Jo Constantine
Jo Constantine
- tab One immaculately trimmed eyebrow rose a fraction as Marian introduced herself. Oh, how the town was moving. There was more than enough gossip to keep her grounded for a few weeks if there was a murderer on the loose and Fables like Marian were showing up. However, she was given no chance to pass judgement before Adara had come up behind her to give in her two cents.
Sai turned to face Adara, her nose upturned, eyes questioning her rebuke. “My help is hardly teasing, darling.” Anyone else would have found an icy tone their way for being so presumptuous, instead the smug superiority was curtailed by a more playful tone. Adara was a rare specimen that Sai tolerated and it could almost be said she had come to miss her in the weeks away. Almost. Sai was much too busy doing things and enjoying being away from the common dirt of Fabletown to miss anything about it.
Seeing Andrew barrelling in she waved her fingers at him, a light smile warming her face. Someone like Sai had no time for people like Andrew, all spineless bores as they were, but she liked giving him the attention when he was so obviously flustered. “Do you mean something for me? No secrets now, dear.”
Her prying was interrupted by Robin’s bumbling entry. The happy couple’s reunion sent Sai’s interest in Marian from her second priority after to the murder to the bottom of the list as she rolled her eyes. Ignoring the couple, she rubbed the side of her head with her finger at her suddenly growing headache: equal parts frustration, discontent and disgust at the sorry display happening right next to her. It was embarrassing just to be near it! Sai didn’t know how they could cope being the centre of attention and going through the motions.
The second the couple was gone, Sai couldn’t stop herself saying; “How boring.” Sai sniffed, as though she had caught whiff of a particularly bad smell. “Is picking up old floozies all the rage since I left?”
Not interested in an answer, Sai gestured for Hans to come closer, finding something almost as offensive as Robin and Marian’s performance. Conspiratorially, she made a gesture at his jacket, an obvious distaste in the movement. “Please tell me that isn’t yours. Fake leather? You’re better than that, gorgeous. I know someone who’ll make you something amazing and flattering… in your budget. Give me a call when you’re free and I’ll set up a meeting. Free service. Doesn’t get better than that. Now get us a glass, will you? That merlot I had last time will do if it has to.”
Jo Constantine
tab With: Rosie (his endless fear) tab At: Gren's apartment
- tab The last thing Gren needed was someone freaking out on him, but that was all Rosie was able to give him, and it made him dig at his neck harder. “Oh God.” She'd said it once, then again, and Gren heard it a million times. She was mad. No. It was worse than that: she was furious. He'd done it now for sure. One mistake and it was all over. Why hadn't he listened to Mum? Don't let anyone in. Don't let anyone in. Don’t let anyone in.
She grabbed him and Gren froze up like a stunned mullet. He wanted out. He was stuck and he wanted out. He squirmed in her arms: awkward, uncomfortable, scared. “And I’m … mad. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”
“No!” He shoved her. She fell to the floor with a thud. Since he was a boy he had learnt to control his strength, but it erupted the moment he saw danger. He wouldn't let Rosie hold him there until she could call the cops on him. He wasn't going away. Not this time, not ever!
“Don’t–!” A second's pause and he saw the cut on her arm where Rosie had hit the edge of a cupboard handle – a small, nasty gash. More blood. It was all going wrong. He didn't mean to hurt her, it was an accident, just like last night had been an accident. He wanted to help her up, but then she could grab him again, she would make him pay for what he had done. Help her and he was helping himself back into a cell at FLEO.
The low whine came back as he looked around for something to do – some way out of what he had done. Running away would be easiest, but he had to explain it to her. He’d man up and tell her the truth. “I never… I didn't mean to. I-I-I was angry. I tried to, but… She didn-wouldn't come back together. I didn't want to hurt her. I didn't want to.” This was all the shirt's fault. Nothing could work if he wasn't wearing blue. Bolting up the stairs, he yelled; “Get out!”
The cracks in his glamour were starting to show. Scales flickered through along his skin, and it wouldn’t be much longer before the plates and spikes came with it. The glamour couldn’t handle much more of the stress and there was no way he could afford a new one on such short notice. If he didn’t calm down soon, it would fail.
