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[22 Aug 2007|09:48pm] Another test post. Fate Wills It

[14 Aug 2007|10:49pm] Test Fate Wills It

[17 May 2007|10:41pm] Test post only. Fate Wills It

[17 Nov 2006|02:18pm] Test post. Fate Wills It

Message in a Bottle [16 Oct 2006|02:09am] There were consequences for forgetting your place. Heaven or Hell, angels or demons. It didn’t matter where you went or whose robes you tried to touch. A human was only meant to go so far. To know so much. And when they knew more, little mercy would be shown. He hit the wall hard on the way back out. He hit it soaking wet and freezing, with arms too stiff to reach out to soften the blow, and a forehead that went unprotected. There was water in his lungs. Something was ripped inside the fleshy part of him, too; a wounded organ inside his rib cage. Blood leaked from under the black-wet of his pant legs. It dried on the balls of his bare feet, and in the creases of his heels. Somewhere in his shoulder, one bone grated against another one. It felt wrong. Out of joint. Jagged. It throbbed in the makeshift sling from his pack. It screamed when he dragged himself out of the mines. And now his body doubled in pain every time he tried to swallow. Hayden knew more than he bargained for. He saw the snake in the weapons closet. The flick of a switch that put Searchlight under darkness on the fourth of July. The invisible force that pounded a knife into the back of his own hand. The spirit that a witch accidentally channeled, and unleashed a mass murder on Wolfram and Hart. Power that great was ugly, no matter its intentions. Light or dark didn’t matter. It was unforgiving in its quest to get what it wanted. And it wanted him gone. It had since the start of his snooping around. The Exile had secrets. He wasn’t meant to tell. The bag he packed was small. He couldn’t carry more. But he left a loaded note, amidst all the research that Alexis and Corbett could have if they wanted it, or leave and it wouldn’t make a difference to him. Hayden was done. He had gotten what he came for. He dragged himself into the Jeep with one thing on his mind: to get to Kris, before he could be punished for it. ‘Like a leach it feeds on the blood we spill. In chaos we’ll break the lock.’ 1 Spoken Prayer |Fate Wills It

Getting What He Came For [09 Oct 2006|07:48pm] The mineshafts were just like Hayden remembered. Dark and cramped, choked with dust, filled with a silence so unsettling, every shift of his feet or jangle of his equipment seemed like it screamed. Quiet was important here. There were demons that used the man-made caverns for shelter, and others that gathered and made a stronghold in a central place deep underground. He had worked for them once, and sneaked out on breaks to learn the cuts in the rock. That was before he was forbidden. Emmeline’s cloaking spell was in place, but he didn’t know how long it would last. Best to treat this trip like the ones before. Walk soft. Move fast. Get what he needed. ( One Last Try ) Fate Wills It

On a Mission [04 Oct 2006|12:33pm] ( A 'Just in Case' Letter to Kris ) ****** ( Email to Alexis, Copied to Matthew and Corbett ) Fate Wills It

The Plan [03 Oct 2006|11:24pm] The apartment was a bad place for Hayden’s frame of mind. There wasn’t anything physically wrong with it. The trouble was with space. Suddenly there was too much of it. Every time Hayden went still for a few minutes, he was struck with the overwhelming absence of things. Women had a way of taking up rooms and really filling them. When they left, a vacuum got left behind, along with the lingering smell of their skin and hair, the echoes of their voices, and forgotten items that you stumbled upon when you least expected it. Like the razor Kris used to shave her legs. Insignificant in meaning, but it still had weight in his mind. He could get sucked into that void for hours if he wasn’t careful, so he got out whenever he could. He played pool outside town. He ate dinner in the diner. At night he slept on the couch. On this particular afternoon, he wasn’t in the mood to avoid. He had things to do, and that meant walking into the building where Kris wasn’t and getting his job in order. Now that the crisis with Sonya had been averted, Hayden needed another thing to occupy his brain. Work was the perfect excuse, and besides, he knew the town could only dodge bullets for so long. Time to work on one particular piece of the puzzle; A piece that had been his alone, and would continue to be until he found away around it. So he went looking for Emmeline. Emmy liked to think she was a decently generous person. She let nearly everyone she met, who seemed kind enough and trustworthy, borrow her books without charge. She kept expensive herbs and charms on hand on the off chance a friend might need them. She lost money on most of the in-store merchandise, feeling terribly greedy when she sold the needed items at market rates. But at times like these… when she wanted - no, needed -- a particular item from her inventory, only to find it either missing or nearly out of stock, she could very well scream with the frustration. "Damn it, Aidan," she muttered to the empty shop. After all, who else would have taken a half pound of whole star anise? There were few real practitioners stopping by the shop as of late, and Emmy herself hadn't used any in ages.  And even that had only been to put a bit of spice into her tea. "I'd better have some left in the jar at home, or he's in for it," she grumbled to herself, the noise of her own voice filling the quiet of the shop front. The sound of feet interrupted the relative calm. Hayden came down the stairs in a rush because he had something on his mind, and was hoping to catch the shopkeeper and landlord before she took off for the day... Or before he lost his nerve to ask this favor of her. It had to be that same anxious edge that made him move faster than typical. “Emmy, you got a second?” He put his hands that smelled of cigarettes on the countertop and looked around. The shop was nearly silent, but it wouldn’t pay to have townsfolk -- or really anyone -- hearing this particular conversation. Once the coast was clear, he shifted onto his other foot and added, “I hate to even ask.” She could say no. That didn’t escape him, and then he’d be back to square one. Emmy glanced up with a friendly smile, annoyance dissipated. Anxious though Hayden may have seemed, it was always good to see a friendly face in the shop. Hands full of varying herbs, she busied herself braiding them into a thick, rigid stick for later burning, tying the ends and middle with a soft twine. "Hello, Hayden," she said, affecting a somewhat cheerful tone in response to his edgy demeanor. "Sure, I've got nothing but time lately. Ask away - what's on your mind?" No sense beating around the bush. “Cloaking spells.” He watched what she did with the herbs for a minute. Given the confidence in her hands and what he knew of Emmeline’s gift, he figured it was safe to ask. As far as Hayden knew, the shopkeeper had the most magical know-how in the area. Which made him lucky. Hayden scratched his temple and leaned against a stack. He crossed his forearms and made himself slow down and think through the conversation before he blurted out words that could send red flags to anything listening to the airwaves. No telling if Elfleda had managed to get her invisible friends into the place to keep tabs. “Temporary ones. Do they work... Can you do them... And would you do one for me?” ( Cutting to the Chase ) Fate Wills It

