A Hunter of Shadows

Masquerade Thread

Fri, 04 Jan 2008 05:01:57 GMT

http://www.greatestjournal.com/community/free_form/1266841.html

A Package Propped Against Joseph's Door

Sat, 29 Dec 2007 00:44:37 GMT

"Vegas-

A little sparkle for your New Year's Eve. Have fun.

-R"

Home for the Holiday

Wed, 26 Dec 2007 22:39:53 GMT

'Twas the night of Christmas, and in the double-wide
A creature stirred at the stove, careful not to burn his hide.
His companion seated on a newly-bought chair,
While smells of vegetarian lasagna danced 'round her hair;
Rhiannon in her best, and Whistler in his hat,
Had just settled down for an untraditional meal (lean, not fat),
When from the fire detector, there arose such a clatter,
He sprang into action, to deal with the matter.

"Jesus!" Whistler grabbed the potholders and dove towards the gourmet offense. He threw open the oven door and retrieved the slightly burnt garlic bread. Unceremoniously the metal pan clanged onto the stove top, and he spun ninety-degrees using his right foot to close the metal beast while frantically waving the holders in the air to disperse the smoke and silence the alarm.

"Give me those." Rhiannon scraped a chair under the smoke detector and climbed on it. Instead of fanning the pot holders, she ripped the cover off and pulled the battery out. The eruption of noise stopped. "What're you, expecting a visit from the fire marshall?" The battery thudded on the floor and rolled under the fridge, alongside untold numbers of dust bunnies and formerly frozen peas.

The air reeked. She got down and went to the front door, then made an effort to push some air out of the trailer by opening and closing it. "Well... That's what you get for watching Wheel. You're making me feel 80."

"It was that or 'Pimp My Grandmother'," the Agent winked. Christmas fare on television was sparse at best and the idea of a fake yule log with muzak-muzzled holiday tunes ran shivers up his spine. Definitely a demon-spawned idea. Give people a sneak-peek of what awaits them in the afterlife.

The hatted man watched as the battery disappeared, made a mental note to retrieve it. Like he'd done when the first two spatulas were accidentally kicked under the stove, or the spilled change from the pizza he'd ordered last week. In the future, archeologists would puzzle over the time capsule contents in Whistler's kitchen.

If Gerald let them in.

He dug out the garlic bread from the pan and threw the edible pieces into a wicker basket laced with paper towels, and set it on the table. Most of his compensated check from Star went to refurbishing/renovating his trailer, with the main treat being an actual three-piece dining set. Whistler gave the contents a once-over: vegetarian lasagna (check), garlic bread (check), caesar salad (from a bag, check).

"Dinner is served. Can you make it back to the table," he asked with a smile, "or do I need a wheelchair for your geriatric ass?"

Rhiannon slammed the door. "I only do wheels under the car." There was a pitcher of tea on the table; it made for a more civilized holiday meal than two bottles of beer would, and besides, alcohol had been the theme last year, and last year...

Instead of sitting, she curled a knee into her chair and poured the hot brew over the ice in their cups. When that was done, she looked around for anything else. "Oh, hang on." Over on the couch with her coat, there was a lump in a grocery bag. Rhiannon went and picked it up. "Dessert," she explained, "But you can't see it yet." She put it in the third chair and then scraped her chair up to the table.

Lasagna for Christmas dinner. It wasn't traditional like ham and deviled eggs and rolls; this was more like them. Despite the strangeness of the sort-of anniversary, she was relieved to be there. Relieved that they could still sit in the same room, relieved that she was alive at all. Had she stayed at home, not only would Rhiannon have ended up eating from a can, but it would've felt too vacant.

"Okay, now I'm ready." She scooped a hefty square of lasagna on Whistler's plate, and then mirrored with hers. She set the spatula down and a string of cheese clung to her finger. Rhiannon sucked it into her mouth.

Whistler picked up and shook a bit of sugar into his glass, then pushed the canister towards the Slayer. He absently stirred the tea, ice and crystals with his spoon. "Helps the medicine go down, eh?" Of all he was, Mary Poppins wasn't on the list. The chimney sweep was a better fit.

The Agent gave silent thanks for his company at the table, and that they could share the time together. He wasn't sure if Rhiannon would accept, but the holiday was empty without being with the people who mattered.

"I've got somethin' for after too," he offered, a knife now slicing effortlessly through layers of noodle, eggplant, spinach, diced tomatoes, meatless sauce, and cottage and mozzarella cheese. "Not edible though. Just a heads-up." Whistler eyed the bag on the third chair, hoping for a glimpse.

Rhiannon scooped out an ice cube and threw it. "Quit peeking."

She dried her fingers on a paper towel. The smells from the lasagna made her stomach growl. Without any further encouragement, the brunette pushed her fork into the entree and cut a bite-sized piece. "This smells insane." She blew on the steaming mouthful and tasted it. "It id inthane," she garbled around the hot cheese. After swallowing, Rhiannon raved, "Thank god. I would've starved at my place," and stuck her fork in the salad bowl.

A few bites later, the ruckous in her midsection settled down. She took a sip of tea. "Okay. So what've you been doing?"

Whistler lifted a piece of the bread and dipped it into the sauce surrounding his piece. It'd turned out much better than he'd hoped. And for the first time in weeks, he felt like himself and inspired to cook. He held a cough as his tongue was assaulted with an attack of garlic.

"Aside from diggin' up dirt on Atia? Which is harder than findin' a woman under thirty at a Tom Jones concert." He put down the bread and instead scooped another bite of lasagna onto his fork, allowing it to cool naturally. "Got into a metaphysical poker game -- which I thought I was goin' for money but instead played for magicks.

"What about you?" he continued, then making quick work of the food on his fork. "I remember a mention about being tortured."

Rhiannon groaned. "Mmm, tortune. Awesome dinner topic." She popped a bite of lettuce in her mouth and chewed it into nothing. The fork turned between her fingers. "I did an interview with a vampire-- shut up!" She jabbed her fork at the air. "Anyway, it backfired, big surprise. All it took to get out was a little help from my good friend Elfleda. Plus some other stuff." The tines on her fork flashed beneath the overhead light. "But I'm okay. I took out a nest in a railcar and now I'm right as rain."

It wasn't the whole truth and nothing but the truth, but Whistler would know that. He'd also know that Rhiannon would tell him everything in time. She put the fork down and tore her bread into pieces. "So I'm guessing you won the poker game."

"Heh, railcar." Whistler inhaled a third of his sweet tea, then returned to the lasagna. "That was the password. Faced three of 'em, loser in each hand didn't live to see the next sunrise." There were blanks in the story the Agent didn't need to fill. His dining companion knew he kept the most dangerous cards close to his chest, and played them when needed. "So wait," he continued, finally venturing to his caesar salad. "Does this mean I should be expecting an exposé on the bookshelves called 'Interview With a Vampire Slayer'? Do I need to practice my 'no comments' when asked if you prefer boxers or briefs?"

"No, you should tell 'em the truth." Rhiannon winked. "I prefer neither."

She bit another piece of bread and sighed. Across the room, Whistler's traditional Charlie Brown tree twinkled. Ornaments were sparse. She figured he probably lost a few when the trailer got trashed a few months back. Ugh, Elfleda's little experiment in defiling. Now the Slayer was going to help her? Like everything else in the world, things were never as cut and dry as they should be. Sometimes you had to pick between the worse of two evils.

"I guess if you found something on Atia, you'd have mentioned it by now." God, an actual piece of information she could use, what a concept! Things were easier back when monsters were in the books.

Whistler attempted the bread again, this time forewarned of the garlic. He noticed Rhiannon's glance at the tree, but whether she'd noticed the package propped up against it was unknown. Her poker face was better than his.

"Nothin' historical," he offered in response. "Who she was before Leviathan took her on, though I've still got irons in that fire. All I know for sure is that Atia's the redheaded step-child in the family. Last to be picked in a shirts versus skins game of corruption, ya know? Very much the capitulate or perish sort. Portal summonin', demons, just like Elfleda. Might have magicks on her side but that's not confirmed."

"So... new star trying to prove she deserves the spotlight." Rhiannon poked at an ice cube with her utensil. "Reckless like a vamp fledge." She cocked a brow and reconsidered the comparison. "No, reckless like a Slayer fledge. Great." She remembered back in the first months of being called, on a visit to Cleveland where it was ten girls to one Watcher, things had gotten ugly under the pressure of competition for attention. Some Watcher types seemed to get off on it. Imagining that on the dark side of the fence? Not pretty.

"Well, I guess I know how I'll be spending the new year. Fending off... fucking hellhounds and whatever else she summons up from the bowels of hell. Tell me something happy." Rhiannon got back to eating.

As Rhiannon processed the minimal information gathered, Whistler finished his salad and topped up his tea. With the ice quickly melting, he excused himself to retrieve more ice cubes and dropped two into his glass, and motioned to the Slayer if she wanted the same. "Something happy..."

The wheels turned behind his eyes as the Agent looked for something to put a smile on the brunette's face. An image flashed. "Jennie staked her first vampire last night."

"Yeah?" Rhiannon put up her hand to indicate no more icecubes. A smile broke across her face. Even if she hadn't been there to see it, she felt proud. Couldn't help it. Rhiannon had no hand in training the young Slayer, but Jennie was the only girl she ever helped find. It felt... incredible. Just to see it happen from the other side. Now she got Whistler, at least a little. "Took a while. I think her Watcher's protective." Which is good. "Did she at least get a black eye out of it?"

She shoveled the last of the main course into her mouth.

He kept the pipeline open a bit longer, gathering as much information as allowed. "A bit more than that, yeah." Whistler replaced the tray into the freezer and took his seat again. "Got a coupla' hairs yanked out at the root, nasty gash across her back."

He took the last bites of his lasagna, savoring the taste as it disappeared. "Don't say I told ya," he continued. "But you can expect a letter from her about it. Act surprised."

"I'll be uncharacteristically overwhelmed," she promised.

Rhiannon wiped her mouth and tossed the napkin aside. "You ready for dessert, or you wanna wait?" She reached for the bag and hesitated over it.

"I wouldn't say no," he nodded, and took a swig of his drink. The glass now on the table, he wiped his hands on the napkin resting on his lap, then rubbed his digits together in greedy delight. "And I took an Omega 3-6-9 this morning, so bring on the cholesterol."

The bag crinkled when she picked it up, so Rhiannon figured she heard him wrong. Her hands stilled on the bag for a second. "I'm sorry, a mega what?"

She kept unwrapping. It might've been just the pie pan wobbling, but it looked like the brunette's hand shook a little under the dessert's weight. Slowly a confection of brown and dark red was revealed. Rhiannon placed in on the table, alongside the bread. "Chocolate... raspberry pie. Voila." She balled up the plastic bag and stuck it in her lap. "See I actually baked. And I hope you appreciate it, because I had to learn what unpricked pastry shell is. Unpricked."

