shadow of the morning light shadow of the evening sun

[francis_barnam]

Francis is at the bank. He's running low on funds. What he doesn't know is that this bank is about to get robbed.

Really bad timing on the robbers' parts.

Jo is in Grant Park. The angel has her knife, and she wants it back. She didn't respond to his journal entry, merely because it would be easier to just show in person. Considering how poorly

Comments

[sinsofskin]

Leona is at the bank.

She doesn't need fiscal whatever. Oh, no. All that is handled quite well for her, and if she needs a bit of pocket change, someone can easily run and get it for her. Which is why she's coming out of one of the doors leading to the back offices rather than standing in line like a customer.

Let's... let's just say Francis should perhaps not have chosen this branch, shall we.

"Oh, dear," she says upon catching sight of him. A brief gesture and her bodyman hangs back, eyeing the man she's approaching suspiciously. He doesn't look like the boss' type for dalliances, so that puts him in one of only a few more categories. "I wasn't expecting to run into a familiar face today. I suppose it'd be too much to ask that you were a bit more pleasant, sober?"

...in a few minutes, some robbers are going to have a superfluously shitty day.

[francis_barnam]

Oh dear, indeed. Francis frowns, trying to tell himself that this is not the time to get into a fight no matter how much he wants to break her neck over that counter over there where people go to fill out their deposit slips. All he wants is to get some pocket change (about 5k) wired over to his account so he'll be able to get on with his day. A familiar face indeed.

"I'm afraid I'm never pleasant when it comes to the scum of the earth," Francis says, his tone completely genial. "But it's never too much to ask."

Will not stab. Will not stab. Will... not... stab...

[sinsofskin]

"Ohhh," Leona says, to all appearances sympathetically. "That must make it hard to live with yourself. Though a shower might help - you never know; you might clean up pretty well. I know a lovely beauty salon for hard cases. Not far from here."

She sidles up, enjoying the urge to let her wings rip out and go for his throat. It's the tension, the anticipation, that makes it all worth it. Like foreplay.

"I could make an introduction." To the Glaysa who runs the place.

[francis_barnam]

Francis grits his teeth. He cleans up just fine, thank you very much, Leona. He's just not interested in doing it for this hellhole of a town. There are social expectations in his family, you know. And he does keep to them. There's just no real need to clean yourself up when you're just running to the bank before you're about to go on a killing spree.

He wants to make an introduction. He doesn't even realize his wings coming out until he hears his shirt ripping, which is kind of embarrassing, considering.

But he doesn't have time to retort because while they've been talking, apparently someone walked in with the intent to rob the bank and is currently shooting in the air.

"EVERYONE. ON THE FLOOR NOW."

Francis really doesn't want to get down on the floor. He heaves his chest, letting out a melodramatic sigh. The man in the ski mask hasn't noticed that he's still standing yet, focusing on the other side of the room. Which is why Francis is sneaking like a sneaky thing over to the table he was pondering killing Leona over.

[bemagnetic]

Here is one individual that will not make fun of Ricky's choice of drink. Jacob walks up to the bar and orders a... bottle of water. He looks sideways at Ricky and the drink in his hand.

"Really? A Corona Light?" He smirks.

So maybe he will though he doesn't look too serious about it.

[rickynotmickey]

"Stronger than what you're drinking," Ricky points out, raising his eyebrows at Jacob. That does not make it any less a Corona Light, but he will pretend the point stands. Oh, Chicago, and their predilections to making fun of his light beer. He would like to point out that it still gets him drunk, thanks. Which really is what matters in the end.

Ricky doesn't look too serious himself about it himself, though, really.

[bemagnetic]

"Yeah, I don't know anything about alcohol. I made a guess. The light kind of gives you away," Jacob says with a smile as his water is delivered to him and he hands over the cash to pay for it. "Should have called it Corona Strong."

He snorts at the idea as it's about as ridiculous as it sounds and then slides his hand over toward Ricky. "I'm Jacob. By the way."

[rickynotmickey]

Great. Even people who don't know alcohol are making fun of him and his wimpy beer. That makes him feel so much better, Jacob.

Ricky reaches out, giving Jacob a grin and a firm handshake. "Ricky," he says. "Ricky Smith." Maybe, after this beer or another, he can distract himself from thinking about Casey. Jacob isn't bad looking, nor is he bad fantasy material.

Of course, Jake. But he's trying so hard not to think about that right now. That hurts too much.

"And I'm afraid they'd get sued if they called it Corona Strong because it's rightly anything but."

[godtooksides]

The angel is in Grant Park, though it may take Jo a bit of searching to actually find him, as he's staked out one of the wilder parts as his own. It still has a bench, but the grass and shrubs have grown up around it into something like a tiny living shelter. Still doesn't keep all the rain off, which is evident by the fact that the angel is a tad damp.

He's also curled in a ball, knees drawn up to his forehead, arms wrapped around his shoulders and head. It hasn't been the greatest day, between the sporadic rain (at least he's got a sweatshirt now, though a damp sweatshirt is keeping him about as warm as nothing would at this point) and panic.

At least he's not talking to people who aren't actually there at the moment, Jo.

[lastchancefor]

She wouldn't blame him if he were talking to people who weren't there. Jo might not even think twice about it. She doesn't know what to say when she finds him, though, so she stands there in silence.

He has her knife.

The knife has been something on her mind so much lately. It's hard to say what it means to her because it means so many things and the memories are a mix between ecstatic and traumatic. Then again, most of her best memories are tainted by something not nearly so beautiful.

But it's hard to think of just the knife with him right there. While their whole conversation is still kind of a blur in her mind, she remembers that he knows something that will help and he couldn't tell her. Not there. Not then. But he said he would. He said he could. Later. Jo doesn't know how to ask. She doesn't know how to ask him what it was or for her knife

[godtooksides]

He heard her approach. A snapped twig, a couple swishes through wet grass that sounded like footsteps, these are giveaways; after awhile of living in the wild, or on the streets listening for cops and other people who just want to beat something up, or remembering what it was like listening to the guards walk outside the windows, one learns to recognize footsteps in the background noise. Even when you're asleep. Or curled into a tight ball of panic

[lastchancefor]

Jo just stands there for a long beat, even after he's greeted her. She should just ask for her knife and let this be done with, but it's hard to draw out the right words. She nods slowly, as if this is the proper response to a greeting, digging her hands deeper into the pockets of her jacket.

Part of her just wants to run off right now; obviously this is a bad time, and she doesn't want to disturb him. It's so easy, usually, to just run from situations like this. Much easier than sticking around. But she needs that knife. No, maybe it would be easier to let him keep it. Definitely easier. She could get a new knife and then she wouldn't have to deal with this. But that knife--

So she splits the difference and just keeps standing there, silent, her hands shoved deep in her jacket.