this girl is the clean cut, she's the frozen ground

[log] maybe i'll count the stars until the dawn, me, i will go on

Sat, 12 Dec 2009 10:50:08 GMT

The deerhorn knives that arrived a few weeks ago have been sitting in Gates's room for a while now, with the rest of what she fondly terms 'her crap'. They're currently on top of print outs detailing exactly where they came from (maker, seller, location) and she's thinking about it. The backpack she took around Europe leans unobtrusively against the wall and its mural (the USS Enterprise peers around the side of the moon, a recent whim-based addition), and it seems like...an unquestionably bad idea. A terrible idea, even. This is not the kind of financial climate in which you should quit your job and fuck off to China without really being sure if you'll be able to get another one when you get back.

Whenever that'll be.

Of course, Gates has already started quietly telling people - telling Brody, who is a fairly important people albeit one she sees less than she used to and never quite knows what to do about that - that she's going, so she'd better go. She's made all sorts of things work on a shoestring before, and just because it's a terrible idea doesn't mean it can't be done, and there are some things she'd really like to be able to handle face to face. Or fist to face, more accurately, but she serenely adds the mental note not to go for his hands. Bad form.

Probably she should call before she just shows up, but Alex is presumably used to the sledgehammer approach to life of his favourite Bond - so when she turns up, slightly disoriented from the pinpoint and tiptoeing around his house in search of him, he will probably forgive her for how it didn't even occur.

[facebook] why do i do these things

Mon, 14 Sep 2009 12:32:29 GMT

George Lazenby's Profile

Status

George is too busy to fill this out yet.

Friends

Hasibe Ozcelik	Alexander Georgiou	Brody Savage

Notes

Basic Information

Sex:	Female
Birthday:	26/07/1973
Hometown:	Brixton, London
Current City:	New York City
Relationship Status:	Widowed
Interested In:	Men
Looking for:	Friends Networking
Political Views:	Irrelevant!
Religious Views:	Flexible

Personal Information

Activities:	exploring, bothering people, cooking, motorcycle riding, not stalking Rusty Ryan, eating a lot, sketch art, keeping a journal
Interests:	history & mythology, theology, weapons, stupid internet things
Favorite Music:	sinead o'connor, roxette, the cars, tracy chapman, sheryl crow
Favorite TV Shows:	Q.I., Top Gear, Antiques Roadshow
Favorite Movies:	Life of Brian, Monty Python's The Meaning of Life, On Her Majesty's Secret Service, The Seventh Stream
Favorite Books:	Vile Bodies, People Will Talk, The Yellow Wallpaper, Grailblazers
Favorite Quotations:	"...then take your fate upon yourself and bear it, its burden and its greatness, without ever asking for that reward which might come from without." "I feel that to work is to live without dying. I am full of gratitude and joy. For since my earliest youth I have wanted nothing but that." "There is an element of death in life, and I am astonished that one pretends to ignore it: death, whose unpitying presence we experience in each turn of fortune we survive because we must learn how to die slowly. We must learn to die: all of life is in that."
About Me:	It's really better to find out for yourself.

Contact Information

Emails:	itmeansrainbow@gmail.com
IM Screen Name(s):	whodoesthebiting
Mobile Phone:
Land Phone:

Education and Work

College:
Employer:	Scores
Position:	Dancer
Description:	Adult Entertainment
City/Town:	New York City
Time Period:	May 2009 - present
Employer:	Alexander Georgiou
Position:	Bodyguard
Description:	Babysitting a Bond girl
City/Town:	Assorted
Time Period:	February 2009 - present

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Member Of:

[log] since you walked right into my life and interrupted the flow

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 14:16:49 GMT

So this is how it always goes: something happens to Gates, and then she happens to someone else. Typically, it doesn't start very interesting, just with the mail. Letter (Da), postcard (Katie!), bill (ugh), bill (ugh), chain letter (what the fuck), promotions (pass), newspaper (pass), magazine subscription (when did she get that?), and...a package. Nothing about it's ringing any bells, but it doesn't seem worth getting worked up or paranoid about either, yet. Okay; package is more interesting, bills (and Da) can wait.

Digging apart the wrapping ends up being something out of a movie - one of those stupid scenes where they play pass the parcel, or the girl pulls apart layers and layers and finds nothing, gets some shitty monologue about the value of material goods-

That is a white-handled Tibetan kukri. In the fucking mail.

...it's as she's mentally running through the list of people who would send her, unsolicited, weapons in the mail - why in God's name does she have a list - that she notices the note.

"Oh," she says, quietly, and then a little louder, "I bet you think you're so fucking funny, Wolanski," even though she doesn't, having met the man a time or two. He's not here, anyway (maybe he's in Tibet, what in the name of little green apples is he doing in Tibet), which is probably a good thing because he's simultaneously upset her and armed her, a state of affairs with potentially uncomfortable consequences.

If she had the energy to be angry and stay angry and hate him and call him names where he can't hear it, maybe that would be better; maybe that would be easier than this horrible tired ache, the relief that he's alive somewhere mingling with the bitterness of not being allowed to even pretend to forget him, to pretend that she never stares in the mirror wondering why she was worth killing for but not staying with.

(They were broken on their own, she knows, but she'd wanted and for a little while she'd thought she could just have if she wanted hard enough.)

"Going out," she calls back into the house, heedless of whether or not anyone is actually listening, and her destination is Stigmata. More accurately, the tattoo parlour above Stigmata - this is a good idea.

Hopefully it'll be quiet, although frankly she wouldn't mind company.

[journal] happy birthday to me!

Sun, 26 Jul 2009 22:44:01 GMT

Another year older, not a bit wiser.

the streets of my hometown look the same but behind shaking fingers they're whispering your name

Tue, 07 Jul 2009 14:09:01 GMT

hey, you and I are going to have a big love affair, and it won't work but somewhere in the middle, my god, we tried.

She is fifteen and sharper than she has any right to be; he is twenty and too old for her, whatever she thinks. She pursues him anyway, relentless in this as she is in all things, laughing at him and arguing with him and occasionally really annoying him when she takes what he's working on and corrects it. She is honest and like fire, or like fireworks, and he thinks he's waiting for her to be something more than this. He also thinks she's completely insane, which is true enough and she concedes it without losing ground.

She is twenty and engaged to be married; he is twenty-five and not sure how this happened. She lets herself be talked into the big, traditional white wedding and schedules dress fittings around her studies, and taunts him about showing up in 'a great big fucking meringue, Anderson'. When he's getting the family ring resized - and after she's laughed and laughed at him for not doing it earlier - she starts drawing it on every morning until she gets the real one. She pulls a face like his father and says think of how it looks, my boy and he tells her he loves her slightly less today (but he's lying).

She is twenty-five and the jagged edge of a knife; he is thirty and too young to be pulling apart the threads of where it all went wrong. John asks if they're going to divorce (I know it's a bit more acceptable now-) and she tells him to go fuck himself. It's not a very nice thing to say to one's father, so she apologizes later, after her mother's already reflected mildly that if they haven't filed after four years, they're probably not going to. He apologizes, too, and she can still hear it in her ears when she's sitting on the edge of the bar, bantering back and forth with her estranged husband and knowing that she'll help him, she'll probably sleep with him, but four years is not forgiveness and she'll go home alone (again).

She is thirty and rising from the wreckage; he was thirty-five and a stupid worthless cunting bastard. Whatever he was waiting for never came, and she hates him for dying, she hates him for making her listen, she hates him for listening to his father, she hates him for staying with the Council, she hates him for all the things they should've done and didn't, because she thought they had more time, and wasn't that so fucking arrogant of her. She is alive, she's more than alive, she's more than human and her grief is a weapon she will learn how to wield.

She is thirty-five and locks her rings up with the photographs; he is gone, and Gates misses him.

[twitter] and you write pop songs and get to travel round the world

Sat, 21 Mar 2009 12:10:55 GMT

[+] unless teenagers count!
about 5 minutes ago from pinpoint

[+] this is why i don't have pets. you realize this is why.
about 5 minutes ago from pinpoint

[+] fort: invaded & destroyed by dogs :( :( :(
about 13 minutes ago from pinpoint

[+] fort: built
about 25 minutes ago from pinpoint

[+] puppy i love you too but not quite that much
about 30 minutes ago from pinpoint

[log] some girls got twenty reasons why

Sat, 21 Feb 2009 10:52:55 GMT

So it's been a while, now, that Gates has been promising (threatening) to come visit Alex (and Henry, by extension) in California - partially to talk about this potential job offer, partially just to troll. She leaves a note on the fridge at Chez Ho (gone fishing, back later, cell's the same - gates) and finally gets around to swinging by, finally, early Saturday morning.

