All Trick

Oct. 14th, 2013 12:01 am
devin_capshaw: (1)
[personal profile] devin_capshaw
October 1970

It was the night before Halloween, and Devin was in full form. He crouched behind a copse of bushes, digging through his knapsack. He was giddy, this was like Christmas morning to him. "What do you think?," he asked his companion. "Should we start with a light vandalism appetizer?"

Devin watched through the leaves as a couple left their house, getting into a car and driving away. All the lights off, no one home. It was fully decorated for the holiday. The man who lived there was a teacher of Devin's, the one who gave him the most shit.

"Here, hold this." He tossed a package of fireworks to his friend. Devin grinned. "All's quiet on the Western front. Let's go."
st_clare: (Profile)
[personal profile] st_clare
Julianna decided on seafood instead of steak when she and Devin finally got to arrange their dinner plans, and she'd dressed casually because she didn't want the writer jumping to conclusions about this evening. Yes, she found him attractive, and she'd like to get to know him better, but the 'maybe' column wasn't a terrible place to occupy.

The hostess had already seated her, and she sipped at the beverage she'd taken the liberty of ordering while she waited. She'd slept alone after the event at the Skylark because she'd sent Nathan home after a fairly intense make-out session on her couch. He'd grumbled, but he'd left accordingly.

The Watcher picked up the spoon where it rested to the right of her place setting, examined it critically. One could never tell whether or not the flatware would be completely clean. She had a very slight knot of tension in her stomach, one she had yet to really acknowledge.

Bugger that. This was just dinner, testing the waters. She could live with the results either way.
maddy_ricks: (overalls)
[personal profile] maddy_ricks
At twenty-four years old, Madeleine Ricks was trapped in the body of a fifteen year old. Or so it appeared to the rest of the world. At 5’5”, she was of average height, but thin as a rail with limited curvature. The results were infuriating. Carded for alcohol, carded for smokes, and the latest insult, carded for Gore Fest at the Huntridge Theater. Only this time, she had stuffed cash in the pocket of her overalls and left her ID card at home.

The employee – who had barely scratched eighteen himself – suggested she bring her mother to sign a release form.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” she screeched. She slapped her palms on the plexi-glass that separated the ticket salesman from the throng of fans splattered in fake blood outside. Making a scene wouldn’t get her anywhere. On a cognitive level, Maddy understood it. But she had a hell of a temper. She grabbed the paper and rolled it up lengthwise. “Do me a favor, okay? Heh… you take this release form and you gently guide it up your pimple-covered ass!”

She left the window and paced in front of the building, chewing a hangnail.

[Thread: Open to Anyone]

High Art

Sep. 2nd, 2013 04:48 pm
wolfs_daughter: (Default)
[personal profile] wolfs_daughter
The tattoo had scabbed over. It itched, but she'd been told not to scratch it. She didn't really feel different, per se, but it had been an accomplishment of sorts.

Echo had finally finished cleaning out the van, and she'd chosen one of her earliest pieces, which she'd done when she was fifteen. It was a wolf in full howl, and she was proud of it despite the slightly primitive quality of it. She'd had to dust it off a little, since she'd kept it in storage before the move, but after taking a whisk broom to the thing to get the cobwebs off of the muzzle she set it out in the front yard of the trailer. She felt a little nervous about showing her art to a relative stranger, even though Devin had seemed like a nice guy.

The hybrid poured some tea into a tall glass in the trailer's tiny kitchen, dropped three ice cubes into it. She'd left a note on the writer's motel door since he'd been out, asking him to drop by. Today wasn't as scorching as it had been yesterday. Maybe she was getting used to the desert heat.
st_clare: (Default)
[personal profile] st_clare
Being a bit of a history buff, Julianna had been curious enough about the history of Searchlight's mines to expand her search for information, and that was what had led her back to their library. The pamphlets she'd picked up were serviceable, but they were also meant for the odd tourist on the way to a bigger city. She wondered if she'd be able to get access to the town's official records.

She was currently seated at a back table, books stacked in front of her as she studied a surveyor's map from the year of the last gold strike. This had apparently once been a boom town, although the population rose and fell at intervals. When the money ran out, the people must have run out.

