days dawn and skin's crawling

[quiettotheend]

[Backdated to last Tuesday]

At exactly 7:10 PM, a black Jaguar pulls up to the Gauche. Tabitha helps herself out, and stands on the curb for a few moments, waiting for her father. The stress of the last couple of days has been building up on her, and it's not helping her health. She seems fine enough, though, if not a little tired and wobbly. Mild

Comments

[thrillofthekill]

Vincent is prowling the halls of the Conrad, like he do, and because he's an archangel with a keen sense of situational awareness, he notices Jo before he even gets halfway down the hall he's prowling.

...Oh. He has not seen that particular face since he had to stab her in the chest with a needle. That tends to make a man very avoidant, but it does his heart good to see that she's settled in here and not on the street.

...Well, for a certain degree of settled. It's hard to call a girl settled when she's biting her thumb like that.

"There somethin' I can help you with, darlin'?" He asks kindly, strolling over to her with as much of a nonthreatening air as he can muster. Far be it for him to leave a girl in distress, even if he is a bit worried he might frighten her.

[lastchancefor]

"No, no, no," Jo mumbles, pausing, looking far too like a deer frozen in the headlights for anyone's comfort. She knows that face. How should she place it? Why does she know it? And then it hits her, and the color drains out of her face, but she can't run. Oh, she can't run. If she runs, she'll be gone, she knows, and the moment she leaves this place the scent of blood will hit her and there will be no chance left. The Conrad right now is her last chance. It's her one chance of salvation. She needs to go to church. She needs to get out of her. No, she can't leave.

There's blood in her mouth and she can taste it; it's hers, but still.

"No one can. Anymore. It's not."

[thrillofthekill]

Argh. That's never a good reaction. Vincent's first instinct is to take several steps back, holding his hands up to prove that he's not going to hurt her.

"Sorry, sorry. It's okay," he says as he backs up. He swallows, "It's not what? There ain't nothin' in this place that can't be helped, kiddo."

Which is a big stupid hero thing to say, but.

[lastchancefor]

Nothing that can't be helped? Even through the haze, she knows that's not true. There are things that no one can do anything about. Sometimes you're just trapped, by God, by other people, or by your own choices. She's not sure why she's trapped down here; she doesn't want to blame God, but it's so easy.

"Safe," Jo babbles in response, nodding fervently. "I don't think it. Can't. Have to stay down here."

But it's driving her nuts. The walls don't feel safe anymore. They just feel like they're pressing, pressing, and she needs to get out. Her wings are out, and they're twitching under her jacket. She doesn't know how much longer she can keep doing this. She doesn't have anything to fall back on anymore.

[thehighestwing]

Phoebe's at the Conrad.

Phoebe recognizes the skittish angel, and winces when she sees the girl is biting down on her thumb hard enough to cause bleeding.

She approaches her tentatively, so as not to frighten her.

"Jo...right?"

[lastchancefor]

That's her name. Jo turns to see the blonde angel, and her hand drops out of her mouth. She remembers Phoebe, which is a little embarrassing in itself. She can't remember her name; had she even told her it? She nods slowly, watching Phoebe warily.

"Yes," she says after a moment, taking one step back but no more. Logically, she knows Phoebe isn't going to hurt her. Especially after last time, no matter how hazy it is. But. One can never be too careful.

[thehighestwing]

Phoebe doesn't follow her. She remembers the last time they met and she doesn't want to scare her again.

"It's Phoebe. Um." She scratches the back of her head, at a loss. Peter would totally know how to deal with this.

Asking are you all right? seems like a dumb idea, because it's obvious Jo is not. Still. "Did something happen?"

[lastchancefor]

"No, nothing," Jo says, shaking her head slowly. She doesn't like the face Phoebe has. It's the same face she had last time. That she remembers. She remembers that clear as day. Not most things on the drugs. But she wonders what she does to make Phoebe look like that. It can't be good. "Just... too many walls and you know."

[monitorthebirds]

Hawkes is wandering around Chicago, like he do. He prefers the backstreets and alleys to the actual streets, 'cause they tend to be a lot less crowded and his claustrophobia gets kinda tetchy when there's too many people around, boxing him in.

And then wanders down the wrong back alley. Specifically, Peyton's back alley.

"What're you doin'?" He asks, thoroughly confused. He kills monsters all the time, but he just leaves 'em there. No sense in draggin' it through the city like a crazy person.