"Unpricked." It took the weight of the world on Atlas' shoulders to keep himself from making the obvious comment. But a smirk surfaced, with a twinkle in his eye. She'd know what he was thinking.

"You. Baked," he continued. There was no malice or sarcasm in the two simple words; just the surprise and (surpressed) delight from the hatted man. There was a Santa Claus and Christmas was a time for miracles. I believe. I believe. I believe. "I'm... fuck, I'm... wow. This calls for the good china."

The good china, of course, were the unchipped plates, which Whistler quickly retrieved. He remained on his feet a moment before dashing over to the tree. As presents went, his would pale considerably compared to Rhiannon's offering. He walked back and held the oblong, bulky wrapped object close to his chest.

As he placed the gift on the now empty third chair. "Shall I cut?" he asked, a bit nervously.

"Yeah, sure." Rhiannon wet her lips and reached for the gift. "I guess I should open?" Without really waiting for him to answer, she slipped a fingernail under the tape. If she opened while he cut, he wouldn't watch her face so closely. Knowing he was nervous for her reaction made it twice as hard to have one.

Whistler carefully dragged the serrated blade across the width, then sectioned the pieces so that there were eight in total. He retrieved a clean spatula from a nearby drawer and slipped two pieces onto individual plates, the first to Rhiannon. "It's the thought that counts, right?" he spoke, eyes unable to meet hers.

Rhiannon ignored him to peel back the wrapping paper. Inside, there was an over-sized, leather-bound sketchbook, with pencils and charcoal included. The letters RIL were engraved in the lower-right of the cover. She pushed the pad of her thumb into the initials and smiled. "Hey..."

The brunette looked up. "This is gorgeous." Her thumb moved back and forth. "I really like it." She smiled and gathered the package to her chest. "I like it a lot." It meant the world that he gave her something from before, a part of her that she saved outside of slaying.

Rhiannon watched him dish up the pie. "By the way, the pie wasn't my gift." She chewed her lip.

He cut through the raspberry chocolate delight with his fork, scraping a liberal piece up towards his mouth. "I was gonna get your name written, but I think the initials give it a, uh..." His lips touched the pie as Whistler searched for the right word. The mixture lit up his senses, and he slowly chewed. If one had superior hearing, a whimper might've been detected.

"Holy shit!" he finally pronounced. "Fuck slaying," the Agent teased. "You need to open a bake shop."

"Shut up or I'll poison it next time," she joked.

Rhiannon leaned up from the chair while her fingers foraged in her hip pocket. They closed around an old piece of notebook paper, creased and printed with black ink. "Okay. So... I was a dorky sixteen-year-old. I used to keep a diary." She produced the folded paper and ran her fingertip over the scruffy edge.

"This entry's about you." With some difficulty, Rhiannon handed it over. "I keep a box of stuff from back then. Most of it's crap, but," she pressed her lips together, "I wrote that in March. So five months after I met you. It's about everything that was going on. Life was getting really hard."

She tried to make herself be quiet and held the charcoals tighter. Then she blew the lid off it anyway. "It says, 'I wish Whistler was my Watcher'."

Rhiannon shook her head. "And I know that's stupid, you know, like a hormonal teenager just saying... I wish I had a million fucking dollars and different parents and pretty hair, but it was true. It was how I felt."

He stared at the paper, not just at the words but the meaning, the intent. It opened a doorway into the past and he could see a young Rhiannon Isabel Lee, sitting on her sparse bed, legs brought up almost to her chest, as she wrote the entry. Her longish hair brushed back. The barely audible sound of pen against paper.

It wasn't a memory plucked, or an approximation of events. It was a vision, and it became a part of him.

"And you kept it all this time," he finally answered in whisper. "I... I'd have sucked you know. As one of those white hats. But. I'd always be there. Always will."

"I know." Rhiannon simply shrugged and stuck her fingertip in the raspberries on her plate. "But when it's late at night and I'm sleep-deprived and thinking about how I turned out... sometimes I still wish it. Obviously you and me... romantically, that wouldn't exactly have worked out, ethics-wise, with being a Watcher and a Slayer. But when I think about what Watchers are supposed to mean for a Slayer emotionally... you were it. So thanks."

She reached out and shoved the pie at Whistler. "Now eat, okay?"

"Because we're way too ethical in our day-to-day lives," the Agent snorted in return. He wasn't sure if he should return the page; he wouldn't want to rob Rhiannon of a page from her journal. Some day, after archaeologists had dug through his scrap heap of treasures, they might stumble across her diary, and discover what wealth really was. "Imagine if that television show was real," Whistler continued. "Fans would write some steamy fan fiction about you and your 'hot' watcher."

He took another two bites of the pie. He hadn't exaggerated (much). It was quite good. "Unpinched," he giggled to himself. "You know I'm gonna have to work this off at some point. Don't suppose you'd wanna train sometime? Or have an old man tag along your patrol?"

"Absolutely." Rhiannon tucked into her pie without taking the diary page back. It was for him. "If that TV show was real? I'd be a lesbian."

Whistler enjoyed the rest of his pie. "That's right, just feed 'em ideas."

"Like fanfic writers need me to give them disturbing ideas." Rhiannon cut her eyes at Whistler and finished her dessert.

Two Mugs of Beer

Mon, 17 Dec 2007 20:06:52 GMT

At just after ten on a Monday night, with only three demons perched on the bar stools, business was officially slow in the Basement. It had been the same story the night before… and the one preceding. Justus, the proprietor, wore his perpetually untroubled face despite Rhiannon’s dry commentary about shit hitting the fan. Being the sort to profit off explosions in the demon population, he didn’t stand to lose much if it happened.

The Slayer wiped her hands on a rag. All the mugs had been washed, dried, and stacked neatly on their racks. The counter was clean and smelled vaguely of ammonia. There was nothing to do but sit and watch her share of the tips not appear.

Rhiannon swiped a book of matches with the bar’s logo. She lit a cigarette and put her elbows on the bar. It stung a little when the mixture of water and cleaner soaked into her skin.

“You think it’s true… about the hellhounds?” Rhiannon had her own opinion, as well as an idea of where they might’ve come from, but she bit her tongue to listen to Justus talk.

Mallory's stomach had been a ball of quiet dread ever since she'd gotten the two phone messages from Rhiannon. She'd packed a few things and gotten into the truck, leaving behind a note for Sonya before renting a motel room in Vegas. The city, at least, was bigger than Searchlight, which would give Deanna less of a chance of finding her. But days passed, and nothing happened, which was good. But she hadn't heard from or seen Victoria, and that was bad.

She just didn't know how bad the actuality was yet.

Regardless of its clientele, she knew that The Basement was a safe place, the de-militarized zone, so she went there to risk asking questions. Even if no one there actually knew the Slayer, someone would probably know someone who did. She'd find Rhiannon first if she could, see what had happened.

The door opened quietly, then fell shut. It must be closing time, the redhead thought. She spotted that vaguely familiar face as Rhiannon finished lighting her smoke, then hung back to raise a hand in uncertain greeting.

What had Vicky told her, if anything? Did it matter what the woman thought of her, considering that they didn't even know one another? Probably not. Mallory took a few steps, lowered her weight onto one of the vacant barstools. Not casual, but waiting in silence regardless.

Another customer wouldn’t go unnoticed, since it was such a rarity. Justus was halfway through his spiel about the unlikelihood of a hellhound when the door opened. Rhiannon’s attention drifted to the door. It took her a second or two of staring to place Mallory’s name with her familiar face. It had been something like two years since they met, and that was only once.

“Mallory?” The brunette’s question cut Justus off, and she apologized for it with an uplifted index finger. Hold the phone… Rhiannon picked up her ashtray and headed in the newcomer’s direction. She didn’t know if the other woman smoked or not, but she was certain that second-hand didn’t bother her in the diner where they met once.

"Rhiannon." Answering the question with a nod as the soles of her tennis shoes slipped on the bottom rung of her stool. She had already walked off most of the tread and could use a new pair.

"Do you have a few minutes? I got your phone calls but wasn't sure when I'd be able to reach you." The Slayer worked here? Well, at least it'd cut down on the chances of fighting on the job, she supposed. "Do you have some time? I could buy a round of beers if that'd help get a table."

Rhiannon lifted an eyebrow and her mouth quirked. “Like I’d pay for drinks here.” She retrieved two mugs and filled them with the beer on tap, taking time to pour off the foam. Then she came around the length of the bar and headed for a table in the corner. “Sorry, it’s not the greatest. The selection of potable drinks is sorely wanting. Unless you’re into the glandular excretions of Lister demons.”

Taking the seat nearest the wall, Rhiannon juggled the ashtray and mugs onto the table. The beer sloshed and she sucked it off her thumb. “PS, glad to know you’re alive.”

Mallory's expression was solemn, and she inclined her head again. "Thanks. Are you okay? Somebody says there's been a misunderstanding and Deanna was involved, it probably turned violent pretty quick. I..."

It occurred to her that she hadn't really wanted a beer after all once the mug was in front of her, and she watched the remnants of the foam cling to the inside of the glass before speaking again. "Have you heard from her? Victoria. I don't know where she is right now. Not that you would hear from her, I guess, but since you called me because I her, I was wondering..."

Wondering. Hoping was more like it. Hoping that the brunette was still out there somewhere and not a pile of ashes because of Deanna's wrath. "What happened to you?"

Rhiannon gathered a knee against her chest. “One question at a time, okay?” Having gone from approachable to a little abrasive in a remarkably seamless way, she struggled not to make an ass of herself. Flicking her ashes, she said, “Sorry. Uncomfortable subject not painting me in the most capable light… but I’ll tell you, because if Victoria’s concern is in the right place, it might affect you.”

She took time to sip her beverage and noted the way Mallory didn’t touch hers. It didn’t offend because she knew that buying a drink was just conversational lubricant, and also because she hadn’t put any money down for it. “So first things first, I’m okay now. Got it?”

After an affirmation from the redhead, Rhiannon dove headlong into the rest. “Okay. Deanna and I, vampire and slayer, easy math makes us enemies, right? But it goes a little further than that. We’ve had an ongoing… I guess antagonism for years.” She gestured with her hands. “It was at a stalemate until a couple of weeks ago. That was when Deanna’s other childe Celine showed up in town, not that I knew it. So I was at Victoria’s hotel, giving her an interview in exchange for information about Deanna. On my way out, I got hit with a taser, thanks to Celine, who I guess eavesdropped on the whole thing.”