When she arrives, it's not via pinpoint or car; Gates has evidently acquired herself a motorbike from somewhere. It's probably a rental, but doesn't she look pleased as hell with herself to be back on one?

[log] nobody's gonna take care of you in that world you've got yourself into

Thu, 12 Feb 2009 00:47:00 GMT

As apparently Gates is having breakfast with 'the thief', she skips her initial plans to wander back home and rifle through the kitchen for stray cupcakes, instead wandering back home for pants. And shoes. And a bra.

(...sometimes when she rolls out of bed, she ends up in the nexus.)

And, as he's doing that thing she hates again, in lieu of further stalking for fun and a disappointing lack of profit, Gates whiles away her morning perched on the island in the kitchen...doing her bills. Sigh.

[journal] hello story time with auntie gates

Thu, 05 Feb 2009 11:29:33 GMT

So, in January I was away working - mostly working - for a few days, right? Anyway, the job itself I got taken care of really quickly, but I stayed a couple days with a friend I made there, Pam Bouvier, and I've finally found a couple pictures I got before I left. I just want you all to know the dress was not my idea and he may have bullied me into it. The point is that I ran into him again in the nexus, and dug out the photos.

Right, so, this is Alex Georgiou, occasionally known as Honey Ryder - he says he knows you, Brody, what is that. Anyway, while I was keeping him company (out of the pure goodness of my heart, mind you) he got invited to some function and as I was present, this fellow feels it appropriate to add 'bring your girlfriend!'

(I am not anybody's fucking girlfriend, I will add here, and Kara Milovy & I are mutually not interested.)

So yes we acquired this dress and I masqueraded as an explorer from Atlantis for the evening. (As I haven't been back since, I can only assume they had to believe us.) I actually still have the frock, but I'll be damned if you'll get me into it again, look at that. It wasn't bad, really! The job was well-paid anyway, plus Tiffany Case took it upon himself to pay for all my drinks and what all. Had a good time, you don't get to see any of the other pictures.

[log] pope paul, malcolm x, british politician sex jfk, blown away, what else do I have to say

Thu, 05 Feb 2009 05:14:59 GMT

Alexander both loves and hates taking vacations; he knows he needs it sometimes - to get away from America, to see his home, to breathe again. But it's bittersweet, because the beaches of Greece are not exactly how he remembers, and the other people playing in the sand are not his kinsmen. The sun is bright and the sand is warm, and Alexander lays on a beach towel, pleasantly alone, reflecting. It's been six months since he found a door to the nexus and thus this therapist, and his heart is beginning to dim. As much as this place pains him in the modern age, laying on this beach forever is looking progressively more appealing.

Gates doesn't take vacations at all, after the one attempt she made ended with a move from one country to another. (It may not, strictly speaking, have been an entirely legally done thing. ...at all.) All the same, 'I'm a tourist' is a better excuse to be in Greece than 'I'm sorry but someone appears to have unleashed hell in their basement, again, I've got it all under control'. Particularly (she figures) when one is in the Greece of an entirely different universe, and therefore is sort of a tourist anywhere she goes. (This is poor and twisty logic that doesn't bear examining too closely.)
So: not far from Alex now there's a tall woman in small swimsuit and a larger summer-coat, carrying a...bag, presumably full of holiday gear (no), and bitching on her cellphone. "-it's in the water?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Alex notices the shadow of this woman, and rolls over onto his back to appraise what on earth is going on here. Eyebrows raise over dark sunglasses - who knows if she sees him - there's not all that many people out, this beach being host to hotels you have to have real money to book a room at, and he's, well, a good looking guy in swimwear that only James Bond gets away with anywhere else. For now: quiet observation. She is clearly not local.

Plainly not, and plainly not all that impressed - which might have more to do with whoever's on the other end of this call than her surroundings, mind you. Sunglasses not quite obscuring her frown, she falls quieter (but not, alas, silent) as she passes by him- "Look, I'm not a sodding mermaid - fine! Yes, yes, fine, but we're discussing this, I hope you realize - well, after this, I never owe you anything, ever again," -to stop a while away, not out of sight and probably if she starts talking like that again, not out of earshot either. She drops her bag (and her coat), standing with her hands on her hips and examining the beach critically. (Alex gets a look over, but is evidently dismissed for one reason or another.)

Alex isn't offended by being dismissed (she is not exactly his type, fancy that), but continues to observe her all the same. Another beach comber is eyeballing her as well, and exchanges a perplexed looked with Alexander, who shrugs and says, "Englishwomen are like that, from all the cold," in perfect Greek. The other man laughs. Alex goes back to watching her, because he feels like whatever she is up to, it's going to be interesting.

The sunglasses come off, and the cellphone gets dropped in a smaller bag that she produces from the absurdly large one she's been toting around (like any foolish tourist overseas, bitching about the food and lugging about things they don't need). She shades her belongings with an umbrella, emerging with what at least appears to be any sort of snorkel and...something. The eye skims over it as if discouraged from looking too closely; it's something that for some reason, the casual observer just can't quite make out. She sets her shoulders very slightly, stalking down towards the water with an irritated expression and the apparent attitude of someone who just wants to get this over with.
She keeps walking until she's underwater, and then she doesn't come up.

Well that's... something. Alexander sits up, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head and staring. That was not a snorkel, okay, he's been around enough weird shit in the nexus to figure that one out. Combined with the ink on the mystery woman's back - he'll give her exactly two minutes.

The water a ways out further than she was last sighted seems to be...busier than it was a moment ago, but she's not back yet.

All right, then. (Sigh.) Alex stands, setting his sunglasses aside, and moves out - knee-length in the water, looking.

If he goes out far enough: this mystery Englishwoman manages to look pissed as hell even when she's got a snorkel (what the hell, Gates) covering most of her face...and...her thighs wrapped around the neck of something Alex might not want to look too closely at, fighting with it for that something-else nobody could quite get a look at. (Hint: it's a weapon.)

This is not exactly what Alexander expected. Okay, it's NOTHING AT ALL like what he expected, but his instincts from long ago kick over quicker than his inclination to stare in a dumbfounded manner. Being a six foot tall warrior comes in handy - he reaches out, ducking mostly underwater, and grabs whatever he can grip onto (ew) on that thing's head and wrenches it back hard enough for a dull crack to be heard even under the surface. Alas, it's probably not dead, because. Well. What the fuck is it.

Startled and probably initially annoyed, Gates narrowly avoids putting her foot in Alex's face in the process, here, but she does manage to be a little less ungrateful than immediate facial violence. Instead, she jerks the demon away from him (because no, it's not dead, but he's slowed it down and she can yank her weapon back out of it's grip while it screeches silently under the water in pain). Once she's using the ... oh, that's a nasty looking knife ... whatever glamour keeps it uninteresting and difficult to grasp doesn't quite work any more, giving Alex a good view of a peculiar moody woman from London shoving her knife up from the belly to rip open what might be sort of like a ribcage.
...Gates jerks something out of its chest (chest?) and with that in her fist she kicks hard away from it, reaching purely instinctively to pull Alex with her as she swims away from the abrupt and sort of violent decomposition going on there.

Alexander is probably not as horrified as he should be, genuinely curious as to what this is and what it's doing here (because this woman, he's decided, is not of this world). It's not a god, for no god could be tampered with so. He moves back as she guides, not having a problem in the water. Once it's dissolved into ... whatever grossness that is, good job there, Gates, he looks over at her, eyebrows raised somewhat incredulously.

Gates gives him an incredibly tart look from behind her snorkel, pulling it off at the surface and ... spitting. Well, come on. She's also actually tucked whatever she pulled out of the inside of it in her bikini top, that's...not at all horrifying, sure, but it could be as much to keep it out of sight as to keep a hold of it. (Either way, invest in a swimsuit with pockets or something, ew.) "Ta," she says, blithely.

Alex quirks an eyebrow and looks back at the shore, where... hey, Gates, you have some gawkers. Again in Greek he calls: "She nearly killed herself putting the diving mask on backwards, it's fine now!" which is met with some chuckles, and one cat call. Stay classy, island nation. It doesn't occur to Alexander to point out that he speaks English just yet.

That's okay, Alex; Gates speaks Greek, too. "Next time I'll just take its eyes out with my nipples, like they teach us in England. It's cold there, you know." Adding, in English, "Thank you so much, Daniel Craig," she gives a pretty credible abashed laugh and ... wolf-whistles back at the cat caller, great, someone lock her up.

Alexander's eyebrows shoot up - surprised but not embarrassed in the LEAST, mind you, and he grins, amused. In perfect American English he quips: "I don't know," and glances down at her chest, back up- "You should probably stick with the knife."

