s m o k e (Deadlight)

Title: s m o k e
Description: TAGS | c l o s e d

Richard Lancaster - January 15, 2010 10:20 AM (GMT)

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He was on fire. His body burned. His vision was clouded by reds and oranges while the smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils. Rick awoke startled and began patting down his body like it was still engulfed in flames. A moment passed before he realised he had been dreaming again. He ran a quick hand across his face. Shit would it ever get easier? No, no it wouldn’t, he was, as it seemed to him on the highway to hell it was only a matter of time till it would clam him. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed and leaned forward on his knees for a moment so he could compose himself. Where was he again? Rick glanced around the dimly lit room. It was some pay by the hour shit hole. Hmm that was it, he was at the aptyl named Queen Mary. His mother would have had a heart attack if she had seen him now...Not that he had been up to anything of a scandalous nature. He just needed to get away and disappear for a while. Yesterday he had been in a sour mood and hadn't wanted to talk with anyone so he had gotten on the subway picked a stop at random, gotten off, bought a bottle of jack and checked into the nearest hotel not matter if it was derelict.

As Rick lifted his shirt up and over his shoulders he felt his pants pocket vibrate. He quickly fished his mobile out of his pocket. He hated the damn thing. He could never get it to work properly. One of the new technologies he was rejecting. He didn't like the idea of someone being able to contact him all the time. Rick fiddled with the keys as he tried to remember how to unlock the damn thing. After a moment Rick got it unlocked and discovered he had a new text message. It was form his contact 'Tubs. His one remaining friend from before. Through tired eyes Rick read what he had to say, ive got a job. call me. . Rick contemplated weather to call him back or not. If he didn't Tubs would no doubt keep bugging him until he did. Reluctantly Rick fumbled his number in. Three rings later Tubs picked up. He wanted him in on a meet that was to happen at 10. It was 9:30. Rick supposed he could make it and hanged up.

With deliberately slow movements Rick collected his things from around the room. He left the half empty bottle of jack. Man he had become such a lightweight, well at least the hang over was only half as bad. On his way to the door Rick pulled on his jacket in one swift movement and in a few more strides he was out the door with it clicking closed behind him. A light flickered above him as he walked down the dingy and dank hall of the second rate hotel. He pushed open the fire door, no alarm sounded but what could you expect form such a place? It was dark out. He looked to the gloomy and raging heavens above as the down pour started. Fuck You Mother Nature. With a grumble Rick pulled up the collar of his jacket. He made his way to the street and hailed the first taxi he could. He gave the driver Tubs had given him and leaned back in the seat and stared blankly out the window. When they arrived he paid the driver with the last of his cash and got out. Before he had a chance ot rethink the Taxi driver had spend off. Rick glanced around. It looked as if the address Tubs had given him was the one for an old warehouse. Fricking Awesome thought Rick sarcastically.

He was about to head into the warehouse when he heard his name called. Rick turned on his heel to see Tub's crossing the street. Rick frowned. He was not dressed as if he was attending a meet rather he was suspiciously dressed like he wanted to get laid. He had know the guy long enough to tell the difference. Rick folded his arms across his chest. “There is not meet is there?” asked Rick, a hint on anger in his voice. His question was meet with a toothy grin from his best friend. Rick was both annoyed with his friend for playing him and himself for not seeing through it. “A new club open aroudn the corner that's supposed to be elite. The bouncer owes me one,” admitted Tubs eventually. Rick groaned. "A little old to go clubbing aren't we?" asked Rick deliberately being a jerk. Tubs responded with a flip of the bird. He was in no mood to go to a club, but Rick couldn't just say no to Tubs. He was like a bloody puppy dog, and no one can say no to a puppy dog. Rick grunted his agreement to go.

He was about to follow Tubs off to this new club he thought was the second coming when he thought he heard something. “Did you hear that?” asked Rick. “Hear what?” muttered Tubs over his shoulder. “Sshhhhh!” hissed Rick as he thought he heard it again. “Listen If you didn't want to go you could have just sa-” started Tubs before he was cut of by Rick with “Shut the fuck up. There is something out there.” Tubs rolled his eyes. “Probably just some old bag lady,” suggested Tubs as he threw an arm around Ricks shoulder and manoeuvred him in the way of the club. Rick threw a quick glance over his shoulder before they reached the corner.