Rhiannon’s fingers turned the glass ashtray in circles. “It was a strong blast. I dunno how strong, I’m not really big on wattage and knowing what that shit means, but I was out for a while. Maybe a couple of hours? When I woke up, they had me chained up in a warehouse. They, meaning Deanna and Celine. I was there for a few days, and you know vampires.” She cocked her head and smiled, not bothering to validate the whole theory that some might be ‘different’.

“Long story short,” Rhiannon went on, “Somebody put a bug in Victoria’s ear. She swept in to rescue me, and everything was coming up roses until Celine interrupted. This is where it gets a little fuzzy.” The Slayer waved at her head. “I mean, I wasn’t 100% with it, but the way I remember it, Celine went after Victoria first. I staked her—Celine, that is, and Victoria freaked out. You know, all, ‘Run! Deanna’ll know! Protect Mallory!’ I guess she figured Deanna would blame her. Victoria takes something of Deanna’s… Deanna returns the favor?”

She shrugged.

Mallory had dutifully fallen silent when Rhiannon got prickly, giving the other woman her emotional space. She hadn't intended to start playing nursemaid. Folding her hands together on the tabletop, she looked down at her fingers and weighed the odds of everything. Victoria had mentioned friction with Celine when they'd spoken before. It looked like that had come to a head, so to speak. Would Deanna try to even the score out of spite?

Anything was possible. Her eyes were not completely closed about the dangers vampires posed. "Do you think she's right?" she asked the Slayer. Antagonism or not, it sounded as if Rhiannon was fairly well acquainted with Deanna and her methods. It might be a good idea to get her opinion.

"Would it be better to stay put where I am, or is it safe to go home?"

Rhiannon chewed on it for a minute and rubbed her thumb on the beer mug. Technically, she knew Deanna more closely than most of her human acquaintances in the area, and she didn’t hesitate to form guesses about their motives. But generally speaking, lives weren’t on the line when she did so. If she were to give Mallory a piece of bad advice now, it could be devastating.

“Okay,” she ventured. “I’m going to give you my opinion, but take it with a grain of salt, okay? Victoria’s known her sire a lot longer, and if she thinks there’s danger, there’s probably some merit to it. Or she could be panicking… and that’s what I think it is.”

Rhiannon took a final drag of her cigarette and stubbed it out. “I think it’d be different if Victoria turned you,” she elaborated. “Childe for childe. But she didn’t. So, no offense, I’m not sure Deanna would put you on par with Celine. I had the misfortune of finding out exactly how high that pedestal was, and it’s up there. However… I do know it’d make Victoria feel a lot better if you were tucked away someplace. And to answer your question from before… no, I haven’t heard from her. But I seriously doubt Deanna’d stake her. Blood means a lot.”

That train of thought took the brunette someplace else. She remembered back in Victoria’s room about a certain line of questioning. “She thinks of herself as an artist, creating masterpieces. So… she’s not going to ruin one. Besides, even if they are enemies now, I don’t think it’d matter. The only thing Deanna cherishes as much as a good childe is a good enemy. She’d savor it… No quick death there.” There was a touch of ice in the last phrase.

“Guess that doesn’t answer your question.” Rhiannon tapped her fingernail against the mug.

"No, actually, it kinda does."

And it was kind of a relief to know that Victoria was most likely safe. What that meant for her chances of getting out of this unscathed was anyone's guess, but partial information was better than no information at all. Mallory looked at her untouched beer, then pushed the mug aside.

"This is not how I thought our next meeting would go," she said with an embarrassed chuckle. "If I thought about it at all. The difference a couple of years can make, I guess."

Not that some things were really that different, because even back then she'd been half in love with Victoria and just hadn't realized it. "I'm glad you made it out," she said simply. No quick death, indeed.

Rhiannon let her guard down long enough to admit, “Me, too.” Now that the uncomfortable part of the conversation was done – the part involving Rhiannon getting her ass handed to her – the tension melted. She pulled her other knee up. “What’d you expect? If you don’t mind my asking.”

"I don't know," the redhead replied honestly. "THe last time I heard your name, Connor said he was going to meet you at Fang Noir to take care of the Defiler. I guess I thought if I ever saw you again, you'd be marching off to fight something, not trying to reach me to give me a warning."

She frowned a little, realizing that she hadn't seen Connor since that time she'd helped him gather up makeshift weapons for that particular fight. Maybe she should ask Julie about him. The werewolf would probably know more.

"I've been kind of out of the loop, though," she added. "Busy with other stuff, I guess."

"Stuff like vampires?" Rhiannon asked. Her expression revealed a certain curiosity, and probably that she had a strong opinion, but she didn't seem ready to jump on a soapbox. The brunette curled her fingers into her boot laces and pulled up on the toes. "It's hardly black and white, is it? Used to seem that way, at least to me." The door admitted a few more customers, apparently willing to brave the possibility of hellhounds for a drink. Rhiannon made sure Justus was taking care of it before looking back to Mallory.

Mallory's expression shifted, and she took her lower lip between her teeth for a moment before releasing it. "Something like that, yeah." The words held no rancor, and she doubted Rhiannon was the sort to pry, and yet...

"I almost lost her once." She put her elbows on the table, rested her chin on one hand. "That camp almost took her away before I even knew how important she was to me. Before I could tell her. As much as it might be easier, it isn't all black and white."

Her shoulders went up and down. She wasn't giving a speech, she was just talking from her own side of the fence.

"Don't worry. I realize I'm not your mother." Rhiannon took hold of her cigarette butt and began to crush the miniature puffs of ash in the tray. "And lectures are basically worthless. You'll do what your heart says regardless of your head, anyway. I know I do." The ash made barely audible crunching noises as she pressed on it. "Do you still patrol?" She wondered if it would bother Victoria if she did.

"Sometimes, but not nearly as often." In fact, not with any regularity at all since Boden left, the redhead realized with a start. Had it seriously been that long? She wondered where he might be now, if he'd made it to safety. The randomness of her brain amused her suddenly, and she chuckled.

"I don't know, maybe I should get back to it, but sometimes it's hard enough just getting out of the house in the morning. It's..." She waved a hand around. "I can't find the word I need right now, sorry.... No, I just...there was a...guy." Finding her beer very interesting now, with or without the intention to drink it. "Guy. Demon. A hunter. He left." She looked up at Rhiannon, rolled her eyes. "More like a paralysis of not wanting to tread over old ground, I guess."

"God. Tell me about it." Rhiannon had retrieved the book of matches, and now she turned it between her fingers. Logo side, address side, and on and on. "Except maybe I do. The fact that there's a question..." She arched a brow and wished her beer was something that came in a shot glass. But tequila had a way of making her forget manners with the demon customers. "You know, it's funny. Ask anybody, except maybe Connor, and I'm about as congenial as a cactus. Except with men. Maybe I should make friends with people I'm not tempted to have sex with. It throws a wrench in things."

"It does. When you least need it to." Mallory nodded sagely to back up the remark, thinking that she ought to give that a try, have more friends she didn't want to have sex with. The memory of her open mouth on Sonya's neck threatened to make her cheeks burn. She hoped she'd be able to make it up to the Russian, if she'd ever agree to be in the same room with her again.

"He thinks you're cool," she added. "Connor. He's got a little complex about women, I think, but maybe the no-sex thing is making it simpler for him. Guess it cuts both ways."

"He's cool, too." Rhiannon smiled a little. "Don't get me wrong, he's hot. It's just never been our vibe." She opened the matchbook and lightly bent the tips. "Maybe it's too obvious or something, we're too much alike, I dunno. But this is the first time I've been single in ages. Maybe it's good for me. I mean, there's a decided lack of emotional strife in my life. I think... there could be a connection." The wry tone suggested sarcasm.

"I guess it all depends on what kind of strife you can stand," the redhead offered, her own tone indicating agreement. "Or at least how much."

She looked towards the door when it opened, letting a few of the customers out while one straggled in. "This is the least likely place I expected to find you," she admitted. "At least you're not stuck keeping the peace, though."

"No, the spell pretty much does that for me. Dammit." Rhiannon watched the exchange of demons at the door and shrugged. "I'm not gonna lie and say I wouldn't rather be making art. Get a look at the bathroom in this place and the lie would be busted. But it's got weird hours, and I keep weird hours. Justus," she indicated the good looking man over her shoulder, "he's pretty cool about my unexpected absences. I got into it because for a while, I could talk to demons easier than people. And because I like to eavesdrop. You wouldn't believe the shit I hear in here."

Rhiannon looked down. "Why, what do you do for money?"

"Work retail in Vegas," Mallory answered with a slight eyenroll. "Thought about waitressing, decided against it. Everyday life is difficult enough without having to worry about some drunk businessman getting handsy." She gave Justus a vaguely interested look, then turned back towards Rhiannon. "And I started taking flying lessons, of all things. Can't imagine what I'll do with a pilot's license if I get one, but it's been interesting, to say the least."

After another pause, the redhead said, "I could probably stand to get back into the patrolling thing. It's kind of...difficult because of Victoria, but I was doing that before I met her. Life has a funny way of not turning out the way we think it will, I guess."

"What're you, afraid you're gonna stake one of her friends?" the Slayer asked and wiggled her eyebrows to let Mallory know she was nine-tenths kidding. Then she stretched her arms over her head and flexed her fingers. "You're right. Life doesn't. I never would've thought I'd be around this long. I keep waiting for the great big crescendo that never comes."

Rhiannon got up and picked up her beer mug. "Lately, my favorite past time is pretending I'm meant for something huge." She fanned her arms wide and let the beer slosh without caring. "It beats the scenario where I live so long, I end up wasting away in a nursing home."

She watched Mallory for a minute. "Seriously, if you wanna get back into it, you know where to find me. Maybe me and you and Connor can hit the pavement."

"Seriously?" The offer perked the redhead up a little, and she sat up straighter in the chair. It hadn't occurred to her that it could be a group thing, but it did make sense. The more hands on deck, the more ground could be covered and more trouble spots could be dealt with.

"I..." Mallory shifted in her chair, then nodded in affirmation. "Yeah, I think I'd like that. I'd probably be bringing up the rear more often than not, but I can handle a crossbow and I'm not reckless. If you guys would be willing to have me along, I'd be glad to join you."

Rhiannon smirked. "If you can handle a crossbow, you're definitely coming. I suck with those. I end up getting pissed off and just throwing the fucking crossbow." She nudged her vacant chair under the table with her knee. "See ya, Mallory."

Mallory sat back in her chair, lifting a hand in farewell as the Slayer got up from the table. "Bye, Rhiannon. I'll get in touch with Connor when this blows over some more, we'll talk about getting together."

She looked at the beer that still sat on the table, then got up herself and carried the full mug over to the bar. Life, as she had said, had a way of turning out lots different than people thought it would. But that wasn't always a bad thing.

At all.

What Are The Odds?

