Walk This Way

[valerie_vause]

After class Valerie had taken a shower, then spent the next twenty minutes changing her outfit over and over again. The first had been a pair of black pants and a dark hoody. The blonde had looked at herself in the mirror and sighed. “Hi Brian, I’ll be stealing your wallet tonight.” She’d changed quickly into a skirt with a low cut top to match and decided she looked more like a call girl than anything else. That got removed for a dress that stopped just above her knees, and Valerie had to remind herself that they were hanging out, not planning to attend the theater. The blonde stood with her head against the wall in dismay for a few minutes, and contemplated calling to say that she was sick. Well, it wasn’t far off, she felt nervous enough.

Eventually she had left in a pair of dark jeans that flared at the bottom. Perfect to wear with boots, which meant a slim though sturdy stake could be slid inside, point down. With it concealed out of sight she didn’t have to bother with a bag and she found a nice fitting t-shirt to slip on. Admittedly it was dark green and on the front the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles stood proudly. It didn’t matter though because she grabbed a sweater to pull over it. The thick forest green fabric felt soft but light against her skin. It would keep her warm enough that she didn’t need a jacket.

Valerie made it to Tracks with five minutes to spare, and she took a moment to collect herself. Right now her hair was tied back, and although her hand went to pull it free she stopped. It was only a neck, she didn’t have to have it covered with her hair all the time. Hands checked her pants to make sure she still had her wallet before she fished out a packet of gum and took a piece. She chewed it roughly for a second or two to let out the anxiety. With a slow breath she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Even at seven the place had customers. Valerie relaxed a little and began to half browse the shelves as she made her way to the counter. It was better than actively standing out as she looked around for Brian. Maybe she’d been too presumptuous about how free he had been. Or was that optimistic? Valerie ignored the voice in her head and almost tripped over a guy looking at an Aerosmith cassette. He grumbled under his breath and she found herself mumbling an apology as she moved on quickly.

Close Encounters

[wolfs_daughter]

It turned out that there was a place near The Dive where Echo could find Guinness, a small liquor store about a block from the bar, and the day after she visited the club she made another trip up the highway to see at least part of the city in daylight. She bought two six-packs of twelve-ounce bottles, knowing that would last her for a while because the stuff was so strong, then carried them down the crumbling sidewalk to where she'd parked her van.

She should call her parents in a couple of days, give them a status update. Having gotten her phone installed, she might as well make use of it by sending up a proverbial flare to let them know she was okay. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn't eaten since lunch, and it was nearly seven o clock. Maybe she could find a decent pastrami sandwich somewhere.

She stowed the beer in the back of the van, then locked up the vehicle before starting off in the direction she'd come from. She'd eat dinner, then hit the road again. And check her mailbox when she got home, which she'd been doing obsessively lately. Her ship was about to come in, or at least she hoped it was.

And Las Vegas was much less tacky before the sun went down.

With Good Intent

[primordial_visitation]

It began with a pulse... An echoing thrum of an ancient rhythm. Something causing the age-old veil between worlds to ripple, no matter how slightly, allowing resonance to flow from one realm's vibrational frequency to another. A glint of light sparkling out through a prism of that most curious thing... Life.

"...playback looks good..."

"...monitor isn't picking up any..."

"...on the Council, but..."

Voices being heard far off, attracting further attention. Voices on the other side. Something stirring; something moving closer, like some undersea beast investigating a lure in the deepest, darkest ocean.

"You sure this is the correct tone? What if it's not? What if it's a-a-an octave too-"

"Will you relax? Jesus, Steve... I had Linda run it through the system - it models perfectly. We've been over this a thousand times."

"Yeah, I... I know, it's just..."

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEP

All conversation swiftly halted. Crystals being held in place by clamps, not twine - shaking for no discernible reason. No Earthly reason, at least. Monitoring gear sending its impatient electronic alarm in reception of... Something. A dot matrix printer loudly beginning to fire off its readings in staccato fashion.

And red... There was red... At first, an almost magnetic pull compelling incorporeal bulk onward and through. All too soon, the dimensional slipstream taking hold, urging it forth, like a plughole immersed in quicksand. At first, the strangeness of light, but then - yes - the red. A welcoming home of crimson, unwilling or unable to reject.

It didn't know where. It didn't know what. It only knew sanctuary.

To other eyes, what unravelled was a sight most chilling. Their proverbial bait had been not only taken, but snatched. The woman's body, formerly prone, now lifting suddenly, thrusting up by some invisible force and held aloft - just for a moment. Then suddenly lurching, from one side to the other, as if clutched by the unseen hand of an angry god. Body trying to slam up against ceiling, held in check only by chained restraints, only to be hurled straight back down, connecting against the floor with a loud THUD.

And then... Nothing. Electronics sparking. Those few bulbs which had escaped explosive destruction, providing dim light over what had unfolded. No voices now. Not for a while. Just a long pause and then...

"Fuck!"

It took several moments for the figures to gather their composure. One shouting to the other about protocol. The other retorting with how this defied protocol. That this had been more than expected. Different, somehow. That they must have missed something or that perhaps the translations had been off or...

