on her elbows, she noticed three things. It was brilliantly sunny outside, the wall off windows in her apartment giving a dazzling view of the city. She was still dressed in the evening gown from last night's arts gala. And she'd just cut her finger on a shard of glass on the floor, likely part of the coffee table that should have been where she was laying.
"Damnit Kris..."
She heard the sound of boots clomp down the hallway, the voice of her agent Anne Reeden fading. With a feeling a dread, Kris picked herself up off the floor and looked to the dining room table. Her heart sank as she saw the gift wrapped box still there. There hadn't been any storm. She'd had a vision and passed out, and had missed the arts gala completely. Anne was going to kill her.
10:41 Kai: Ohayou minna
10:42 Adam: ENGLISH MOTHERFUCKER!
10:44 Kai: Fuck off, how's that? ;P
10:45 Adam: Much better.
-
JohnnyRico
- Wuffle Student
- Posts: 1254
- Joined: Mon Mar 18, 2002 1:11 pm
- Location: Hell on Earth, in the Greatest state of the Union
- Contact:
(T-Minus 13.7 Days)
James hated the rain. He really hated the rain. Mostly because the old 1942 Chevy pickup truck he had was difficult enough to drive when it was dry out. Now, in the slowly increasing Chicago rain, he had to fight with old, shitty tires, and windshield wipers that only half worked. And never on the driver's side. Luckily gravity was on his side, as well as a fresh coat of Rain-X windshield treatment and the fat, heavy droplets were sliding down and out of his way.
I must be nuts, he thought to himself. He knew there was a member of the council somewhere in Chicago, a Warden even! He had to be out of his mind. At least it was Chicago, not some mid-sized city. The odds of running into a Warden in a metropolis the size of Chicago had to be slim. He hoped.
With his trademark half-hearted scowl firmly in place, James muscled the old, battered pickup into a gas station and handed the attendant $40 to half-fill the tank. Walking slowly into the Qwik-E-Mart they had in the center of the station, he mulled over the choices of drinks, settling on a cheap, nameless brand soda, snagged a bag of pretzels and a newspaper to get himself up to speed with the local goings-on. Nothing like a blown-up building or a strange death to point to a supernatural force causing trouble. And were there was supernatural trouble, there were bound to be Wardens.
That, and he needed a job. No shame in saying it. He was running low on disposable income, and the want-ads were likely to have something that he'd have an affinity for. Something short-term, something quiet, something off the books. James payed for his items, then walked back to the rusted old pickup and left the gas station, pulling into a nearby grocery store parking lot to dismantle the newspaper in search for what he wanted. Half an hour later he found something. Landscaping. I can do landscaping. It's all moving dirt and shifting plants. We can do that, can't we boys? Two faint tickles brought a slight smile to James' face as Clay and Cyprus both voiced their willingness to help. Good. Nothing makes work go faster than working with friends.
James hated the rain. He really hated the rain. Mostly because the old 1942 Chevy pickup truck he had was difficult enough to drive when it was dry out. Now, in the slowly increasing Chicago rain, he had to fight with old, shitty tires, and windshield wipers that only half worked. And never on the driver's side. Luckily gravity was on his side, as well as a fresh coat of Rain-X windshield treatment and the fat, heavy droplets were sliding down and out of his way.
I must be nuts, he thought to himself. He knew there was a member of the council somewhere in Chicago, a Warden even! He had to be out of his mind. At least it was Chicago, not some mid-sized city. The odds of running into a Warden in a metropolis the size of Chicago had to be slim. He hoped.
With his trademark half-hearted scowl firmly in place, James muscled the old, battered pickup into a gas station and handed the attendant $40 to half-fill the tank. Walking slowly into the Qwik-E-Mart they had in the center of the station, he mulled over the choices of drinks, settling on a cheap, nameless brand soda, snagged a bag of pretzels and a newspaper to get himself up to speed with the local goings-on. Nothing like a blown-up building or a strange death to point to a supernatural force causing trouble. And were there was supernatural trouble, there were bound to be Wardens.
That, and he needed a job. No shame in saying it. He was running low on disposable income, and the want-ads were likely to have something that he'd have an affinity for. Something short-term, something quiet, something off the books. James payed for his items, then walked back to the rusted old pickup and left the gas station, pulling into a nearby grocery store parking lot to dismantle the newspaper in search for what he wanted. Half an hour later he found something. Landscaping. I can do landscaping. It's all moving dirt and shifting plants. We can do that, can't we boys? Two faint tickles brought a slight smile to James' face as Clay and Cyprus both voiced their willingness to help. Good. Nothing makes work go faster than working with friends.
"I have a conundrum for you. A riddle if you will. What's the difference between you, and malard with a cold? I don't remember how it ends, but your mothers a whore." -"Sean Connery" Celebrity Jeopardy- SNL
Interlude
*Chicago, IL – 2pm (T-Minus 14 Days)*
The cab pulled up along side the broken, decaying curb. The cabbie half stammered, “Here, uh, here you are sir. I’m, uh, I’m not sure what it is you want, but if anyone, um, can help you find it, it’s Mr. D.” The one known as Michael spoke in a deep baritone, “Excellent. You’ve served me well.” “Uh, yeah, you’re, um, welcome.” The Cab driver glanced nervously at the meter, then back at his passenger. Michael smiled, locking his gaze with the cabby, “You require payment for your service.” The cab driver held Michael’s gaze for less then a second, then quickly stammered as he looked away, “Uh no, no. This one’s on me man, I’m just, you know, happy to help.” “Excellent. This will not be forgotten.” Michael stepped from the cab, and shut the door. The cab peeled away, kicking up dust and gravel as it sped away.