Wed, 12 Dec 2007 05:06:42 GMT

After more than eight years, getting hit still hurt.

Rhiannon wiped her lip.

She should've gone on a regular patrol, maybe hit a graveyard or two, and broken her body back in easily. But this whole 'vampires on wheels' thing had been bothering her for weeks. A half hour before sunset, the Slayer walked to the industrialized area where railroad tracks intersected and trains dropped cargo or picked up new cars before heading out of town. It didn't take long to find a seemingly deserted car that, her senses told her, gave shelter to a couple of vamps during the daylight hours.

Her plan was simple enough on paper. Give the metal door a tug, flood the car with sunlight, and go from there.

Sneaking up was utterly impossible. She did a tight-wire on the side of the rail car and found the handle. But as soon as she inched the door, it let out a scrape that practically turned her ears inside out. Sound amplification guaranteed that the occupants were feeling it, too. Hearing a chorus of angry snarls, Rhiannon grunted and yanked on the door as hard as she could.

At halfway, she heard the first demon explode in a cloud of dust. But then pulling got harder. Suddenly she was in a tug of war for control of the door. One of the vamps vamp got ballsy. Sunlight or not, it reached around and grabbed the Slayer's throat and pulled her inside. The door slammed shut behind her. First everything was orange, light cast by the burning vampire. Then he was dust and the car went pitch black. A fist hit her on the mouth. So much for simple on paper...

Whistler's idea, on paper, was perfect. Pound on the back door of the Chinese restaurant, flood the goon with his charm, and go from there. Faking his way into the poker game was pretty much impossible. High stakes meant high security. You needed guts. You needed a password. You needed a bankroll (which he had, courtesy of the last paycheck cashed from the Witching Hour). One out of three.

Whistler walked the tightrope when the six-foot bruiser answered the door. He stuffed a few dollars into the guy's breast pocket, hoping to impress, but the grunt from the front-line security indicated the hatted man was unwelcome. It was either brass balls or a death wish that found Whistler's foot thrust into the entrance and this his hands against the solid metal door, where he engaged in a tug of war. The scrape of metal against concrete reverberated along the alley as the Whistler versus Goliath battle rode on.

He didn't see the extra pair of hands that grabbed him by the lapels, and lifted him six inches off the ground before yanking him inside the restaurant. The door slammed shut behind him...

Rhiannon didn't know if she was bleeding or not.

Blindly, she tucked into a ball and kicked her feet. "Huh!" The left one struck dead air. The right, a soft spot in somebody's middle section. She felt the way her heel pushed in far and her toe met resistance. Gut, right below the ribcage. The darkened train car vibrated when the vamp hit the floor. She took the chance to whip to her haunches and feel for her surroundings. Trash. Empty cans. Tangled rags. She squinted and picked out the familiar glow of immortal eyes. Yellow, three pairs.

A rumble came from behind her, quiet and low so that she felt it in her chest. Make that four.

Don't think. Just move. The slayer spun and swept her leg...

His feet dangled just off the ground. Whistler suppressed the urge to swing his legs. He might connect with the private security's knees, but then what? He wasn't a fighter. Freeze him in place? Then he'd have to deal with the rest of the gambling crowd. He could feel their eyes on him. Four at the table.

Don't panic.

"Password," the guard spoke. The eyes were yellow. Whistler should've realized. Someone with that kind of strength... He pressed his hands against the vampire's chest and pushed back, hoping to dislodge himself. The move was a colossal failure.

"Uh. Rail car," the hatted man replied. He took a breath as fangs peeked out from receding lips. Damnit.

Whistler went for the vampire's shins anyway. There was a small crack and a groan of pain as the thing let go of him. Whistler turned to face the group, still deciding between fight or flight. He took a good look at the table. Cards had been dealt, but there was no money in play. The room vibrated. This wasn't just an after-hours poker game. They were playing for magicks. And not the white kind. That couldn't go unchallenged. "Deal me in..."

Rhiannon's ankle hooked around a leg. The vampire came down hard on its back, but not before bashing its head on the wall. Rhiannon didn't see the skull fragments scatter, but she did hear the crack. The vamp didn't dust, but its body was dead weight on the floor. It was now a new obstacle, two feet among the rubble to be tripped over if she wandered that way again.

There were fingers in her hair then, ripping a few out by the roots and dragging her around on the floor. "Let go!" She kicked her heels and fought like a cat. Her fingertips cut swaths down her attacker's face and neck, peeling pieces off like scabs that filled up her nailbeds. She was disoriented, no longer knowing where the door was-

There's no way out now.

- or which way she was pointing. Rhiannon felt hands on her legs, multiple pairs. Things rapidly escalated into a dirty fight, with the Slayer thrashing about, freeing one hand and lobbing a punch, or a leg and throwing a kick, only to trade off limbs and go again, like some wild animal being set upon by a gang of prey. When she saw yellow eyes leaning in for a taste, Rhiannon ripped the crucifix from around her throat and stuck it in the eye socket. Screeching and steaming, the vampire let go.

Two against one. These were better odds. Rhiannon's fist balled up tight. "My turn then..?"

There was no way out of this event. The Agent was committed; he came looking for a high-stakes game and to (hopefully) double his severance so that he could fix up his trailer before Christmas, and now he was about to engage a group of minor sorcerers looking to plump up the Magical Dexterity on their character sheets to plus five.

A hand grabbed at his ankle. Whistler looked down to see Bonzo the guard attempt to keep the half-demon from entering farther. (It helped to assign the help a name, he reasoned, should he actually survive the night and tell the story later.)

"Let him in. He can play the next hand." The oldest gentleman at the far right of the table waved for Whistler to sit. He was Asian, impeccably groomed with flowing white hair. (You shall be called Cain.) To his left was a greasy-haired, middle-aged man (Norman), and to the far side were twins (Zsa Zsa and Eva).

The Agent shook off the vampire by twisting his foot free, accidentally stepping on the guard in the process. Whistler felt his every movement being tracked, as if he were prey.

The four turned their attention back to their cards, a quick discard and pick-up by the twins, while the duo stood pat. Cain easily won with three nines. Zsa Zsa and Eva attempted to protest, claiming that he counted cards, but to no avail. The rules had been set the moment they sat down, and the ladies' magicks were forefeit. As were their lives.

Cain reshuffled the cards. Whistler swallowed. Suddenly he wasn't sure the odds were in his favor. "My turn then," he whispered. The Agent slipped off his coat and dropped his hat onto his knee. He cracked his knuckles in a display of machismo. Whistler wondered if the Powers sent him here. And if he could pull a rabbit from his hat.

He was offered the now vacant chairs left by the dead twins, but dragged over his own. "Call me superstitious," the Agent joked, "but I prefer a fresh start." Before Cain asked about magic, Whistler provided proof with a brief light show to the room. He held up his palm over the table. Crimson and ocre strands streamed from his fingertips, crawling along the digits until they combined in the center of his hand and merged. Energy burned bright as fire, before being snuffed out as he closed his hand.

The cards were dealt across the table, but he refused to pick them up. Norman cocked a greasy eyebrow. Cain took two cards, Norman one. Whistler stood pat...

The Slayer's fist pounded the face hovering above hers. He let go. Rhiannon kicked the other vampire off her legs and scrambled away in search of a wall she could follow. Outstretched and groping, her fingers sought and found the cold wall and trailed along it while her feet tripped noisily in debris. But, unwounded and with eyes better suited to the dark, the fourth was right behind her. He jumped on her back and his knees dug painfully into her ribcage. After a brief struggle, Rhiannon used her feet to climb the wall in front of her and shove off. Backwards the two tumbled and collided with the opposite side of the car. It rattled.

The door!

It slipped a bit on its track, and a narrow slit of light burst into the rectangular car. It was fiery in color, a crimson and ocre sunset. For an instant, Rhiannon could see the messy evidence of the nest in exquisite detail: the garbage, an unconscious vampire in the corner, another one steaming away while he tried to pry Jesus out of his head, and a third bearing down on her fast with a freshly broken nose. But the sunlight was snuffed out as quickly as if someone flipped a switch. Must've dipped behind the horizon.

Plan B. Who needs sunlight?

Still locked in a vampire's hold, Rhiannon threw back her skull. When it hit, a shot of adrenaline went through her. Maybe it was the head rush. It didn't really matter. Suddenly, Rhiannon was having a very good time. She jumped up and wrapped her legs around the oncoming vampire's neck. "I believe you wanted these?" she growled. Then, Crack. Just like knuckles popping. Hopping down and whirling around, she pulled out her stake. She asked the vampire in the shadows, "Ready to fold..?"

The Agent didn't know the meaning of quit.

Cain sat impassively in the corner. Norman, however. The primary rule of any fight, Whistler knew, wasn't to pay attention to your own moves, but to watch your opponent. Everyone had a tell. In a fight it was usually a telegraphed punch or sweeping kick. In poker, it was usually more subtle. Norman's came from his nose. He sniffled, retrieving a handkerchief to dab his nose. Not something he'd done during the last hand. His chances of winning faded like the setting sun.

Whistler flipped over each card in turn. He paired up eights. Cain produced trip kings. Norman, as the Agent suspected, missed his inside straight. Afterwards, His husk was carried off by the bodyguard.

Time for a new plan. "Let's make this more interesting," Whistler offered his opponent. "What say we draw one card. Winner take all."

Cain nodded, and began to shuffle. "No," the Agent stopped him. "Not with that deck." He pulled out a fresh, shrink-wrapped pack, and tossed it to the white-haired gentleman. "Unbroken seal. Even odds."

"A man after my own heart," Cain laughed. He pulled at the small yellow strip, removed the cellophane. He cracked open the pack and shook out the deck of cards. He turned over the Joker, which then winked at him. In an instant, green ethereal tendrils snaked outward from the card and wrapped themselves around the man. He struggled vainly to resist, only to be held tighter until the magicks were sucked dry...

The vampire threw a punch. Rhiannon caught it. "I didn't think so."

Her stake drove through layers of dry-rotted clothes, skin, and muscle to find his heart. Like they occasionally did, the vamp tried to grab the stake and pull it out, as if by doing so, he could take it all back. The Slayer tugged her weapon away to watch. Dust exploded outward, leaving the outline of a skeleton to disappear a split-second behind. "I'm never getting tired of that," she said.

Behind her, there were loose ends to tie up. Rhiannon went deeper into the shadows and dealt with the unconscious one first. Having a shattered skull wouldn't mean shit to a vampire, other than possibly making it a lot more dumb. Then she tracked the smell of burning flesh into the darkest corner, where a vampire cowered in agony. Rhiannon had to crouch and look hard to see it, but most of the eye socket had been eaten away by the metal cross. Steam was still rolling out.

