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Thank you, come again [open]
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(public)(01.03.08)
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For someone who was truly a creature of the darkness, employment that kept her up and about all night and free to hide away during the day was basically a match made in metaphorical heaven. Even before becoming one of the undead, Mandy had been one of those prone to not get off the party wagon even after establishments that catered to such activities began closing. Working at them simply meant that now had an extra inside on knowing exactly where closed when, who could hook her up where, and who she needed to smile and wink at to get wherever the party was. It also meant a lot of carousing at times and places that would no doubt just as soon not see her patronage. Like all night convenience stores. Many a trip had been made for between stop supplies, munchies, and other various paraphernalia of the random kind that stocked the shelves of 7-11 and such places. One of which she was now breezing into, just behind two coworkers who made the rest of her traveling group for the night that was now getting to the point of edging toward morning.
For this particular trip she was just along for the ride, having no need of munchies or anything else. Somewhere between the end of her shift at Velvet and here she'd happened upon a lone person who partied a little too hard and been unfortunate enough to be forgotten by their own companions. Thanks to them, the hunger that had been creeping up on her at work was now long forgotten and she was feeling mighty fine thanks to whatever altered state they'd been in when she'd found them. A pair of those fashionable, oversized sunglasses perched on her face, just as conspicuous and attention grabbing as you might suspect them to be worn indoors at night. Not to mention the fact that she was still in her work clothes. Which were usually pretty much indiscernible from her party clothes and often did double duty as such. She was efficient like that when it came to being ready for whatever a night might bring.
Instead of idly waiting for her pals to get their stuff, a mini bag of bugles was palmed, then opened. The contents of said bag were now being flipped paper football style over the aisle in an attempt to hit the person she spotted on the other side in the corner mirror. Hehhehhehehehehehhe. Hey, she was totally gonna pay for them.
[Open!]
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It doesn't sound the same, when no one's really listening;
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(public)(12.20.07)
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The little figures on the screen twilled and danced, singing their animated hearts out. He watched the interactions as though it was the first time seeing the story and song, instead of actually knowing every moment of this movie by heart. The child in him liked The Nightmare Before Christmas, the adult in him found it funny in a ‘dark’ sense and the lion… well, the lion in him agreed with the child and the adult. Thales expression remained stony however, lips not even curling at the appearance of the Easter Bunny. The young werelion was not in the best of moods, and it showed on his face, on the way he sat slumped in his chair, dark shirt riding up as he sunk ever lower so that the collar brushed up against his ears.
Normally, Christmas was his favourite holiday of the year. It even beat the celebration of his own birthday – although Thales adored that day too – because almost everything he loved about the world was wrapped up into one celebration. He even enjoyed what seemed like a three month run up to the day, shops stuffed with chocolates and Christmas gifts, streets strung out with festive lights. Free food, free presents, free time with his family and friends; there was no downside to the annual celebration.
Except when the full moon conspired against him to appear during Christmas Eve.
With a grumpy little sigh, Thales balanced his phone on its side and started to spin the object, bored beyond belief. The movie was failing to catch his interest and more than that, he could feel the creeping passage of time signalling the approach of ‘his’ quarter of the moon. Thales didn’t want to have to spend his favourite time of the year stressed out, sleep deprived, and worse so the fact that he was going to have to meant that a pout now appeared on his face, Thales indulging in a little self-pity and feeling very sorry for himself.
[Open]
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mama, we're all crazy now.
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(public)(12.19.07)
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Matt's parents liked to keep up with him, check in on him from time to time. If he didn't call every few days or so, which he generally didn't because he had a brain like a sieve when it came to family, they would call him; if he didn't return their calls, their messages would get increasingly worried. After two weeks those messages would be frantic, sounding vaguely like people who might be about to call the police. It had been charming for a while, knowing that they cared about him enough to worry, but these days it was just a little annoying. Matt hadn't called home in nine days, and the messages his parents had been leaving - he kept forgetting to take his cell phone with him, it was a series of honest mistakes - made it sound like they thought he might be dead in a gutter somewhere, just waiting for his spot on the evening news. Given that he was nineteen years old, living on his own, doing a pretty good impression of an adult - well, it was a little embarrassing to have six voicemails from his mother, fretting over his wellbeing and calling him 'Matty'.