The Watcher's stomach growled, but she ignored it. She wanted to finish looking over this map, then skim through some of these books. Besides, she had a bag lunch waiting for her in the car, since the only place that sold food was the diner on the highway and she didn't want to risk indigestion. Stimulation of the mind could come before the feeding of the belly.

Julianna carefully re-folded the map and set it aside, then selected one of the titles from the stack she'd pulled from the shelves. She'd stay until they closed, then bring whatever she hadn't managed to get to back to Las Vegas with her. In a town this size, she'd probably be back before dark.
devin_capshaw: (9)
[personal profile] devin_capshaw
He tapped the side of the thick envelope against the palm of his hand. The post office was largely deserted midday, which suited Devin fine. He stared at the metal flap in front of him. Outgoing mail. Just put the envelope in.

This was commitment. He couldn't very well dive in behind it if he changed his mind. And Devin changed his mind. A lot.

The blond turned around and walked out of the post office. Warm air braced him, and he took a deep breath. He leaned against the brick behind him, still holding the now slightly wrinkled letter. His draft outline.

Okay, so if it sucked, what was the worst that could happen? He'd get a no. No, not good enough. No, we need something a little different. Be diverse. Push the envelope.

Devin laughed at that. That was exactly his problem.
st_clare: (Tired)
[personal profile] st_clare
It turned out that Searchlight was only about an hour's drive from Las Vegas, but Julianna slept through her wake-up call because she'd tossed and turned for most of the night after her conversation with Edmund. So when she got up it was nearly eleven o clock, which meant she didn't arrive at the car rental agency until almost noon. Nothing on this trip had gone according to plan so far except for her meeting with Dean Travers.

Fortunately, the agency wasn't busy when she arrived, and the Watcher was able to secure an automobile with a full tank of gas and a freshly vacuumed interior. She was going to have to get one of these on a permanent basis if and when she found something other than temporary lodgings.

The highway boasted mid-day traffic, and Julianna kept herself occupied by listening to the all-news station. The heat of the day meant she was going to need water. Damn this early afternoon sun. Clearly Nevada was not famous for its rainy season.

Searchlight really did turn out to be a blink-and-you'll-miss-it place, because she almost missed her exit. Brakes squealed a bit, and gravel crunched as she got off the highway. If Rhiannon was here, it should take her no time at all to find the girl. But first she was going to have to get some bottled water, because the heat was abysmal.

There was a gas station with the unimaginative name of the Gas N Go, and Julianna parked her rental in one of the few parking spaces and killed the engine. Even a place liked this had to have plastic bottles of water for sale. And then she could go about her business.

Night Swim

Aug. 19th, 2013 07:52 pm
rhiannon_lee: (original)
[personal profile] rhiannon_lee
As a girl, Rhiannon loved to swim. There were no pools in her neighborhood, save for the indoor facility at the YMCA and her father couldn’t pay the monthly membership, so she grew up with the mindset that swimming was a special treat. She learned by doing; when she was five years old, her father took her to the lake. The trip made a vivid memory. Mitchell Lee wore a pair of green trunks. His chest hair tickled Rhiannon’s fair skin as he strode confidently to the water. She saw herself reflected in the round, blue lenses of his sunglasses, and then she was airborne. He watched from the shore as she bobbed and sputtered and learned to doggy-paddle, never realizing her toes could reach the bottom.

Her mother, so pretty and healthy at the time, scolded him and wrapped her skinny, shivering daughter in a towel. “Again!” she shouted and Mitch was redeemed, long ago in a life so far away it ached.

She stood on a flat expanse of rock and looked down.

It was fifty feet or more to the surface. Lake Mohave was deep and cold, an anomaly in the desert. At night the surface looked as black as asphalt. Rhiannon unlaced her boots and set them aside. She stripped off her clothes and stood in her bra and panties. Years of running through a lawn sprinkler in her underwear had taught her that they were just as functional as a bikini. Who cared?

What would it feel like to dive down and swim to the bottom? Could she go so far that her ears popped and she ran out of air and her muscles seized up from the cold? If it happened, would she panic or decide it was okay? She stretched her arms overhead and inched to the sharp edge of the promontory. Her toes curled over it.

She imagined Duncan’s hands on her back. They pushed her.

Rhiannon fell into the open air.

[Thread: Open to Devin]
devin_capshaw: (1)
[personal profile] 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.

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