Rhiannon propped her weapon under her chin. She slapped its hand out of the way. "Hold still." Bracing her palm against its forehead, she grabbed onto the cross with her fingers. A hard twist popped it free. The vampire sagged in relief. Rhiannon pocketed the trinket, said, "Thanks," and finished him off.

Outside, the sky was dark blue and a train whistle blew on its way out of town. Rhiannon dropped onto the edge of the rail car and let her feet dangle free. She pulled out her cigarettes and surveyed the damage. Two were broken. Three were intact. Lighting one of them, she sucked in the taste of tobacco and then studied the filter. There wasn't any red on it. Looked as if her lip hadn't bled after all. "Winner takes all," the brunette said, and peacefully smoked until her cigarette's end...

Cain expected death; it was the terms of the bet. And in an earlier time, Whistler would have granted it. But he'd been down that path twice now, and was determined to be a better man. The sorcerer cried tears of joy and loss to learn he would live, but as a shell of his former self.

Whistler reinserted the Joker into the deck, balanced the pack between fingers as he took the hat off of his knee and put it back on his head. It never got old.

He slowly exited the restaurant, holding his nose as he walked down the alley. The Agent picked out the soft pack of his Lucky Sevens, grateful for the three left. He rolled the zippo and set the tobacco stick alight. Unconsciously he touched his bottom lip.

"Winner takes all," he whispered to no one, and walked off to find a diner serving waffles.

Ludicrous Speed

Fri, 07 Dec 2007 01:34:11 GMT

At just after 9pm, Rhiannon settled on the curb at 1401 Rainbow Boulevard. She lit a cigarette. A cold snap had taken the temperature in the city from mild to cold in only a day. The concrete underneath Rhiannon's jeans reminded her of it. If she sat there too long, parts of her would go numb. So here's hoping he wasn't late. She pulled her leather coat tight and watched as her breath fogged the air.

Behind her, motors revved. The Mini Grand Prix was busy, even in the winter months. The noise from its four tracks was massive, the sounds rising and falling as the miniature cars circled each speedway. On a scale of unlikely places for Rhiannon to be, this had to rank Top 5. But the thing was, she had promised Joseph another round of gambling. She could be obvious about it and hand him a deck of cards or a pool stick. Chances were, he'd beat her.

Or she could surprise him. Besides, Rhiannon thought, tapping ash into the gutter, she could use something a little less serious. Even if she did plan to seriously kick his ass.

A car slowed down and she stiffened, thinking it might be Joseph. But the driver only rolled down his window, checked the prices on the gate, and kept going. Rhiannon rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. "Breathe," she whispered, a nervous laugh to herself. "Jesus." A weird shot of anxiety made her knees jittery. She masked it by standing up and stamping on her cigarette butt.

Joseph had been up to the early hours of the new day, mostly because he couldn't sleep to save his life these days. He hadn't been able to sleep through the night since his mother's death and the subsequent events that unfolded in New York. Sleep cost too much; he had learned it the hard way. At the memory, Joseph's fingers lifted to scrub at the scar that marred his neck, but he quickly lit a cigarette to give his hands something to do. Idle hands were the Devil's playground, after all.

It was after he hit the traffic in Vegas that Joseph realized he was a mixture of excited and nervous, adrenaline warring with anxiety. It was a strange combination. He was curious about what Rhiannon had in store for them and how she intended on winning back the money she'd lost to him over a game of cards. The girl had more tricks up her sleeve than all the magicians in Vegas put together, and it was one of the things he'd always loved about her.

Given that it was slightly cooler in Vegas these days, Joseph had opted for warmer clothing, leather jacket over the top to keep the heat in. The streets were littered with people looking for fun, women dressed in little to nothing and suffering for it. There was something to be said for practicality over aesthetic appeal; not that the men were any better.

He flicked the filter end of his cigarette and ash was scattered in the wind - leaving small trails of grey behind - as Joseph accelerated and left the wicked world of the Las Vegas nightlife behind. Tonight was about something different - about meeting Rhiannon on her terms and seeing what she had in mind.

A little after nine his car drew up in the front of a Mini Grand Prix and Joseph cocked an eyebrow, chuckling softly and lowly from deep down in his chest. He stepped out of his car, slamming the door shut and exhaling smoke in one smooth movement. "Well... this is different," he commented, raising his voice a little so Rhiannon would be able to hear him. He'd spotted her early; hadn't been able to miss her. He offered her a slow, really easy smile, like he had absolutely no troubles in the world.

"Yeah?" Rhiannon dug her fingers deep inside her pockets, where it was warm. "You know me. I'd rather die than be predictable." It was more a joke than anything to be taken seriously. Jokes were good. In the absence of liquid courage, they loosened her face into a smile, so she didn't look tense enough to snap in half. She doubted there was any alcohol sold at a race track. Damn it.

The brunette meandered to where he stood. She was dressed simply, jeans and a thermal, boots and jacket. Her hair was down, a little effort to cover the fang-shaped scar that refused to budge, no matter what cream she rubbed on it. Rhiannon knew it was only a matter of time, but where memories of Deanna were concerned, less time was better.

Don't think about that now.

Think about him. Think about life.

She pulled a pair of tickets out of her pocket and fanned them. "Did you bring my money?" Rhiannon chewed her lip and pretended to search him for wads of cash.

Joseph tilted his head to one side, a curious gaze running over Rhiannon's form. Something seemed... off. But then it had been so long since he'd seen her that he could be reading into things that weren't there. Time changed people, it always did. He took one last drag from his cigarette then dropped it to the ground, stamping it out underneath the sole of his boot. "I brought money," he assured her with a smirk. "Not yours till you win it."

He tucked his hands away in the back pocket of his jeans and rocked on his heels, wondering again if he was imagining things or Rhiannon was just that tense despite her best efforts to look relaxed and at ease. It was when his eyes caught on an unfamiliar mark, one amongst many he was sure, that the questions really jumped into the forefront of his mind.

"You doing okay?" he asked, giving her the opportunity to talk if she wanted.

"Why?" Rhiannon asking, pushing defiance again, knowing Joseph had seen through her and wanting to get back the upperhand. "You hoping I'm a little under the weather?" She smiled and elbowed him on her way by. "Maybe you'll get lucky twice?"

She got in line at the gate, tickets already purchased, but waiting to be let inside. Her fingers flexed in the hip pockets of her jeans. Light and easy. Confident. Rhiannon had decided to incorporate a little Slayer philosophy into her interactions with Joseph. If she concentrated on winning something, the rest fell away.

Joseph just snorted a little, not believing her for a second but letting it go. Sometimes you didn't need to talk, you just needed to forget and do something fun. Hell, it had been a while since he'd had fun. He trailed after her, long casual strides, a swagger that never failed to get him noticed by one or two people. "Nothing of the sort," he assured her as he settled behind her and leaned down to talk to her. "But guess we'll see when we're out on that track huh?"

"I guess we will," Rhiannon nodded. Spaces opened in front of her as the line surged forward. Instead of moving, she put on a half smile and decided to yank his chain a bit. "I'm gonna ask you a question, and you have to promise to tell the truth. Deal?" At the gate, people continued to step through.

"Alright," Joseph said with a nod of his head. "Deal." Shouldn't be that hard to tell the truth, right? You'd be surprised, really surprised.

Rhiannon looked over her shoulder. "When you speak, I can feel your breath on my neck. Do you stand so close to me on purpose?" One of her eyebrows lifted.

Now that was a question. He supposed it all came down to the fact he felt comfortable around Rhiannon, perhaps too comfortable. "Maybe," Joseph answered easily and effortlessly. "But if you want I can always stand back." He lifted an eyebrow at her, a silent challenge in the dark brown depths of his eyes.

"Maybe?" Rhiannon tsked and shook her head. "I was looking for a yes." She showed the two tickets to a gate attendant and wandered through.

Inside, the air smelled of exhaust fumes and burnt rubber. The sidewalk led off in several directions. Rhiannon took the fork that led to the largest track, where the Adult Grand Prix cars were parked. They came in primary colors, their hoods aerodynamic and long, their tires small and wideset. There were seat belts but no helmets. The track was a large oval. Two times around won the race.

Rhiannon relinquished the tickets to gain access to the track and waited by the starting line with its cluster of cars for someone to give them instructions. She cut her eyes at Joseph. "What's the wager?"

Joseph leaned back with a laugh and trailed after her, turning his head and looking around. He smirked a little at the sight of a young couple racing each other on the track and doing their damndest to drive the other off into the barriers, small nudges here and there. He lifted a ringed thumb and brushed it over his lip, in thought. "How about the money I won off you the other night and a night out in Vegas?" Joseph tipped his head to look at Rhiannon. "Loser pays for all the drinks."

Rhiannon gave a dramatic reaction. "Ha...ohhhh! You sure you want to feed my addiction?" She didn't pay any mind to the uniformed guy who came up, keys in hand, and looked at them expectantly. Down the straightaway, the pair of cars crossed the finish line. "I'd hate for you to break the bank, and I don't even have a buzz yet."

She lifted a leg over the side of her vehicle, a royal blue car with a white racing stripe. The employee cleared his throat; apparently he would wait for the end of their exchange before starting the instructions.

Joseph watched Rhiannon with a glint of amusement in his eye before meandering over to the pitch black vehicle that was settled up alongside hers. He eased into it and then turned his head, giving the employee a break as it seemed like his head might explode at any given second. "The floor's all yours."

And so he launched into a speech about how to operate the vehicle, though anyone with a driver's license or a brain could've figured out the gas and brake pedals. From there, he talked about general safety instructions and discouraged them from doing anything completely stupid, such as cutting across the infield or attempting a head-on collision with another race car. He pointed out the start and finish lines, and reminded them of their two-lap limit on each ticket.

Rhiannon nodded along, shooting raised eyebrows at Joseph when the instructor's back was turned. Then it was time to start their engines. She turned the key and gave the pedal a light tap. In response, the tiny motor gave a satisfying purr. The Slayer edged up to the starting line, but not without a verbal jab over her shoulder. "You're going down, Tropiano."

Vroom...vroom...

Joseph could have sworn the kid could make easy listening CDs, he was that dull. He had to blink on occasion, just to wake himself up again. It was only when the speech came to an end and Rhiannon tossed that remark over her shoulder that Joseph's attention got drawn back to the task at hand. As she edged towards the starting line he did much the same, letting it slide into easy place alongside hers. "If you say anything about burning rubber, I'm gonna have to take away your cool points." He threw her a smile and then as they were given the go he accelerated away.

"You--!" Rhiannon jammed the gas pedal to the floor and the little car surged. It paced Joseph's back bumper, as if she were drafting him down a NASCAR straightaway. As they were making their first turn, she cut the wheel hard left, overtaking Joseph on his driver's side. Her face was the picture of grim determination. Her bumper passed his and she jumped into the lead. Once she was past him, Rhiannon seemed to take a load off. She threw her head back and laughed, yelling like a castoff from Thunder Road.