My In-Law, the Demoness [18 Sep 2006|09:35pm] Hayden Maragos was more than a book guy. He was a real guy’s guy. It was written all over him, from the two-day old beard to the crumpled pack of Marlboros always bulging in his breast pocket, to the t-shirt that never got tucked into his waistband. He typically had the look of a manual laborer about him, even when he hadn‘t done any. When he wanted a beer, he went to a bar in town and made small-talk with his neighbors. If he wanted wings with it, he’d hit a sports pub where he could catch a game while he ate. Then he’d go home and hit the books, or take a walk around town to see about a vampire or two. But not once in his testosterone-laden life did Hayden want to hang around demons, just to prove he could. Particularly not in a bar called The Basement, where they served up blood alongside the beer. The thought of it turned his stomach. You couldn’t move in the place without bumping into a vampire. His hand itched toward his jacket pocket so many times, you would’ve thought he was a slayer. Except he was a man. A man who apparently had responsibilities, and he was going to stand up to them. The wedding band was chaffing a red ring around his finger. He had put it back on for Sonya’s sake, and now he couldn’t stop messing with it. Turning it relentlessly. Making sure it didn’t get stuck again. "Sonya is not be wantings the marrieds, Mallory Quinn! Tell marrieds to go away!!!" Sonya had calmed down a little since that telephone conversation. Time was often a great healer, although when having a literally demonic mother like Devora, it could also be fraught with agitation. This was just about the only place she felt relatively at ease with taking her little jacket off and stretching out her wings from their cramped hiding position. It was a marvel how she even managed it, such were the dimensions, but manage she did and was always grateful for the opportunity to not have to do so. Sonya appeared to have two basic modes of personality she showed to the world: Brazenly confident and watchfully suspicious. It was the latter on display here and, catching sight of her... Husband - husband! The girl wandered over, her body language conveying extreme caution and emphasized, like a pair of huge canine ears, with the posture of those very wings on her back. Gingerly, she made a silent nod to the man, not quite feeling comfortable enough for body contact. Her own ring had yet to even be taken off. She did, however, recognize there was a need to talk and that was why the meeting had been arranged. That and a third party's interest. "You... OK?" The young hybrid asked, doing her best at small-talk, such as it was. A pause being given. "We should be findings table? For 'chit-chat', da?" Hayden did a double-take when the Russian girl arrived. She looked the same as she had in the hotel -- granted she had more clothes on now -- but he didn’t expect the wings to be out in full force. Jesus. For one thing, the two of them were in public. For another, they were even bigger than he remembered. How the hell did she fit them under her shirt? As Sonya made her way across, he took a cautious look around and noticed the ease with which the crowd parted to allow the redhead and her wingspan through. A variety of facial expressions were directed towards her, ranging from curiosity to appreciation. He settled back and remembered the obvious. It was a demon bar. He was probably the strangest thing going in there. So he swallowed some of his beer and leaned closer to hear what she said. With an idle scratch of his head, he surveyed the room. “Yeah... yeah, I’ll get one. You want a beer or something?” Now that the jig was up about her heritage, Hayden clung to the hope that she’d order vodka and not a pint of the red stuff. [Thread: Open to Sonya, Hayden and Devora] 2 Spoken Prayers |Fate Wills It

