whistlersmum (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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birthright_rpg2013-12-18 08:37 pm
whistlersmum) wrote in birthright_rpg2013-12-18 08:37 pm
Gypsy Girl
He'd snuck the kid's menu from the stack while he waited to be seated. Once in the booth, the Agent flipped over the copy of the Junior Short Stack to discover Gypsy Girl, number twenty-two in the series. Whistler tucked it underneath his placemat, a mental note to take it home later. Three more and he'd have the whole Denny's set. A day would come when someone would pay good money for them.
He always planned for the future.
A blonde waitress brought his coffee and a full carafe. Membership had its privileges.
He picked up the menu and studied the all-day breakfast. It felt like a Grand Slam kind of day in Sin City.
He always planned for the future.
A blonde waitress brought his coffee and a full carafe. Membership had its privileges.
He picked up the menu and studied the all-day breakfast. It felt like a Grand Slam kind of day in Sin City.
no subject
Rhiannon's voice caught. She picked up her coffee and drank it too fast. The liquid scalded her tongue, but she was committed to it, so she swallowed and burnt her throat, too.
"Look, the whole thing is fuzzy, like... Like it's on the edge of my consciousness and when I look at it straight-on, it disappears. I just know what I know, what I was supposed to know, which is that I've known you before. Befores."
no subject
It was all true, he knew it just as she did.
"That explains... well that explains a fuck ton." Whistler poured himself another coffee. He preferred it black. Somehow, he suspected she knew that.
"Those things I saw, what I showed you. What if they weren't possible futures, but other lifetimes?"
His head felt like it would explode. His heart too. The Agent tried to remember his dream, but it was out of reach. Intentionally so.
"I think I tried to kill you, more than once. And I don't mean with the car. That was still. Yeah, sorry about that. Again. Shit."
no subject
She breathed.
"In a way, this makes it easier," she said, taking out a cigarette and lighting up. Her fingers snagged and pulled an ash tray closer. "We don't know what's coming, only that we're apparently... I don't know, signposts for each other. We just need to recognize it and pursue it to its end."
Her thumb flicked against the cigarette filter in a nervous habit. "I think it also explains why we reacted so strongly to each other. So my idea is, we start from scratch. Are you interested?"
no subject
"Yeah. I like the sound of that." With the cigarette perched in the corner of his mouth, the Agent grabbed a napkin and wiped his hands, then held one out. "If we're starting at square one, I guess that means you don't owe me a hat?" He smirked at the brunette.
no subject
Rhiannon made eye contact with the waitress, who came to jot down her order of waffles. As the employee passed the paper slip to the kitchen, the brunette settled more comfortably into her seat.
“Alright. So. The basics. I’m Rhiannon and I’m a slayer. I was called seven years ago. For the past two years, I’ve been on the outs with London, but it’s not so bad that they’ve called in a team. We’re more like estranged relatives than anything. Uh, let’s see…” She used her thumb to stroke her eyebrow. “Before here, I was in Pittsburgh, New York, and Detroit… I won’t lie and say my record’s blemish-free, but it’s pretty good. I’m seeing a man who happens to be a Were and I don’t plan on giving him up because he’s an incredibly decent human being. I like to draw. There you have it. Oh, and I’m an Aquarius.”
She ashed her cigarette.
no subject
"I'm a mutt," he offered. "Mother was a demon, father had a healthy glow. Both sides wanted to kill me right oughta the womb, until someone got the bright idea I could be used to keep the sides balanced. I'm old as fuck, like I saw Nero fiddle while Rome burned old. I used to freelance with London until I realized just how fucking ass-backwards a lot of them were. Had a really good friend who got killed by a schizophrenic Slayer. No I don't hold it against Slayers in principal, just the idiots who thought she didn't need help."
Another puff of smoke, followed by the rest of the coffee in his cup. "Here's a fun bit of news. This isn't my first trip to Nevada. I got stuck in Searchlight fifty years ago. Got drawn in by something, and it wouldn't let me go. Until one day, it went..." The Agent clenched his fist and then spread his fingers. "Poof. And the original reason I came back was after I got a phone call from Greg's daughter -- he was the Watcher who got offed by said Slayer -- from Searchlight."
He refilled his cup, and swished the carafe. There was enough for another coffee. He held it out to Rhiannon. "Oh, I'm also a pretty good bowler."
no subject
“So now what are you doing?” Rhiannon accepted the refill on her coffee, though she hadn’t made much of a dent in her first cup. It didn’t escape her that he might have answers to questions that had lingered since she arrived in Nevada, if he was a keeper of the balance, but those could wait until a better moment. The primary purpose in sitting here with him was to learn about Whistler and establish some kind of non-violent dynamic.
no subject
Whistler swirled the coffee, enjoying the sploosh, careful enough not to spill. He took one final drag on his cigarette before butting it in the ashtray. "I was in Tokyo before this; kind of a semi-retirement. Keeping the balance isn't as easy as it sounds. Sometimes ya gotta do... awful things. My plan was to pop in, convince Holiday -- yes, that's her name -- to get out of town, and make a hasty retreat. But I felt the tug again, and you kept popping up in mirrors, and then for real in Searchlight."
He paused a moment as a young couple and their squabbling two year-old sat down in the next booth. "You're... connected. You feel it? 'Cuz I don't think that's coincidence."