i know it's everybody's sin. you got to lose to know how to win.
[ooc: open to everyone for forever. I'm probably crazy for including all my characters but what the heck. Have at 'em. Gimme your tags. I want them. All of them. :D]
Wes Gannon is at a bar. Pick a bar, any bar, and he's there. The events of the past few weeks have finally caught up with him and boy needs to drink... and maybe shoot some pool while ( Read more... )
Wes Gannon is at a bar. Pick a bar, any bar, and he's there. The events of the past few weeks have finally caught up with him and boy needs to drink... and maybe shoot some pool while ( Read more... )
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She meanders up to the dog, kneeling down and frowning a little. "What got you?" She remembers, somewhere in the back of her mind, Dean mentioning a friend of his that could turn into a dog because of the Rift, but for now she's just worried about the state of the poor thing.
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She stops her snarling fit at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. Looking up, she sees it's a tiny blonde woman. Jo knows better than anyone not to underestimate those. It's really hard to communicate in dog form, and the narration must apologize.
At the question, Jo's head nudges to the side, motioning to the monster corpse a few feet away. More like what got the monster. Jo would be pretty proud of herself for defeating it in shifter form, were she not intent on finding that knife.
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... Right?
She steps closer, kneeling down and checking out the fallen foe. "Yeah, it's dead... Pretty sure. That what you're worried about?" Her gaze turns back to the dog. She realizes that she's talking... to a dog. For some reason, this still makes sense to her.
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Jo uses Buffy checking out the other monster as a way to limp over to the shrubbery, hiding behind it. A whimper escapes because her arm hurts, even if it's nothing she can't handle. A shift is imminent, and Jo does not want to freak the girl out more than she probably will be, considering the dog is really a human being.
"Nah, not worried. I was just ripping the mutt a new one." When Buffy turns back around, she'll see a half-clothed Jo instead of the German Shepherd. "...Hey."
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Ever since he met Jo, he's been...checking into things as much as he can.
He's watching her now, in fact, as she fights a four-legged creature. It's impressive. One can learn a lot about a person by the way they fight, and the fact that they do.
When her shift occurs, he nearly steps forward out of the shadows. It's difficult to remain still as she ends the creature's life, though he does. There's blood wetting down the light-colored fur of the dog, and he can hear the whimper from where he stands. The urge to bury his hands in that dark-stained fur and pet makes the corners of his lips curve up.
As it is, he schools his face into a concerned frown, and follows after Jo when she begins to limp forward.
He walks slowly in her direction, crouching down about fifteen feet from her. Injured or not, he's sure she can bite his hand off in her current state, and he thinks that's fascinating.
Just being this close to her is something remarkable, really ( ... )
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Right now, her concern lies elsewhere.
Like finding her dad's iron knife. Which means she's pretty pissed anyway.
Poor thing.
The dog's instinct is to snarl, bare her pointy teeth, show him she is very much not a poor thing. The dog wasn't as big in size as the monster, but it's still big--and it's a guard dog. It's meant to guard, even itself.
It goes back to why she hates this so damn much, aside from how it was thrust upon her. It's not just the loss of control, it's the fact she may somehow be viewed as defenseless or in need of saving.
Jo's spent her whole life proving she is anything but defenseless.
Looking down at her leg, the dog lets out another sound. The blood isn't all hers. It's actually mostly not hers, but still, the monster got its good hits in.
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Then, those hands slowly move to his legs, just resting there. His fingers curl into the fabric of his pants the longer he looks at her, and he finds it very difficult to keep the calm, worried look on his face.
He manages, of course.
When she looks down at her leg, he looks with her. It's a bad idea to get any nearer. His neck strains slightly, though, when he attempts to get a closer look. "You are hurt," he says quietly. "I wonder what the chances are that you'll allow me to help you." It's almost asked, a spoken curiosity. Allow me.
He sighs and sits down on the ground. Immediately tiny rocks and dirt mar the delicate fabric of his clothing and he ignores it. "I know nothing about dogs," he admits, "but, I'll help you if you'll let me." Let me.
There's a thoughtful, hopeful look on his face. There's the urge within him to reach out. He can see it all in his mind already. It would be so easy. One quick ( ... )
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They've only met that one other time, and while she wasn't very trusting of it or his sudden interest, there's no way this guy could know the dog is actually Jo. There's no reason for him to reach out.
Which doesn't explain why he wants to help, other than the fact maybe he's not so bad after all.
She's a good judge of character, for the most part. She likes to think no one can blindside her. Jo always follows her gut and it's never proven her wrong in the past. Doesn't mean she can't occasionally be wrong, but Jo wouldn't like it. She'd sure as hell have a hard time admitting it, too.
Everyone has their flaws and Jo's got a chock full of them. A prominent flaw would be she is incapable of graciously accepting help.
He also needs to stop talking in that soothing voice ( ... )
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Hermione Granger is not watching where she's going. It's because her nose is buried in a book of her own, and she doesn't notice she's bumping into Rachel's table until she does.
She gasps, apologies flying out of her mouth immediately, and then she's dropping down to the floor, her eyes wide as she attempts to catch everything.
Her hands reach out to pick up all the books and notes as carefully as she can and she's holding them up to Rachel, continuing to apologize all the while. "I'm so sorry," she says again and again. A book gets placed on the table, then patted thoughtfully. "Your books! I hope they're not hurt. Oh, I'm so clumsy."