The knife she has tucked behind her back now, yes, though he may note the glamour's obscuring it again now it's out of use. "Don't we think we're clever." She's...bleeding a little, but maybe she can wrap up in her long coat before anyone looks too closely at her. (Probably not! She'd be more discreet if she were in her own universe, or even one she spends a lot of time in - but this is, as far as she's concerned, a one-off visit and she doesn't really care.) "Go on, then," she adds, wading back to shore, "hail, hail the conquering hero."

"Does our conquering hero have a name?" he asks, charming in an entirely friendly way, obviously not coming onto her like that. He follows a few paces behind her in the water, shaking his hair out slightly.

"Mrs Keel," she says, over her shoulder. (Her hair's in a braid, to stay out of her way as much as possible underwater, and she's already reflecting on how much fun that's going to be later.) There's no wedding ring and no tan line, although it'd be hard to have noticed given ... the painfully obvious (speaking of painful, it looks like that thing had claws, hello). "Do you have one, or can I just keep calling you Daniel Craig? That's a bold move in men's swimsuit fashion."
She does not sound much like she actually has a clue what she's talking about, there. Just well-practised at being a smartass.

"No one's complained so far," and his tone is really, sadly, honest, because the arrogance on that front is well-deserved. We're all lucky he's good natured, really. "And it's Alexander Georgiou." On the sand, he gives her a bit of a look. "Want to get that taken care of?" he sees your blood, Mrs. Keel.

Gates looks down at herself (as if she actually required it being pointed out to notice, yes, which...might be true), and sighs. "That an offer of some kind or will 'no, I like bleeding' do you?"

"It's an offer of a first-aid kit," he laughs, "I have a permanent villa at the private resort up the beach. And I'm afraid you'd have to be Daniel Craig for the offer to be of another kind."

Entertained despite herself, apparently, Gates ... laughs at him, why is this woman. "Thank you for taking us where I hadn't yet had a chance to go. Red-blooded Americans." Of the two of these people, it's probably safe to say Gates is worse that way, so she can shut up. (Or continue her existence as a friendly-like-a-fist-to-the-face habitual liar, which is more likely.) "All right, ta. I'll get my crap together."

"He's your countryman," Alexander points out, fairly ridiculously, and laughs as he goes to grab his sunglasses, towel, and water bottle. That's all he came out with, because the aforementioned villa is right on the sand a short walk away.

"I'm only English by accident," Gates says, a totally ridiculous comment that actually makes sense if you know her history, and otherwise just makes her sound like a lunatic. In fairness, both these things are true. She wraps herself up and packs away her belongings and her umbrella, slipping into her jandals. "Lead the way."

Alexander is only American by some hilarious trick of fate (well, on a good day it's funny - he'll go ahead and make this one, seeing as before Gates showed up all he was doing was brooding away with some tanning lotion), so it all works out in a fabulous train wreck sort of way. He does, and the villa is all whites and tans, open and light, something so picturesque it's like it came right off a post card. "So how not local are you, Mrs. Keel?"

"I live in New York," she says, not actually playing dumb, as if she's too tired to bother lying well. (Granted, it's true, but it's also not what he asked. Not really.) "So I'm really just passing through!" ...to kill strange creatures in the ocean. Hm. There are some details missing from this explanation. Important ones.

"I live in Los Angeles." He'll play along, though it's obvious he's just doing it to be cute. Alex, stop. He produces a first aid kit from the kitchen, apparently perfect content to wander around in barely nothing. "You know, to the Greeks, demons were spirits in between the living and the dead that aided mortals. Your friend there must have been Roman."

"That's an interesting deduction," Gates says, finding something to sit on that doesn't immediately instill in her the vague sense she may stain it with either her blood or possibly just general inability not to be incredibly crass sometimes and claiming the first aid kit for herself. She's quite obviously got a lot of practise with patching herself up again (there are a few scars that make a case for her having needed more than just a first aid kit and a pat on the head in the past, not least of which being a jagged one on her thigh that can't have been fun to acquire).

Alexander is somewhat scarred up himself, including what appears to be a newly healed over bullet wound on his shoulder. He leans against something near her, casual. "It's an interesting situation to contemplate."

"It's a day ending in Y," Gates says, wryly, grimacing at her relatively minor injuries and digging around for...bandaids. Gates.

"I hope you have an excellent dental plan," he observes somewhat airily.

"I'm self-employed," she says, with dignity.

"It must be one hell of an industry," he drawls, "showing up to exotic locations in bathing suits to kill fantastical beasts."

Gates plucks at her bikini bottom, with an expression that suggests her opinion of doing this in a bathing suit is 'oh my god never again'. "'Fraid I don't have my license on me."

"'Fraid you don't have much on you," he muses, and while he can appreciate how a woman is formed it's... pretty clear there's no real sexual intent in that, which is probably for the best FOR EVERYONE. "Are nexus hoppers really that common?"

Whoop, busted. Not that she wasn't pretty sure she already was, but now she's sure; besides here and now it doesn't have to matter. Conveniently. Still, she gives him a mildly amused look. "Yes. They are." She pulls off the tie on the end of her braid and drops it into her purse, tipping her head back (without actually untwisting her hair, just yet). "Why?"

"I'm still exploring." Not I'm new or I don't get it yet, just he's still exploring. Somehow, that seems to make perfect sense, especially in context of this man who isn't afraid of horrifying sea-demons or inviting women with knives and bloody demon-parts into his home.

Yeah, that's...still in her bikini top, good job, Gates. "What d'you think of it?" Because obviously she should be asking the questions here.

"It's interesting." Which is... too mild of a response to be from a sane person, congrats.

It's been a long time since Gates has met a sane person, so at least Alex isn't breaking her combo. "Yeah, it is," she agrees, dried off (brought her own towel) and covered in bandaids. (Why not bandages, Gates? Do you want to look like you came off the worse in a brawl with kindergarteners? ...maybe, yes.) "Handy, too." She dispels the glamour on her knife and cleans it, matter of fact and efficient.

"The teleportation technology is my favorite bit, to be honest." Sometimes escapism is nice, but he knows better than to go poking around in worlds that aren't his own. He's got a pretty big stake in this one - and he's quite fond of it.

"Like I said," Gates glances up, grinning very briefly like light on the knife in her hands, "handy."

"Saves on plane tickets, anyway." He vanishes for a moment and returns with a lightweight pale colored robe thrown around him, like he's trying and failing to be modest. Usually he's very well dressed, actually, but he's a hundred and ten degrees out and they're on the beach, why fucking bother?

"I made my holiday bonus go really far, it was great." ...that's...an interesting interpretation of how that worked, Gates. 'Holiday bonus', also, really? Fine, whatever.

"I'm on holiday right now," he says with a sigh, stretching his arms over his head. "Considering not going back to work. Ever, really. I guess I'll see what happens." Somewhere, his therapist is terrified and he has no idea why.

"If I said I was too," Gates begins, speculatively, "how hard would you laugh?"

"....Well, now that you've warned me, possibly not much at all. But I'd suggest you were bending the truth, Mrs. Keel." This is, clearly, Serious Business (no).

"The truth's a very flexible thing," she says, airily, in the tone of someone who does not genuinely believe this and does not, in fact, expect anyone else to either believe it or believe that she does. (There's a lot of belief failing to exist here.)

"I suppose I can't argue that." Because... Alexander the Great, yes. "Are you in much of a hurry, or does your vacation extend a bit?" Where are you going with this, Alex.

"Technically, I have a suite for the week-" one might get the impression, now then, that whatever she just did she did not do for free and the opposite of 'for free' in this instance is 'for a lot of money', "-but I wasn't really planning on sticking around." See: has been on one holiday ever, which was enforced and did not work out as anyone had planned.

"You have somewhere better to be?" this is said with the faintly prideful incredulity of a man who is very fond of Greece - who wouldn't be, he'd like to know - and who is perhaps someone who makes a habit of abducting strangers to spend holidays with, for lack of trust in anything stronger.

"Than Greece?" Gates notes the tone, and ... mimics it a little mockingly because she's absolutely fearlessly insane, but at least it seems relatively good natured and she shrugs, rolling her shoulders loosely. "Honest truth? Not really. But could I be doing something a bit more productive than fucking about on a beach? Probably. I don't holiday."

"I don't either, but I've been threatened with death and the like," he gestures, absent-- "and I do like Greece." Gee, Alex, you look local and you speak if fluently, we could never have guessed.

For juuuust a moment, Gates's expression is interestingly wry. Possibly too genuine to last, it doesn't. "Well, it's a pretty place, isn't it." That was deliberately diffident, don't goad him about this just to see what happens, woman. (In fairness, as 'pushing her luck' goes, she has done so much worse before. ...really.) "I've been a few times, but not," pluck pluck the swimsuit, where did she even get this from, "quite like this before."