Michael turned from the street, and looked at the warehouse in front of him. Technically, it wasn’t a warehouse anymore, for the large building had been broken up into several smaller facilities. The intention had probably been for light industrial, specialty tool & die, but by the looks of the area that had never materialized. Not that this area of the city was derelict, but it was clearly between high points. A few blocks away in any direction were popular restaurants, some high end condos, a few night clubs, and even the studios of some popular day time talk show host. The city was obviously trying to rehabilitate this neighborhood, but looking at his immediate surroundings Michael saw they were meeting with less then complete success.
A few steps to the north found him standing in front of a dead end alley. At the end, sitting on the loading dock for one of the facilities, were several black men dressed in jeans and muscle shirts. He began walking towards them, and as he approached they took notice, standing wordlessly to greet him. “I’m looking for the one you call ‘Sunny D’.” he declared. The men looked at each other briefly, then one of them stepped forward, “I’m Sunny D, what you want?” Michael appraised him for several seconds before speaking; finally he said “I understand you’re the man to see for a variety of illicit substances.” Sunny D smiled, believing he’d found a new customer, “Yeah man, that’s right. I got your ‘illicit substances’. What you want? I got your Tabs, your Dust, your Smack, your Blow, your Jack, your Jane. Brother I got it all, just tell me what your pleasure is.”
Michael smiled his predator’s smile, “I’m looking for… Sin.” Quicker then would be expected given his size and build, he stepped forward to within inches of Sunny. Locking his dark eyes on the drug dealer, he inhaled deeply. “Yes, Mr. D. You indeed have what I’m looking for. The sweet stench is all around you.” Sunny took several steps back, drawing a .45 glock from his rear waist band, he spoke quickly, a touch nervously, “Hey there cracker, back off. I don’t know what you talking about, but I’m bettin you already flying. I’m thinkin maybe you need to just move on.”
Michael appraised the weapon pointed at him, then laughed low, “Ah yes, a ‘gun’. A fascinating device. You children were always good at devising such efficient ways of killing each other.” He stepped towards Sunny, and infusing the tiniest bit of power in his words he said, “Shoot me.” Sunny fired three times before he even realized he was pulling the trigger, each bullet striking Michael in the chest. The force was sufficient to cause Michael to take a step back, but he held his feet. As Sunny stared incredulously, holding the smoking gun, Michael opened his jacket and unbuttoned his dress shirt. Each bullet had punched a half inch hole, all three of which were bleeding profusely. However, as the stunned drug dealers watched, the blood slowed, stopped, and within less then a minute the wounds had closed.
Sunny dropped the gun, and simply stared at Michael. Michael laughed, deep, frightening. “Yes, I believe you will serve me well.”
*Blanchard, PA – 2pm (T-Minus 14 Days)*
He pulled back on to I-80, having stopped in Blanchard for a coffee and gas refill. He took a sip from the mug, and grimaced. Uhg, gas station coffee is even worse then Starbucks. He took another drink. But, it does the trick. He glanced at the well worn map of North America, crisscrossed with the markings of dozens of previous trips. The most recent marked out the path from New York to Chicago. The Windy City. Why there Michael?
*Chicago, IL – 2pm (T-Minus 14 Days)*
The cab pulled up along side the broken, decaying curb. The cabbie half stammered, “Here, uh, here you are sir. I’m, uh, I’m not sure what it is you want, but if anyone, um, can help you find it, it’s Mr. D.” The one known as Michael spoke in a deep baritone, “Excellent. You’ve served me well.” “Uh, yeah, you’re, um, welcome.” The Cab driver glanced nervously at the meter, then back at his passenger. Michael smiled, locking his gaze with the cabby, “You require payment for your service.” The cab driver held Michael’s gaze for less then a second, then quickly stammered as he looked away, “Uh no, no. This one’s on me man, I’m just, you know, happy to help.” “Excellent. This will not be forgotten.” Michael stepped from the cab, and shut the door. The cab peeled away, kicking up dust and gravel as it sped away.
Michael turned from the street, and looked at the warehouse in front of him. Technically, it wasn’t a warehouse anymore, for the large building had been broken up into several smaller facilities. The intention had probably been for light industrial, specialty tool & die, but by the looks of the area that had never materialized. Not that this area of the city was derelict, but it was clearly between high points. A few blocks away in any direction were popular restaurants, some high end condos, a few night clubs, and even the studios of some popular day time talk show host. The city was obviously trying to rehabilitate this neighborhood, but looking at his immediate surroundings Michael saw they were meeting with less then complete success.
A few steps to the north found him standing in front of a dead end alley. At the end, sitting on the loading dock for one of the facilities, were several black men dressed in jeans and muscle shirts. He began walking towards them, and as he approached they took notice, standing wordlessly to greet him. “I’m looking for the one you call ‘Sunny D’.” he declared. The men looked at each other briefly, then one of them stepped forward, “I’m Sunny D, what you want?” Michael appraised him for several seconds before speaking; finally he said “I understand you’re the man to see for a variety of illicit substances.” Sunny D smiled, believing he’d found a new customer, “Yeah man, that’s right. I got your ‘illicit substances’. What you want? I got your Tabs, your Dust, your Smack, your Blow, your Jack, your Jane. Brother I got it all, just tell me what your pleasure is.”