Jo Constantine
- High praise from Rosie on the cooking made Amelia sit up with pride. There was a reason she adored Rosie, and beyond her just being very polite, her endless praise of The Crown’s food and Amelia’s darling boy made Amelia love the girl to pieces. Not for the first time, Amelia considered stealing away Rosie from the Call and making her join the crew at the pub instead. They could always use a new, competent girl. Hans could teach her to pull beers and then they could finally have a girl behind the bar to pull in a few more punters. Complete self-interest would have made Amelia give her an offer than Rosie couldn’t refuse, but she couldn’t steal away Gren’s friends from him.
The sweet words Rosie spared for Art made it difficult to tell whether Amelia was speaking to Rosie or her son. It was hardly a surprise that the two of them got along. Amelia couldn’t help but put her other hand over Rosie’s, a gentle squeeze back of affection. “Far from the truth? What rumours have I not heard? With what our cameras have picked up when he goes down the back alleys with women and men, I don’t doubt anything.” To say she didn’t approve of Art’s various relationships with men, or any man’s similar relationships with other men was an understatement. She had said nothing to Adam, the boy was so discreet she had no cause to upset him, but she had made more than a few offhanded remarks to Kevin about his debaucherous behaviour and several reminders to keep it out of her establishment.
A new smell, beyond that of the patrons made Amelia’s eyes dart towards the kitchen as Rosie checked her texts. Manners of people these days with their phones while having a conversation was appalling but Amelia was cut short of berating her by what Rosie said.
“Dead?” Part incredulous, part joking. “I think you mean dead drunk. No one dies around here.” She pinched Rosie’s cheek. “Don’t worry. With girls like her, we all know if she did die, there would be a very good reason. Nice girls like you have nothing to worry about.” Amelia wasn’t normally someone to sweep some idle gossip like that under the rug, but she didn’t entertain the thought for a second.
That new smell that was bothering her wafted out of the kitchen, carried by the waitress. In a flash, Amelia had jumped out of her chair and stopped the waitress for the second time that day. The plate of sticky lamb ribs looked perfect. The glaze sparkled in the low light, the rich smells of hoisin, honey and ginger making it smell like a treat to everyone… but Amelia. She pulled apart one of the ribs with her fingers, exposing the overdone meat inside. “They let this out of the kitchen? You took this from them and thought it was okay to serve this to one of our customers?” The waitress hung her head, waiting for whatever call Amelia made, knowing that answering her was a definite way to get further into Amelia’s bad books.
“Sorry, sweetie. I have to deal with…” She gestured at the ‘mess’ on the plate. “It was lovely chatting.” Without letting Rosie get another word in, she stormed into the kitchen, yelling before she’d passed the doors, berating every idiot that she had been foolish enough to hire. It was about time she took control of the situation or more people would be subjected to something subpar and inedible being presented as food.
After she had left Rosie in peace, Rosie’s phone went off with another message. It was from Gren. There had been no rush in his response, it probably even felt like it had come late.
Jo Constantine
- tab Dog. There was a dog. Rai could hear the clickity clackity of the nails on the floor. It was a runt. Just a puppy, more malleable mentally to learn that foxes weren't fun things to chase, but apparently not bright enough to not go sniffing after the funny new smell to start with. He'd have to play the puppy later. If it thought it was going to end up in the library with him when he'd come for a nap, that dog was dead wrong.
The less erratic clicking that came later made Rai rather happy that he had the high ground. There were too many dogs in FLEO, that was for sure. He offered Toto a toothy grin as Dorothy stuck her head into the room. Dorothy wasn’t too bad in the scheme of things… for a cop, but Toto? Rai wished that mess of black fur was the fuzzy, little pipsqueak from the Mundies’ stories. Too many teeth in that snout of his with a bit too much biting power for Rai to leave it alone. God knows how many times he’d tried to have that dog taken back to Arcadia where it belonged but no one was ever around to see it get into trouble, and if there was, they magically still found a way to make Rai take the fall for it. Dogs.