"It used to be prettier." Which means what exactly, Alexander. "Stay, have a drink, have dinner. This place is even better at night." When everything's lit up from fire pits and fairy lights and people just laugh softly and hang around until the dawn, when they finally sleep.

Gates regards him thoughtfully for a while - like she's trying to figure out what kind of man hauls a mad stranger out of the sea after killing a demon and invites her to stay a bit - and...well, she doesn't have anything pressing, and she did make the time just in case it took longer than she'd anticipated. (Or she hurt herself too badly to go home immediately; she thinks Brody worries about people enough without her turning up broken and bleeding.) "Okay," she says, eventually. "And it's Gates, if I'm staying."

He extends a hand. "Alex." And he does seem to realize that this is entirely bizarre, but... he's not the best person to leave alone, he gets depressed and strange, and for several days now he's been shunning company. Gates has appeared in the midst of gloom! Thus she is a sign from the gods and he will keep her and pay for her drinks forever, or something. (Scary part of this is, yes, he's serious.)

She shakes - stronger than she looks, stronger than she should be and stronger than most any human should be, until she catches herself and remembers she's...you know, shaking hands, not still in the ocean battling a demon. At which point she overcompensates terribly. Possibly she's had an interesting time of it herself, because she's usually a lot better at that. Watch her totally pretend it never happened. "Pleased to meet you! I hope you don't make a habit of collecting scantily-clad British women that wash up on the beach, because you don't seem the type and if you're a serial killer, I'm going to be really annoyed."

Alexander is probably somewhat surprised at that - hello - but doesn't comment. Yet. Who knows about later! "I've killed a lot of people, but not like that--" Alex, why "--this is a first, believe it or not."

"You've put me entirely at ease," Gates says, too much laughter in it to be properly sarcastic. She could...stand to be more concerned, probably, but she has a very different idea of what's dangerous to her than most people (even before she became a Slayer, that was true), and besides that she's just intrigued. Something interesting for her to pick apart in her mind is usually enough to persuade her to stay a while.
Let's not pretend, in fairness, that Gates has ever befriended anyone in a remotely normal way. Or that this is actually significantly out of the ordinary for her. She doesn't have an ordinary to be out of, most days.

This is a hilariously bad idea, but at least it's a hilarious idea. He has a few more days before he has to decide whether or not he's going back to work - to decide if he's going to fuck off on everything or not, and somehow, spending a few days on the beach with a stranger and talking about nothing and things that make no sense and doing everything you should not ever write home about is looking to be a better angle than actually thinking about it.

take what you need while there's time the city will be earth in a short while

Mon, 27 Oct 2008 22:55:38 GMT

Gates likes living in New York, so far. It's not bad, anyway; the carriage house is a good house and they're getting more and more settled in, more used to it. Stefan's around, too, which is at once reassuring her and ... throwing her, honestly, after months of trying (trying) to believe that he would never come back and that would be fine.

Today she is not thinking too hard about this. Or any of the other things she should probably think about, actually. Today Brody has been moving in and Gates has paint; her room stripped down and sorted out to be, well, sorted out.

(Pants inhibit her creative process. Deal with it.)

[journal] FYI.

Sat, 11 Oct 2008 22:04:23 GMT

stefan not dead

moved in at carriage house

picking up some of my crap from london

harry pretty sure i have taken leave of my senses

feeling rather optimistic actually!

she's a ghost of the city, she's a body through the windscreen

Fri, 03 Oct 2008 22:53:57 GMT

While she would charitably call it 'evening', it's closer to twelve than six and she's still in what used to be her home and office, trying to get it packed and sorted before the sixth. She'd like it to be a nice, smooth transition - of course, she doesn't do those, really, she crashes through her life like a woman-shaped wrecking ball, it's kind of how she rolls.

The conversation with Harry had been great, a few hours back-

"Harry! Darling! I'm moving to New York! Say, now."
"...see, you listen to me, princess, but you listen stupid."
"I know! Help me pack."
"You'll be an illegal immigrant."
"Your girlfriend tolerates your human concept of gender and sexuality because otherwise we all grope around for words like we're rewriting the urban dictionary. Shut it."

-but Harry's gone back to her place (and her weird girlfriend, actually) by now and she's alone, trying to decide if she's going to haul three million fucking candles back to NYC with her or throw them out and buy new ones. The mural gets a fond look - she'll miss this, but she'll like painting a new one with Brody, too.

She should probably have pants on, but forcing Gates into clothes in private is like giving a cat a bath.

[journal] lord almighty.

Mon, 29 Sep 2008 13:42:50 GMT

In other (less animatedly ridiculous) news, looks like I'm making a permanent move stateside.

miracles will happen as we trip but we're never gonna survive unless we get a little crazy

Fri, 26 Sep 2008 13:04:13 GMT

Apartment-hunting - in New fucking York of all places - is not exactly how Gates planned to be sending September, but it turns out to be how it works out anyway. She doesn't really want to go back to Liverpool, and Harry's been making noises in her ear about moving out of the damn office for years, anyway. It's not really a serious thing - she can always go back, after all, and she'd have to think long and hard about what she's going to do if she relocates all the way to the states.

It's not like she can't run a website from about anywhere, but her private investigator's license might not hold up in NYC the way it does in the UK. She'll have to look into that. If she does it. If she wants to keep doing that. There are too many ifs involved in this.

She sees a few places with a harried real estate agent, and ends up swinging by a carriage house in Cobble Hill purely because they're in the area anyway and it's showing. Not really in her price range, but-

Gates pauses, looking at the woman with her. "I think I actually might be interested after all. I've got to check a few things, love, make a few calls - be in touch, yeah?"

It's later at her motel that she puts her feet up against the side of the bathtub while she waits for it to fill, leaving a message on Maria's machine.

"Maria, babe! Gates. I have a brilliant fucking idea, but I need you on board and some real fast talking. Call me back immediately. Ta!"

all the bad boys are standing in the shadows all the good girls are home with broken hearts

Thu, 18 Sep 2008 06:08:58 GMT

Gates isn't really sure what the hell she's doing with herself at the moment--mostly trying to figure out where, precisely, is the next step going to take her. It involves a lot of writing in her obscenely large collection of journals and skittering around from motel to motel in little shorts and huge boots, bright-eyed and brassy.

b. maximus where you are

There have probably been more dignified greetings that were less short notice. That's okay.

for the man has only imitated them, and badly

Mon, 25 Aug 2008 02:02:43 GMT

It's mid-afternoon, Sunday, when Gates makes it to Chicago--Lakeview, although she'd probably have to stop and think to name the place, going only by pinpoint coordinates as she is. Council funding goes a long way when she's traveling via pinpoint and thus far mostly taking her 'holiday' by way of wandering aimlessly in and out of the company of friends and acquaintances, so she did catch a few hours sleep in a motel. She's therefore showered, changed and relatively well-rested when she raps smartly on Maria's door, even if her outfits are few and mostly revolve around absurd denim shorts and what were probably relatively nice items of her dad's wardrobe before she got a hold of them.

Nothing can be done about the boots, really, but she gives them a bit of polish now and then.

Incongruously (she looks like nothing so much as a fairly clean hitchhiker), she's carrying a bloody huge fluffy pink elephant under one arm.

[journal] touching base.

Sun, 24 Aug 2008 12:25:55 GMT

so this is a first, yeah? congratulations to me for finally joining the rest of you in...whichever century it is now. (no, i do know, don't be bastards. as though that'll stop any of you, provided you haven't gone and got your idiot selves killed in my absence, which i'm holding up as a possibility until proven otherwise.)

sauntered on down to catch up with young master brody, who was obligingly pleased to see me, and i expect anyone else i manage to catch up with soon ought to be as well. headed maria's way next (to see a baby, must not let my mum get any fucking ideas, because i have had that argument this year and i am done with it), i'm a bit at loose ends otherwise. anyone got anything they need doing?

i'm kidding. (mostly.)

this is why workaholics don't take holidays, you all realize. it's desperately sodding boring.

there are quantities of human beings, but there are many more faces, for each person has several

Sun, 24 Aug 2008 07:15:17 GMT

Mrs Keel sits on the edge of the table, not any of the available chairs--or that one sofa--but David's been working with Slayers for the past few years and that table's taken more abuse than a thin brunette in her thirties glaring at him from on top of it. He thinks she looks a little older and a little younger than she is, which seems par for the course. The file he's been given says she went through training as a Watcher with the original incarnation of the Council, but dropped out for reasons that on paper aren't specified.

He's pretty sure he could get the full story out of somebody here, but it's not what he's here to do.

"You're here voluntarily," he reminds her, when it becomes clear somebody has to break the silence before she breaks something like his kneecap. "Mr Giles wants to be sure that you're ready to go."