He was standing in line at a coffee shop, mentally repeating the order he'd promised to pick up for Martin, when the phone rang, and he answered it without thinking. Of course it was his mother. Who else would it be? He'd just gotten close to the front of the line, maybe two minutes away from placing his order, but she was not to be brushed off that easily - Mrs. King had been ignored for over a week, and it was going to stop right now. And Matt just wasn't the type of asshole who could order while on the phone, making the poor cashier repeat everything twice and generally being a nuisance, so he had to forfeit his place in line in order to spend the next ten minutes - in a public place - reassuring his mother that everything was just fine and she had nothing to worry about. He loved his mother, he really did, but by the end of the conversation he pretty much wanted to die. The details of their talk weren't really worth going into, a lot of "I'm sorry, Mom" and "no, I promise, I'll call sooner next time," but the upshot of it all was that what should have been a really quick food run turned into something rather more epic. By the time he'd made his way back, Martin could have been forgiven for thinking he'd wandered off somewhere.
But he had not wandered off - he was back, bearing hot cocoa, lacking a free hand to open the door with. After a somewhat despairing glance from full hand to full hand, Matt gave up on the idea of letting himself in and settled for balancing on one foot and kicking at the door with the other. Somebody let him in!
(Martin!)
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The enemy of my enemy gave me this bullet. [narrative]
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(public)(12.17.07)
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Some nights in Los Angeles were business nights for Vincent, and some nights were business nights. As shadow CEO and founder of a very self-reliant production company, Vincent left the paperwork to his lackeys, but there were vital aspects of his projects that he liked to control personally. And then there was politics. Similarly, he disdained to walk the intrigues of the night creatures like any other vampire, avoiding the regular scenes of gossip in favor of the classier venues where the stakes were always higher. He chose to keep his responsibilities virtually nonexistent. As an Electus, no one could really demand otherwise if that was how he wanted to remain. Some nights he drank while looking over slim manila dossiers compiled by his secretary, and other evenings he roamed selectively through the crowds of night walkers, picking through the trash in search of gems. Business.
This was a gem that Vincent had been holding for weeks now, however. From the very first murder, his attention had been caught: not because murder was unusual, but because any inconvenience to the Castitas was a little like early Christmas presents to Vincent. He probably would have missed the second murder for lack of interest over an Electus beheading had the media not been so eager to leap upon the next link of the serial killing chain. But the third death had made the whole thing that much more bizarre, entirely more interesting. Business did not often link werecreatures and vampire clans in any lasting ways. Trades done here, money or services exchanged there -- that usually amounted to the extent of their contact, with a healthy amount of caution and dislike keeping the distance sizable. To this unknown enemy, however, there was more than enough connection to warrant sending such a strong message to the supernaturals of Los Angeles: be afraid.
Vincent was hardly nervous, though. An enterprising human with a grudge against the unknown, vampire or werecreature gone wild, out-of-control spirits, whatever form the murderer would take, he was frankly unconcerned. Much more interesting was the current state of affairs in the Castitas council. He'd kept his finger on the Morozov pulse after the death of one of their men, listening as always to hear the whispered ripples of their actions, watching to see the effects. Surely he had smirked to hear the Davenport's reaction, struggling to maintain face in the wake of this disaster. He took pleasure in the upheaval. The intended purpose of the killer aside, this was excellent.
The least he could do was send Johanna a gift of his regard. He paid a werecreature to do it, some insignificant messenger, bearing the silk-ribboned package to the Davenport home. Inside he'd encased a fine old wine bottle filled with viscous blood and sealed with wax. His note read: To Johanna; for when you're too helpless to hunt your own, again. Always thinking of you, Vincent.
After all, a vampire never liked to be reminded of their mistakes. And that was what Vincent loved most.
He decided that he was just getting started.
[narrative]
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i'll wander down where the winds sigh
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(public)(12.10.07)
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December in L.A. was, thankfully, more tolerable than it tended to be in other parts of the country. No snow, for one thing. No fretting over ice storms or inclimate weather and, while it was chillier than usual, one could still peruse the beach without being miserable. Jeans, a t-shirt, and a jean jacket were enough for Charlotte Pederson as she made her way along the shoreline, sneakers and socks in one hand. A shrug of her shoulder jostled to rucksack at her shoulder, readjusting it. The breeze was an easy one, only gusting up occasionally with enough force to toss her mass of curly hair about her head for a moment before settling it down gently. She did, eventually, pull it all back with a small-ish clip as she reached her destination.