She bites her lip and commences apologizing again. The books all receive fond and sorrowful looks as she hands them up.
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There's a bit of a sigh, looking up to see who it is managed to knock her books over. Once Rachel realizes the reason for the accident--the girl is thoroughly caught up in a book-- and listens to the profuse apology, Rachel bites back a smile. She stands up from her chair and moves over to where Hermione is picking up the books, helping her with the load.
It really is a heavy load. Rachel might go overboard sometimes.
She'd say there's no such thing, naturally. The narration digresses.
"Oh, please. Don't worry about it, it's all right," Rachel assures with a slight laugh. "It must be a really good book you've got there," she comments offhandedly, asking in her own way what the book is about.
If Hermione wishes to share, of course.
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She's relieved the woman doesn't seem upset, and also relieved there doesn't seem to be any damage to anything (that she can see immediately, of course!).
Hermione is always happy to share, and particularly with someone who is so kind after they had their books and notes knocked about.
"Oh, it's wonderful," she says agreeably. "To Kill A Mockingbird." Hermione holds up her copy. "I've not read it for so long, and it's one of my favorites, honestly. I'd originally came to the library hoping to find something by Dumas or Austen, or perhaps an autobiography I haven't read before, but this ended up catching my eye and I simply couldn't help but reach for it. Before I knew it, I was caught up ( ... )
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Rachel is set to go. Her face brightens considerably once Hermione has revealed what she's reading.
"...That was one of my favorite books growing up," Rachel tells her, smile softening at the reminder. Courage isn't a man with a gun. Isn't that one of Rachel's defining moments with her oldest friend?
Yes, that book strikes a chord for her the way it does many, she assumes. "I'm doing a bit of research," Rachel says. A bit is somewhat of an understatement. "Hermione, it's nice to meet you. I'm Rachel Dawes. As I said, it's fine. Happens to the best of us."
The name is familiar to her for some reason. It'll come to her.
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She comes on in without waiting to see if she gets a wave back, decked out in her awesome gear. Her 'awesome gear' consists of raggedy jeans, a Rolling Stones t-shirt, two pairs of sunglasses stacked on her head, and a flyswatter strapped to her thigh.
She's tomb-raidering any fucking bees that make it into the hotel. Just saying.
"Hey," she says with a smile. "You know what goes great with pizza?" She pulls a packet of Kool-Aid out of her back pocket. It's seen better days, but the logo is visible. "I was gonna use this to dye my hair red, but worthy shit and all that jazz. If we can find about four cups of sugar and a spoon, you'll have the ultimate Food Combo."
Yeah. She said four. She likes to chew the sugar in her Kool-Aid. There's not much like chilling on a couch with a big cup full of sugar pudding. It's given her ( ... )
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It's a guaranteed perk.
"Oh hi!" There is definitely a wave back and a big grin. It's hard not to find Phoebe in a good mood.
To Phoebe, this sounds like the best idea ever and she says so.
"Phoebe!" She stretches out a hand, the other reaching for the Kool-Aid. "I totes think the red hair would look good, but I'm glad you're sticking with the blonde. We've got to stick together and all!"
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She's not going to be going anywhere anymore, though, now that she's found her ward, so it's cool to meet new people. Aislin's down with the making of friends.
"It's cool to meet you, Phoebe. I totally dig your name. It means 'beautiful goddess', right?" She nods, answering her own question. "Plus, it's the name of the cool chick from Friends who played the guitar."
She shakes Phoebe's hand and gives over the Kool-Aid. "You're right. There's not nearly enough of us around." She's totally serious. "I just got into town, too, so I just added another notch to the blonde awesomeness here in Chicago."
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Her eyes widen, and she looks so very pleased with herself. "Is that what it means?" Phoebe's cheeks flush with pride. "OMG I totally love Friends. She was my favorite character! Along with Joey."
This will not come as any surprise.
"Chicago needs all the badass blondes it can get," Phoebe agrees. Her smile's already warmed up. Phoebe doesn't take too long to warm up to people. "So what's Aislin mean? It's a pretty name. And not very common, I'd think!"
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"Hi, Rachel."
Fletch didn't just do that on purpose, actually. He tripped over a cord and because he is Mr. Smooth, he's playing it off all cool-like. "Nice day for readin', isn't it?"
He's just going to go ahead and start picking things up before she glares at him. Or yells. Or tries to claw his face off I mean what.
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Rachel fights off the beginnings of the red flush that wants to take over her cheeks. It's not so much because Fletcher tripped over a chord, more because... the last time they actually spoke it was over the disaster in the journal network.
Considering Rachel doesn't easily embarrass, if at all? This is quite the feat.
"Perfect day!" she agrees after she clears up her throat. She goes over to join him on the floor, picking things up. "Looking to read yourself?"
He doesn't seem the type, but you never know.
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And now he remembers.
There is smirking.
He straightens a few papers out, then fixes her with one of his devious Looks. "Aye. I was just checking out the periodicals. Y'know, the journals and things..."
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Rachel glares at him in response to that deviousness. She has quite the glare, Fletcher. It took years of using it on Bruce Wayne to perfect it.
Not that she thinks it has any sort of effect on this man.
"I bet you think you're just hilarious," Rachel says, snatching the papers from him with more force than necessary.
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