"I'm ready," she says, acerbically, but it gets the ball rolling. "So what do I do, then? Just answer questions 'til you've decided I'm coping well enough?"

"If you want, we can do it like that. Or you could just talk to me." Slayers tend not to be much like any of the patients he had previously--he's somewhere between grief-counselling and giving an assessment of fitness on par with the military--and, frankly, not much like each other. "You know this is optional for you. We don't have any authority here, but--"

"--but it'd make everybody feel better," she finishes, and he watches her sigh, lean back, and decide to get it done.

(She decided in someone else's office a week ago, but it doesn't matter.)

Gates Keel talks in fits and starts, quiet and matter of fact in a way he's more used to seeing in the now-mandatory reports than hearing in sessions. She speaks of Slayers from the perspective of someone who wanted to be a Watcher of the kind he knows Rupert Giles to be; she's good, efficient, but it doesn't take long to get a good idea of why she doesn't work here in these buildings with them.

She tells him about the dreams that started before what she refers to as 'interdepartmental bullshit'. Wolf at her heels and knife in her hands, and a girl she didn't know. She flinches sometimes while she talks, like there's ice running down her back when she drags the words out audibly. She tells him about being dragged into 'someone else's fucking pissing contest' and isn't that always the way, she says, laughing even though it isn't funny. She tells him about fighting for something she's already lost, something--someone--she doesn't have any way of finding even if she wanted to.

She doesn't tell him she wants to, but it's there in his notes anyway. She says she's not there to talk about her relationships, and that she doesn't have a relationship, anyway, and maybe she didn't, ever, and he listens because she tells him more when he just lets her do it. She tells him about not being told 'sweet fuck all' and letting it go (she doesn't tell him why and he draws his own conclusions). She tells him about being an 'object fucking lesson', and how well that went for what was left of Travers' followers. She smiles mirthlessly with all of her teeth and says something about how of course it couldn't just be the ones worth living that survived, and he doesn't think she's kidding.

He doesn't think she's wrong, either, but that's not his job.

She talks some about knowing without being told--because it's her fucking job, she says, with an attitude he's seen before if not by the same execution--and about keeping secrets, and about not really wanting to give a damn some days and about a creative interpretation of the rules. (Such as they apply to her.)

She talks a little about what it was like in the cell they kept her in--'not for very fucking long, let me tell you, Mr David sir'--and a little more about what it's like to fight one of her own. (She says slayers and it's affectionate, disconnected, despairing and prideful by turns or all at once.) She doesn't want to talk about what it's like to have that kind of blood on her hands but she does, in the end, curls her fingers around themselves and says isn't it the way, some girl died for beliefs that were outdated when they started and she fought for somebody who didn't stick around to be grateful, and she's not sticking around to pick up the pieces, either.

She says the Council in her day liked to kick it old school like iron maiden--the instrument of torture, not the band. She says she never took her fight with them into violence and it's typical of this life that she's still around to do it when they're--in her words--'basically undead themselves, anyway'. Her logic's a fascinating thing.

He gives her the option for further appointments (which she doesn't take) and marks down the equivalent of AMA when she walks out of the Council-operated 'private clinic', with new scars, old scars and a sway in her hips when she winds back into familiar shadows.

No two Slayers are ever really alike, but sometimes he can see the hundreds that came before in their eyes when they talk to him.

forget the lies no one ever could sell you

Tue, 08 Jan 2008 03:00:40 GMT

[14:49] * Maria exists. With her fishnets and heels and...exhaustion, because someone hasn't slept. That's fine, though, a lot of people are going without, these days. She is LOOKING for someone.
[14:53] * GatesKeel is...not among those people going without, because she sleeps during the day anyway, and the nights are generally the busy times. Of course, she's stressed enough that she's not getting as much as usual anyway, and...stress in general. So, there's a worn sort of look. And...there she is. Over by that terminal.
[14:54] * Maria goes over immediately. "Gates! Gates, Tucker gave me the--face. The antichrist's. ...hi."
[14:54] GatesKeel: "...Hi. Run that by me again, but this time, breathe first."
[14:56] Maria: "I know what he looks like now. The guy who attacked God, and probably Brody." She bites her lip.
[14:59] GatesKeel: "Great! I wrangled a name out of Brody, but it looks like the bloke's been using aliases -- unsurprisingly enough. Our young lad has given us an address, among other things." Other, worrying things her expression says.
[15:07] Maria: "Okay, well--shit, I didn't get his name, myself, but I can describe him?"
[15:07] GatesKeel: "Okay, okay -- that's good. Hang on." Gates produces one of her ever-present notebooks and a mechanical pencil. "From the top, whenever you're ready."
[15:20] * Maria starts describing, although she's not as detailed as she should be at first. Tired.
[15:20] * GatesKeel prods her for more detail where she needs it.
[15:25] * Maria watches Gates draw and tries REALLY HARD to remember everything accurately. Fortunately her memory is pretty good.
[15:26] GatesKeel: "...cocksucking son of a /bitch/," Gates blurts out, suddenly, when she's partway done.
[15:28] Maria: "...what."
[15:29] GatesKeel: "Daniel Horne," she says, not bothering to finish the sketch. "I /have/ a picture of this bastard."
[15:33] * Maria blinks at her. "You do?"
[15:33] GatesKeel: "Yeah, I do. I have to go to Atlanta."
[15:34] Maria: "All right." She rises, weary-looking. "Need anything?"
[15:34] GatesKeel: "Fuck. Probably." Gates pinches the bridge of her nose, taking her glasses off.
[15:42] Maria: "Such as?" She's attentive!
[15:45] * GatesKeel pushes her hair back and just /thinks/ for a second, before she shakes her head. "No, I've got it. I think."
[15:50] Maria: "Well, if you don't--I'm not doing anything else." Really, like...anything OTHER than thinking about Alex is A+.
[15:52] GatesKeel: "Yeah--thanks, love."
[15:53] * Maria smiles, and it's not too brittle, for which she is glad. "Thank Tucker, he's the one who gave me the memory."
[15:53] GatesKeel: "Thank who?"
[15:53] * GatesKeel ........doesn't know him, okay.
[15:53] Maria: "Tall skinny goth stonerboy, he hangs out with Brody sometimes. He's cute."
[15:54] GatesKeel: "Gotcha."
[15:55] Maria: "Good luck." She suspects death for an antichrist is imminent.
[15:55] * GatesKeel is a swift bringer of justice, y.

[ooc: dear stefan...]

Tue, 01 Jan 2008 21:16:36 GMT

[10:04] Delekayloaf: dear Gates
[10:04] Delekayloaf: http://www.katebeckinsalegallery.com/images/katebeckinsaleWallpaper/Katebeckinsale-HighQuality/kate%20beckinsale%20white%20dress.jpg
[10:04] Delekayloaf: no.
[10:04] Delekayloaf: it's sheer.
[10:04] Delekayloaf: love, dele.
[10:04] Jeriloaf: Dear Gates:
[10:04] Jeriloaf: Would you like Stefan to kill all the guests
[10:04] Jeriloaf: Love, Jeri
[10:04] Delekayloaf: dear jeri and dele
[10:05] Delekayloaf: :(
[10:05] Delekayloaf: love gates.
[10:05] Jeriloaf: Dear Gates:
[10:05] Jeriloaf: No. :|
[10:05] Jeriloaf: With...fondness, Stefan
[10:05] Delekayloaf: Dear Stefan:
[10:05] Delekayloaf: Can I wear it after they leave?
[10:05] Delekayloaf: Rampantly affectionate, Gates.
[10:06] Jeriloaf: Dear Gates:
[10:06] Jeriloaf: Yes, but probably not for long.
[10:06] Jeriloaf: [censored], Stefan
[10:06] Delekayloaf: Dear Stefan:
[10:06] Delekayloaf: You get a special prize if you manage to involve a knife in the proceedings.
[10:07] Delekayloaf: Maritally blissful, Gates.
[10:07] Jeriloaf: Dear Gates:
[10:07] Jeriloaf: There's /always/ a knife somewhere.
[10:08] Jeriloaf: Slightly disturbed yet strangely aroused, Stefan
[10:08] Delekayloaf: Dear Stefan:
[10:08] Delekayloaf: Do /I/ get a prize if I can find it without looking?
[10:08] Delekayloaf: Your rude awakening, Gates.
[10:09] Jeriloaf: Dear Gates:
[10:09] Jeriloaf: What does that even MEAN?
[10:09] Jeriloaf: Confused, yet flailing, Stefan
[10:09] Delekayloaf: Dear Stefan:
[10:10] Delekayloaf: It's one of those things you mysteriously understand after the wedding night.
[10:10] Delekayloaf: Helpfully, Gates.
[10:10] Jeriloaf: Dear Gates:
[10:11] Jeriloaf: I'm going to go blow up a building. Just...stay exactly there and stay exactly you (the latter is suspect to change).
[10:11] Jeriloaf: Busily, Stefan
[10:11] Delekayloaf: Dear Stefan:
[10:11] Delekayloaf: I'm going to go take my knickers off. See you in a bit.
[10:11] Delekayloaf: Pantsless, Gates.
[10:11] Jeriloaf: Dear Gates:
[10:12] Jeriloaf: asdffghjhg
[10:12] Jeriloaf: Incoherently, Stefan
[10:12] Delekayloaf: Dear Stefan:
[10:12] Delekayloaf: Gates, several. Stefan, all right, a couple.
[10:12] Delekayloaf: Victorious, Gates.
[10:13] Jeriloaf: This message will self destruct in five seconds.
[10:13] Delekayloaf: Dear Stefan:
[10:13] Delekayloaf: I used to have eyebrows, you bastard.
[10:13] Delekayloaf: DRAWING THEM ON, Gates.
[10:14] Jeriloaf: THE END.

