Every saint has a past, every sinner has a future, so you know what keeps me hanging around...

[leosarecynical]

Fall is coming to Chicago. The air is cooler, there are clouds thick in the sky (but not thick enough to be heralding rain just yet- just enough to be pleasantly cloudy), and while the leaves haven't started turning yet, the overabundance of pumpkins for sale and preemptive Halloween decorations give all the indication that the season is coming up

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[designed2kill]

Luka is coming back from the shooting range in the Organization's headquarters. Since talking with Arlin, she's only been going to the shooting range every other day instead of every day. That's still plenty often enough to make people talk, but she is attempting to cultivate other interests, for Arlin's sake. For the record, it's not really working too well. She likes training because she can see it has a point--to hone her skills so she can do her job better. She just doesn't see the point in doing things unrelated to her job. Nevertheless, she is going to try to do...something for the next few hours.

And this is when she sees Anka. "Hi Anka!" she calls. There's little change in her facial expression, but for those familiar with her (non)expressions will be able to tell that she is glad to see her sisterthing. "Why are you upside down?"

[leanhungrytype]

And suddenly Anka's expression goes from gloomy to cheerful. There is a Luka! This is a happy thing. She waves at her upside down, face breaking into a wide toothy grin.

"No reason." She tsks. "Luka, Luka, Luka. Life is not much fun with all reason, yes?"

She's been trained to be a certain way too, but she'd want to kill herself if she didn't break out of the shell of perfect little weapon every now and then. Honestly, torture and killing cannot sustain a girl.

[designed2kill]

Luka waves back at Anka. "I don't really understand fun," she admits. "Aaron tried to explain it to me, but I don't really understand it. I tried going to the library and going to the movies, but the library didn't have any good books about guns or knives and the movie didn't make any sense. Can you explain it to me more?"

[leanhungrytype]

Anka blinks and then plants her hands on the ground and somersaults back onto her feet, bouncing a little bit on the balls of her feet.

"Is the point of fun? Is supposed to be incomprehensible. Explaining is..." She frowns, screwing up her face as she tries to think of a word. "Wrong, yes? Defeats the purpose. Fun is... Just what makes you happy... Yes?"

Anka raps on her head with her knuckles, frowning. Well, she's never had to explain this to someone before. It's much more frustrating than she'd like it to be.

[francis_barnam]

Obviously, with everything going on, what Vincent needs right now is a Francis sitting down next to him at the bar. This is the third bar Francis has visited tonight, not because he's gotten kicked out for once, but rather because they kept slowing his service down. Yes. He hasn't started a fight tonight. But he's drunk enough that he doesn't even notice who he's sitting down next to at first.

And then, when he turns and looks, all he has to saw is, "Awww, shit."

But it's not like he's going to get up and go.

[thrillofthekill]

Vincent cringes and turns rather slowly to stare at Francis. He'd glare, but he's kind of in the happy place that copious amounts of alcohol tends to put him in, so all he can really manage is to blink blearily in a vaguely perturbed way.

"....I like this bar," he announces, tapping on his beer glass. It's supposed to be a warning, but doesn't quite have the edge it should have. Did we mention that Vince is drunk?

[francis_barnam]

"I like this bar," Francis lies. He doesn't actually like this bar. If he liked this bar, he would have gone to this bar before all of the other bars he went to. But well, things are what they are, and he's not about to leave a bar just because Vincent fucking Sterling doesn't want him in his bar.

The lie would be more effective if the pain didn't show across his face. But he's hoping that Vincent is too drunk to notice.

It's hard to like a bar that you're pretty damn sure is full of demons.

[thrillofthekill]

Vincent's more concerned with the fact that Francis doesn't get his point. "No, no, no... You don't get it. I like this bar, as in I don't wanna get thrown out of it, 'cause you were bein' a dick and made me have to knock your teeth in. I ain't got a problem with you bein' in it, so's long as you let me drink and don't make me wanna punch you. Capiche?"

...It makes logical sense to Vincent. Oh look, more beer! Vincent loves beer. He's gonna drink that now.

[wagglingfingers]

Alex apparently never leaves the Kashtta; obviously she doesn't realise that it's probably safer to touch, oh, everything outside the building than it is to be in here. Nevertheless, the woman wearing black velvet elbow-length gloves is just going to give Mac a perplexed look.

Because peanut butter and a pickle? Totally weirder than her, thanks very much.