Michael smiled his predator’s smile, “I’m looking for… Sin.” Quicker then would be expected given his size and build, he stepped forward to within inches of Sunny. Locking his dark eyes on the drug dealer, he inhaled deeply. “Yes, Mr. D. You indeed have what I’m looking for. The sweet stench is all around you.” Sunny took several steps back, drawing a .45 glock from his rear waist band, he spoke quickly, a touch nervously, “Hey there cracker, back off. I don’t know what you talking about, but I’m bettin you already flying. I’m thinkin maybe you need to just move on.”
Michael appraised the weapon pointed at him, then laughed low, “Ah yes, a ‘gun’. A fascinating device. You children were always good at devising such efficient ways of killing each other.” He stepped towards Sunny, and infusing the tiniest bit of power in his words he said, “Shoot me.” Sunny fired three times before he even realized he was pulling the trigger, each bullet striking Michael in the chest. The force was sufficient to cause Michael to take a step back, but he held his feet. As Sunny stared incredulously, holding the smoking gun, Michael opened his jacket and unbuttoned his dress shirt. Each bullet had punched a half inch hole, all three of which were bleeding profusely. However, as the stunned drug dealers watched, the blood slowed, stopped, and within less then a minute the wounds had closed.
Sunny dropped the gun, and simply stared at Michael. Michael laughed, deep, frightening. “Yes, I believe you will serve me well.”
*Blanchard, PA – 2pm (T-Minus 14 Days)*
He pulled back on to I-80, having stopped in Blanchard for a coffee and gas refill. He took a sip from the mug, and grimaced. Uhg, gas station coffee is even worse then Starbucks. He took another drink. But, it does the trick. He glanced at the well worn map of North America, crisscrossed with the markings of dozens of previous trips. The most recent marked out the path from New York to Chicago. The Windy City. Why there Michael?
_
Cain is a Whore
Instant Cash is a Slut
Cain is a Whore
Instant Cash is a Slut
-
Reika
- Freeman of the Crimson Assfro
- Posts: 2338
- Joined: Mon Mar 18, 2002 4:41 am
- Location: Jacksonville, FL
- Contact:
Chapter 4 - Jenny
T-14 Days
“So when are you coming back to work?” questioned the irritatingly, nasal, male voice with the faint New York accent. The faint crackle of static from the cordless phone didn’t help any.
Jenny closed her eyes and absently rubbed her forehead to forestall the headache that always came whenever she heard the caller, the only reason why she even answered the phone when she saw his number on the Caller ID was due to the fact he wasn’t afraid to call the cops to check up on her. For some reason they always did. She grimaced at the self-lie as Maury droned on about her being his best worker, blah, blah, blah. She knew why, even as he hit her last nerve with, “Well, I know finding those bodies was a horrible thing, but you’ve had enough time to pull yourself together. You aren’t going to one of the competitors are you?”
The headache wouldn’t be put off and with it came nausea as his words stirred up memories she’d been desperately shoving down into the darkest well of forgetfulness. But his plaintive question caused her to snort, “No, of course not.”
“Oh, that’s good then. So you’re going independent then?” A hint of greed crept into his voice. “I know some private individuals who’d hire you in a heartbeat to find things for them.”
“I’m not an investigator anymore, Maury. I’m done with it.”
“WHAT?!” squawked out of the phone causing her move the phone away from her ear as his voice shifted into a high pitched whine reminiscent of a mosquito whine as he started a new tirade. Maury had been a great boss for the most part, but the man was a drama queen and he’d gone into an Academy Award worthy rant. She just kept the phone away from her hear until he ran out of breath, then cut him off before he could start in again.
“Yeah, I’ve decided to do something a little more relaxing.”
“Like what?”
Her eyes fell on the open want ads and something caught her eyes and she grinned a tad wickedly. The grin felt strange after the months of being terrified of her own shadow, but it felt good too, like something had finally healed. “I’m going into landscaping.”
For the first time in the six years she’d known him, she rendered him speechless.
When he finally could speak again, he did so slowly in the irritating fashion of those talking to someone who supposedly doesn’t understand their language or believe the listener is too damn stupid to understand what they’re saying. “Darling Jennifer, you have the blackest two thumbs of anyone I’ve ever known.”
She smirked a little to herself as she looked around at all the plants thriving in her apartment, for some reason having all the living plants, as well as the two cats currently sleeping in the sunlight streaming in from her bay window made her feel better. “Oh, I’d say they’re more green than black now. Besides they’d probably just have me dig holes in dirt and that kind of thing.”
Now he went into his put upon mother act, “Well, since it sounds like I can’t convince you to come back, I’ll wish you good luck. Just remember you’ll always have a place in our family.”
“I know Maury, I’ll talk to you later.” Without giving him a chance to get another word in, she clicked the button to disconnect the call. Then began to dial the phone number from the paper.
T-14 Days
“So when are you coming back to work?” questioned the irritatingly, nasal, male voice with the faint New York accent. The faint crackle of static from the cordless phone didn’t help any.
Jenny closed her eyes and absently rubbed her forehead to forestall the headache that always came whenever she heard the caller, the only reason why she even answered the phone when she saw his number on the Caller ID was due to the fact he wasn’t afraid to call the cops to check up on her. For some reason they always did. She grimaced at the self-lie as Maury droned on about her being his best worker, blah, blah, blah. She knew why, even as he hit her last nerve with, “Well, I know finding those bodies was a horrible thing, but you’ve had enough time to pull yourself together. You aren’t going to one of the competitors are you?”