With dark hair whipping behind her, Rhiannon held up her middle finger and floored the gas pedal again.

Joseph lifted an eyebrow at that and muttered something under his breath before just chuckling, pressing the gas pedal as low as it could go, and racing to catch Rhiannon. He managed, somehow. He swept past her in a blur, turning his head a little to throw a smirk at her over his shoulder. Yeah, it was just Go-Karting but it didn't matter. There was something so liberating about having the wind in your hair.

At being passed again, Rhiannon's adrenaline kicked into high gear. This was for bragging rights. "Nooo!" she yelled, pounding her hand on the dashboard and tailing Joseph closely. Her competitive nature made her foot stick to the floor like glue. She topped out the engine so that it screamed. She was inches from his bumper on the end of the first lap. Cold air rushed past her face, turning Rhiannon's skin pink and making her hair sting her cheeks. "It's not over!" she shouted over the whine of machinery and the wind rushing past their ears.

At the first turn, she knew he'd have to let off the gas...

Rhiannon didn't. Her bumper tapped his hard, and both their tires fishtailed around the curve. It was against the rules, a fact Rhiannon was reminded of over the loudspeakers as soon as she engaged in it. "Get out of my way!" She laughed and steered into the skid, which kept the race car from spinning out.

"Hey!" Joseph shouted good-naturedly over the sounds of the machines, easing his car into the turn and the subsequent skid. Hopefully if he did it just right he could come out of it okay. He didn't much feel like frantic spinning today. Adrenaline had kicked in a while back, around the same time they'd taken to the track, and Joseph just fed off it.

His wheels screeched across the ground as he applied pressure to the wheel and it wasn't long until he'd left skid marks. Oh, they were totally going to bring him up on that when they finished their laps. Shucks.

Down the back straightaway they went, Rhiannon having captured the lead with the violent attack on Joseph's bumper. She figured it wasn't cheating if they never set any rules. The smell of burning tires was acrid on the air. On the sidelines, where others waited their turns, a small audience had gathered and added their cheers to the noise. It drowned out the warnings over the loudspeaker.

Despite the old saying to never look back, Rhiannon couldn't help it. She darted a glance over her shoulder, just to see where Joseph's car was. As a result, she went wide into the final turn, leaving the lower portion of the track wide open, and soon they were two abreast. "Shit, shit, shit!" She accelerated fast out of the turn. They were in a deadlock heading for the finish line.

Rhiannon didn't give the car any mercy. She laid on the gas pedal and steered closer to Joseph's car, hoping to intimidate him into running off the track.

Joseph wasn't intimidated. If anything he leaned in, steering closer to Rhiannon. His car nudged hers and caused a small bump between the two cars and, sure enough, he got shouted at for it over the speakers. Joseph simply laughed it off and returned both hands to the wheel, riding out the remainder of the track.

Merciless and unwavering.

Unfortunately for Joseph, there happened to be an oil slick on the track and he didn't see it until it was too late. His wheels caught on it and he swore a little as his car just spun out of control, effectively taking him out of the race.

The black car was too close to Rhiannon's. The back end careened into the blue one, putting her in a slide as well, only her slide took her across the finish line. So what if she was going sideways when she crossed it? Rhiannon skidded to a stop amid a cloud of acrid smoke and pumped her fist in the air. "Yes! Ha ha!"

She unbuckled, scrambled over the side of her vehicle, and took off running for Joseph's. "Thank God you lost!" The brunette bent down and grabbed the still-seated Joseph in a hug. "I can use the money to pay for the gigantic dent I put in your car." She squeezed his shoulders and laughed again, out of breath.

Joseph laughed at Rhiannon's comments, reaching up with one hand to return the hug as best he could. "Sounds like a plan." He was a little short of breath but he felt good, even if he had lost. He reached down and unbuckled his seatbelt before getting to his feet, spotting the employee that had given them safety instructions giving them the evil eye.

"I don't think our safety instructor's too thrilled with us," he shared with a smirk.

Rhiannon combed back her hair and noticed the audience for the first time. The next group to race was eyeing the track with newfound inspiration. There was a hum of excitement in the air. "That's because he's got his work cut out for him," she said, pointing. She laughed again and looked at Joseph, cheeks red and eyes shining more than they had in a long time.

She stuck out her hand. "Good race."

Joseph was glad to see colour back in Rhiannon's face and shine in her eyes, it had been a while since he'd seen that last. He took her hand with a smile. "Yeah. Good race." He squeezed her hand, rough skin to rough skin, before letting go. "Let's make a speedy getaway before he comes over and lectures us on what we didn't do right."

She rubbed her lips together and surveyed the scratch on the black car. "You uh... you think we can get away without paying for this?" she mumbled, barely moving her lips. When it seemed as if the instructor was more concerned about delivering explicit instructions to the next round of racers, Rhiannon figured that was their opening. She slipped through the gate as if on a covert mission and headed for the parking lot, hands crammed deep in her pockets.

"So," she said when they were out of earshot. "I believe you owe me winnings." Still backing towards the parking lot, Rhiannon lifted her palm in the air. She waggled her fingertips suggestively. "Unless you want to save it for the night on Vegas. I could be into getting seriously wasted."

Joseph said nothing, simply followed. He glanced over his shoulder but only once, then turned back to Rhiannon as she demanded payment.

"Hmmm..." he mused thoughtfully, out loud. "I think I'll save it for the night on Vegas. With your consitution, you're gonna need a helluva lot of alcohol to get as wasted as you're thinking about." He rummaged in his pockets and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, sliding one between his lips and lighting it a second later.

Rhiannon walked the gravel lot to his car and climbed on the hood. It was still warm. "And when would that be?" she asked, sliding back and letting her boots dangle over the grill. Uncertainty made it hard for her to ask. She just wasn't sure of things when it came to Joseph. How to act, what to say, whether to keep the edge of flirtation out of their conversations. She hadn't meant to put it there; it just came of its own volition. It was more obvious the night they played cards together. Maybe he considered it an accident, too. Or maybe it was just the way they interacted, and no matter if they were just friends or not, it always would be.

Old habits died hard.

Joseph trailed after her, nothing but slow casualness in his every stride; like he had all the time in the world.

He turned on his heel and rested back onto the car beside her, legs stretched out in front of him and ankles crossed. "It's your night out, you tell me." A beat later and he was offering her a smile. "I've got something I need to do this coming weekend but my week is looking pretty clear."

He flicked ash aside then lifted the cigarette to his lips, doing his best to keep the conversation as casual and relaxed as he could. There was always this electricity with Rhiannon, it was difficult to ignore and deny, but he figured it just happened and he wasn't about to analyze it.

"Well..." Rhiannon tugged her sleeves down far, until only the longest fingertips peeked out. "I can call you?" She looked over to see if that idea was kosher. "I mean, there's one kind-of important thing going on. Someone I promised to help. But I don't know when yet." Or how. She studied her handiwork with the sleeves and then shoved them back into place. Or maybe it was better to go ahead and claim a day. She didn't expect him to leave all five free, in case she happened to pick up the phone.

Joseph nodded his head, glancing over at her briefly before looking away. "Alright. Well, you call me and I'll clear the day." He exhaled smoke and rotated the ring on his thumb. "Only thing I'm doing at the moment is helping a friend out with her wayward kid."

Rhiannon watched his fingers turn the silver jewelry. She smiled. "And I'm teaming up with the devil's mistress to knock off his new wife. I'd beg you to trade, but somehow I bet what you're doing is more complicated than babysitting." Rather than keeping him hostage, the brunette pushed herself off the hood of Joseph's car and folded her arms. "I should let you go."

She could've kicked herself for the word choice.

Joseph's eyebrows lifted at her revelation. "It's never boring with you." He watched her as she moved, figuring it didn't hurt if he admired movement.

At her word choice he blew out smoke and dropped his cigarette to the ground, pushing himself to his feet and crushing the cigarette butt under the heel of his boot. "Yeah, guess I'd better do the same with you." He lifted his head and looked at her. "You take care, alright? And it was good to see you smile like you didn't have a care in the world again."

Joseph stepped in and kissed her cheek before leaning back and giving her a smile. "I'll talk to you soon." He rummaged out his keys and went around to his car, unlocking the driver side and sliding in behind the wheel.

There he goes again.

Just like every other regular departure, only she had gained some clarity recently. He could drive off to look after a kid, get shot for his efforts, and never come back. She could get distracted with her cell, walk into a hotel stairwell, and nearly get killed for it.

After a pair of seconds that felt like time stopped, Rhiannon grabbed his car door and held it open. "Hey, be careful, okay?" She squatted beside the car and balanced on the balls of her feet. "I never know, with you." There was a crazy moment when she let herself touch his jawline. "And I meant to say, I'm glad you're back."

Joseph turned his head and he gave a small sincere smile at her comments, but the touch to his jaw? Now, that was a surprise.

"I'm glad to be back," he assured her. He took a deep breath and leaned down, just giving a hug. "You be careful, especially with that thing you've got going on." He drew back and looked at her for one really long really serious moment. "And if you ever want to talk about what's going on with you and your life you have my number."

Yeah, he might have let her forget and have some fun at the go-karting, but that didn't mean he'd been fooled for a second.

Rhiannon nodded and got up. "Yeah, I will." In her mind, instructions to protect herself slid a veil into place. She fished out her keys and waved goodbye. "See you." And she was off and striding for her car at double-time.

Sat, 01 Dec 2007 20:25:20 GMT

Though she’d never been inside, and though it was structurally quite different from the parishes of her childhood, Rhiannon found that St. Joan of Arc neglected none of the sensory triggers that made it familiar.

The front doors were heavy and dark. She pulled them open and the silence within the empty cathedral made her footfalls to echo, no matter how carefully she stepped. The heady scents of incense and candles remained on the air, hours after the sticks had been burned. Tall windows let the afternoon sun bathe the altar in a kaleidoscope of multicolored light.

The Catholic church was ever the same. She guessed that it was intentional, an effort to seem as eternal as the holy spirit that it celebrated.

Rhiannon dipped her fingers into the holy water and made a sign of the cross, a remnant of baptismal rites performed long before she was a Slayer and faith became complicated. At the pew’s end, she knelt automatically and then slipped inside. Her shins sank onto the kneeler.

It was almost possible to believe she still belonged here.

‘You better hope to god you kill me.’

‘God has nothing to do with this. He's forsaken you.’

As a little girl, Rhiannon looked forward to attending church with her grandmother. She liked dressing up for it in her thick skirt and tights. She liked the ceremony of it, the organs booming melodies beautiful and frightening, and how the procession of people up the center aisle seemed like a solemn parade. She liked slipping her grandmother’s folded money onto the collections plate. She liked communion, too, especially feeling that she came back to her pew a bit more loved by God.