Oracle - February 4, 2010 09:35 AM (GMT)

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<div style="width:450px; line-height:100%; font-size:9px; text-align:justify; ">There was a time, long since past, that he adored the city. There was a ringing livelihood to it that he couldn't help but embrace. The people buzzed through the streets with a sense of purpose they exuded with every step... at least, he seemed to think so at the time. Lately it was much harder finding any true sense of purpose he could attribute to the majority of the people within the city. It wasn't that he had any dislike for the city dwellers – far from it – but he couldn't understand an ability to live under the direct purview of the organisations that had set themselves up over the nation. 'A ringing livelihood'. As he felt his blade slip through changeling flesh (the 'sport' actually wasn't why he had come out to the fae planes, for once... he had wanted some time – and room – to himself as he contemplated the city's path. Of course, that went south once he ran into a small group of them), that thought he harboured years ago seemed almost funny to him. While this may not have been the liveliness most would envision when considering the term, it did outdo almost any experience most people would find within the actual city.<br><br>

The changeling snarled as he pulled the blade free from its flesh, only to have the snarl cut off when he ran it through the thing's throat. Still, the sort of echo the city used to resonate with (or was that just the rose-tinted glasses of a more callow individual's memories?) had its own appeal to it. It used to seem as if it used to carry itself with an awkward sort of joy. Whenever its echo rang nowadays, it was usually occupied by rainfall peppering down in short bursts; scattered chaotic showers over the city's people. And of course, some of them would stop, grateful for the rain and convinced that whichever god they had decided they worshipped on that particular day was blessing them. Others would dart for shelter in a panicked frenzy, shielding their hair with the morning's newspaper. But the most important thing was always what people seemed to miss; that echo – that hum, that buzz that ran through the city? The quiet creak that rattled through the city's constructs and buildings? It wasn't joy.<br><br>

No. They were groaning under the pressure, wavering in pain the way only something as patiently and carefully aged as the city could. And the buzz wasn't the city living and laughing and breathing, it was the city crying and screaming and sighing. Whenever he visited the city, even if he was just slipping through it, that was what he heard. That was what he saw. Whether he saw things differently as a child because things were different or he was just too elated by the city (in the manner of callowness only a child could truly manage), he didn't know. And it didn't really matter either way. Whenever he wavered through the city, he needed out as quickly as he could, no matter what he was there for. Which... led to him winding up entangled with changelings today (admittedly, he would typically wind up entangled with them for any number of reasons, but that was neither here nor there on this particular occasion). He withdrew his blade from its throat as it sank to the floor with a repressed, rattling gurgle. Another smooth slice removed the final creature's head as it dropped to the floor to join the other corpses.<br><br>

He sighed quietly as he cleaned the blade on the floor before sheathing it and moving on through the plane. He did usually make exceptions in his abhorrence for violence when those creatures were involved (which did lend to a degree of hypocrisy...) he really hadn't been in the mood for any of that. All the same, he did his best to put it out of his mind, turning his thoughts back to the matter at hand; namely the echoes that had been ringing through the mortal realm – and the warnings that he had been lent regarding it. More to the point, since he was in a poor position to act on those warnings himself, he cast his thoughts to passing them on. Still, jumping from one plane to another was an imprecise art, and relied on fixing to points of power. Even though the realms were lodged in adjacent dimensions, the act of moving from one to another didn't allow him to appear just anywhere on Earth; they overlay each other, and right now – ironically enough – the plains were overlying the city. With a quiet sigh, he turned his focus on the nearest being of power; and found himself materialising rather abruptly – and on his ass – in a back alley.<br><br>

“Probably just some old bag lady.” "A bag lady?" he inquired, pulling himself onto his feet and dusting himself off. "I feel I should be slightly insulted."<br><br>