Hidden from the main body of the beach, the little cove was quiet, save for the low thunder of water on the shore. Here the wind was more excitable, racing about more frequently and carrying the sharp scent of the ocean with it. Charlotte grinned as she found herself a comfortable spot of sand and set down her small backpack. From within the tote, she retrieved a small blanket and a brown paper bag. The blanket was whipped open and settled down upon the sand before Charlotte all but flopped herself down with a sigh. Ages ago (or what seemed like ages ago) she could remember being toted to the beach by her parents every week -- twice or three times a week, if they had the time. Despite the frequency of those visits, Charlotte still found herself enjoying whatever time she was able to spend at the beach. The ocean view never got old and its calming effects were occasionally a nice reprieve from the excitement and adrenaline that usually ruled her life.
So it was that Charlotte let herself recline back on her elbows. She retrieved the fresh peach from its brown sack and, after absentmindedly rubbing the skin off it against the cotton of her tee-shirt, bit into the ripe fruit. It was warm and sweet, quite juicy, too, and with a childish smile, she continued to munch away as she enjoyed the sights and sounds of the ocean before her.
[OPEN]
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the world lives for the weekend.
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(public)(12.03.07)
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Preliminary meetings with would-be clients were often even worse than spending hours at a time around the spoilt, stupidly-rich, often overweight bastards — or bitches, to be fair — but they were an unfortunately crucial part of the line of work he had chosen. It hadn’t taken him long, in the beginning, to figure out that clientele wouldn’t associate with any type of hired muscle unless they met them face-to-face first, if only to assess just how useful their intended bodyguard could be, and to size them up, literally and figuratively. Adrian used many of those meetings to show those potential customers that he most definitely did not work for free, and he didn’t come cheap; he did a damn good job, and he expected to be paid for it, and paid well, at that. But every once in a blue moon, the meetings went better than his somewhat cynical expectations led him to believe they were going to. This one had been just such an exception; Nancy Collins, a far too successful businesswoman visiting from New York, had heard of the werewolf guardian-for-hire through the grapevine one way or another, and it just so happened that she didn’t have her head up her own ass. Not too far, at least; she’d promised Adrian a very generous sum of money to ensure her safety on a business endeavour — with a hint of personal thrown in, or so she’d implied — on Wednesday, and as usual, he hadn’t asked questions about what she was doing or why. He’d sealed the deal with a respectable handshake — she’d had a firm grip for a slim woman almost a whole foot shorter than him, he remembered — and seen himself out.
Unfortunately for his stomach, the meeting had run longer than intended, by almost an hour in fact, and as a result he’d missed lunch, but the silver lining of course was that in doing so, he had missed the lunchtime rush that usually slammed certain higher-quality establishments when people had their breaks from work or if they had their midday meal around, well, midday. Adrian was never really one for tradition, so eating late didn’t truly bother him, the thought not even really crossing his mind in that manner as he killed the engine to his Jeep and climbed out, swinging the door shut easily behind him and locking it via the key fob without even glancing back, his other hand moving up to remove his sunglasses. It wasn’t the warmest day in Los Angeles, but it was still bright and he’d still been driving, and it was more habit than anything, when weather permitted such tendencies. He carried them, and his keys, in his hands as he strode across the parking lot, his senses keeping him alerted to any incoming vehicles or pedestrians who might cross his path without watching where they were going.
After lunch, he had absolutely nothing scheduled, which made a nice change, especially on a Sunday. As it was, he’d been loath to get out of bed before ten, given he was normally inclined to lie-in, generously, on this day, but if he wanted to keep his reputation, he had to sacrifice the little pleasures. But after he’d eaten, he could just do whatever he pleased, and that was definitely good enough for him. Maybe later he’d head to Velvet and see if there was anything going on there, but he had his priorities straight. Food first, fun later.
( SHERRY )
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Watchful and protecting
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(public)(11.29.07)
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Having a quiet house could be just as therapeutic as it could be unsettling. Most of the time now for Gwen it was the former, but tonight it was a little bit of both. Both of 'her boys'- the one who was her son biologically and the one who might as well be- were both out and about, no doubt barely missing getting into trouble of some kind as was sometimes the norm for them. Thankfully they never got themselves into anything they couldn't get out of, she'd taught both of them more than well enough that wasn't a worry. Yet, from time to time it still was. It wasn't as if Gwen doubted the job she'd done raising her own cub, or Thales after his parents died, but facing that worry was part of being a mother. And every now and then it was something she went through spurts of having to face on a level that edged into making her overbearing. Unfortunately Gwen hadn't been doing so well with that lately and found herself firmly footed inside that territory instead of just edging into its borders. ( Her fingers had barely circled around the phone, fully poised to pick it up and dial a certain young werelion's cell phone when a bit of sage advice met her ears. )
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fear is how i fall, confusing what is real.