On the Warpath [31 Aug 2006|10:33pm] The midday light was a harsh reminder to Hayden that he was hung over. He lurched to his Jeep with a hand over his eyes. They were already red and burning from undesirable tears just like ones stuck in his throat. Swallowing was going to be a challenge. He hoped it wouldn’t stop him from pouring another gallon of alcohol down his throat to take the edge off the worst morning of his life. After fumbling for his pocket, Hayden realized it was empty. The car keys were upstairs where he dropped them coming in. The hounds of hell couldn’t chase him through that door again. He had a feeling that watching Kris pull a suitcase out might be the last straw. Before what? It was a measure of his self-control that Hayden hadn’t driven his hand through a wall already. He put his palms on the scorching hot hood and let pain run up and down the stitches in his left hand. He ground his teeth together. Kept his mouth shut tight so he wouldn’t scream and let her hear him. Where were you supposed to go when the woman you thought you’d have forever was up there separating your things, drawing a neat line down the center of your life together? Hers into this box, yours left hanging in one half of the closet. One set of the drawers. One side of the bed. Christ, if he didn’t know better, he’d think he was having an aneurism. The pain behind his eyes was unrelenting. Hayden pounded his fist on the scarred hood. He needed to pull himself together, fast. If the knot in his chest kept redoubling, and it wouldn’t bode well for anything that got in his way today. Pocketing the ring, he started off down the sidewalk. All she wanted was to know where Sonya was. That was all. Maybe if she kept telling herself that, she'd believe it. Mallory went by the diner first and poked her head in, but the lack of Hayden's presence there had her walking again in less than five minutes. The bookstore, then, since she remembered seeing him there quite a bit. This couldn't be as bad as it looked. She hoped. The redhead walked purposefully towards Unseen Insight, hands jammed into her pockets. Hayden was a nice guy. Hayden was a friend. But Sonya had been clearly panic-stricken over the phone, and it had Mallory struggling with the whole benefit-of-the-doubt thing. She spotted the Watcher across the street, and she crossed the hot surface with a slightly stiff-legged stride. Cool it, she ordered herself, but she didn't want to cool it. Between Sonya's apparent crisis and her own concerns about Boden, she was stretched just a little tight emotionally. In full stomp, she approached Hayden, pointing a finger at him. In a tone of voice that was generally reserved for a soap opera character about to lay a verbal smack-down, she said, "You." ( Bad Idea ) ( Boiling Over ) [Scene Continued in Thread: Open to Mallory and Hayden] http://www.greatestjournal.com/community/free_form/998430.html?mode=reply&style=mine 57 Spoken Prayers |Fate Wills It

Apart at the Seams [29 Aug 2006|07:57pm] Kris was doing mundane, boring tasks like cleaning the bathroom or neatening of the living room to take her mind off the phone call she'd had from her mother and the decision she had to make, for the sake of her family.  Eddy had been following her at her heels all day and Kris felt like she was running on auto pilot, like she couldn't quite feel anything because if she let herself think too deeply she'd end up crying or screaming. Neither of which seemed like a good option at this current point in her life. Sighing, she eased her weight down onto the bed that she shared with Hayden and tried desperately not to think about saying goodbye. She got teary just thinking about it and she was sure she'd never find another guy like Hayden. She never wanted to. He was her heart and it would seem that home was right where the heart was but family wasn't, family was back in Chicago.  Inhaling a breath, she curled up against the wall and just took to resting her chin on her knees as she closed her eyes and breathed. Eddy appeared in the doorway, making this pathetic whining sound in the back of his throat which Kris peeked her eyes open at. Rolling them slightly, she got up off the bed. "Fine, I'll give you something to eat and then you can go back to ignoring me." Padding through the apartment Kris rummaged in the kitchen looking for Eddy's dog biscuits. Hayden wouldn’t have been surprised if he looked down and found lead weights strapped to both ankles. Proverbial ‘ball and chain’ jokes aside, it took him an inordinate amount of time to climb the steps to the apartment. What was he going to tell her? ‘So, babe. I got drunk in Vegas last night and woke up married to another woman. Want a beer?’ The truth was, Hayden was an ordinary man in all respects except for three. He had a moral code that was stronger than average. He wasn’t crippled by fear, the way some people could be. And lastly there was Kris, his girlfriend of two years, who by the simple fact of her extra-ordinary presence made Hayden a better man. To think of losing her over something like this was enough to make his knees go weak. Seemed like all those ‘better than average’ qualities of his were on the line today. He went into the apartment quieter than usual. The ring was in his pocket. He dropped his keys and wondered if she was home. If she knew that he hadn’t been. If she would smell the liquor in his sweat. He scrubbed at his hair and listened out. Heard rustling in the cabinets. “Kris?” ( Don't Want to Say This ) ( The Other Confession ) [Post Continued in Thread: Open to Kris & Hayden] http://www.greatestjournal.com/community/free_form/996476.html Fate Wills It