so i, i'll try to not act so surprised

Wed, 19 Dec 2007 15:04:25 GMT

[23:27] BBbat: Christmas! Hooray. A time of joy, a time of family, a time of... stress. Finals, plus extra holiday orders, plus family issues--ffs, Katie, quit being such a drama queen--all adds up to a very stressed babybat, and Brody is taking the time right now to de-stress by talking on the phone with his boyfriend, who is mostly unimportant except to note that he's pretty much a douchebag who should be punched in the nads, but B likes him. He's ducked somewhere private, sucking on a candy cane, murmuring lowly to the phone, occasionally biting his lip and smiling. Mm.
[23:30] * GatesKeel just came to talk to Brody, okay, and yet? And yet she's just spent half an hour listening to Katie's woes. Who let this girl turn seventeen, anyway? At any rate, she's sympathetic to his plight by the time she tracks him down.
[23:32] BBbat: "Really?" he says into the phone. "That's hot..." He is completely not paying attention to anything, because he, too, just spent twelve zillion years listening to Katie's teen angst (because he's clearly so much more mature, being a 20something now). He murmurs something into the phone that may well be 'not wearing any underwear'. Hands may be wandering.
[23:33] * GatesKeel covers her eyes with one hand and clutches the wall with the other. "Jesus Christ! PUT A SIGN ON YOUR BLOODY DOOR."
[23:33] * GatesKeel is the best kind of friend.
[23:34] BBbat: "AUGH FUCKSOCKS!" he shouts, dropping the phone, which ... probably results in some confusion on the other end of the line. Pants are quickly yanked up! "Why don't you fucking knock?!"
[23:36] GatesKeel: "Because I might accidentally break in the door!" ...THIS IS A LIE, Gates is A+ with controlling her superior strength.
[23:36] BBbat: "You're a liar! Jesus H Christ! Get out!!" He throws a stuffed penguin at her. This may or may not be an excellent boner-killer; probably not, because B hasn't gotten laid in approximately half of forever.
[23:37] * GatesKeel dodges like a pro, catches it, and hurls it AT HIS BALLS. Gates, why. "No! I need to talk to you. Button up!"
[23:37] BBbat: "Auuuugh nooo I was having sexytime!" Brody rolls off his bed and attempts to hide somewhere, also fumbling with his phone. Noooo boner buddy come back.
[23:38] GatesKeel: "If your pants don't button back up, mine are coming off to even the field."
[23:38] BBbat: "GROSS
[23:38] BBbat: ...
[23:39] BBbat: "GROSS! Keep your pants on!!" Well, they're UP, anyway, so there's a distinct lack of Brody butts in this room.
[23:41] * GatesKeel rolls her eyes and goes to drop to sit on the edge of his bed. "I will if you will. Call him back later, Christmas is for family, not wanking to, aptly, a wanker."
[23:42] BBbat: Said wanker has already hung up, and has sent three text messages since. B is scrambling to compose replies. "He is NOT a wanker, and why do you hate me so? Do you know how painful blue balls are?"
[23:43] GatesKeel: "Oh, for fuck's sake, Stefan didn't have sex for forty-seven years, you can hold off an hour."
[23:43] BBbat: "I'm 20 years old! NO I CAN'T, GATES!" His boyfriend might be being a little pissant via text message. B's erection is now ancient history.
[23:44] * BBbat also lives in a happy fantasy land where Gates and Stefan don't have sex ever.
[23:45] * GatesKeel wrestles Brody for his phone.
[23:45] BBbat: "NO! Gimme!" He will wrestle right back, but uh, this is a losing battle for him.
[23:46] * GatesKeel is A SLAYER OKAY even if she is pushing forty, so EAT IT. She raises her eyebrow at the first text message; by the last one she's going >:| "Well!"
[23:47] BBbat: "Give it back!" He paws for his phone, but Gates has an IRON GRIP compared to him and his puny arms.
[23:47] GatesKeel: "In a minute!" Gates dials. Oh god.
[23:47] BBbat: "Don't you *dare*, Gates!" Wanky boyfriend picks up on the second ring, assuming that it's Brody. He sounds extra-wanky when he's trying to sound sexy.
[23:54] * GatesKeel cough-laughs. "Actually, Brody is very busy right now. As I don't much care for your attitude, young man, I suspect he's going to be busy until sometime after hell freezes over." Brief pause. "Did I say 'attitude'? I meant 'hitting on Katie'. Now, while I do not spend a lot of time looking at Brody or Katie's respective bottoms, I'm certain you know the difference between them."
[23:55] * BBbat *chokes*. "GATES! Give me the fucking phone right fucking now!" He's not really mad at *her*, so much as he is horrified and embarrassed, and also ... now pissed at his wanker boyfriend, because to be honest he trusts Gates more than he trusts him.
[23:55] * GatesKeel is 100% more trustworthy. She goes O:3 and hands the phone over.
[23:56] * BBbat stands up (and uh, his pants manage to stay up too, despite being unbuttoned) and is just going to spend the next few minutes having a *very heated* argument with the wanker. :|
[23:56] * GatesKeel lies back on his bed and kicks her shoes off, making herself right at home.
[23:58] BBbat: "No, fuck *you*, you fucking fucker! What the fuck is your fucking problem? You don't have a fucking high ground to fucking stand on! I'm going to cut it the fuck off, you fucking pervert!" Yes, this is how B's conversations with boyfriends usually go. "I hope you choke on your own diseased dickcheese you knob-gobbling shitstain dragontit dolphin-fucker!"
[23:58] * BBbat clearly learned this kind of language from ... someone who shall remain NAMELESS.
[23:59] * GatesKeel wonders idly if it was the chaos frog.
[23:59] BBbat: Could be. "Fuck YOU!" Then he looks at the phone--evidently he was hung up on. He tosses the thing across the room into a wall. "FUCK!" Oh, but they'll get back together shortly. Probably at Gates' wedding when Brody gets completely wasted.
[00:00] * GatesKeel will BAR HIM FROM HER WEDDING............not that that necessarily means the above won't happen. Traged bee. "I /told/ you he was a wanker," says she who is incapable of not going 'I told you so'. "Sit."
[00:01] * BBbat has a track record of dating losers. Low self-esteem'll do that to ya. He sits, looking incredibly sullen.
[00:02] * GatesKeel pets his hair sort of absently, sitting up in order to do it. "Bridesmaid duty. Up for it?"
[00:03] * BBbat immediately forgets Wanky McShitstain in favour of massive wibbles! "What? Really?"
[00:04] GatesKeel: "/Yes/, really. The ceremony's going to be Christmas Eve, if everything goes according to plan -- wiser women than I are setting to that."
[00:05] * BBbat has ultra-wibbles. "Yes!" Are you up for hugs? No? TOO BAD you are getting them anyway.
[00:05] * GatesKeel LOVES HUGS. She hugs back!! "I was wondering if you wanted to, you know. Bachelorette...thing. I never had one, last time."
[00:05] * GatesKeel is eloquent.
[00:06] BBbat: "Bachelorette party?" B speaks Gatesese.
[00:06] GatesKeel: "Yes, one of those."
[00:08] BBbat: "Yes!!" Aaaah minor freak-outs now. "You're a terrible person, you couldn't wait until, I don't know, sometime *sane*?" >:E, Gates.
[00:09] GatesKeel: "It is sane!" she protests immediately, poutily. "The full circle of things!" ...........what the hell are you talking about, woman.
[00:10] BBbat: "What things!" He's already getting up and going to his desk to find his datebook. (Because, yes, he needs one, otherwise he would spend every day getting high and doing nothing productive and flunk out of college and live in a box forever.)
[00:11] GatesKeel: "Stupid man things." Helpful and detailed! "Anyway, I want to get married on Christmas Eve, so there."
[00:12] BBbat: "Man things are usually stupid." Flip, flip, flip. Oh hey, look at that, tons of crap to do. "...You two better be really fucking happy together or I'm going to kill you both." This is how they express their affection for people.