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(public)(11.28.07)
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((backdated to halloween))
Ever since Connell had moved into the house it had been the same on this night, over the last year or so; old, cheesy movies — or new, cheesy movies, in all fairness — and far too much candy that he would either use to fuel some nonsensical, reckless prank or regret eating. More to the point, Kal would regret letting the younger wolf eat so much, since he was essentially his guardian as well as his guide in many things, and was often left to clean up whatever random mess was left behind his ‘charge’. It wasn’t that he minded, but experience, one would think, should have taught the Alpha not to let Connell gorge himself on all manner of sweets and sugar-laced products, but the simple, perhaps even shameful truth was that he never had the heart to say no when it came to something so simple.
Kal had closed the door to his bedroom, settled himself on the bed in the quiet that his corner of the house allowed, and fully intended to get through a good chunk of the book he had been reading for about a week now, off and on. A somewhat trademark drink had been set on the nightstand where the lamp was illuminated, and he hadn’t planned on leaving the room or pausing his endeavour without good cause. He was on the last page of a chapter when it happened, coming over him suddenly and without warning. Already leaned back against the headboard as he had been, he hadn’t gone far, just slumped back heavily, book falling soundlessly to the mattress to his side as everything tangible around him seemed to fall and fade away.
( In reality only a minute or two passed by. )
( CONNELL )
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If you knew all the answers and could give it to the masses, would you do it? [open]
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(public)(11.17.07)
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True to the announcement made on the most informal of places earlier in the week--a website, a Myspace, some posters slapped on light poles and disused billboards--the Hollywood Bowl has been filled this Friday night with a bustle of frantic, seemingly random activity. The back sections of the seating have been roped off and instead littered with activists and their booths, perched tenuously on the edges of the benches and leaning on their tables with clasped hands and bright eyes, hoping against hope that some of the music-lovers in attendance might just wander by close enough to have a flyer and a cause shoved under their nose. Most of them are environmental in nature, but there's no shortage of people with political agendas in attendance either, and even a table with the seemingly pre-requisite 'Free Tibet' flag draped over is front, as if placed for the sole purpose of validating the concert as a real rock concert. Someone else begs with equal fervor for the citizens of Los Angeles to give a damn about the citizens of Darfur. It's all standard fare.
In the center of the blocked-off seats are the promised refreshments, although they're nothing spectacular--no alcohol, and only the basic ballpark fare of hotdogs, burgers, chips and sodas, snacks and candies--they're food after a sort, even if they, unlike the concert, cost money. Protesters and musicians may be able to do what they do for free, but food vendors have an overhead far too high to be handing hotdogs out for free. The entire area has been lit by floodlights that ring the seating area and string lanterns that have been strung down the aisles. The Bowl itself, of course, boasts its own stage lighting, but in the case of the few local opening bands, it's almost swallowed by the ambient light provided to allow the attendees to circulate through the stands.
That all changes when nine o'clock rolls around.
The might be doing it for free, but Anomaly is used to doing things a certain way, and they haven't let the fact that they're not getting paid stop them. The floodlights die completely and the lanterns dim so far they're practically off anyway, when the stage goes dark. The darkness stretches for a few minutes before the growl of an electric guitar cuts in, and then the stage lights flare to light around the main act. There's enough fans in attendance to make the area near the stage a crowded press of people, but further back by the stands there's still some room. The set itself will last for just under two hours, and be packed every minute with the wild, almost feral energy that has nearly become the band's trademark.
[ open to everyone! feel free to mingle during any part of the event, or even generalize what's going on on the stage when it isn't Martin's band there. ]
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on that starry night lost my sense of time
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(public)(11.17.07)
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The music was far too loud. It almost covered the shouts and hollers from around the packed club, pounding relentlessly through her body and battling for supremacy against her own heartbeat. Sweat, alcohol, smoke, and sex made up the majority of the scents, so much so that the air was almost hazy with it. The strobe lights sent violent beams to shatter through the darkness at random intervals and on any other night, she wouldn't have been caught dead in a place like this; Hollywood wasn't exactly her scene, per say.
But right now? It was exactly what Bennie needed.
She was in the crush of people writhing suggestively on the dancefloor. Like most everyone around her, she was looking to be another anonymous body; wanting and eager. Outside, the moon rode low in the sky, not a crescent, but definitely not full, either. The First Quarter always put the female wolf at her best and her worst, all at once. her senses sharpened, her strength increased, and she felt nigh-invincible. It also ground her temper down to a knife's edge; changed her. Gone was the level-headed female. What was left was Bennie at her most 'animalistic'. She was more free, more wanton, and as much as that could be considered appealing, she didn't always appreciate the lapse in control and rational thought.
