| Preface to Transgression |
[10 Jul 2007|10:04pm] |
“Of course, I understand why you would come in,” Elise said in her softest, most understanding voice. Had it been a door, it would have creaked loudly to make the lack of use even more evident. Now it was only stumbling, slightly awkward, but that was fine.
Who ever really expected a lawyer to be kind and understanding, after all?
She circled the chair across from her desk as she made her way towards the heavy glass decanter that stood on a sideboard. Her office had taken on a much more regal appearance since she had redecorated, shipping antiques from her own family estate to make the place more to her liking. The stark modern furniture had been replaced with dark hulking pieces from her grandfather’s study. The decanter itself had been one such import; French, 18th century, nearly priceless. Pity it had to be used for such baser guests than its maker undoubtedly intended.
Elise glanced over the shoulder of her stark white business suit and smiled at the young woman in a friendly manner, careful not to let her teeth show too widely. Too many had told her it was unnerving. Pouring the brandy, she mused silently that the girl seemed more likely to appreciate a beer. But then, looks could be deceiving. After all, Grace, in spite of her appearance, had impeccable taste in vodka.
“I am sure I would go looking for answers, or a helping hand, were I in the same situation,” she went on, making her way back with the weighty glass in her hand. She gave that smile again: kind, deceiving, and rested the glass on the desktop in front of the girl. “Tell me what you need. Tell me what we can do. I’m here to help.”
Destiny's hands shook, and the chill that had settled in her bones when she walked into the establishment hadn't gotten any better. She willed them to stay still as she reached for the glass and brought it to her lips for a bit of liquid courage. The liquid slithered down her throat, fitting the environs she drank it in. Never had brandy felt so evil. The chill remained, but the Slayer pretended not to feel it. This was important and there was no way she was going to wuss out like she did last time.
"I believe that some one I love was killed wrongfully. You might be familiar with his name. Aidan Revere." Her voice hitched, mouth unfamiliar with forming his name. Clearing her throat, she brought the glass to her lips again before continuing to speak. "You gave him a gift in exchange for his services. I'm asking you to give him back his life in exchange for my services." She looked the Wolfram and Hart agent straight in the eyes, not flinching. "I'm familiar with the issues surrounding resurrection, having had already gone through it." Destiny traced the rim of the glass with her finger, small beads of the alcohol gathering on the pad of her fingertip.
"I'm a Slayer, and having a young, fit Slayer would be an asset to your team." She crossed one leg over the other, pointed boots emphasizing her long, shapely legs to sell herself. It was like prostitution, and the feeling was still familiar. Your body was your biggest asset. What was Slayer strength without being able to barter with it?
( By Any Other Name )
( This Thing of Darkness )
( I Acknowledge Mine )
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| Friendly Conversation |
[26 Jan 2007|08:57pm] |
Offices made Grace feel stifled. Despite not needing to breathe, it was always like the places were too small, too confined. Give her open spaces anyday, even if those open spaces were a crowded city street. At least that was outdoors.
She'd scheduled this meeting for just after sundown, making an effort not to bristle when security gave her a suspicious look. As if they'd never seen a vampire before, for fuck's sake. If the rumors she'd heard about this place had any basis in reality, she was the least of the creepy-crawlies the firm dealt with.
She was looking at Elise Shelby's business card again when the receptionist said she could pass through to the inner sanctum, and she nodded curtly when she passed the desk. Couldn't even smoke in here. She was going to light up the second she hit the lobby.
"Ms. Shelby," she said, nodding again as she passed the threshold of the second door. "Hope my little present has preceded me. It’s hard to find decent help lately.”
Elise stared back blankly for a long moment with a forced forgetfulness rooted in her own arrogance; what cause did she have, after all, to remember this or that stray vampire that approached her on the street? One that frequented seedy dive bars to boot.
But her gift – and reference directly to it – was enough to spark a memory. That sort of class and style would never escape Elise’s notice, raised as she was in a society that demanded thank you cards, welcome gifts and tokens of appreciation.
“Grace,” she responded coolly, the ghost of a smile lifting the corners of her heart-shaped mouth ever so slightly. “How good to see you. I do apologize, I would have sent a thank-you for your gift… sad how difficult it can be to find a decent drink in this town… unfortunately, my personal secretary seems to have been eaten by something as of late. Have a seat, won’t you?”
She gestured to one of two heavy leather chairs situated across the desk she’d had specially brought from her family’s New York estate; the modern nouveau style that had formally been draping her office hadn’t suited her at all, and knowing that she would be staying put for some time had brought her to redecorate.
( Pleasantries )
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| Masochist |
[04 Dec 2006|02:01pm] |
There was something in her face that could be mistaken for innocence in the right light. Her features were delicate, almost as though they were painted upon a porcelain mask rather than wrought of flesh and bone, resembling human but made of stronger things beneath the surface. There was something in her face that could be mistaken for innocence in the right light but a keen eye could see the rest there, waiting, beneath the surface, as though something far less delicate were simply sleeping and the slightest noise might rouse the beast.