[shootsnarkstare]

Why do people need to be in her alley?

This question is not really a useful one. It's kind of like asking, "Why do Bristows ruin everything?" It's just one of those facts of life. If she's going to have to drag a monster down an alley, someone will join her. If she's trying to secure a Rambaldi there's a Bristow.

"You see, it attacked me and- I didn't know- what else to do," Peyton said, looking up at Hawkes, panicked. "I didn't want anyone to ask any questions you know and- I'm not going to get in trouble for this, am I?"

[monitorthebirds]

Hawkes would like to ask the same question. People are awkward and weird! ...People who are Vansen, Murphy, or... Anyone he used to know back on the Saratoga.

He arches an eyebrow at her. "If people are gettin' in trouble for killin' those things, I'd think there'd be a lot more people in jail." He steps closer to her and studies the monster. It's not too big and it can't be too heavy if she's dragging it, being a small-lookin' woman and all.

He waves her away with his hand and hefts the thing over his shoulder with an awkward grunt. It's heavy, but he was built for heavy labor. "Where d'you want it?" He asks, completely stoic.

Behold, Hawkes, the linefacing good Samaritan. Well, he ain't sure what the hell else he oughta be doing.

[shootsnarkstare]

This is complicating things. She can't say, 'Why thank you for helping me good sir, now will you please take this monster corpse to my terrorist bosses?' after pulling that act. She could have him drag it to somewhere and then pick it up later. It is nice getting people to do her work for her, though.

"This way," she says softly, striding deeper into the alley. "Thank you. For your help. Really. I don't know what I would have done otherwise... I really won't get in trouble? You promise?"

[homoraptor]

Elashte's set Malek to watch for Tabitha and her father - after all, there's a lot of paperwork involved in working out how to set a metropolitan area on the right path, and Elashte's time is as limited as anyone's - and so here Malek stands, looking for a little Pol-lookin' kid an an escort and under stern orders to present the appearance that he works for someone at least a little respectable.

That may or may not happen.

In any case, he's in a shirt which actually does button up, there's no blood on him, and he hops-to and opens the main gate as soon as the sickly demon makes her appearance. "Claypools, eh?" he asks, clearing his throat and... attempting not to mangle English. "Elashte's innis office. Can take you right up there, ja?"

[quiettotheend]

Tabitha's father looks respectable to say the least. Like most well-established lawyers, he dresses to a tee and takes very good care of himself. It is just as important for a lawyer to look good as his client, after all. Of course, Mr. Claypool has a small habit of cheating at the jury, but no one can prove that. He very rarely loses.

"Eric," he says, reaching out to shake Malek's hand. Tabitha doesn't seem to know what to make of Malek, going quiet and scooting a bit closer to her father. That probably has less to do with Malek and more to do with the fact that she's exhausted. "And if you would, please."

[homoraptor]

"Malek Asenath," Malek says, giving Eric a perhaps-a-little-too-enthusiastic handshake. Then again, to anyone who knows about demons, the behemoth vibes coming off him aren't that hard to pick up; maybe Eric will understand. "Of t'Lebanon Asenaths," he says, though he's kinda given up hope that anyone in America will recognize the name. "C'mon; his office is just this way."

He turns, leading them across the courtyard toward one of the buildings.

"Welcome t'th'Main Gauche," he says, tossing a grin back over his shoulder. "Honestly, looks a lot better, most times - got a bit o'plagues all over t'grounds; still cleaning t'at up, ja?"

[quiettotheend]

Eric doesn't entirely recognize the name, but it sounds familiar enough. A good enough lawyer deals with all sorts. It would be a far stretch to say that all of the people that he defends are innocent. The people who need to pay for a lawyer of his caliber usually aren't. And names get tossed around. Usually too many for him to keep track of, unless they're immediately important. Which a name from Lebanon wouldn't be, generally. Not with his cases. But he definitely does pick up on the behemoth vibe. Which brings a smile to his face. He always did have a fondness for behemoths. Good folk in a lot of ways.

"The plagues have made a right mess of everything," Eric says smoothly, nodding at Malek. "From what I know of your employer, I can't imagine you will let it remain a mess for long, though."

Tabitha still stays quiet, although this more is because she feels a bit out of her league. Her father can take care of this.