Granted, control was the last thing on the female's mind, at the moment. Having cleared herself a small circle of space with a few pointed glares and growls, she moved to the loud music, letting it fill her as the wolf rolled just below the surface.
[OPEN]
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burned by the flame;
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(public)(11.12.07)
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Velvet did not open during the daylight hours. Unlike man of the strip joints in LA, it was strictly and 'after dark' place of business. Well. One kind of business anyway. Vespa had other things on her plate after all, so during the day she conducted other matters of business from the bar. Dressed in a black suit that was damned conservative for the provocateur, despite the plunging neckline of the jacket -she wore no shirt- and fishnet stocking beneath the tasteful flared pants, the blonde moved around the bar flicking on various lights around the place.
On the agenda for today was a meeting she was looking forwards to. Gwendolyn was stopping by, someone that Vespa respected a great deal. She might not have been a pack were herself, the genus of her wereform after all made that distinction for her, but she respected power and intelligence. The she-lion had both in spades. Heading the pride like she did? Very impressive. Not all her meets got the weretigeress into a suit after all, but today she would make that special effort for things to go smoothly. It wasn't like she was meeting Thales. Or Christopher. Then, she imagined, she might have dressed quite differently.
Mixing a drink for herself, she mulled over the news she had been reading. The spin the papers were putting on the murders. Sex, death and intrigue were not new to the city, but something about these murders lacked the reek of tabloid fodder. It was replaced by a distinct odour of danger. Maybe she was overreacting, but Vespa Valentine trusted her gut for a reason...
[GWENDOLYN]
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and I closed my eyes as we disappeared into the groove
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(public)(11.03.07)
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It wasn't as though Johnny went looking for trouble. Well, no, that's a blatant lie. Some days, he did, he really did. Trouble was fun. Especially other people's trouble - he liked to think he could help them out of it, though really, in the end, whatever he did usually amounted to jack crap.
The sort of trouble that'd started cropping up lately, though, was totally not his cup of tea. Vampires and weres all being left out dead in public? Yeah, that skeeved him a lot. It reminded him of how the hits used to go, back home in Chicago - the message was loud and clear. The only problem was, the messenger wasn't. Until the weres started showing up dead, Johnny had guessed that maybe it was a pack of some sort, but really, what pack would be stupid enough to leave them out in the open, where everyone could see? Why not in some private place, where only the bloodsuckers would know?
Now things seemed to be pointing toward humans, which was ... well, both disconcerting and typical. If they kept leaving everything out in the open like this, eventually someone was going to figure it out, come find them, and kick their asses. Because really, did humans actually think they were smarter? Pssssht. Silly things. Johnny supposed that was why they were so fun to play with - they thought they knew everything, and it was always such a laugh when you proved them wrong with some little twist of fate or a wrong turn.
Either way, though, he knew it wasn't his lot to sort everything out. All he knew was that for a while, he hadn't been able to enjoy a nice flick at Graumann's because it had been closed off to the cops. So he'd just gone to the little indie houses, instead, and so it wasn't really an inconvenience at all. Somebody else's problem. Life as usual. It was a damn shame about Matthew, though. He'd been to the pastor's church once or twice to help out, even to stay for a night when he'd first gotten to LA. Johnny couldn't help but wonder who - if anyone - would take his place. Those shoes were definitely too big for him to fill, though. Too much responsibility. He didn't want to be held sway by anyone.
As such, he walked through the door of the little casino in Encino, not as if he owned it, but maybe just as if he was a tenant. He'd never been to that particular dive before, but he knew the atmosphere well from his Vegas days, and from the crap and poker games in Chicago, before that. It was really a lot like the underground community - friendly and good-natured on the surface, but underneath it all, there was a sort of determination that could turn dark in a hurry if things went the wrong way. He loved it. Going up to the counter, he traded in a few bills for some chips and rolls of change, filled his pockets, and made a lazy lap around the casino, trying to decide what to do first. Feed the slot machines, maybe pass his luck along? Roulette? Poker? He supposed he'd do whatever caught his fancy.
(narrative or open!)
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And the dead start to walk in their masquerade;
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(public)(11.01.07)
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Hanging around a school, even if it was a High School and thus filled with people only six or seven years younger than him, was not the sort of place most people would have expected to find to Thales, not if they simply knew him by his name, race or the odd stories about him that filtered through the supernatural world. There weren’t as many stories about the male lion as he would no doubt have liked with his own value and worth greatly increased in his own mind.