[[I'm so sorry I'm so late with this!]]
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Richard Lancaster - February 10, 2010 09:26 AM (GMT)

Tubbs was rambling on in his ear, he wasn't hearing a word of it. It was just like some annoying bee buzzing in his ear. That on its own wasn't unusual. Rick had known Tubbs since military school and he had come to know that the guy could talk the shit. Yet tonight he wasn't just tuning him out because he so didn't care what his favourite beer on tap was, no tonight that noise whatever it had been was playing on his mind. The more he thought about it the more he didn't think it sounded like some bag lady. His suspicions were answered when he heard a male voice form behind them. Rick stopped dead in his tracks while Tubbs kept going. His arm slipped from his shoulder and when he noticed Rick wasn't walking beside him. He gave him a what the hell look.

Rick didn't exactly know how to explain what he was looking at. He swore that he wasn't there last time he glanced over his shoulder. Had he been sleeping on the street? Some kind of hobo or something. Next to him Rick could feel tubs arrive just behind his shoulder. He sensed he was about to suffer form a sudden case of foot in mouth desire, so Ricks hand went out and the back of his palm knocked into his friends chest. A silent don't even think about it warning. Rick was going to take this one.

“Forgive my friend, he has a habit of opening his mouth,” said Rick attempting to keep the peace. Hobos could be nasty fuckers if you got on their bad side.

Oracle - February 10, 2010 02:57 PM (GMT)

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<div style="width:450px; line-height:100%; font-size:9px; text-align:justify; ">The city had changed in his absence. When it came down to it, it was just as much a living breathing thing as he was; he supposed he probably should have expected it. Even without gods manipulating the cosmic order of things, things change; the living more so than the unliving, but it was still an immutable constant for both. It had been short-sighted for him to assume the city wouldn't have changed, and that was neither something he was accustomed to, nor something he could particularly afford. Either way, he was committed to it now that he had already offended.<br><br>

A quiet grunt pervaded his lips as he stepped out from within the alleyway; a bald man who seemed to be in his mid-thirties – adorned in a worn suit that one might expect a police detective to be dressed in. He paused for a moment and gave an almost indiscernible sniff as if he was trying to ward off an irritation developing within his nose and glanced at Richard. "Hh," he murmured in another audible grunt, his brow furrowing slightly. "A fairly common human failing, I've heard," he mused, taking another couple of steps out of the alleyway.<br><br>

He cast Tubbs a stray glance, but his attention quickly returned to Richard, apparently deeming him irrelevant. "You're one of them, aren't you?" he inquired almost entirely rhetorically. "We need to talk."
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Richard Lancaster - February 15, 2010 05:12 AM (GMT)

Tubbs was become impatient. Why oh why did Ritchie Rich have to humour every homeless person they pass on the street? Was he playing at being a humanitarian this week? Tubbs let out a long sigh hoping the Rich would up on it. There was a beer and a girl at this new club with his name on it. He just knew it. He grunted at Rick's remark about him and his apparent big mouth. He was just jealous. Tubbs slipped his hands into his jeans pocket knowing that Rich wasn't going to go to the club until he was ready.

The remark. You're one of them. Rick's instinct was that the strange man was referring to him being a Lancaster. All his life he had heard the phrase Oh you're one of them being uttered aghast as if being a Lancaster was such an ordeal. He hated it. Being defined by his families name. He wasn't sure how this guy could have known. It had to of been around two years since his photo had been plastered across the society pages when he had woken up from his coma. Slow news week apparently. He guess the guy could have remembered or he was just confusing him for somoene else. The was probably drunk and thought he was some invading alien or something. That seemed like the most logical answer. Yep he thought he was an alien who had flown in from Mars. The idea that the guy had meant post human when he had said them never crossed Rick's mind.