The headache wouldn’t be put off and with it came nausea as his words stirred up memories she’d been desperately shoving down into the darkest well of forgetfulness. But his plaintive question caused her to snort, “No, of course not.”
“Oh, that’s good then. So you’re going independent then?” A hint of greed crept into his voice. “I know some private individuals who’d hire you in a heartbeat to find things for them.”
“I’m not an investigator anymore, Maury. I’m done with it.”
“WHAT?!” squawked out of the phone causing her move the phone away from her ear as his voice shifted into a high pitched whine reminiscent of a mosquito whine as he started a new tirade. Maury had been a great boss for the most part, but the man was a drama queen and he’d gone into an Academy Award worthy rant. She just kept the phone away from her hear until he ran out of breath, then cut him off before he could start in again.
“Yeah, I’ve decided to do something a little more relaxing.”
“Like what?”
Her eyes fell on the open want ads and something caught her eyes and she grinned a tad wickedly. The grin felt strange after the months of being terrified of her own shadow, but it felt good too, like something had finally healed. “I’m going into landscaping.”
For the first time in the six years she’d known him, she rendered him speechless.
When he finally could speak again, he did so slowly in the irritating fashion of those talking to someone who supposedly doesn’t understand their language or believe the listener is too damn stupid to understand what they’re saying. “Darling Jennifer, you have the blackest two thumbs of anyone I’ve ever known.”
She smirked a little to herself as she looked around at all the plants thriving in her apartment, for some reason having all the living plants, as well as the two cats currently sleeping in the sunlight streaming in from her bay window made her feel better. “Oh, I’d say they’re more green than black now. Besides they’d probably just have me dig holes in dirt and that kind of thing.”
Now he went into his put upon mother act, “Well, since it sounds like I can’t convince you to come back, I’ll wish you good luck. Just remember you’ll always have a place in our family.”
“I know Maury, I’ll talk to you later.” Without giving him a chance to get another word in, she clicked the button to disconnect the call. Then began to dial the phone number from the paper.
T-Minus 15 Days
Randall sat on his bike a short ways down the road from the project. Why can't the foreman see the ad? He stared at the ad for several seconds, opening his mind to the Sight. The world around him became brighter, the phantom spirits of the cleared forest rising up around. The paper remained as it was, except the advertisement glowed a light silver color. Concentrating, he could see a thin line of power stretching up into the sky.
A glamour. Am I the only target? He sighed, guess there's only one way to find out.
He put the paper away, and drove off towards the city.
--------------------
T-Minus 14 Days
Randall sat across the street in a small cafe, watching the door marked 1257 N Clark St. The door was sandwhiched between two other entrances, and presumably led to second story offices. The sign on the door appeared to read "Del Toro Landscaping", but he had already identified that as another glamour.
He sat and waited.
Randall sat on his bike a short ways down the road from the project. Why can't the foreman see the ad? He stared at the ad for several seconds, opening his mind to the Sight. The world around him became brighter, the phantom spirits of the cleared forest rising up around. The paper remained as it was, except the advertisement glowed a light silver color. Concentrating, he could see a thin line of power stretching up into the sky.
A glamour. Am I the only target? He sighed, guess there's only one way to find out.
He put the paper away, and drove off towards the city.
--------------------
T-Minus 14 Days
Randall sat across the street in a small cafe, watching the door marked 1257 N Clark St. The door was sandwhiched between two other entrances, and presumably led to second story offices. The sign on the door appeared to read "Del Toro Landscaping", but he had already identified that as another glamour.
He sat and waited.
_
Cain is a Whore
Instant Cash is a Slut
Cain is a Whore
Instant Cash is a Slut
Chicago, Illinois. T -14 days
Checking his clothes one final time, Chester nodded with satisfaction. Threadbare and worn, but still respectable. Nothing fancy, but a clean shirt and slacks that made him look like he was a part of society again. A poor cog in the mechanism, maybe, but still a part of the machinery. He smiled wryly to himself, running his hand through his newly-trimmed beard. It's good to be able to shower more than once a week again, he thought, tieing a cord around his ponytail. Wonder how long that'll last? Shrugging on his spare coat, he made for the door. The hotel wasn't much, and it was run by an old couple that had definitely found the Lord and salvation, but it was clean and cheap and so he counted himself lucky. He'd spent two-thirds of his reserves paying for the room, though, so if this landscaping thing didn't pan out, he'd be in trouble. Who am I kidding? I'll be in trouble anyway if anyone finds me. He locked the door behind him, and headed down the creaking stairs at the end of the hallway.
The lobby was dominated by an old oak counter, absurdly out of place and gleaming with polish. A relic of a bygone age when the hotel had been a bit more fashionable, he guessed. He suspected that the big sign proclaiming "Jesus saves" was a much more recent addition, though. The old man behind the counter looked up, fixing Chester with a slightly suspicious star. Still trying to place me in the world, I suppose. Am I one of the righteous or a sinner...? With a polite smile, Chester handed him the key to his room. "I'll be back in a couple of hours, mr. Granger," he said, fighting the urge to smirk. If only the old boy knew... Mr. Granger only nodded, though, and placed the key back on its hook. "Take care out there, mr. Chiminage. And go with God." The old man's reedy voice made it more of a command than a wish. Still smiling, Chester nodded and headed out to catch a taxi.