Rai may not have been invited but he’d be damned if he was going to let Dorothy waltz into the library with that dog while he didn’t keep an eye on it. As was Rai’s way, he didn’t even offer a ‘so long’ before he left Robin to his work and the mess he’d left behind.
From a safe distance, Rai kept one eye on Dorothy combing through the library shelves and the other on the black mutt. It was in his spot. That was his spot, all quiet and peaceful and least likely to be interrupted by children trying to tell him about the latest amateur prank they had pulled off that someone of Rai’s experience could outdo even on a bad day. Now that space was going to stink of dog for the foreseeable future, and it’d only get worse if he didn’t do something about it.
Eira would be no help – the critter loving woman that she was. But one look at Dory tiredly shoving books back onto the shelf after Bufkin’s late night bender put a lightbulb above Rai’s head. He was over to Dory in a flash, the rest of the books all picked up and held out to her. “Miss Mousse, you are looking bright and energetic this morning.” After so many years, Rai could no longer tell when he was being facetious or not. “You know I love what you do here – doing your best to keep this community educated – I'd take my hat off to you if I had one.“ He took a deep breath, the unsaid 'but' hanging in the air, tense and electric. Or so Rai liked to think.
“But the dogs,“ he said at last. “You can't be serious about letting dogs in here. How do you know they're house trained? They might chew up your books or urinate all over the furniture. They might even attack a student. Look at the little one. He is ready to maul the first poor, innocent creature he sees.” Rai didn’t look at the growling vortex of black. ‘Don’t encourage the mutt’. Words to live by.
Before he forgot his manners (and lost support early), he, juggled the books into one hand and held out the tin with the other. “Chocolate?” Rattling the chocolates made a nice sound. He was definitely keeping this tin. It looked like it was limited edition, too.
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[ LOCATION | Andersen School Library ] x [ COMPANY | Dory (Eira, Dorothy, Robin, Toto, Hunter, Bufkin) ] x [ OOC | Rai such a menace emotion_awesome ]
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[ LOCATION | Andersen School Library ] x [ COMPANY | Dory (Eira, Dorothy, Robin, Toto, Hunter, Bufkin) ] x [ OOC | Rai such a menace emotion_awesome ]
Jo Constantine
Art was half way to another sorry when she attacked him with a question. ‘Are you alright?’ could just as well have been: ‘Are you seriously pulling this bullshit?’ He squared off his shoulders, about to bark back. One glance at her and he couldn’t look her in the eye again. It was the comedown that was making him edgy. Lianna was facing lost revenue if something happened to him, that was it. He went back to flicking through the receipts, hoping to see a hidden note or two he’d missed going through the first three times. “If you hear anyone talking about a stray hour and a fifty they found down the back of their couch, tell them I want it back.”
The coffee cup was tossed away the fifth time he checked his wallet. Lianna stopped him. For a moment he was almost worried that she was genuinely interested in his wellbeing. Thankfully, she turned her back before he had to ask. Their relationship was business. Lianna just knew how to play him to keep him coming back better than any other dealer in town.
He stared at the baggie as she walked away. It had come to him as easily as a tab in a bathroom of a gay bar. Getting a free hit in a back alley should have been seedier. Outside the Siren’s Call they still had to deal with the drunk taking a piss only a few yards away, trying to find a spot where they weren’t touching something dangerous or disgusting hidden in the dark, and with music blaring from inside so he couldn’t tell if he was enjoying himself or not. They’d done it all wrong. Lianna had even gotten off without hearing him once say something about her general ‘********’. Not only had he not paid for it, he hadn’t worked for it either.
“Wait!” He chased after her. It just a short jog, but his heart pounded in his ears and the nausea started coming back. He shouldn’t have had the coffee. He was dreading seeing what number the Fitbit would have for his heart rate. The only thing stopping him from sweating like a fat man stuck on a Miami beach was the chill in the wind.
Despite the racing heart that was making him see spots, he kept straight, looking as dignified as he could given the circumstances. Now in view of the street, Art didn’t want passersby getting the wrong idea. He was invading too much of her personal space, but he needed something to catch onto in case the spots gave way to a blackout. “Where will you be? Later? I’ll have it all plus a thank you and a sorry.” He caught himself swaying and tried to bring it under control. “By then I should be cooled off. People make less fuss over cold s**t than warmed s**t. I can roll myself in glitter if it helps.”
