Smells Like Home

[whistlersmum]

Whistler spent a lifetime the past eight days rooming at the El Ray.

The paper-thin walls provided twenty-four entertainment; while he'd suspected Blair was a bit loose, her Facts of Life were projected in high-octave screams of pleasure, and Mister Drummond was a horrendous, abusive drunk.

If his bosses expected him to set up shop in the desert again, the least they could do was point him towards decent place to live. Which, in Searchlight standards, was a double-wide trailer on a dusty road on the outskirts of town.

It had a pinsize hole in the floor in the north corner, and one of the windows was a piece of plastic and masking tape, but it was quiet. All he needed to figure out was where the smell was coming from.

A final sweep of the hotel room produced a missing pair of boxers. He didn't relish the thought that Blair had been snooping through his things. He'd dropped off the key, and walked back out to the Impala.

"Onward and sideways."

Comments

[rhiannon_lee]

And so she saw herself as Whistler did. Cropping up in unexpected places, a face that didn't belong, a sense of import attributed because of its persistence and the look in her eyes. Then three possible futures: light, dark, and... Naked?!

Rhiannon snatched her hand back. "What the hell was that?" Shock made her voice shrill, though whether it was the image of herself covered in black veins or covered in HIM, it was difficult to ascertain.

[whistlersmum]

Whistler rubbed the bridge of his nose which was finally healing, not that she asked. He should've put a block up, shown her just the two possible futures, omit the sexy times one. He wasn't able to deal with the suggestion, he could only imagine how Rhiannon took it.

"Don't shoot the messenger!" the Agent croaked. "It ain't wishful thinkin', if that's what you're implyin'."

Okay, maybe there was a little wishful thinking.

[rhiannon_lee]

"It's fine," she mumbled, shaking it off as best she could. But damn. It was an anatomically accurate vision, down to the tattoos, and she found herself turning red, as if she had been stripped down right there in the parking lot.

But there were bigger issues at play.

Rhiannon pushed away from the car and bent down to pick up a rock. She weighed it in her palm. "What was on my skin? Do you know?" she asked.

[whistlersmum]

With the mental link broken, Whistler took a moment to shake open his pack of Lucky Sevens. He lit two absently, offering one to the slayer. It was only after did he question whether or not she'd had one before in his presence. It just felt... natural to offer her one.

Like after great sex.

"You mean the tattoos, or..." he voice trailed off, smoke in the air. "No, you didn't mean the tattoos." It was now his turn to turn red. "It's... best way I can describe it is a spiritual infection. Corruption."