----------------
Del Toro Landscaping, huh? he mused as he checked the address from the ad again, then looking up at the building that flanked the entrance. It's the right place, sure enough. A bit more humble than I thought, though... Oh well, what the hell. Shrugging, he pocketed the newspaperclipping and tried the door. It resisted a bit, but opened smoothly enough. Chester blinked. A tingling sensation on his skin, like holding his hand a fraction of an inch over a glass of soda. With a frown, he relaxed, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before giving the door and the stairs beyond his full attention. Faint traceries of.. something, some power, climbed the walls and ceiling, spreading out like tangled roots on the floor, almost invisible. If it hadn't been for his own ability to Read by touch...
This complicated matters. He hesitated, going through the possibilities in his mind. It could be that the ad had been a trap, but that didn't make sense unless the ad could only be seen by gifted individuals... Though, why a landscaping ad? Vampires and sorcerers rarley bothered with plants, so that left the fae, or... Or spirits. Chester smiled. Much better than the alternatives. Either of the two latter were easier to deal with than the former. Surreptitiously checking if he was being observed, he entered the hallway and closed the door behind him.
Checking his clothes one final time, Chester nodded with satisfaction. Threadbare and worn, but still respectable. Nothing fancy, but a clean shirt and slacks that made him look like he was a part of society again. A poor cog in the mechanism, maybe, but still a part of the machinery. He smiled wryly to himself, running his hand through his newly-trimmed beard. It's good to be able to shower more than once a week again, he thought, tieing a cord around his ponytail. Wonder how long that'll last? Shrugging on his spare coat, he made for the door. The hotel wasn't much, and it was run by an old couple that had definitely found the Lord and salvation, but it was clean and cheap and so he counted himself lucky. He'd spent two-thirds of his reserves paying for the room, though, so if this landscaping thing didn't pan out, he'd be in trouble. Who am I kidding? I'll be in trouble anyway if anyone finds me. He locked the door behind him, and headed down the creaking stairs at the end of the hallway.
The lobby was dominated by an old oak counter, absurdly out of place and gleaming with polish. A relic of a bygone age when the hotel had been a bit more fashionable, he guessed. He suspected that the big sign proclaiming "Jesus saves" was a much more recent addition, though. The old man behind the counter looked up, fixing Chester with a slightly suspicious star. Still trying to place me in the world, I suppose. Am I one of the righteous or a sinner...? With a polite smile, Chester handed him the key to his room. "I'll be back in a couple of hours, mr. Granger," he said, fighting the urge to smirk. If only the old boy knew... Mr. Granger only nodded, though, and placed the key back on its hook. "Take care out there, mr. Chiminage. And go with God." The old man's reedy voice made it more of a command than a wish. Still smiling, Chester nodded and headed out to catch a taxi.
----------------
Del Toro Landscaping, huh? he mused as he checked the address from the ad again, then looking up at the building that flanked the entrance. It's the right place, sure enough. A bit more humble than I thought, though... Oh well, what the hell. Shrugging, he pocketed the newspaperclipping and tried the door. It resisted a bit, but opened smoothly enough. Chester blinked. A tingling sensation on his skin, like holding his hand a fraction of an inch over a glass of soda. With a frown, he relaxed, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before giving the door and the stairs beyond his full attention. Faint traceries of.. something, some power, climbed the walls and ceiling, spreading out like tangled roots on the floor, almost invisible. If it hadn't been for his own ability to Read by touch...
This complicated matters. He hesitated, going through the possibilities in his mind. It could be that the ad had been a trap, but that didn't make sense unless the ad could only be seen by gifted individuals... Though, why a landscaping ad? Vampires and sorcerers rarley bothered with plants, so that left the fae, or... Or spirits. Chester smiled. Much better than the alternatives. Either of the two latter were easier to deal with than the former. Surreptitiously checking if he was being observed, he entered the hallway and closed the door behind him.
Geneticists have established that all women share a common ancestor, called Eve, and that all men share a common ancestor, dubbed Adam. However, it has also been established that Adam was born 80.000 years after Eve. So, the world before him was one of heavy to industral strength lesbianism, one assumes.
-Stephen Fry, QI
-Stephen Fry, QI
T-14 days
"A what?!" Kris grabbed a few napkins to catch the coffee she spilled at the exclamation.
"A garden sculpture." Anne eyed her with that stare of hers that meant do it or else. "A friend of a friend favor and all that, you make him happy, you get a spot in the best funded exhibition tour in the city, we're talking New York, San Fran, Atlanta, this is big time stuff."
"I dunno Anne, you start talking putting sculptures outside and you start having to think about weight distribution and medium wear, and especially here, wind..."
"You're stalling. A bad one?"
Kris sighed and nodded. Anne thought her vision episodes were seizures, and she did nothing to disuade the thought. "I don't remember anyithing after you called last night, I came to when I heard your voice in the morning, but you were gone by the time I got up off the floor."
Anne shook her head. "You gotta watch your meds, girl! Can't have you dying on me, you're not a star yet!" She smiled warmly and Kris smiled back at the running joke.
"Alright, alright, where is this friend of of a friend, I'm gonna have to look at the placement site first."
"So glad you asked!"
"Del Toro Landscaping? He's friends with a guy whose friends with a landscaper?"
"Hey, some guys like friends in low places."
"A what?!" Kris grabbed a few napkins to catch the coffee she spilled at the exclamation.