Thales was a creature of habit when it came to places he liked to spend his time and as surprising as it might seem, the peaceful view the High School had was one of those place. He tried to come up to it once a week or so whenever Chris was busy and there wasn’t the urge to try and show off. Thales wasn’t stupid enough to think that his friend didn’t know exactly where he went and what he did during the times they weren’t joined at the hip – Thales at the least made a point to keep tabs on most of the pride mostly to easy any lingering worry he might have about their safety. Secrets just didn’t happen in a group like they had, not really. Still, he treasured the false promise of having something that only he knew and cared about, even if part of him knew it was exactly that – false.
San Fernando High School wasn’t a bad campus though, if you ignored all the teenage humans – and teenage supernatural creatures – wandering about, mostly oblivious to anything that happened outside their own small little lives. All concerned with who liked who, if they could get the place they wanted on the team and mindlessly gossiping about the current big thing in the city, never knowing anything. Sometimes, just thinking about it made Thales sick.
It was still early as he leaned against the thick bark of the tree he had settled under, back against the school so he could look out at the green and take deep breaths, enjoying the air and trying his best not to think about the third murder. If Thales was the superstitious type he would have thought the conversation he had held with Mia after the second death had somehow jinxed them.
Absently, he reached into the pocket of his black leather jacket, fingers closing around the Zippo ‘lighter’ that went everywhere with him and pulling it out. Thales turned it over and over, simply to give his fingers something to do while he watched the world turn.
[Open]
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plot narrative;;closed
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(public)(11.01.07)
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Now, now it is a pattern. Three times, mutilated corpses left in high-profile areas of the city. Three times, the media has jumped on the story, and twice they backed off again almost immediately. Not so, this time. Now, the whole city is ablaze with the stories of the serial killer who is obviously terrorizing the city, theorists and criminal psychologists trying to make logical similarities between the three victims. So far, they've come up empty-handed, and the police are still refusing to release any sort of information on who they might be blaming for the killings, enduring more and more accusations that they simply don't know. That may be the truth of the matter.
The victim this time was a well-loved behemoth of a man named Matthew Verny, the pastor of a small Church of Christ which was nestled between Venice and Culver City. He'd been the pastor for years, and adored in the community for his charity work. Already there are vigils and memorials gathering on the sidewalk near where he was found, flowers choking the pathways.
He had also been well-known in the shifter community as a Californian Brown Bear shifter and a safe haven for the new and the disliked for years. A machine of claws and killing when he was in his warform, Matthew's graphic death is not only a surprise but a resounding blow to the power and the security of the occasionally vaguely unified werecreatures of Los Angeles. If they can take Matthew, they can take anyone.
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It was a graveyard SMASH. (Open to pack members)
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(public)(10.31.07)
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Halloween was so cool.
Connell, being still relatively new to most holidays, having only really understood them in the last year or so, couldn't hold back his excitement pertaining to most of them. This was primarily due to the fact that holidays, as he understood them, involved gorging oneself on food of all kinds, and he liked that. A lot.
The first time that he'd gone trick-or-treating hadn't gone so well. He'd been with some of the pack, of course, but kept forgetting to actually say 'trick-or-treat', and had just grabbed the bowls of candy from the adults and tried to leave with them. It was just easier now to buy him the pre-mixed bags of candies, and Connell didn't seem to mind skipping out on the legwork of getting it. Halloween was about the candy, the way that Thanksgiving was about the turkey, and Christmas was about...well, about meat AND candy, really, which made it his favorite holiday by far. It also had something to do with dead people and everyone being afraid of them, and of humans picking up knives and killing other humans, and then sometimes just crazy creatures in general. Connell didn't really find it very scary, which made him feel sort of like he was missing out on some essential human experience. He didn't really like that because he liked his human, and he thought it was a really fun animal to be half of. But the being scared of movies thing just didn't really happen. He tended to just find them funny. And he liked the gore too, that was a bonus.
Which was why this was pretty much the perfect night for him, right now. He'd eaten about a pound and a half of mini candy bars (the plastic of which was littered around him) and was still going strong, while he watched a marathon of horror movies on TV. It was especially excellent at the moment, because it was a werewolf movie that was being shown. Werewolf movies had to be pretty much the greatest thing ever created, although they confused him somewhat too. Originally he'd thought they meant that humans knew about them, and saw the films more as documentaries than anything else. Now that he understood they were 'fiction', it made them all the more hilarious. Like check out how that guy was shifting! Wtf!
Halloween, seriously, was so cool.