Art was under no illusion of what most people thought of him. He could confidently say that he knew what they thought of him – or what they should be thinking of him – because he’d heard it enough. There was no need to deny that he was s**t. He was s**t at his job. He was s**t at being a human being. There was no way to polish a turd, but Art had learnt it could always be rolled in glitter.
Jo Constantine
- tab Time was meant to go faster as you grew older, that was what Duke had been told. When he’d come across old friends on their deathbeds, they told him how the days blended into one another, an avalanche of time that was gone in a flash. He wondered if it would have been easier if time zoomed past for him as quickly as it did for them. After sixty-six years playing chicken with age and death, Duke had learnt that they were wrong. In a life constantly moving, constantly searching for something else, creating endless new experiences, the days stretched forever and sometimes yesterday could feel as long ago as when he was twenty-one and his greatest problem was whether he could afford a family.
Duke had come back to America again, his first time back since the eighties. Like last time, he was coming to the conclusion that whatever he was supposed to do wasn’t on its shores. Back then he had spent eight years wandering around the country looking for something. This time, he was calling it quits after three. Manheim had been the final straw.
There weren't many people at the park. The rain had sent most people inside, the only ones left were the tired dog walkers eager to rush back home as soon as their mutts would let them, and Duke, sitting on a bench with a bottle wrapped in a paper bag. No one harassed him today. He supposed it would be the suit – it didn’t make the cops give him the double take like his usual attire did. Even without the tie that was now hanging out of his pocket and the top buttons of his shirt undone, the clean cut suit made a bigger impression than the man wearing it. Or it could be that on a day like this, no one wanted to get soaked to stop him from drinking.
He had been watching a woman playing with her two stafford crosses for twenty minutes now. The brindle had never failed in bringing the ball back to its owner under the massive oak tree; the white staffy was faster but always overshot the ball by a good few metres. He was starting to think the latter didn’t quite understand the game.
The wind picked up again and the woman pocketed the ball, leashed the two dogs and left. As the park started to clear, Duke fidgeted with his ring. There was an obvious growing tremor that crept through his body and it wasn’t because he was soaking wet and cold.
“Don’t say that,” he pleaded with himself. “There’s no need for that. Come on. Shhh.” It didn’t make a difference; They never listened to him anyway.
As quickly as they had come on, the tremors were gone. He knew what that meant. Duke looked up and saw the distinctive blue uniform of the local police coming towards him. They were far away, but Duke could tell that they weren’t going to come to the fork and turn left instead of right. So someone had dobbed him in.
Before the two officers arrived, he pulled back on the rest of the bottle – better it going down his throat than down the drain. He had the five hundred dollar fine ready by the time they’d come to stand over him. Today the police had a change of heart and were offering pity, Duke could see it in their eyes. It was the arm. Ever since he’d lost it, there were people that had started treating him like a special case that needed to be handled with care just because one time he’d made a mistake everyone could see.
“You can keep the ticket.” He held out the money but didn’t bother getting up.
“What’s your name?” the senior cop said. The junior picked the bottle from the ground, pulled it out of the bag to see the cheap whiskey label, then tossed it into the bin.
Duke didn’t relent offering out the cash. “Kyle Braun.”
“Do you know it’s illegal to drink in a public place, Kyle?”
“Fine me, arrest me or let me go.”
The junior cop looked ready to try option 2, but the senior cop did nothing. They stared at each other and Duke could see that pity growing, his mind trying to work out what kind of drunk could get through a whole bottle by lunch. “I’m going to give you a caution. Go home and sober up.”
They wrote up the ticket, the junior asking him all sorts of questions Duke didn’t answer once he’d seen Duke’s fake Indiana licence, and when they were done, wished him that his stay in America would get better. Duke doubted that.
Before the park could empty out again to leave Duke with his thoughts, he headed out to the streets of New Town. His day was already past its low point, there was nothing that would make it worse, but there was nothing that would make it better. Today was going to be another one of those days that would last a lifetime and would stay with him forever.