There was perfection there, for those who cared to see. Not the sort that many carried – Elise didn’t have a figure for billboards or movie screens, her face and her hips too round and her mind far too keen and focused for such trifling affairs – but it was still there. So much so that it would seem strange if not altogether disconcerting for many who knew her to imagine her just risen from bed, disheveled and groggy.
Whether or not she ever reached such low points was certainly debatable. On that particularly morning, it would never have been noticed if she had. An early riser, the sun hadn’t lit in the sky by the time she ambled into the cold sterile master bath of the suite she was keeping on permanent reserve in the city. Even Las Vegas had its quiet moments, few and far between though they may be. That morning was one of the few, when the hotel had fallen sullen and dark and even the noise of a casino so many floors below seemed to fade into the very air, a dull drone that couldn’t reach up through the many stories to touch the cold silence of the bath.
The steady low hum of the mirror’s halogen lighting was the only noise Elise heard as she stood before the vanity, inspecting the image before her in the mirror’s surface. Her skin milk white and her suit in the same blank shade, she seemed to blend back into the pristine colorless bathroom tile; only the inky curls of her hair and the emerald in her eyes seemed to show, framing her face and brightening the soft hollows beneath her eyes. Each curl fell in its own perfect way, thick and black and flawlessly placed, her face bright and eyes sharp, as though she was perennially alert with no call for sleep – just another lie a face could tell and a mirror would believe.
Clutched in one small porcelain hand was a tiny red plastic box with a flip-top, that she opened to reveal a spool of palest pink thread. Some preferred peppermint on their breath in the early morning hours, but Elise had always been more inclined to use something with the heady flavor of cinnamon; the exotic burn of the ancient spice was more in line with her tastes.
The noise of the rolling spool seemed magnified a thousand times in the cold bathroom as she pulled a length from the little box and cut it on the provided razor edge. Winding the waxed floss around two fingers on each hand, she got to work. Everyone had their little morning rituals, and this was hers, the only way she knew to properly start the day.
She had never required dental attention in her youth, her teeth perfectly straight and as pristinely clean as the glaring white of the porcelain tiles in the bath. If anyone had thought it unusual during her childhood, it was never mentioned, just as attention was never called to the slightly more sharp than usual canine teeth in her mouth. They weren’t fangs by any means, not jutting out garishly from the gums, simply a little more dangerous than what would be expected, by those who cared to look – and very few did.
( Morning Ritual )
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[09 Nov 2006|08:19pm] |
He smiled slow and silver, a dangerous grin if there ever was one. Elise had always rather liked that about Alexander Cane. Purveyor of fine books and magickal wares in the bustling city that was Las Vegas, he had always been on her must-see list when she visited there.
Leaning on the glass counter, he crossed his arms and stared at him, grin still slowly spreading.
“You look well, dear. Much better than the last time I saw you… drugged and leashed, right?”
Elise pursed her lips. “Obviously, that’s been rectified. Now, Mr. Cane, can you help me, or no?”
( Cane's Apex )
( Voluntary Manslaughter )
( First round's on me )
( Sharks )
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| Airsick |
[14 Aug 2006|11:00pm] |
Hazel had the unfortunate predisposition towards becoming seriously ill when riding in any sort of vehicle while facing the direction opposite of that which it was moving; Elise had known the other woman for several years and knew of the frizzy redheaded lawyer’s motion sickness.
Which was why she always forced her to sit in the rear-facing seat on a private plane’s conference nook. It was always terribly amusing, so long as the redhead refrained from vomiting on or near Elise’s person. With a reputation far preceding her, underlings like Hazel Hillcrest – the redhead with a WASPy name that would work well as the name of a suburban subdivision, where houses were allowed only in three shades of gray and children jumped rope in time on the driveways – knew well enough to keep strict control of their bodily functions around Elise Shelby whenever possible.
“Has anything major happened while I was gone?” Elise inquired with a hint of curiosity in her voice. A small pleasant smile played on her lips, unnerving the airsick lawyer seated across from her to no end. Any show of emotion seemed to elicit a start from poor Hazel, leading Elise to cast overdone expressions until she was sincerely smiling at the effect it was having.
Shuffling through a thick leather portfolio full of documents, memos and photos, Hazel sputtered.
“Well… um… I mean…” she stammered, casting nervous little glances up at the other. Elise had a smile much akin to a cat’s grin after a canary dinner; Hazel half expected to spy a small yellow feather poking from the pale brunette’s lips. “Nothing that would concern any of your present assignments,” she finally came up with. “Um… murder, death, theft, catastrophe… the usual.”
( Flight )
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[14 Jul 2006|07:01pm] |
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Dear Mr.Jerzyck,
I am sorry that I was forced to leave Nevada before we had any real chance to come to terms on the agreement I was instructed to offer you.
However, I will be returning to Las Vegas within the next few days, and wish to resume our business from where it was left. Do keep in mind that this agreement was made outside the bounds of authority of the Las Vegas branch of Wolfram & Hart, and should be left that way.
I will telephone once I am in the city and able to make contact.
Regards, |
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