$@*%! [27 Aug 2006|03:39am] "You! You are late!" Minding his own business, Hayden Maragos was to find that he had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. The restaurant was small, but the couple of men who grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him through the nearby doors, could not have been described as anything other than large. The third, speaking with a Russian accent and tutting with a conspicuous repetitive glancing at his wristwatch, led on, yanking out a chair and ordering them to virtually dump the poor guy down in it. A red rose being thrust into his hand. "Here! You buy!" The man demanded. "She be here - any second!" “What the fuck are you doing?” Asked in a bewildered tone as the man with the five o’ clock shadow and a head full of tangled hair pushed up against the resistance holding him on the tiny chair. It had started out all right. A guy’s night on the city, with Hayden flying solo and feeling slightly out of it. His body was full of chain-smoked nicotine and a couple of beers that he drank over a game of pool at some sports pub with peanut shells on the floor. Fifty bucks richer in one back pocket, but too mentally bent to really care, Hayden had ambled his way to the next diversion. And here it was. A just-bloomed flower lurking a few inches from his face while a fat European got a little too free with his personal space. The would-be watcher swiped the back of his hand at the Russian’s grip. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying.” His scowl looked harder than the words sounded; Hayden’s characteristic vocal minimalism didn’t really cover it. It wasn't every day he got bodily yanked off the street and set in a chair by a stranger. There was some consternation between the men, with only a smattering of English being observed. Mostly in the shape of, "No flower!" Being said in befuddled curiosity, as if refusing it was the most bizarre thing in the world. But before further discussion began, in through the doors wandered one Sonya Ramius. "Ah! She here! She here!" She looked like the photograph, anyway. They had a lot of girls on the books and couldn't afford to meet every single one of them. Sonya was a casually-dressed female of the right age, complete with long, red hair. It had to be her and, when she frowned with a puzzled expression, muttering something in Russian, they knew they had got the right one. Or at least, they had thought so. Telling Sonya in shared language that everything would be OK and that it had all 'been arranged', the redhead was no wiser than before, but who was she to turn down a free meal? Her appetite had demanded that she at least check out the food here and she had the money to pay for it. Still, why not? The original man, meanwhile, nudged Hayden's shoulder. "This night go well, you marry! All paper work done! Your new wife, yes? She make good fun in bed! Thank you for choosing your Russian bride, please shop again!" With no opportunity for Hayden to refuse or set them straight, Sonya was ushered before him and seated. A big thumbs up being given to Hayden by one of the men from behind her back. "Ehhh..." Looking at Hayden with a vague sense of recognition, Sonya shrugged and looked at the menu. "We are be having, uh... The soups first, yes?" In the deep recesses of Hayden's brain, a record scratched noisily. So he blurted out, "Wife?!" ( Mistaken Identity ) ( Then You Spurn Sonya! ) ( Drinking Off a Mix-Up ) ( The Bonds of Holy MOLY! ) Fate Wills It