(Open to anyone in the pack)
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this is the last time i'll abandon you... (open)
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(public)(10.24.07)
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Click click. Click click. Click click.
There were quite a few advantages that came with being unaffected, more or less, by sunlight: one of them, the most obvious perhaps, was the ability to walk around in broad daylight. That alone did a lot to mask his true nature from even people sensitive to the supernatural, because what kind of vampire--except the very, very old, which he was not, particularly--could pull off something like that? The blindness, too; it was rare for vampires, especially Castitas, to suffer from loss of the senses. However, the blindness also made it more difficult to live in a world that was designed for the sight-abled, and even with his supernatural sense of hearing and smell, he couldn't quite get around on his own without the aid of a white, red-tipped cane, clicking the ground in front of him and warning him against any big cracks or unexpected hurdles.
Click click. Click click. Click click.
( and i won't hold you back, let your anger grow. )
So while he waited for Dimitri to call on him for help, as he was sure he would, and while he waited on Vlad, poor little Vlad, to make something useful of himself, he was minding his own Goddamn business. He was still working, for one thing, and given that he couldn't drive, and Vlad was on a little mini-vacation until he got his shit together, public transportation was all there was. Hence his click-clicking down the sidewalk, a good couple of blocks from his apartment. Getting around the city wasn't particularly difficult, but there were some obstacles he couldn't overcome himself.
Like the fact that this bus stop sign did not have captions in Braille. With a sigh he scooted over into the shade of the bus stop, folding up his cane and tucking it under his arm as he sniffed. Someone was already here; he might as well ask, although he was pretty sure of where he was. How unconvenient, he really should complain to the city.
"Excuse," he said, in that particularly thick accent. "What line is this?"
(open)
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she will kiss you till your lips bleed;
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(public)(10.18.07)
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Not happy. Two words that when used in conjunction summed up Vespa's mood to an absolute tee at present. Every morning she read the papers, every morning she kept an eye out for stories that could be important, beneath all the unadulterated bullshit pumped into them by the journalists who often it seemed -in her opinion at least- were painfully ignorant when it came to what was really going on in LA. Which of course was a good thing for the supernatural community in reality, but didn't mean she was about to curb her animosity. So she knew about the first murder. Terrible business, she had though with a shake of her head, whoever that little memo was for was obviously in the shit. The business made that much more terrible now by the second body turning up in Santa Monica. Sitting on the peer, happy as Larry. If Larry got a kick out of being headless that was.
Vespa snorted derisively, turning green eyes towards the peer. Standing a good half a mile away down the beach, she could see it clearly, standing out against the sky which was turning and increasingly pinkish orange as sunset drew in. What was going on? The police denied serial, but it was pretty fucking obvious that people didn't just random had their heads lopped off in downtown LA and set out like freakish Halloween decorations a few weeks to early. It didn't sit right. Not the deeds themselves necessarily, Ves' knew that if it came to it she'd be willing to make heads roll, pun completely intended, for the right reasons. Not knowing the reasons, or the statement of these two 'unrelated' murders pissed her off though. It was way too public for her not to be curious and as she squinted at the hulking silhouette of the pier she tried to conjure scenarios in her mind that could make sense.
Sick as it was, Velvet would probably be throbbing with business tonight, not that she was complaining, when the money was coming in she was never complaining almost never complaining, and it would be no exception tonight. Still, the weretiger could not help shake the curiosity, even though she knew it would probably have to go unsated for the time being; there was no sense dragging herself or her club into it. Sighing to herself and shaking her head, Vespa scooped up her purse and shoved her hand in, searching for her cigarettes and a lighter. Maybe nicotine would help fire up her synapses.
(OPEN)
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Taking everything in my stride, don’t need reason; [Mia]
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(public)(10.18.07)
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There was nothing wrong with the pride’s territory, Thales loved San Fernando, loved every street and proudly did his part to help protect it when the need came. But it didn’t have the sea front and there were times when he needed to see the sea, to remind himself of how large the world really was and the way the blue blanket stretched out as far as the eye could see. There were untold wonders out there, places Thales knew he would never get to see outside movies and books and the docks were the closest he was ever going to get to that.
Santa Monica was one of his more favoured spots, and normally the young man would head out to look at the water before or after a visit to Velvet depending on how the mood struck him. Today however he had more pressing matters to attend to that visiting the club and he had passed the entrance without so much as a glance towards it. There had been another death, another vampire and while Thales was personally relieved that it wasn’t anything truly important like a lion, glad that someone was dealing with the bloodsuckers, he had to admit that the murders were starting to worry the pride at large. After two deaths they should have known something and it tugged at him how little they knew. Lack of knowledge was dangerous and they couldn’t continue in that line, Thales slipping into the docks of the area.