[ornobodywill]

Mac stares at Alex and then stares at her gloves. She continues to eat her pickle and peanut butter like it is the most delicious thing in the world for a few moments, because weirding people out with her food choices should be an extreme sport in her world.

Pickle swallowed, she quirks an eyebrow, "You know, the prom's still several months away, right?"

[wagglingfingers]

Meanwhile, Alex is not-too-tactfully looking at Mac's stomach to see if she's pregnant. That would explain the choice of food, anyway; when she was carrying Molly, she spent half her time eating Marmite and peanut butter sandwiches.

Hey, you try fitting gloves into your wardrobe. Alex's look was probably perfectly stylish in 1982. "Well," she explains, "I figured I'd look daft wearing leather gloves about all the time - or rubber gloves." Because these are so much better, clearly.

[ornobodywill]

"I'm not pregnant," Mac protests indignantly, because she's had that reaction ever since she reached childbearing years and people started noticing what she ate... Until she wound up in the Supernatural Infantry with about three behemoths and, honestly, behemoths have a weirder appetite than she does.

"Leather gloves are a lot snazzier than the prom dress look... You can get the short, black motorcycle ones. Those are sexy." Not that mac cares whether she looks sexy or not. She's just, uh, saving her potential embarassment! ...Or something. "...Why are you even wearing gloves anyway?"

...That should have probably been the first question.

[museprint]

Someone is watching Juliet, mouth agape.

Casey has seen things, this is true. All sorts of things. But this? This is new. This is new and kind of frightening, but that's really never stopped him from sticking around a situation before.

So there he is, just... standing there, staring.

[neverinportland]

Juliet's never actually had to use her ability in a combat scenario before, beyond making pipes burst and as she really doesn't want to blow up a major Chicago landmark and possibly destroying the water supply of Chicago by trying to increase the water pressure on a water main or something, so.. She's stuck violently splashing at the thing

[museprint]

There's -

Reflexes tell him to grab his notepad, voice recorder, camera, something, but this woman obviously needs help and what the hell IS that?

He blinks at her for a second, obviously too taken aback by the whole situation to efficiently process thoughts. "You... right. Gun." He grabs it much like one would grab a pair of scissors. It's not exactly the safest method, when you think about it, but he's not really thinking. He's just doing.

"Here!"

[neverinportland]

Wonderful. Juliet casts a glance over her shoulder and grits her teeth, preparing to exit the safety of the water and make a run for the man with her gun. She waits until the eyeball attempts to spurt acid at her again and she starts running, very nearly tackling Casey to the ground as she does so. She stops herself just in time and takes the gun from him, quickly firing off three shots at the fucking eyeball monster in rapid succession.

It explodes rather fantastically, spewing acid on everything, and all Juliet can think in that moment is to THROW HERSELF ON THE CIVILIAN. ...Hi, Casey, you've just been tackled to the ground by a woman and there's corrosive acid on everything. Isn't this the best day ever?

[chimaerasaurus]

"There you are," Abby says, sounding for all the world like she's desperately relieved to have found her lost doggy. This seems to satisfy the nearby pedestrians, who were starting to look a bit disconcerted at the dog probing obsessively around the crucifixion site.

Abby is trying not to think about it, except objectively.

Chicago is fucked up. She knew that already. She crouches, her tone turning decidedly dry as she raises an eyebrow at Bristow. "You bad doggy."

[stopdropanddie]

Bristow sits down and pretends to be an obedient doggy with his tongue flopping out and his tail wagging (and he hates every minute of it, by the way), but his head is a different place altogether. "You're not that funny, Maitland."

One of these days, he's going to get a police vest or something. It will make this a lot easier. Fucking Chicago and its leash laws. There are wildebeest or God only knows what lurking in the park and people flip out when one dog is off its leash.

[chimaerasaurus]

"You don't laugh enough for your opinion to count, Jack." She scratches him behind the ears, cooing the words. A bit quieter, she says, "What you doing here? You find something?"

God, what she wouldn't give to be able to change like he does.

[stopdropanddie]

The doggy lineface is EPIC, Abby. EPIC.

However, his tail is wagging more now and this time it's not an act. Dammit, that should not feel as good as it does. At least this form offers more dignity than the stupid hedgehog, even if it is susceptible to scritches.

"It's been combed over too well. There's no definite scent trail anymore and I can't get anything. If I had the number of contacts I used to have, I could have been here when it happened." Yes, he's bitter. It shows.