Alone With a Knife [24 Jul 2006|04:56pm] In the long, silent afternoons while his girlfriend slept and sun baked the desert dry, the watcher sat outside and smoked his cigarettes. The best place for it was the hood of his Jeep. Heavy brown boots braced against the front bumper, his posture slumping easily while he worked to get his head clear. This time sharpening a blade, that time carving a stake. Mindless, like he wanted to be whenever he thought of his situation. How unfinished his business was with Elfleda; how helpless he was to go after the truth, as long as Kris could be used against him; how he had been made into a liar. The burnished edge of his knife shaved splinters off the wooden peg. He turned it slowly between his fingers with an eye for rough edges, places that could abrade the palm. When he found them, he scraped them smooth, and rubbed the sensitive pad of his thumb up and down to make certain. Today the cigarette went to ash before more than a drag was taken. He had set it down by the headlight, in the crease between hood and quarter panel. Each bladed stroke was done on autopilot. Hayden’s mind, it seemed, was somewhere else. Or simply not present at all. Somewhere between the heedless toss of lighter and the onset of his carving chore, a switch had gone off in Hayden's head. He put the stake in his lap. A car rolled by at a tired pace, and the slight wind of the day rolled his Marlboro to the ground. Hayden stared at the empty place at his side for minutes, contemplating the old red hood that would feel hot under his palm if he stretched it flat. His face registered nothing when he finally settled his hand. The blade reflected that same tired red as it went down. The sound was worthy of recoil, a tooth grinder that would’ve sent goose bumps down the back of a listener’s neck, had there been anyone there to hear it. It was the noise of a whetted tip slicing thru flesh until it hit fiberglass, and then scratching against... Digging... Slickly retreating, and then again, this time bending with the driving force behind it, so that when he pulled it out, it tore the slice ever wider. A bit of tendon popped up to show. From underneath his palm, wide rivulets of the watcher’s blood followed the sloping hood and then pattered onto the gravel in wet bursts of color. He was making a veritable mince of his left hand, and there was nothing to show for it except the battered bonnet of his car and the empty set of his eyes. It was a rhythmic assault on skin and muscle, carried out by a creature who got at the watcher by going through him rather than toward. It wanted to muddy his mind, to play with him until every question that dogged the man and kept him meddling was wiped away. On it went until a sudden shout. Not his but belonging to a motorist who had run up the curb when he saw. “Hey, buddy... What the fuck are you doing?!” The pain was horrible, and so was his hoarse bark at the sudden, agonizing waking-up of hundreds of severed nerve endings all at once. Hayden flew off the hood like there was a fire underneath him. The stake bounced off his lap and hit the rocks. He clutched frantically his palm into the long shirttail, and hunched over to protect it. “Shit!” Sweat rolled off his face and into his eyes, the salt-burn making him blind. Even as the driver inched away, Hayden’s head darted left and right. He was uncomprehending like a man coming out of a bad dream, his breath whistling in it out while he searched for something to blame. A monster that had sneaked up and carved his palm to bits while he dozed, but there was no one. The halting gulps of air slowed down. So did his heartbeat, and the rocking from foot to foot, a motion he hadn’t known he was doing. Hayden’s eyes were on the mess of the hood, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a flicker, not a recollection of what happened but tactile recognition. The familiar weight in the unimpaired palm of his right hand. The hilt of a knife. 1 Spoken Prayer |Fate Wills It

Hayden's Not Home [17 Jun 2006|10:06am] Hayden was an easy mark. For one thing, he lurked. There was a time when the Watcher had gone into the mines to work, or to explore. He actually stumbled onto the mouth of the prison once, and after that he hung around wanting to figure things out. Making notes, taking pictures, brooding. The run-in with the meddler, Leviathan’s Bride, had changed all that. Now the man kept himself at a reasonable distance from the mines and observed them from another gravel-covered hilltop, wondering how to get back inside without drawing her attention. Wondering how to get closer to the Exile and figure out why it was such a source of irritation to her. Trying to ignore the temptation to go in anyway, and risk the safety of people he loved. Namely, Kris. It was a shame, really, that the Watcher had no idea how close he was about to get. Fingers of energy unfolded from the entrance of the mine and sought him out. They were invisible to the naked eye as they shifted and stroked through the air like a monster’s tentacles, until one lucky reach had the Watcher by the balls. Metaphorically, of course. It was a mind-wipe. Conscious thought fading, put on pause, long enough for the Exile to have its way with him. All that Hayden needed to know to accomplish the task -- the mischief it had in mind -- was fed to him and would disappear the moment that arm of energy let go. Left behind would be the memory of driving home, and that was all. All the way to their little apartment, the brown sack writhed and hissed in the backseat. It was cinched at the top so that his gift wouldn’t get free and ruin things before they got into motion. Hayden ignored it, and seemed to be on auto-pilot. He stopped at the right signs; he even put on his blinker. On his trip up the stairs, the sack continued to thrash and rattle at his side. It didn’t still until he left it on the floor of her weapons closet. An unfamiliar bag that would beg to be opened. Fate Wills It