"A garden sculpture." Anne eyed her with that stare of hers that meant do it or else. "A friend of a friend favor and all that, you make him happy, you get a spot in the best funded exhibition tour in the city, we're talking New York, San Fran, Atlanta, this is big time stuff."
"I dunno Anne, you start talking putting sculptures outside and you start having to think about weight distribution and medium wear, and especially here, wind..."
"You're stalling. A bad one?"
Kris sighed and nodded. Anne thought her vision episodes were seizures, and she did nothing to disuade the thought. "I don't remember anyithing after you called last night, I came to when I heard your voice in the morning, but you were gone by the time I got up off the floor."
Anne shook her head. "You gotta watch your meds, girl! Can't have you dying on me, you're not a star yet!" She smiled warmly and Kris smiled back at the running joke.
"Alright, alright, where is this friend of of a friend, I'm gonna have to look at the placement site first."
"So glad you asked!"
"Del Toro Landscaping? He's friends with a guy whose friends with a landscaper?"
"Hey, some guys like friends in low places."
10:41 Kai: Ohayou minna
10:42 Adam: ENGLISH MOTHERFUCKER!
10:44 Kai: Fuck off, how's that? ;P
10:45 Adam: Much better.
-
JohnnyRico
- Wuffle Student
- Posts: 1254
- Joined: Mon Mar 18, 2002 1:11 pm
- Location: Hell on Earth, in the Greatest state of the Union
- Contact:
James drove past the landscaping office the first time, still adjusting to city drivers. He parked the truck along a side-street a block down, put a quarter into the meter and gave it a spin. As he walked down the street towards the office building, he noticed someone go up to the door, stop, then possibly smile and walk in. He felt a subtle tension in the breeze blowing against the traffic, towards the Del Toro Landscaping office. It almost seemed to be pushing him towards the place, trying to compel him to move faster. Purposely maintaining his stride, James decided to look around, keep his eyes open, and take in the surroundings. Though he couldn't spot anyone watching him, he couldn't shake the feeling that his progress was being followed. A hint of his scowl returned, and he put the uneasiness down as just normal interview jitters.
He stopped at the door, nervous all of a sudden, and wiped his hands on his pants, barely resisting the urge to straighten the collar on his old, faded polo shirt. He reached for the door and felt the telltale tingle of magic and realized the source of his nervousness. There was at least someone nearby that could use magic, and that sent a spike of real fear through him. Get a hold of yourself James. If it's the Council, it's already too late. If it's someone else, it might not be that bad. Besides, if you run now, you look really guilty. Just face whoever it is, and you might make it out unscathed. Taking a steadying breath, he steeled himself and walked into the building.
The bell above the door jingled quietly as it opened, and James saw that the office, if it could be called that, had been set up with a spartan meeting in mind. At the far side of the room, down a short hallway, an overweight, balding man in a white, striped shirt sat on the edge of a desk, his rather spare comb-over shifting whenever the lone fan spun his way. A loose circle of chairs took up the majority of the offices' space, and where the heavy-set man sat would have completed it perfectly. A quarter turn around the circle stood the man he saw enter before. The man gave James a smile the younger man thought a little too wide, and just a touch fake, then looked back towards the heavy-set man.
“Oh good, a strong young man to do some of the heavy work,” the man said, his growling voice almost reminiscent of George Carlin. He looked James over with a practiced eye and smirked. “A little young, and rough around the edges, maybe even a few control problems, but strong enough. Have a seat, we're still waiting for a few more people to show up.”
He stopped at the door, nervous all of a sudden, and wiped his hands on his pants, barely resisting the urge to straighten the collar on his old, faded polo shirt. He reached for the door and felt the telltale tingle of magic and realized the source of his nervousness. There was at least someone nearby that could use magic, and that sent a spike of real fear through him. Get a hold of yourself James. If it's the Council, it's already too late. If it's someone else, it might not be that bad. Besides, if you run now, you look really guilty. Just face whoever it is, and you might make it out unscathed. Taking a steadying breath, he steeled himself and walked into the building.
The bell above the door jingled quietly as it opened, and James saw that the office, if it could be called that, had been set up with a spartan meeting in mind. At the far side of the room, down a short hallway, an overweight, balding man in a white, striped shirt sat on the edge of a desk, his rather spare comb-over shifting whenever the lone fan spun his way. A loose circle of chairs took up the majority of the offices' space, and where the heavy-set man sat would have completed it perfectly. A quarter turn around the circle stood the man he saw enter before. The man gave James a smile the younger man thought a little too wide, and just a touch fake, then looked back towards the heavy-set man.
“Oh good, a strong young man to do some of the heavy work,” the man said, his growling voice almost reminiscent of George Carlin. He looked James over with a practiced eye and smirked. “A little young, and rough around the edges, maybe even a few control problems, but strong enough. Have a seat, we're still waiting for a few more people to show up.”
"I have a conundrum for you. A riddle if you will. What's the difference between you, and malard with a cold? I don't remember how it ends, but your mothers a whore." -"Sean Connery" Celebrity Jeopardy- SNL
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Reika
- Freeman of the Crimson Assfro
- Posts: 2338
- Joined: Mon Mar 18, 2002 4:41 am
- Location: Jacksonville, FL
- Contact:
It'd been somewhat surprising when she was invited to go to the Del Toro offices for her interview the same afternoon of her call, but shrugged it off as them being desperate for people. Not the first time she'd encountered such a situation with a possible employer and probably wouldn't be the last.