What did God think of the woman she had become? Fornicator, killer, blasphemer, yeah she’d long trampled over those ‘thou shalt nots‘. Oddly they weren’t what weighed heaviest on her mind. It was consorting with the devil.

She didn’t kid herself. It went hand-in-hand with making a pact to help Elfleda instead of hurt her. The trouble was, she didn’t know what else to do, how else to keep things from getting any worse. If it staved off apocalypse, wasn’t it worth forking over her soul, even when more and more often, apocalypse seemed inevitable?

Rhiannon bowed her head and laced her fingers together.

“Holy Michael, the Archangel… defend us in battle.
Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
May God rebuke him, we humbly pray;
and do you, O Prince of the heavenly host, by the power of God
Cast into hell Satan and all evil spirits who wander through the world
Seeking the ruin of souls.”

Rhiannon pressed her forehead onto her gathered hands, opting to speak to God instead.

“Tell me what I ought to do.
Make me strong again.
Make me your instrument.”

She raised her head.

Who was she kidding? A Slayer wasn’t an extension of God. She was a tool of selfish men, wicked men that conjured up a demon and let it have its way with a girl. A girl like her. No wonder sin was so fucking easy. The devil was so much closer, so much more part of her than God.

But the simple truth was, there was no place else for Rhiannon to put her faith. For once, she wanted to put it in someone other than herself. She closed her eyes.

“I promise to be submissive in everything that you ask of me,
And accept all that you permit to happen to me.
Only show me what is Your will and give me the grace to do it…
Amen.”

Rhiannon waited, head bowed, for an answer to come to her. Her head rang with responses to her questions. Some were loud and some were quiet, and none seemed to have come from God more than the others, but only one seemed like the way.

As for her soul, whatever would be, would be.

Wed, 28 Nov 2007 17:15:20 GMT

“Hey, gambler… If you feel lucky, meet me Saturday night at 9 o’clock at 1401 Rainbow Boulevard. You can bring the money I let you borrow. Of course, if you’d rather quit while you’re ahead, I understand. Some people can’t handle losing. Bye.”

Kindred

Mon, 26 Nov 2007 02:59:32 GMT

'And lo, Elfleda’s light became snatched and taken from all mortal grasp. The Beastly Leviathan, it did prosper and called to midst it was. Elfleda’s virgin heart seduced.'

Rhiannon’s fingers hooked behind the mottled page but didn’t turn it. She read the passage over again and wondered if the living Elfleda had wanted to be taken, if she had succumbed to corruption and gone willingly, or if it had been the horrific separation from home and family that the words made it seem. She thought it would be ironic if the latter were true. The Elfleda that Rhiannon knew cared little for the feelings of other beings, though she did prefer persuasion over force. The Slayer supposed it made for a greater victory.

She closed her index finger in the book and looked at the wall. It wouldn’t be long before Elfleda came for her. So far, no one had returned her calls about Atia. It was just as well. Her body wasn’t yet healed and her mind was a mess. Just how she was meant to help restore Elfleda to power, effectively cutting Atia out of the picture, she wasn’t sure. There was no guarantee it would work.

Rhiannon set the book aside.

There was a warm glow in the apartment. The night before, she had gotten bored and wasted, too. So much for temperance. With a bottle in her hand, Rhiannon climbed on a kitchen chair and strung holiday lights from tiny nails in the brick mortar. They were haphazardly done, but something about acknowledging the season appealed to her. It stuck a middle finger up at her circumstances.

Now she stared at an orange bulb and thought about cigarettes.

Relieved. A whole new definition of the word 'relieved', actually. Connor had gotten Rhiannon's text message while on the bus, and he felt so much better about everything that he didn't even mind the six blocks he had to walk from the place he exited the vehicle. The sun was down now, but not even the shadows disturbed him as he walked. His shoes made hollow sounds on the metal staircase as he climbed to the Slayer's porch, and a pack of cigarettes protruded from his shirt pocket.

His knuckles made sharp contact with the door, and he realized that knowing she was alive and not in a dumpster somewhere made him want to yell at her. She'd worried him, damn it, and worry wasn't something he acclimated to easily. The Destroyer's spine stiffened against the slight bite in the night air, and he jammed his hands into his pockets while he waited.

Don't yell. She's okay, that's what you wanted, remember? Stop being a loser.

"I even brought you some smokes." Like he'd brought her an offering as thanks. "I'll have one with you." The heel of his hand struck the door with a bang, echoing past him down the stairs. "Come on, okay?"

Rhiannon’s head snapped. “Ow.” She rubbed her neck and looked at the door locks. They were firmly in place. Whoever knocked on a door like that couldn’t be thrilled to see her, but they hadn‘t tried the knob. She got up and went to answer it in her bare feet.

“Hold on.” She twisted the deadbolts and unlatched the chain. When the door came open, a rush of cold air washed over her toes. She crossed her arms for warmth. “Connor?” He was the first friend that she’d seen since getting home. He looked worried-- hair in his eyes, a crease in his forehead. “Hey. You okay?”

He felt like an idiot, and he had to turn away from her and look towards the parking lot as he composed his face into a less tight-mouthed expression. He was wearing a blue thermal shirt, and he plucked at the slightly frayed hem of it as he concentrated on the way the passing traffic looked. One breath. Another. A third. Better? Maybe.

"I tried to call," he said in a mutter, turning back to face her. Forcing the eye contact despite feeling like he might cry. God, he was such a loser. "A few times. I figured you'd just lost your phone or something."

Pause. Yet another breath, his chest so tight it would barely allow the oxygen to pass by. "I'm sorry, can I come in?" He plucked the cigarettes out of his pocket and held them out to her in the palm of his hand.

"I feel like the world’s youngest stalker out here.”

Rhiannon chewed her lip. She took the cigarettes and noticed the label, that he knew her brand. Under pressure she’d smoke almost anything, but she did have a preference and he knew it was Marlboro Lights. She tightened her hand and listened to the soft crinkle of foil.

He’d been worried. Despite her certainty in those chains that nobody would realize she was missing for weeks, Connor had figured out that something was wrong. Rhiannon said, “Don’t. I think you’re the only person that noticed. That’s my fault, though.”

She let him come in and when he was, she said, “Don’t get offended,” and put her arms around him in a hug. “I’m sorry, it’s weird, just go with it.” The brunette put her cheek on his shoulder. The pack of cigarettes crunched against his shoulder blade.

Over Rhiannon's shoulder, Connor's face scrunched, the way a little kid's would scrunch when they'd scraped their knee, and he put one arm around her. "Shut up, okay?" he said very quietly. "Just...I'll tell you when it's weird."

He could breathe again, the invisible band around his chest loosening and then falling away. He could feel that she'd been hurt somehow, but they could get to that in a minute. Her solidity was like a blanket with hands. He was just so glad she hadn't disappeared.

"Okay." Shy now, the Destroyer stepped back a little, his hands dropping to his sides. "You're in one piece, that's all I wanted to know. What happened?”

Rhiannon gave him the space they both needed. She slapped the pack against her palm and went to the couch with slow steps. “Long story. I’ve got a tip for you, though. Super strength doesn’t do much to protect you from a Taser blast.” She sat down on the couch arm and buried her feet beneath a cushion.

She peeled the foil off her cigarette pack and took one out. It was at that point that she remembered she needed a lighter. Leaning around, the Slayer searched through a pile of papers on the end table. Hopefully one was hiding underneath.

“I was doing an interview I promised someone last year. It was a dumb idea, but… in exchange for answering a vampire’s questions about being a Slayer, she promised to tell me whatever I wanted to know about her sire. Whom I hate.”

Annoyed at not finding anything, Rhiannon looked around the room and spotted a lighter on the television. She pointed, since Connor was still standing. “Would you hand me that? Anyway… I was on my way out, and Deanna’s other… ‘siree’,” she hooked her fingers in the air, “Hit me with phasers on stun. I woke up chained in some shit hole. Fill in the blanks.”

"Cheating bastards." Connor picked up the lighter and lobbed it in Rhiannon's direction before taking a seat of his own, perching on the edge of the chair's seat as though he might need to spring up at any moment to pace. "Nice to know it takes a dozen of them to catch you off guard." Not that you could really expect honor out of a vampire, he supposed, but really. Tasering? God save them all if the vamps decided to take to technology instead of good old-fashioned brawling.

"I'm guessing the older one decided to get in as many free shots as possible?" The Destroyer grimaced, knowing how helpless he would have felt to find himself in that situation. Helpless and angry.

There was an empty soda can on the table next to him, and he picked it up out of needing something to do with his hands. The aluminum crinkled between his palms as he toyed with it, and he watched the logo appear and then disappear as he asked, "How did you fight your way out?"

“Free shots all around,” Rhiannon said, flipping the lighter and letting the heat burn her cigarette. “I got in a few,” she said and puffed once. “Sorry, I had to at least bring it up.” Rhiannon arched her eyebrows at herself. “Lest I never escape the stigma.”

A coke can worked for an ashtray, since the other was by the sink. “Brace yourself for complications. I didn’t actually fight my way out. Victoria, who’s the vamp I did the interview for, actually found me and undid the locks. She’s a little irregular, didn’t want to break her word about neither of us taking advantage of the interview. So… Victoria unlocked me, only we got interrupted by Celine, the other childe of Deanna, my enemy, and I took her head off.”

She cut her eyes at Connor. “It’s a twisted saga. It gets even more complicated. Elfleda told Victoria where I was, in exchange for me promising to help her de-throne Leviathan‘s new Bride… Atia, who she promises is much more into flagrant fouls.”

Connor's blue eyes cut in Rhiannon's direction as if she'd just kicked him, and his mouth opened. "Elf--" Then he clamped his lips shut, his teeth clacking together audibly. The can made a louder sound as he crunched it between his hands without realizing it, and he only relaxed his grip when a sharp metallic edge bit into his index finger.

"Deanna's childe let you out?" he said instead, because he couldn't start with the other thing. Vampires might not be honorable, but at least their unpredictability was more... predictable. But hadn't they just played a big part in Elfleda apparently getting booted off of her throne? And now the foul wench wanted their help? Yeah, that was going to turn out well.

"All right, I can buy that, I guess. I'm not sure what 'irregular' means, but you're here and not there, so." He put the can aside carefully, as if he hadn't just mashed it nearly flat without much effort. "I'm not too sure about the other thing, though. Who's Atia? I got your text before, but it didn't make much sense. What info is there on... her?"

Rhiannon spread her hands wide and a wisp of smoke followed. “None yet, other than what Elfleda tells me, which… skewed? Maybe. Probably.” She took a drag and dug her feet deeper into the couch. “Which is why I texted you and Corbett and Whistler, to double-check. So far, you’re the only one who’s gotten back to me. Not that I’m stunned.”