Hose Adventures (and Then Some) [13 Jun 2006|08:38pm] There was a healthy layer of dust on Hayden’s vehicle. It had a way of paling the red paint until the Jeep looked how it sounded -- like it was about to give up. He was standing in the small lot behind Unseen Insight and the apartment above it, where he lived with Kris. A radio blasted music and static in turns from the window, but he couldn’t hear it over the sound of the hose aimed at the front fender. The toes of his boots were wet. Water was running in little dirty rivers away from him. Sunlight glinted off the front windshield until he had to shield his eyes. Kris was inside listening to the likes of Odetta and the blues in the form of small earphones that were plugged into the depths of her ears. Her red pen stroked across the page, paused and circled the jobs that might be a possibility. She was nothing if not determined but actually getting a job was a lot harder than most people thought it to be. Her skin was still shades of yellow and green from where the wolves had manhandled her, and down her spinal cord still hadn't returned to its healthy brown hue. Instead it was a stretch of black. Slayer healing would take care of it, it always had in the past, but with all things in life, it took time. Sighing, she discarded the paper and dropped her face into the covers of the bed. "I hate job hunting," she grumbled before pulling the earphones from her ears and stretching slowly. Her attire was as brief as brief could be, a pair of shorts and a tank top with thin straps. Peering out of the window she watched as Hayden cleaned his car before she herself began down the flight of stairs, pausing only briefly to slip her feet into small black flip flops. "Having fun?" she asked with a wry smile as she regarded Hayden. He leaned around with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. “Fun?” he asked around it. If he wasn’t careful, Hayden would end up setting the ends of his hair on fire. The afternoon heat had turned all his skin a pinkish color on top of his tan. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead and nose. “It’s fucking hot out here,” he told her, chuckling, and gave her bare legs a little spray. Kris didn't actually mind, he was right, it was fucking hot and that water was plain wonderful against her legs. "It looks good if that's any consolation," she remarked as she stepped closer to the Jeep. "Looks less like a dust devil and more like an actual car." She gave him a smirk before she stepped forward and swiped her thumb across his nose to catch the bead of sweat just before it dripped off the end. “Still need to get you some wheels,” he said, and pulled the cigarette away. Hayden tugged up the tail of his shirt and wiped the perspiration off his face. What he really felt like doing was standing under the hose for a good minute or two. “You oughtta be nice to it till then,” leaning close to give her neck a good-natured kiss. "I need a job first," Kris remarked back as she tipped her head towards him and gave a brief smile as he kissed her neck. "And that is proving harder than I thought but who knows? I could find one tomorrow." She rolled her shoulders and reached out to tangle her fingers in his necklace, "You never know, right?" “That’s right.” He let the hose dangle toward the pavement and noticed how good she looked, with her skin glowing brownish gold, and her hair getting longer. Sometimes her mouth looked so full and pink that his would water, just looking at her across the room. Hayden flicked his cigarette to the damp ground and leaned down to give her a lazy kiss. “I’d miss having you around.” She smiled, a real genuine smile, the kind that only Hayden seemed able to bring out in her and threw her arm around his neck so he couldn't stray too far away. Her eyes lingered on the ends of his hair, they were beginning to turn gold under the constant attention of the sun and she was unable to resist. Her fingers took a hold of quite a few strands and just curled them. "You'd miss me huh? How much?" She grinned against his mouth and returned his kiss with a quick one. “Hmm..,” he mused contemplatively and put his chin on top of her head. “I’d probably just sit home alone all day. Crying.” Hayden wrapped her up tight in his arms and let his eyes unfocus for a few long seconds. Then he stuck the nozzle of the hose down the back of her pants and unleashed an avalanche of icy cold water. “Like a French toilet, isn’t it?” he observed, and held on as tight as he could for as long as a regular guy could hold a girl like her. ( HEY! ) ( Bare Ass to the World ) ( It's Just This Way (Adult Content: Sexuality) ) ( Balm? ) Fate Wills It

An Entity in Exile [29 May 2006|05:03pm] There was a place out in the desert near nothing but rocks, a few cacti, and the blistering hot highway. Actually, there were a shitload of places like that, but Hayden remembered this one from an afternoon a few years back, when an earthquake had shaken the ground out there and his rusty red Jeep had rolled from asphalt to the sand. It had the essential ingredient to what he was out there for: privacy. Also, it wasn't anywhere near the mines. Today he got there a little after lunchtime. He sat under the scorching sunlight that beat down on his head and turned gold hair blonde in measures, and let his mind get clear. When sweat made his t-shirt wet under the arms, he set up camp under a raised piece of blue tarp he pulled out of his Jeep and tied off with tall dowel rods. A cooler held bottles of water and beer in ice. Little by little the ice melted, until the drinks were lukewarm and floated on the surface. He drank them anyway. After a while the sun went down, and plunged the desert into just the kind of environment she liked. Dark. He waited until he was good and ready to come out and scuff a circle in the sand with his heel. Hayden had done some research. It didn't have to be perfect when he called her, but it helped to do a couple of things. Focus his mind. Light some rank-smelling candle with a black flame for ambience, which he'd found in the back of the bookshop under a pile of Liam's things. Say her name without spitting. "Elfleda..." Was he crazy to call her? Probably. But when you were Hayden, you figured the entity owed you something. Months of lies, hiding the truth, downplaying scars that went deep through his skin, and it was just about time the Watcher got his due. Answers. "Come out, come out," he mumbled under his breath, and turned in a circle to survey the night. One hand scuffed against the light beard on his chin. "And do me a favor... leave your dog at home this time." Strictly speaking, a ritualized atmosphere was not necessary. It was most likely that she still had him being watched, either directly or through things which would do so for her and bring things to her attention when required. Even so, she did like a touch of the dramatic, every now and then. Besides, why should she pass up such an opportunity? Not when invited like that... A very different thing to some lowly being deciding to summon her on a whim, for which any would undoubtedly be punished. In any case, the pair had a deal. "But it only wants to play..." ( Reason Enough ) Fate Wills It