The neighborhood wasn't the greatest, but at the same she wasn't worried for her own safety, even at night. Just a little down on its luck, yet the various small business owners on the streets still had some pride in their places. Jenny made the mental note to stop at the small pet shop down the street from where she was parking, she hadn't gotten her new babies any treats recently and figured it couldn't hurt to look to see if they had anything interesting.
When her hand touched the door to enter the office she got a sharp shock of static electricity which made her frown faintly since it was the wrong time of year and weather conditions to warrant that. Her frown increased a trifle then vanished when she saw the office and the men in it. She proved a sharp contrast in her neatly pressed polo and khakis, that while not brand new were in excellent shape.
The investigator in Jenny wondered what kind of scam was going on and decided to play along for now. If it got bad enough she could hit E911 on her cell phone and call for help.
The two men facing the fat man gave her wary look overs then respective greetings which she returned pleasantly.
" Ah, the lovely young lady I spoke with earlier," rasped the big man, "It'll be nice to work with someone who has a little polish for once. Sit, as you can see we're still have a few more to wait for."
Uneasily she took a chair near the two other men. For some reason she had a feeling the three of them were all on the same side and that wasn't necessarily the side of their prospective employer.
But on the side of what?
The neighborhood wasn't the greatest, but at the same she wasn't worried for her own safety, even at night. Just a little down on its luck, yet the various small business owners on the streets still had some pride in their places. Jenny made the mental note to stop at the small pet shop down the street from where she was parking, she hadn't gotten her new babies any treats recently and figured it couldn't hurt to look to see if they had anything interesting.
When her hand touched the door to enter the office she got a sharp shock of static electricity which made her frown faintly since it was the wrong time of year and weather conditions to warrant that. Her frown increased a trifle then vanished when she saw the office and the men in it. She proved a sharp contrast in her neatly pressed polo and khakis, that while not brand new were in excellent shape.
The investigator in Jenny wondered what kind of scam was going on and decided to play along for now. If it got bad enough she could hit E911 on her cell phone and call for help.
The two men facing the fat man gave her wary look overs then respective greetings which she returned pleasantly.
" Ah, the lovely young lady I spoke with earlier," rasped the big man, "It'll be nice to work with someone who has a little polish for once. Sit, as you can see we're still have a few more to wait for."
Uneasily she took a chair near the two other men. For some reason she had a feeling the three of them were all on the same side and that wasn't necessarily the side of their prospective employer.
But on the side of what?
Chester really wasn't enjoying this. Using as much of his magics as he dared, hoping to remain unnoticed, he shot another glance at his... their, prospective employer. Nothing. He looked perfectly mundane. So, either a trusted servant or good enough to hide every trace of power. Neither option was comforting. He shifted in his seat, casually turning and looking over at the young man that had just taken the chair opposite his. Two hulking shapes flanked him, standing behind the chair, and Chester had to force himself to remain calm, as if nothing was amiss. Elementals. Big ones, too. One of the elementals seemed to focus on him, eyes narrowing.
Fuck! Spotted! He could feel a bead of sweat roll slowly down his temple. The spirit seemed to examine him. Just great. Just perfect. Caught like a kid with his hand in the cookie-jar. Dammit, I'm supposed to be smarter than this! Only one thing to do. Pray like hell that his disguise was good enough to fool the spirit, and that it hadn't noticed anything except his natural talent. C'mon, you bastard... Buy it. The spirit looked away. Chester resisted the urge to sigh with relief. With any luck, it would let the kid know that he had the sight, but nothing else.
The big man in the bad shirt looked up. Chester turned his head towards the door, and blinked. Blonde, tall, slim... dressed for business. What in the hell was she doing here? As she entered the room, he gave her a nod and a hint of a smile. No clues from her aura. She could be anyone or anything. "Afternoon, miss," he mumbled, trying to figure her out. The kid in the jeans and t-shirt fit in, as did the overweight, balding boss and Chester himself... But her? She was too out of place, too proper, too clean when you got right down to it. Then their boss spoke.
" Ah, the lovely young lady I spoke with earlier," rasped the big man, "It'll be nice to work with someone who has a little polish for once. Sit, as you can see we're still have a few more to wait for."
Chester couldn't help the twitch of his broken fingers as the woman sat down. Polish was an understatement. Leaning back in the chair, he did his best to look calm and at ease. Nothing untoward about him. Nope. Not a thing. He observed the woman out the corner of his eye.
Who the hell are you... And how much trouble am I in this time?
Fuck! Spotted! He could feel a bead of sweat roll slowly down his temple. The spirit seemed to examine him. Just great. Just perfect. Caught like a kid with his hand in the cookie-jar. Dammit, I'm supposed to be smarter than this! Only one thing to do. Pray like hell that his disguise was good enough to fool the spirit, and that it hadn't noticed anything except his natural talent. C'mon, you bastard... Buy it. The spirit looked away. Chester resisted the urge to sigh with relief. With any luck, it would let the kid know that he had the sight, but nothing else.
The big man in the bad shirt looked up. Chester turned his head towards the door, and blinked. Blonde, tall, slim... dressed for business. What in the hell was she doing here? As she entered the room, he gave her a nod and a hint of a smile. No clues from her aura. She could be anyone or anything. "Afternoon, miss," he mumbled, trying to figure her out. The kid in the jeans and t-shirt fit in, as did the overweight, balding boss and Chester himself... But her? She was too out of place, too proper, too clean when you got right down to it. Then their boss spoke.