A cone of ash dangled precariously from her cigarette. Rhiannon tapped it and said, “According to Elfleda, this other Bride has moved into her territory. We can say what we want about Elfleda, but we both know she could’ve killed most of us by now if she wasn’t following some sort of… I dunno, like a code or a balance. She’d much rather persuade people to do evil than get her own hands dirty. The way she describes Atia, it‘s the other way around. She’s a ladder-climber. No playing by the rules. No bothering to be discrete.”

The Slayer thought about it. “It kinda reminds me of how they say The First acted, right before we were all called. Very… you know, fuck the rules, it’s on, apocalypse right now. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather play with the devil I know than the devil I don’t. Assuming she‘s real.”

Connor was rubbing his fingers back and forth across his mouth, which had tightened down into another grim line as he listened. It sounded almost plausible, despite the serious potential for sour grapes on Elfleda's part. If 'daddy' had decided he didn't love her anymore because she was a screw-up and put this other whatever-she-was in place instead, he could see where she might feel a little bitchy about that. "If she's real," he agreed. His gangly frame unfolded itself from its sitting position, and he moved purposelessly towards the door.

"I haven't noticed anything out of the ordinary," he said slowly, turning to face the brunette where she sat on the couch. "I mean, vampires, yeah, but there's always some idiot fledge running around somewhere. Then again, if the guard has changed, this might just be the lull before the storm hits. A waiting period while this Atia gets her shit together."

This was one time when Connor wished he knew more book stuff, something useful other than how to use his fists. Ah well, he'd done pretty well so far, even without the books. Improv was his friend. He paced back across the room, rested one hand on the back of his recently-vacated chair.

"Before, when I was in Los Angeles," he said, looking down at the piece of furniture instead of at Rhiannon, "I thought the world was coming to an end. Everything's an apocalypse, right? But if Elfleda's right...big if...this one won't start with a message of peace and world harmony. It'll be more of the eating people, let me rip your guts out variety." He raised his head, pushing brown hair out of his eyes to lock gazes with the Slayer.

"What do you think? I don't trust her, but I... I trust you." Hard words to say for someone who'd been burned so many times. "What does your gut say? Think it’s for real?"

Rhiannon leveled him a gaze. “She’s never lied to me.”

The cigarette in her fingers burned low, but she kept steady eyes on Connor, her friend and kindred. “And I promise, I wouldn’t throw everybody else over just to get out of chains. I made a deal with her, yeah, but if I find out it‘s bullshit, I won’t help her. I’ll take the fall.”

She put the cigarette in the can. Smoke curled out of it until moisture quenched the embers. “Thanks for worrying, by the way. It means I’ve done right by somebody.”

Embarrassed again, Connor shrugged, but he kept the eye contact despite his fidgeting. "It's hard to do right by people sometimes," he told Rhiannon. "It's even harder to get them to appreciate it sometimes."

He waited, studying his own thoughts in silence, then said, "I'll back you, you know that, whatever you decide. Whichever one of them you want to go up against. I'll bug Corbett by phone if I can, maybe prod that new guy in the area too, see what he might know. A fresh brain could possibly do us some good." Better, after all, if he left it to the Slayer to speak with Whistler. Easier, anyway.

The Destroyer put his hands into his pockets, took them out again only a few seconds later, looked at his callused palms. "Do you owe this other vamp a favor? The one who turned you loose? Is there anything I can do?"

Rhiannon shook her head. "We're free and clear. And if Deanna comes looking to settle the score for Celine? That's all me." She wedged her thumb beneath the soda tab and popped it off. "Let me know if you get anywhere with Corbett and..," she blanked on the name for a second, "...Logan. I'll let you know if I run into Whistler." Rhiannon wet her lips. "Apparently he's not big on calling me back these days."

He said nothing in response to that, reminding himself for about the forty millionth time that it was none of his business. "I'm supposed to go meet somebody," he told the Slayer, indicating the world outside of the apartment. "But I'll be back in Searchlight in a couple of days, and as soon as I know anything I'll be in touch."

The Destroyer fell silent, choosing his next words with a bit of care. To suggest that Rhiannon should take good care of herself might come off as him saying she was weak, and he didn't want to ever do anything to insult her. But he could tell that she was still more than a little worse for wear, and so he sacked up and met her eyes across the distance between them. Respecting her.

"Watch your back, okay? This time it might not require a Taser. I know you're good, but..." He let the words trail off into silence, then waved his hand as if to erase them from existence. "She's probably gonna be pretty pissed if she ever gets you alone again."

"Yeah?" Rhiannon's expression hardened. "So will I."

For a brief moment, her face wore evidence of what she felt whenever Rhiannon thought about Deanna. So the sire lost her childe. But what had they done to Rhiannon?

Fury was the only word that began to cover it.

She rubbed her eyebrow and breathed easier. "Don't worry. I won't go off half-cocked until it's time." She pulled her feet out of the couch and moved to the door, knowing he had places to be. "Thanks for the cigarettes. Talk to you soon?"

"Yeah. I'll be around." Connor nodded, meeting Rhiannon's gaze with the understanding of what she hadn't said. The fucking vampire had gotten what she deserved, anyway. Never underestimate somebody like Rhiannon.

At the door, he paused for just a second too long before leaning down and darting a quick kiss at the Slayer's cheek. "Take care." And then he was gone before it got weird, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he tromped back down the stairs and to the parking lot. Not even daring to look back out of wanting to avoid any possible death glare.

Rhiannon blinked. He was halfway down the stairs before she cracked a grin. For a guy nicknamed 'The Destroyer', he had one hell of a complex about women.

Life

Wed, 21 Nov 2007 05:59:10 GMT

Home doesn’t know I was gone.
The cat does. Her feeder’s long empty,
A single, soggy piece floating in the water bowl.
I got in my car and drove here with shaking knees.
Back in the hospital, they gave me fluids, insisted I stay
Overnight.
It wasn’t going to happen.
I had to get here.
It’s weird how I wanted to be alone again
When that’s all I’ve been for days.
There’s just a difference, and anyway
Who could I talk to?
Who would understand this?
Kris, maybe, but she’s gone.
The shower hurts.
Water pressure beats against bruises and cracked bones,
Half-healed.
Med tape leaves outlines that stick to the skin.
I tried to pull it up with my fingernails.
Here’s the problem.
I thought I was going to die.
It’s not like I’d admit it. Out loud, whatever.
But I did think it.
I’ll never be able to explain how much I hate her for it,
More now than ever.
Water washes the dirt and sweat and blood away.
Time makes the scars fade, just little pieces of a patchwork.
But I will never forget that she made me second-guess.
Pride is the cherished thing.
I tell myself,
She had to cheat to do it.
That’s true.
She’ll never beat me in a fair fight.
But she saw me cower, not because I was afraid of her,
But because I didn’t want to die.
I curled up and protected my life.
The smart thing, yeah,
But I would’ve rather stared it down, stone-faced.
You know they say in slaying that the first rule is to stay alive,
Run, if you’re outnumbered.
Get help.
Go back with guns blazing.
But curl up in chains, cover your head, and think what I was thinking?
I never think I’m going to lose.
You let that in, you’re fucked.
Game over.
Doubt is poisonous, insecurity they can smell.
Maybe I’m fooling myself.
Maybe all of us have a moment like that but we never admit it.
I’m not talking about the College Girls, the Shopping Girls, the Weekend Girls,
The Party Tricksters.
“Look what I can do with my super strength.”
I’m talking about grit and guts and glory girls.
We don’t want to say it.
We don’t want to think it.
“This thing I signed on for,
I know I said I’d die for it.
But please not yet.
Don’t do this now.
I’m not quite done with life.”

Tue, 20 Nov 2007 23:29:10 GMT

Text Message for Connor and Corbett:

“Elfleda de-throned. New Bride in town. ATIA. Research. Don’t engage.”

Tue, 20 Nov 2007 23:25:36 GMT

Text Message for Whistler

“ 1- Thank god 4 hotel Lost n Found. Cell phone = good. 2- Need your brain. All u know about ATIA.”

Directory Assistance

Tue, 20 Nov 2007 15:04:57 GMT

"Hello, Mallory? This is Rhiannon Lee. Sorry about the weird phone number, I'm calling from a hospital line. Look, I need you to do me a favor. Actually, it's for Victoria. There's been... there's been a misunderstanding. Hard to explain but it's a big deal, so you need to take this seriously. Anyway, Victoria thinks Deanna might want to get even with her and she's worried about you. Wherever you work, call in sick for a few days. Get yourself a hotel room under a different name or go to a friend's house, somewhere Deanna doesn't know about. Just... stay low until Victoria tells you different, okay? I'm sorry, you can't call me back on this line, and my cell phone's probably in a dumpster somewhere. I'll give you another call when I'm out of here, but go now. Bye."

Visiting the Condemned

Sat, 17 Nov 2007 04:13:15 GMT

http://www.greatestjournal.com/community/free_form/1248557.html

The Lowest Blow

Wed, 14 Nov 2007 03:08:21 GMT

Three days went by, to the best of Rhiannon’s knowledge. The warehouse was pitch black at night, allowing her to see no farther than her hands, if she put her face up to them. But in the morning, light poured through cracks around the boarded windows, and as the sun shifted across in the sky, that light crawled the length of the room. All the way to the bodies in the corner.

She was grateful it wasn’t the dead of summer. Even so, flies found a way inside. They buzzed near her ears and landed on the lacerations on her arms and legs. It seemed pointless to keep shaking them off, but Rhiannon couldn’t stand the sensation of their tiny legs and wings.

She was cold half the day. She was hungry and thirsty all of it. The Slayer wished for a lot of things. At the top of her list were shackle keys, water, plumbing, deep sleep, and to rewind time and send that text to Whistler.

Deanna came around often. Each time they traded taunts. At first it culminated in physical violence, but the last time, there was only the one thing, the worst thing. A bite. It was inevitable that she’d do it and bleed the Slayer half-dry. It was just as likely that Rhiannon, in her limited range of movement ,would fight it so hard she hurt herself in the process. The metal brackets around her wrists and ankles rubbed her skin away. She suspected that one of her thumbs was broken from trying to slip the metal over her hand.

Rhiannon took what pride she could out of getting a small shot off at the vampire. She had managed to pry a piece of floorboard up and she stuck it into Deanna after her fangs made contact. It didn’t hit the heart. She didn’t actually know what it hit. Probably the shoulder. All she knew was that she woke up later, presumably after passing out, and Deanna had gone.

Now there were footsteps again, two pairs of feet in high heels.

Rhiannon pulled herself up. “How’s the splinter?”

[Thread: Open to Deanna and Celine]