Forgotten Details [27 Mar 2006|10:46pm] Send. Hayden leaned back against the chair and stretched his sore neck muscles. From behind him, the sounds of Unseen Insight after sunset filtered to his ears. Liam was assisting a phone customer who wanted a pair of toad's eyes for a spell. The door to Emmeline's office was open, her accent becoming more pronounced by the second. He noticed how it came out when the shopkeeper was frustrated, usually with a supplier. The watcher closed his email window and tucked a pencil behind his ear. Long hours got swallowed whenever he dug into the Council archives on that machine. Standing up could be an effort. The rap of his boots meant that Hayden was trudging upstairs. He didn't know if Kris was home or not. A sandwich would cut it if she wasn't, but if she was, he'd think about frying something. The farthest thing from Hayden's mind was clothes. Specifically the wad he'd left in the back of his Jeep, a few weeks past. It was sloppy. Distraction didn't do good things for a man's survival skills. The presence of Alexis, an outdated meeting with the Corruptress, both things that weighed heavy on his mind. Hayden remembered retrieving a dirty shirt and jeans from under the sink, but he forgot all about the torn and bloody reminders of the confrontation in the mines. Even when Kris took the Jeep to run her errands, it didn't occur to him. Hayden shut the door behind him and dropped his notebook on a low table. [Thread: Open to Kris!] 1 Spoken Prayer |Fate Wills It

Claustrophobia [05 Mar 2006|01:26am] Lately the place was so quiet he could hear dust settling. It wasn't all bad. The only reason he spent time in the shop was to read, and silence helped him take it all in. He scoured the pages of any book he could get his hands on, and that was the primary reason Hayden Maragos qualified for the title he now held. Watcher. A guy who earned his spot the hard way, based on old university credentials, research contributions, and a lot of correspondence mail. Strange how the Council's senior librarian could make it to the post office with copies, but no one could answer an email about a supernatural convergence. That wasn't his concern now. Hayden's objective remained the same -- he would get his answers about the rift -- but by necessity, his modus operandi had changed. He was done pleading. The only thing that saved him from his guilt about leaving the Council out of the loop, was how long he'd been dogging them to get in it. When the door bell jangled, he was sitting at a computer in the back. Hayden used it to access a secure database and read whatever he couldn't get in print. The open file was mundane, just a scanned language textbook. He unscrewed the cap of his water bottle and took a thirsty swallow. With focus on the monitor, Liam's greeting landed on deaf ears. As might the tinkle of bell at the door, but that didn't stop the cosmic irony of it being a Council representative who walked through it. Not that Hayden was to know. He and Alexis had yet to meet, which was precisely why she came here, every so often. It seemed that their schedules had simply never quite intersected, for whatever reason. Here, though, was an audible indication that someone was unseen, who just happened to have precisely the name she was looking for, if the half-heard greeting was anything to go by. With that frown of potential recognition evident, the woman made her way up front without bothering to look through books as a cover. Alexis tended to take a more direct route to tasks like these. No harm in it. "Excuse me," she greeted, affecting a formal smile. "Did I hear correctly? Do you know someone named Hayden here?" There was a squeak of mechanized parts as the man in question rocked back in his chair. A dirty blonde head of hair came into view, craning as it did around the stacks. Hayden twisted the cap of his water bottle slowly shut and tried to work out where he knew her from. Nothing was coming to mind. "In the back," he said, sounding cautious but not worried. Anticipating a handshake might be in order, Hayden passed the bottle into his left hand, and wiped the condensation off his right. It left a damp spot near the knee of his jeans. There were people who might've played it quiet longer, to try and listen in on what she wanted. But that wasn't Hayden's style, and besides, he didn't have telepathy with the demon at the register. Even if he'd known a representative of his employer was there, he wouldn't have cared much how he presented himself, at least physically. The hair was a little disheveled from pushing it back, and his jaw had a five o' clock shadow at midday. Typical Hayden stuff. He seemed rough around the edges instead of sloppy, but the watchful look he was capable of giving -- and did to Alexis -- spoke a lot for his steadier qualities. "Hi," Alex greeted brightly. A casual sort of thing, even if it was mainly for the sake of appearances. She was a largely easy-going soul, but observant when it came to her job. That was why she was glad to be little out of the way from the guy who was working the counter. "Alexis Devereaux," the young woman greeted, extending hand for the anticipated shake, once she had navigated her way passed that same counter surface and into the back section. "From the Council?" ( Didn't They Tell You? ) ( The Sock Analogy ) ( Let the Tapdancing Begin ) "Be seeing you, Hayden - and thanks... Y'know, for at least letting me in the door, so to speak," she added before taking her leave. "Like I said, I know what it's like being out in the wilderness." The minute she was gone, Hayden reclined in the chair and put a thumb and forefinger against his eyes. Suddenly the wilderness felt very crowded. Fate Wills It

