All they say is "trust in what is written"

[secondcity_npc]

Characters: NPCs and you!
Time: Various
Location: Various
Content: Questions and answers.
Format: Poster's choice
Warnings: n/a

Comments

Hotel Bar - The 22nd

[legallygreen]

She never thought she would be one to sit around and stare into a glass for answers. But it seemed like there was no particular place to go for even confusing information any more. Jennifer picked up the glass of scotch and drained it, trying very hard not to think about other times spent in the hotel bar, but it was difficult, to say the least.

[secondcity_npc]

It had been quite a while since this particular woman had been sighted by any of Chicago's denizens. She walked into the hotel bar like any of the others, seemingly unaware of her surroundings, but there was a subtle sense of presence that slowly wormed its way through the bar like perfume, that whispered and caught the eye.

She took a seat at the bar, flawlessly manicured nails tapping lightly against the polished wood, and waited for the bartender.

[legallygreen]

"Leave the bottle."

The bartender had come back over to her to refill the scotch in her glass, but she waved her hand as he tried to leave her. She knew she was not going to get drunk, she was not lucky enough to be able to get that way, but Jennifer liked the idea of downing the entire bottle of the twelve year old Glenlivit. She could never afford it in New York.

Plymouth Restaurant

[chosenfreedom]

Dean had to admit, there was some good eats here. He had a lot of questions. Even more after the shitstorm that took out Millenium Park and killed Neal and some Black Court hag. However, all those questions didn't stop his appetite since even when he's on a hunt, a man's gotta eat. And the joint had some damn good burgers to chow down on.

Still he was alert of his surroundings as always, scoping out the robo-occupants, and all the exits. Anybody who wanted to surprise him would have to literally teleport in.

[the_postoffice]

A familiar looking man, with a shock of hair the colour of down and wearing an old-fashioned showman's tuxedo, darkened the door of the Plymouth. He looked into the restaurant then rested his hand on the restaurant's threshold, muttering a word of subtle power under his breath.

The effort seemed to take something out of him, and he took a few steps into the restaurant and sat down heavily.

[chosenfreedom]

Dean tracked him, and raised an eyebrow as he observed him. He had good instincts and senses so he knew something was up with whatever the guy did since he noted the exhaustion overtaking his form.

"Maintaining radio silence, chief?"

[the_postoffice]

Blackstone looked up at the question, surprise giving way to recognition back to weariness as he caught sight of Dean. He nodded and levered himself back to his feet to approach Dean's table with the same careful steps that had brought him to the restaurant in the first place.

"My apologies, Mr. Winchester. I didn't see you there."

[plzpookie]

Maureen hadn't gone to that damned meeting. She didn't see the point, not when she could be out around the town enjoying herself. She'd much rather wait for the cliff notes.

So it didn't occur to her that new players would be wandering around, nor that she should have any questions... No one had said much since the meeting, but it wasn't like she'd asked either. No, instead of worrying about any of that, today Maureen was going to polish her bike and maybe grab a drink from the hotel bar.

She stood bent over the motorcycle in her leather, skint tight pants and tank top, wiping it down from the relentless storms. It wasn't much, but it would have to do for now.

[secondcity_npc]

The roads were usually empty, save when one of Chicago's trapped denizens decided to take to the streets, but none of them drove a car quite like the one that now glided silently through the city.

The Silver Wraith fit the city's mishmashed history perfectly, from the dapper man in the driver's seat to the dark haired, pale skinned woman who sat in the back. The sight of the woman polishing the motorcycle seemed to catch her attention, and the woman leaned forward to speak to her driver. The next moment, the car slid to a stop next to Maureen's bike and the woman in the back seat rolled down her window.

"Rather a useless endeavor in this weather, don't you think, darling?"

[plzpookie]

She wasn't paying much attention to what was going on around her... This was something sure to get her reamed if anyone were to take notice, what with all the monsters around or whatever. But it was nice to escape and focus on only one thing every now and again... Which explained why Maureen wasn't shocked that she hadn't heard the car pull up.

The performance artist tensed at the sudden sound of someone speaking to her, but let it roll off her shoulders with a practiced ease. She turned to look at the woman and smiled slowly. "Most likely. But hey, it's kind of therapeutic or something..."

[secondcity_npc]

The inconsistent lights of Chicago glinted off Lara Raith's features, turning arsenic grey eyes silver, as she laughed in response, the sound full of liquid syllables and subtle invitation. She propped one elbow against the car's window and regarded Maureen with interest, her pearly perfect teeth catching the curve of her bottom lip between them in a seemingly idle gesture that nevertheless drew attention to those lips and what they could do.

"Has there been much need for therapeutic action?"