" Ah, the lovely young lady I spoke with earlier," rasped the big man, "It'll be nice to work with someone who has a little polish for once. Sit, as you can see we're still have a few more to wait for."
Chester couldn't help the twitch of his broken fingers as the woman sat down. Polish was an understatement. Leaning back in the chair, he did his best to look calm and at ease. Nothing untoward about him. Nope. Not a thing. He observed the woman out the corner of his eye.
Who the hell are you... And how much trouble am I in this time?
Geneticists have established that all women share a common ancestor, called Eve, and that all men share a common ancestor, dubbed Adam. However, it has also been established that Adam was born 80.000 years after Eve. So, the world before him was one of heavy to industral strength lesbianism, one assumes.
-Stephen Fry, QI
-Stephen Fry, QI
Kris got off the bus, oblivious to the stares of its other riders, and looked down at her notepad, one earbud dangling, one in her left ear, plugged into the sleek gold phone that dangled with a few keys off a wriststrap. Scanning the street she chewed on her gum thoughfully, finally spotting the sign, 'Del Toro Landscaping'.
"What a weird place for a landscaper.." she muttered to herself, crossing the street and weaving around pedestrian traffic.
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"Why did you arrange to have her sent there? You know it will be like whacking a hornet's nest with a stick." The man sipped his tea, back to his conversation partner in the booth behind him.
"We're stumbling blindly. Even if we never know what happens, how they react will tell us something." The other man neatly folded his napkin and layed cash on the table. "Next week then."
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Kris, dressed in hunter orange shorts, camoflage thigh high leggings, clunky platform boots, and an orange silk kimono top sighed at the plain looking door. With a deep breath, she turned the handle and stepped in.
"Hey, so, Andy Theris says you're looking for a garden sculpture, fairly big, modern style, I can't really get started without have a look at the site of course," Kris fumbled around her pockets and produced a crumpled business card as she walked forward, a large man coming to meet her.
The large man's eyes narrowed as he circled her faster than she would have thought, blocking her exit. "Who sent you? Who are you?!"
"Erk!" Kris involuntarily stepped backwards from his angry interrogation and profferred the card. "Kris...Kris Kerns, I'm a sculpture art-" She froze as he touched the card, an invisible force rooting her in place, her mind filled with a gory scene. She spoke unknowingly. "The Blood Riot...sisters of the pale will not hold the shackles, a wake of shattered bonds and human lives paves the way across the veil..."
The force holding her snapped, throwing her hand violently away from the card, and sent her crashing backwards towards the circle of chairs.
"What a weird place for a landscaper.." she muttered to herself, crossing the street and weaving around pedestrian traffic.
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"Why did you arrange to have her sent there? You know it will be like whacking a hornet's nest with a stick." The man sipped his tea, back to his conversation partner in the booth behind him.
"We're stumbling blindly. Even if we never know what happens, how they react will tell us something." The other man neatly folded his napkin and layed cash on the table. "Next week then."
------------
Kris, dressed in hunter orange shorts, camoflage thigh high leggings, clunky platform boots, and an orange silk kimono top sighed at the plain looking door. With a deep breath, she turned the handle and stepped in.
"Hey, so, Andy Theris says you're looking for a garden sculpture, fairly big, modern style, I can't really get started without have a look at the site of course," Kris fumbled around her pockets and produced a crumpled business card as she walked forward, a large man coming to meet her.
The large man's eyes narrowed as he circled her faster than she would have thought, blocking her exit. "Who sent you? Who are you?!"
"Erk!" Kris involuntarily stepped backwards from his angry interrogation and profferred the card. "Kris...Kris Kerns, I'm a sculpture art-" She froze as he touched the card, an invisible force rooting her in place, her mind filled with a gory scene. She spoke unknowingly. "The Blood Riot...sisters of the pale will not hold the shackles, a wake of shattered bonds and human lives paves the way across the veil..."
The force holding her snapped, throwing her hand violently away from the card, and sent her crashing backwards towards the circle of chairs.
10:41 Kai: Ohayou minna
10:42 Adam: ENGLISH MOTHERFUCKER!
10:44 Kai: Fuck off, how's that? ;P
10:45 Adam: Much better.
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Reika
- Freeman of the Crimson Assfro
- Posts: 2338
- Joined: Mon Mar 18, 2002 4:41 am
- Location: Jacksonville, FL
- Contact:
Feeling awkward but not showing it behind a long practiced poker face, Jenny nodded back to the slightly scruffy young man and gave a hint of polite smile, "Afternoon."
Before she had a chance to sit down the big man was up and moving far faster than she thought possible and she'd seen some good sized people move. He seemed to be confronting an oddly dressed young woman who babbled something about blood and shattered lives... For a moment she felt a frozen sensation go down her spine and the unrememberable wanted to remember which was at the entirely wrong time and place. Along with a distinct lack of booze to soften that memory.
Without thinking about it, she stepped forward as the girl was shoved in the direction of those gathered at the desk staring at the little tableau.
Before she had a chance to sit down the big man was up and moving far faster than she thought possible and she'd seen some good sized people move. He seemed to be confronting an oddly dressed young woman who babbled something about blood and shattered lives... For a moment she felt a frozen sensation go down her spine and the unrememberable wanted to remember which was at the entirely wrong time and place. Along with a distinct lack of booze to soften that memory.
Without thinking about it, she stepped forward as the girl was shoved in the direction of those gathered at the desk staring at the little tableau.