He ducked down low behind the boxes, atomically avoiding the security camera until he was around the corner. Just because he had nothing to do with the murder didn’t mean he wanted some over enthusiastic cop to notice he was skulking around at night and start asking questions. Gwen would be less than impressed and it hadn’t taken him long growing up to realise that the female lion was one of the scariest sights in the world when she got angry and anyway, he would never forgive himself if he got the pride into trouble like that. Thales glanced over to the left, further down the sea line to the distant pier that was still closed off to the public, yellow police tape fluttering in the breeze. There was no need to go closer, not yet anyway.
Thales wanted to see whatever those responsible saw in the place, what made them decide it was the right place to leave the ‘message’. Outside Hollywood he could understand, that was a way to grab attention but the pier was less obvious. He bent to the ground, hand grasping a smooth stone before standing up again and leaning on the railing that provided some measure of protection. Shaking his head, he expertly threw the stone, watching as it skipped across the smooth sea.
[Mia]
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and tell me - is it makin' you bleed (open to Ryan)
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(public)(10.18.07)
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[mood] -  apathetic
[music] - Lo Fidelity Allstars :: Battleflag
The night kickboxing classes had been surprisingly popular. The college board always assumed that it was a case of those with night classes, or busy work schedules, as people of all different ages had shown up for them. But after the first few months or so, Tia had realized differently. There were regulars who came that were quicker, a bit more fluid, a bit stronger in their movements. A lot stronger. Sure, there were still students that would come, clumsy ones who bumbled through things. Every now and then one would bow out because he or she felt intimidated, underclassed. Tia always told them to try the day classes.
Mind you, there may have been other reasons some of them stopped showing up, but as long as they weren't ever the girls from her dorm, the petite blonde never really had any problem with it. And Tia never really cared to stay, to get to know the others who came to her classes - the ones like her. She figured it was more bother than she could handle - especially if some of them were like Devon, the prick. So, on most nights, while everyone else was cooling down, talking amongst themselves, she packed up and headed for the weights and ellipticals for a set or two before doing her own cool-downs.
Tonight, though, the small talk caught her ear. Something about "a boy" by their standards, dead, the second one. ... And Tia realized they were talking about the same murder her girls had been gossiping about when she'd shown up at dinner to shoot the breeze. So both of those people had been vampires?
She shrugged it off, picked up her duffel bag, and checked to make sure she still had the Powerade bottle full of blood in the side pocket. After all that, she was going to have an appetite, once she'd cooled down. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she headed for the weight room, and looked over the ellipticals. One of the other gym attendants was wiping them down with the antiseptic spray, and Tia wrinkled her nose. She'd have to wait a while for them to dry - nothing more gross than sticky aerobic equipment. Setting down her bag, she padded over to one of the weight mats and flopped down to do a few more idle stretches, looking around at the few other people left in the gym. It was better than standing around, anyway.
(Ryyyyaaannn.)
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i wrote the gospel on giving up
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(public)(10.18.07)
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"Baby? Baby, come on, be nice."
There was a growling rumble, then nothing. A slender, glove-clad hand lightly carressed the custom steering wheel before twisting the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered indignantly and Agatha Benson swore under her breath. Hope briefly flashed over her features when the '67 Shelby decided to start up. Bennie acted quickly, pushing the car into drive and tearing -- cautiously -- from her apartment's parking garage. Her poor car had been out of sorts (more so than usual) for days now, and unfortunately, Bennie was not a liscensed mechanic. There was only so much could be done by her hands. But, if the engine could hold out 'til she reached the garage, her mood would improve considerably.
Naturally, that was the moment when the car decided to start whining. The driver could feel it beginning to slowly deccelerate. Despite the fact that Bennie couldn't remember a time when the car hadn't been tempermental, Bennie still tried to talk the vehicle through it.
"No, honey, don't you start with me," she growled. The clank-sputter-whine grew louder; Bennie's eyes widened fearfully. "Nononono -- start! Please, please start!"
She flipped gears quickly, which seemed to do the trick. Driving well under the speed limit, the dark-haired female still attempted to reach her destination before her beloved vehicle decided to quite altogether, and fortunately, she made it the the driveway of the mechanic's garage just as the engine died with an irritable whine. Bennie groaned, partly relieved and partly dreading the tune-up to come, and dropped her head onto the steering wheel.
"Always gotta give me trouble, baby girl..." she muttered to the car.
(KAL)
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