"What do you mean, off?"

"I... Look, it's nothing. Just a... There was some phrasing which didn't match up - this was the only logical-"

"What do you mean... Off."

More determination, that time. Steve wasn't going to have his concerns hand-waved away. Not after that. A few others in the group now voicing their worries, too. A couple picking themselves off the floor with a look of sheer disbelief.

"Hey, I'm not the one who substituted-"

Noise. More specifically, the sound of something wet. Flesh and bone giving a mild thump, like a fish out of water slapping its tail, trying to breathe. A shoulder... Moving. All eyes casting down to where she laid. Their lure. Their bait.

Now the new home of something other.

"This... This isn't the inscription for... What the hell did you use for 'Slayer'? This is... I mean, it's generic for 'slayer', but it's..."

"What?"

But Linda's face was ashen as she looked up. Her head slowly turning back to something which should have remained unmoving. Looking on as it raised itself, unsteadily, to unfamiliar feet.

"Something else..."

A something which did not belong. A something which gazed at them through human eyes with deadly, seething contempt. A something now trapped against its will in man's domain.

The Mind Is A Terrible Thing To Waste

[tristan_vamp]

 Tristan gave a frustrated groan and then threw the book as hard as he could.  It landed with a crash against the tree, spine against bark. Several pages ripped and fluttered and wrinkled as it skittered down the trunk to lie on the ground.

He couldn't stop his mind from running in circles.  He heard Rhiannon in his ear telling him he could have a soul.  He tasted the child abusing priest still on his tongue.  He closed his eyes and saw Erika as she fled into the night, safe from him and his conflicted, convuluted sense of justice. 

Immortality was such a long time.  Why did humans yearn for it, Tristan wondered?  He glanced up at the stars and wondered if vampires could wish upon such a sign.  And if they could, what would he even wish for?  That was the crux of it.  He didn't even know what he wanted anymore.  He didn't know what to believe.  Did he want a soul?  Because what did that mean about him if he had one?  Did he want immortality?  He hadn't asked for it.  He hadn't really thought about it before.  Growing up Catholic, he'd believed eternity came in heaven, of which now he would never see.  So did he wish for real death?  An end to this unlife as a demon walking in the night?

No wonder the true story of a young woman hiking the Pacific Coast Trail couldn't keep his mind engaged tonight. He gave a disgusted look at the fallen book and then rubbed at his eyes.


(Open to Daniel)

(no subject)

[devin_capshaw]

Devin stood outside the door of his motel room, contemplating the diamond-shaped key tag in his hand. Attached to it was, predictably, a key, the room number etched into the brown plastic. He didn't smoke, but sometimes he liked to stand outside and think about taking up the habit.

Inside the room was uncertainty. Namely, uncertainty in the form of an electric typewriter, a notebook, and a red pen. Red was such an angry color, especially when used to point out flaws. Searching for the precise, right word that would turn a sentence into a revelation. The precise, right novel that would turn a paycheck into a pay load.

He wondered exactly when he had become so greedy. Having spent most of his life thinking he wasn't much good at anything, discovering writing had made him elated. But that high quickly passed, and the next one was finishing his first book.

Then it had been published, and Devin had a big party. He gave copies of the manuscript as Christmas gifts, and in an attempt to make fun of himself, had autographed them. In red pen. The advance allowed him to purchase a brand new car, a jewel-toned Honda Civic CRX.

Human nature made Devin embarrassed, especially when he fell prey to it. He was always wanting more, the next goal, the big accomplishment. At the same time, he dreaded it, because if he got everything he ever dreamed of, what else was left? Didn't sharks keep swimming or else they'd die?

Still, it wasn't as if he was out of ideas. Every shadow was an idea. He took childhood fears and elaborated on them. It wasn't a stretch for him to fantasize about the inevitable movie adaptation. Could he be faulted for doing more fantasizing than writing?

He took one final, long gaze at the moon as dark clouds descended on it, his version of a final drag, then went back inside.

Guys will be guys.

[mr_boyscout]

( Read more... )

Rear View

[whistlersmum]

"She's a beauty, this one. Only driven on Sundays by a little old lady. All original parts."

Whistler wasn't listening. He could tell the used car dealer was lying. The car had been put through its paces. But the black Impala called to him. Leather seats, V6 engine. He kicked the tires. The car wanted to kick back. Not literally. But the intent was there. And that he could appreciate.

"Knock off three hundred and I'll drive it off the lot." Whistler could bargain with the best of them. It helped when he could persuade the weaker minded to listen to him.

"I'll make it three fifty."

"That's what I like to hear."

The portly man trundled off to the trailer to get the paperwork.

Since landing in Vegas, the Agent could feel a pull. His instincts to fly back to the States, to go to Searchlight despite his protestations, were on the money.

Whistler opened the door and slid into the driver's seat. He fumbled with the AM radio, ran his hand over the dashboard, and then adjusted the rearview mirror.

The face looking back at him wasn't his own.

It was female, And it wasn't Holly's.

The girl was brunette, brown eyes. She had specks of blood on her chin.

"Who are you?"