[00:14] GatesKeel: "Would I /marry/ the fucking man if we weren't going to be happy?" ...Gates, you spent like...eight years married to someone you were definitely not making happy.
[00:14] * BBbat simply points at his now-broken phone on the floor. Point made.
[00:14] * GatesKeel pokes her tongue out. "Fuck off, we're going to be blissful."
[00:16] BBbat: "Well good, otherwise it's his balls in a jar." Brody talks big but we all know Stefan could CRUSH HIM with one of his eyelids, ffs. "Christmas Eve, bachelorette party, mmmm... how's the 20th?"
[00:16] * GatesKeel thinks about it. "All right, sounds good."
[00:17] * BBbat pencils that in. Circles it thrice! Then returns to the bed, sitting and putting his head on her shoulder.
[00:17] * GatesKeel wraps her arm around /his/ shoulders and there is snooglin'.
[00:18] BBbat: Snooglin!! "I'm happy for you. Congratulations." He's not a big enough homo to start crying or anything.
[00:19] GatesKeel: "I'm happy about it myself." She squeezes him (gently) and grins. "Stefan doesn't really 'get' it, but I don't mind."
[00:20] BBbat: "Well he's male and therefore has a pea-sized brain. None of us are exceptions ot this rule." Good thing there is no crushinating! "You realize, of course, I'm wearing a dress and if you pick out a hideous design I'm going to kill myself."
[00:21] GatesKeel: "...do I look like a woman who knows jack all about bridesmaid dresses, Brody? I'm not picking anyone's dress but my own."
[00:21] * GatesKeel is loling slightly at the idea of being in charge of someone else's fashion choices.
[00:22] BBbat: "Oh REALLY." His expression may or may not be degrees of >:3 right now.
[00:22] GatesKeel: "/Really/, and pre-emptively I'll put my knee in your balls if you outshine me at my own bloody wedding."
[00:22] * BBbat gasps! "Would I ever do that?"
[00:23] * GatesKeel thinks about it for half a second. "Absolutely."
[00:23] BBbat: "Fine. Spoil all my fun!" He waves a hand dismissively.
[00:24] * GatesKeel jabs him in the thigh. "S'what I'm here for."
[00:25] BBbat: "Ow! I swear, every time I talk to you I walk away with bruises." That's because B is probably anemic by this point and Gates is like a sexy English Hulk.
[00:26] GatesKeel: "Well, stop bruising so easily."
[00:27] BBbat: "Well stop being so poke-happy. That's Lance's job." It has retroactively been established that Wanker McWanky's name is Lance.
[00:27] * GatesKeel makes this awful XO face.
[00:28] * BBbat smirks. "I'll read those text messages. Out loud."
[00:28] GatesKeel: "I read them already! You could hardly make my motherly heartbreak any worse."
[00:29] BBbat: "They get worse." >:3
[00:29] * GatesKeel wails, mock-rends at her clothes.
[00:29] BBbat: "Something about fuzzy handcuffs, candle wax..."
[00:30] GatesKeel: "Go any further, and I will tell you more about Stefan than you ever, ever wanted to know."
[00:30] GatesKeel: "/Any/ further!"
[00:31] BBbat: "Sent me a picture message of his Prince Albert..." AAAAH.
[00:31] * GatesKeel ..............messes up her hair and moans Stefan's name. STOP IT, BOTH OF YOU.
[00:32] * BBbat immediately beats her with a pillow.
[00:32] * GatesKeel flails!!
[00:32] BBbat: "You don't get to have sexytime in my room!"
[00:33] * GatesKeel just starts laughing, at this point.
[00:33] BBbat: "Stoppit!!" Beatings will resume forthwith.
[00:33] * GatesKeel giggles helplessly.
[00:34] BBbat: "You just want to ruin my life, clearly!" Yes, because dating jackasses is such a good life choice.
[00:35] GatesKeel: "Yes, Brody, you've /found me out/." She wrestles the pillow away from him and hits him with it.
[00:35] * BBbat falls over, because ... he weighs approximately 50 pounds. "Ow!"
[00:39] GatesKeel: "Siiit down."
[00:39] * BBbat siiiighs, gets off the floor and sits on the bed with his legs crossed (criss-cross apple sauce style.)
[00:44] * GatesKeel leans against him. Going :3 insufferably.
[00:44] * BBbat pets!
[00:52] * GatesKeel grins at him. >:3
[00:53] * BBbat makes faces back.
[00:53] * GatesKeel pats his knee.
[00:55] BBbat: "Hmmmmm." He's already thinking about how to apologize to Wanky.
[00:55] * GatesKeel would go :| if she knew that.
[00:55] GatesKeel: "Hmm?"
[00:55] * BBbat plans on not telling her. "Trying to think how many novelty penis products this is going to require."
[00:57] GatesKeel: "Ohhhh." Gates laughs. "How're you doing on that so far?"
[00:58] BBbat: "This requires some serious mental calculations." B| "Big party or small?" NOTE: it is going to be huge either way.
[00:58] GatesKeel: "Big. Why not!"
[00:59] BBbat: "Oh good, I am incapable of doing anything else."
[00:59] * GatesKeel snickers. "Yeah, I thought so."
[01:01] * BBbat >:3s more.
[01:02] * GatesKeel wriggles her toes. "What sort of dress d'you think? I'm not wearing a fucking meringue."
[01:05] * BBbat laughs. "A-line. With sleeves, a tube top is never acceptable even when disguised as a fancy dress."
[01:06] GatesKeel: "Crushing my dreams, you are." She is so full of lies.
[01:07] BBbat: "You know I'm right! You probably have the shoulders for it but it's so very easy to go wrong."
[01:09] GatesKeel: "Well, you know more than I do."
[01:09] GatesKeel: "...about dresses."
[01:10] BBbat: "This is true facts!" Designing them, and wearing them, evidently.
[01:12] GatesKeel: "Yes, so. I'll just have to inflict as much of my wedding stress on you as possible."
[01:12] * BBbat puts the back of his hand on his forehead dramatically. "It's a burden I've had to bear frequently, having been born unfortunately with extra fabulous chromosomes."
[01:18] GatesKeel: "My poor baby."
[01:19] * BBbat sticks out tongue.
[01:20] * GatesKeel grabs it between her finger and thumb.
[01:20] BBbat: "NNGH! Nmph-hmmph!!"
[01:20] GatesKeel: "What?" Innocence!
[01:21] BBbat: "Hnn-hnn HMNCE hnhs nn ooh-hmph!!"
[01:21] * GatesKeel lets go, laughing.
[01:21] * BBbat pretty clearly just said "Only LANCE gets to do that!"
[01:21] BBbat: "Cheater."
[01:22] GatesKeel: "Shameless, even. And I'm sorry, love, but I have bigger balls than he does without trying."
[01:22] BBbat: "Gates, I *really* don't need to hear about your balls, not if I ever want to have sex ever again. And yes, I do."
[01:23] GatesKeel: "But I have big brass ones!"
[01:23] BBbat: "WHEN I WAS!" He claps his hands over his ears. "A YOUNG BOY! MY FATHER! TOOK ME INTO THE CITY! TO SEE A MARCHING BAND!"
[01:24] GatesKeel: "Oh, even I know that song is passé."
[01:24] * BBbat hums LOUDLY.
[01:24] GatesKeel: "Pouty-pants."
[01:24] BBbat: "Your mom."
[01:24] * BBbat so went there.
[01:24] GatesKeel: "--wants to talk to you about the bachelorette party," Gates answers, serenely.
[01:25] BBbat: "Am I going to have to lie through my teeth?"
[01:25] GatesKeel: "Little bit, yeah."
[01:25] GatesKeel: "Also, tell her you're helping me write my vows."
[01:26] BBbat: "Goddammit, *I* might as well be getting married, then. Stefan's not really my type, though."
[01:27] GatesKeel: "Fifty-two and heterosexual. Not really your usual bloke."
[01:27] BBbat: "I tend towards guys more attainable, yeah." And also bigger losers. "I will make it appear to be the picture of innocence to your mother."
[01:28] GatesKeel: "You're a godsend."
[01:28] * BBbat holds up his stigmata'd hands. "*Duh*."
[01:28] * GatesKeel starts giggling.
[01:30] BBbat: "You know it." :3
[01:30] GatesKeel: "Well, he does seem mighty fond of you..."
[01:32] BBbat: "Which, God?"
[01:32] GatesKeel: "Mm."
[01:35] BBbat: "Oh, wacky religious stuff."
[01:35] GatesKeel: "It sure is...wacky."
[01:36] BBbat: "It's stupid." He's eyeing his computer, aware that he probably has seven thousand new e-mails from Wanky McWanksalot.
[01:37] GatesKeel: "I bet you just hurt His feelings."
[01:37] BBbat: "He's a big boy, he'll get over it."
[01:38] GatesKeel: "Mmm...probably sooner rather than later."
[01:39] BBbat: "Probably!"