Sidestepping the Issues [13 Feb 2006|05:58am] The apartment was cold and dark when Hayden keyed in. As if no one had been home to bump the thermostat a few degrees higher when the temperature dropped outside. He didn’t turn on the hallway light, just bent to unlace his boots by touch instead of sight, and tug them off his feet. He left them in a pile by the door. It was colder upstairs, a literal drop in degrees being felt as he climbed the steps and got above the insulation of Unseen Insight. Hayden felt along the wall for a switch. One of the living room lamps was hooked up to it, and a bulb flooded the space with warm light. Days, that was all. It felt long longer since he’d been home, and he definitely looked worse for wear. The same clothes, the same stubble on his jaw, now practically a full grown beard. He emptied his pockets on a table and started walking further inside. No sign of Kris yet. The first thing he wanted to do was pull off his t-shirt and step out of those jeans. Maybe burn them for good measure. But instead of a trail of clothes being haphazardly dropped along the way, as was his usual sloppy and carefree habit, Hayden waited until he shut and locked the door behind himself and turned on the faucet. Then he grabbed the shoulders of his shirt and shelled out of it. The belt of his pants hit the floor loudly. Clothes were rolled into a ball and stuffed behind the toilet for now. Under the hot stream of water, he soaped his body as best he could around stitches, washed his hair, and gave his jaw a decent shave in a fogless mirror that was mounted by the showerhead. After that was done, he stood with his face under the individual sprays of a few dozen tiny jets. Rivers of water ran off his nose and chin. After the interaction with Desdemona, Kris had thought about going straight to Corbett's and shouting his ear off but she knew she wanted to get home and see if Hayden had made his way back. Concern for her partner outweighed the emotional confusion in regards to her Watcher. She rounded on the back of the bookstore and released a breath she hadn't been aware of holding when she saw Hayden's jeep sitting where it should. Kris rummaged out her keys and let herself in making sure to close and lock the door behind her before her feet started on the stairs. It didn't take her long to push into the main apartment that had life that wasn't her or Eddy. Hayden was home. Kris gave a relieved sigh and put some work into calming herself and pushing past the debris left behind by various events. Eddy ran up and made sure Kris paid some attention to him before he left her and she started in the direction of the only sound she could seem to hear in the entire apartment. "Hayden?" She called his name as she ventured further into the apartment and paused outside the bathroom door. The sounds were definitely coming from in there and she let him have his privacy for the time being. "When did you get home?" ( No Clothes in the Bathroom ) ( Am I Bad? ) Fate Wills It

First [05 Feb 2006|03:19am] The room behind the El Rey’s seventh door smelled of stale cigarettes and age. Hours after the sun climbed up one side of the sky and slipped down the other, the watcher was back in that stagnant room, still wearing a previous day’s slightly used clothes. By sunset he was looking at the peeling wallpaper and cracked ceiling through a haze of painkillers and scotch. He didn’t see much. Row after row of stitches throbbed in his skin. A movement in any direction was uncomfortable. It felt like his muscles were ripped to the bone, and the gauze was just sandpaper rubbing on the threads. After clinical intake, someone tried to keep him for observation. Wanted to call in a squad car to take a statement that the man would never make. All it took in the end was a bunching grab of the doctor’s lapel, and a forcefully muttered, “Get out of my face.” It wasn’t something Hayden Maragos said often. The bottle neck clanked against his glass, but he overshot and spilled alcohol on the carpet underneath. Mumbled curses broke the relative silence and he didn’t bother cleaning up. Instead he hit the drink straight from the bottle and crossed bare feet beyond the hems of ragged jeans. A miniscule drop of scotch slipped past his mouth and got lost in the gold stubble on an atypically pale jaw. The open notebook made an interesting choice of bottle rest. Penciled words were faintly visible through the thick glass, but distorted beyond legibility. It was a letter to the Watcher’s Council, abandoned halfway through when his mind started to drift. Lamp light shone through the bottle and cast a mustard yellow glow on his best effort to dissuade them from looking further. “ ... research shows that the rift in the Quartette mines poses no significant threat, immediate or otherwise, to the region ... no conclusive evidence that the town’s magnetism is connected to the energy transmitted from the rift ... intermittent observations have revealed no supernatural presence inside the rift and a ‘dead-zone’ for demonic activity within close vicinity ... have concluded that the rift is dormant ... will remain in Searchlight to continue monitoring the region ... ” Now blind drunk, the watcher’s mind was too addled to finish it. He scratched at the scruff on his neck and coached his thumb through a dialing process. Hazel eyes shut when his girlfriend’s voice tickled his eardrum. He breathed through his nose and tried to inject something stable into his own. “Kris... I got your message, babe... sorry I didn’t call, I got a uh... message from Athan... He wanted me to drive out to Utah, for some kinda premonition... Stayed the night at a motel, in a town nearby... Anyway I'll be home soon... love you.” The closed cell phone thumped against the threadbare carpet. Hayden’s head dropped forward. He rubbed his eyes. So went the first lie. Fate Wills It

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