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else,” said Richard as diplomatically as he could. Hhmm maybe he was a Lancaster after all. Rick made move to leave. He didn't think he needed to indulge in a hobos delusions of aliens or what ever has case was.

| hehe of your vision of Tubbs. I've always had him in my head as being a cross between Mark Ruffalo and Michael Weston ^ _ ^ |

Oracle - February 20, 2010 02:49 PM (GMT)

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<div style="width:450px; line-height:100%; font-size:9px; text-align:justify; ">Something that Solomon had never been blessed with was an over-abundance of patience. He had a truly single-minded nature and a sense of drive that could often act in its place and give the impression of patience, if only because it would keep him going through an effort regardless of pitfall as long as his path would lead him to his goal – to the grand cause he believed had been cast over him – eventually. That didn't, however, reflect any virtue of patience within the man quite as much as it did obstinacy and drive.<br><br>

True patience was something the man was quite lacking in. So when Richard played dumb – in as far as he had interpreted Solomon's statement – it did a fair job of wearing away the little patience the man did possess. A solitary eyebrow raised, marking a degree of incredulity in his expression. He offered Tubbs the briefest of looks that managed to encompass a flat, cold stare one might imagine only Satan or God would be capable of – but it was gone quickly enough that it seemed questionable the look had even been there in the first place.<br><br>

"Don't waste my time," he sneered as he looked Richard over, evidently irritated by his remark. As far as Solomon was concerned, the fact that Richard was Posthuman was blindingly obvious; traces of the energies of Creation the gods had used to change the world still lingered over the various planes. It was sloppy work, like a child that didn't – or couldn't – put away their crayons after they were done colouring in; and the energies had a tendency to cling to the things they had affected, such as the Posthumans. For someone like Solomon, he could practically smell that energy crawling over Richard. "The clock's ticking, free will is bleeding into what would be and what never was, and the end of everything is approaching. Are you going to listen or continue to play dumb?"<br><br>

[[That was actually my description of Solomon =). Sorry for the delay!]]
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Richard Lancaster - March 10, 2010 09:26 AM (GMT)

His sneer about wasting his time made Rick stop mid stride. Wasting his time? His time? Pfft. He didn't see how that worked . More like him wasting his time really. He didn't see the point in arguing the matter. It didn't phase him really who's time it was. He was in no hurry to get to that club that Tubbs was so desperate to get to.

“The end is Nigh,”sniggered Tubbs under his breath to the strange guys ramblings of the end. Rick elbowed him in the stomach. He really could never hold his tongue. He might have laughed when he was a tenaciousness sixteen year old but he had to be a responsible adult. “Will you shut it,” hissed Rick quietly to Tubbs who responded with a shrug.

Rick made no more sense of what the strange guy was going on about than Tubbs. It all seemed to be random ramblings of a deranged preacher predicting the end. It kind of reminded him of Sunday school. It did make a part of him kind of feel sorry for the guy. Must be hard being a fucking loony. He probably needed help. Rick figured that he could spare twenty bucks to help the poor guy out. Fishing some notes out of his pocket Rick signalled to Tubbs that he would be just a tick with his free hand. With about twenty bucks in his hand Rick jogged to the other side of the road where the strange guy stood. He wasn't exactly worried about any kind of attack form the guy. He was armed with more then just his posthuman ability. As he approached Rick held out his hand with the money.

“Here's a few bucks buddy. Go get your self some help,” suggested Rick.

| i should read more clearly |

Oracle - March 25, 2010 01:19 PM (GMT)

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<div style="width:450px; line-height:100%; font-size:9px; text-align:justify; ">Solomon regarded Rick with what appeared to be a growing degree of irritation as his less than ample patience continued to wind down. He craned his head to the side when Tubbs dropped his comment, and shot him a quick glare that seemed almost as if it personified the age old saying 'if looks could kill'. His attention promptly returned to Richard, almost as if he didn't consider Tubbs worth contemplating – or acknowledging – for any longer than that. When his gaze settled back on Richard, his brow creased for a fraction of a second and he pursed his lips faintly, trying to divine whether or not Richard was being serious when he handed Solomon the money. "I sincerely hope for your sake that this is in jest."<br><br>

[[Nah, it was my fault for not making it clearer =). Sorry for how heinously short this is >>!]]
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