got no cause to be afraid

Tue, 18 Dec 2007 09:18:54 GMT

[20:37] * TinyGates wanders into the bar with distinctly >:| look on her face. >:| says Gates. >:|!!!
[20:38] * DanielHorne enters a little later -- pauses, looks back, looks at the bar, frowns. Clearly puzzled. This is not an unusual Stigmata reaction, apparently.
[20:40] * TinyGates was not expecting the nexus, but she...can roll with it, evidently, because she drops her notebook on the bar and slips out of her shoes.
[20:40] DanielHorne: "Huh. That's interesting."
[20:40] TinyGates: "Bar out of no where?"
[20:41] DanielHorne: "Yes."
[20:41] TinyGates: "Well! I'm glad I'm not the only one."
[20:41] DanielHorne: "It seems to be a Nexus thing--I probably should have been expecting that. Hm." He peers back the way he came.
[20:42] TinyGates: "Neeexus?"
[20:42] DanielHorne: "Yes. Are you new?"
[20:42] TinyGates: "In a manner of speaking, which is to say yes."
[20:43] DanielHorne: "Ah." He pulls up a chair. "Well, you'll figure it out." It's not rocket science.
[20:43] TinyGates: "Expect I shall!" She sets her hands on her hips and surveys the bar with interest for a moment.
[20:45] DanielHorne: "This is a minor setback. Oh, well. I could use a break."
[20:46] TinyGates: "Busy Christmas?"
[20:46] * TinyGates has NO IDEA.
[20:46] DanielHorne: "Ah, no. I've been looking for someone."
[20:47] TinyGates: "Aaaah." She sets about making herself tea.
[20:48] * DanielHorne just has some water. "You?" On the Christmas thing, he means.
[20:49] TinyGates: "You could say that," she says, with an edge to it.
[20:50] * DanielHorne picks up on the edge. "Sorry to hear it."
[20:50] TinyGates: "Well, I'm right and he's wrong, and I'm sure he'll realise that sooner or later." ...She doesn't actually look remotely convinced of this, but she sounds very upbeat about it.
[20:53] DanielHorne: "With any luck. People have a tendency to be dense." Siiiip.
[20:54] TinyGates: "Englishmen in particular." She sweetens her tea a little.
[20:55] DanielHorne: "Can't say I have a lot of experience in that arena."
[20:55] TinyGates: "You're not missing a bloody thing."
[20:56] DanielHorne: "Good." His smile is a tired, strained thing. This is, of course, entirely fake, but Daniel is an exceptionally good actor.
[20:59] * TinyGates might not notice if he /weren't/, in her current mood. She boosts herself up onto the bar with only a little more effort than her older self might require. "Gates Keel," she introduces herself.
[20:59] DanielHorne: "Daniel Horne." He tips an imaginary hat.
[21:00] TinyGates: "Well, nice to meet you, Mr Horne."
[21:01] DanielHorne: "Please. Just Daniel." Another small smile.
[21:02] TinyGates: "All right. I'm still Mrs Keel." She smiles, pleasantly, and sips her tea.
[21:04] * DanielHorne nods, understandingly.
[21:05] * TinyGates picks up her notebook from where she put it down and pats her pockets for a pen.
[21:06] * DanielHorne pulls one out of his pocket and offers it to her.
[21:07] TinyGates: "Oh! Thank you." She leans forward to take it and flips her notebook open.
[21:08] * DanielHorne taps his fingers on the bar. "You're very welcome."
[21:09] * TinyGates starts to sketch, glancing up now and then, and occasionally pausing for tea.
[21:10] * DanielHorne ... eventually figures out what she's doing, and obligingly holds still. "Where in England are you from?" What, it's her accent.
[21:15] TinyGates: "London," she says. Someone from England might still be able to figure out which /part/; she hasn't done the travel and careful manipulating of her accent to obscure it. But Daniel's probably not English, and so? It continues to be a mystery.
[21:16] DanielHorne: He is not from England, and whether or not he's actually been there will just have to remain up in the air. "Mm. Nice city?"
[21:16] TinyGates: "When a man is tired of London..." She laughs, quietly, with little mirth. She knows she'll be leaving soon.
[21:39] DanielHorne: "Mm. That's a good endorsement." THis is, like, the driest conversation ever.
[21:42] * TinyGates gets a curious sort of look in her eyes for a moment and sets to her art with more concentration, as she nods absently.
[21:43] * DanielHorne puts his chin in his hands and looks moderately amused by this. Inasmuch as Daniel ever looks anything.
[21:43] * TinyGates frowns, very slightly, after a moment.
[21:43] DanielHorne: "Hm?"
[21:44] TinyGates: "The unexpected might of a pen." Gates is a little silly sometimes, in case you'd managed to miss that somehow.
[21:45] * DanielHorne chuckles. That's kind of a bad word for it, but. "I bet. My boy's an artist himself."
[21:45] TinyGates: "Oh?"
[21:46] DanielHorne: "Mm. Painter. Very talented kid." He makes that sound as if he gives a crap.
[21:46] TinyGates: "I'm not really an artist," Gates says, modestly. "It's just an off-shoot of my studies."
[21:47] DanielHorne: "Which are?" He sounds interested.
[21:49] TinyGates: "History," Gates lies; she's not as impressive a liar as the antichrist, natch, but she's pretty damn good. "One of my professors believes that a good way to understand the past is to immerse yourself in the present -- he suggests recording daily events." :3
[21:49] DanielHorne: "That's a good philosophy, I think. So you picked up drawing?"
[21:51] TinyGates: "Mmmhmm -- just sketch art, I'm no good at anything else."
[21:52] DanielHorne: "Hm. I can only draw stick figures, so that's impressive to me." Smiiiile.
[21:52] TinyGates: "We're an arty family, my lot! Mum fancies herself a bit of a musician and my husband's a dancer."
[21:55] DanielHorne: "It's good to surround yourself in the arts--good exercise for the mind."
[22:00] TinyGates: "Absolutely." Gates closes her notebook and offers him the pen back.
[22:03] DanielHorne: "Thank you." He accepts the pen, and glances at his watch. Frowns.
[22:03] * TinyGates cocks her eyebrow. "Somewhere to be?"
[22:03] DanielHorne: "It's getting late, and that kid of mine is still MIA."
[22:04] TinyGates: "Bugger," she says, sympathetically.
[22:04] DanielHorne: "Mm. I'd better resume my search. You haven't seen him, have you? Small kid, pretty goth, about 15?"
[22:05] TinyGates: "'Fraid not."
[22:05] DanielHorne: "Ah, well." He stands. :/
[22:06] TinyGates: "I should get going, myself. Lecture in an hour." ...that's an interesting definition of 'lecture', but whatever.
[22:07] DanielHorne: I don't think it's a lecture at all! >:O He nods. "It was a pleasure meeting you." It will be a pleasure annihilating your world! :D
[22:07] TinyGates: "You, too, Daniel." She slides off the bar.
[22:07] * DanielHorne takes his leave.
[22:08] * TinyGates trundles off back to London. And it'll be a pleasure killing the shit out of him a decade and change from now.

there's something in the wind that feels like tragedy's hand

Mon, 17 Dec 2007 02:15:11 GMT

Gates apparently feels that her bedroom is a suitable office, which is why the candles are (all) lit and her laptop is on the bed, surrounded by all the texts she could find relating to the antichrist -- some of which she may have "borrowed" from Brody's own world. She's got a few ideas for a starting point, she thinks, and whether they pan out or not she's leaving shortly after Stefan.

There's a brief moment where she considers magical tracking devices, but she dismisses it (only because she doesn't think Stefan would let her) and ignores the unpleasant roiling in the pit of her stomach. There's an apocalypse looming; of course she doesn't feel good about it. The familiar imagery from her dreams comes and goes when she doesn't focus, slipping through to shadow her thoughts -- so she's focused, now, trying to think if there's anything she can do for Stefan (sounds cold, where he's going) and figure out what's going to be the most practical and efficient way of taking down the antichrist. What she'll need.

...pants, probably. Failing that for now, she's going to have--and the tea is cold.

[ooc; WHAT UP GUYS]

Tue, 11 Dec 2007 03:59:19 GMT

RP MEME, OVAR HERE.