Late Night | Open

sinclairvalli:

A short chuckle, “I can’t say I’m at home all that often.” running a hand over his beard, “-- Between work and activities far more entertaining than work. I go to my place to sleep and eat not much else. It’s Saturday.” and then smirking, “My name.”

He watched the numbers rise, sliding big hands into his pockets, “And you,”  glancing at her then back to the buttons, “Are the Wonderful and Amazing Sinclair.” Cue the fanfare. 

“Right?”

He’s so cute, and I love his little laugh 😍😍😍

“ Thirty-five dollars for a gram of Acapulco? I know it’s from Mexico, and it’s the best in the Americas, but— ” The male Budtender that sat behind the glass counter, again, waved his hand and rebuffed Ana’s poised requests; pulling a long piece of brown hair from her forehead and behind her ear, she turned away from him dejectedly and leaned her palms against the counter, tilting her head slowly in the opposite direction.

Ana gradually regarded the entirety of the small interior of The Devil’s Lettuce— filled with bongs and bowls, and various strains of almost magical bud; standing quietly among the assortment of paraphernalia was another individual, the only other person lingering within the store. An impish smile pulled at the corners of Ana’s lips as she took short steps towards the person facing the shelves.

Placing her hand lightly over their shoulder, she lifted her eyebrows and imparted a perpetual smile, “ Listen, I don’t typically do this, but I’m short, like, thirty-five dollars, ” She paused briefly to estimate the other individual’s reaction, “ Could you maybe, y’know, give me the money and I could pay you back? I have the money at home, and you could follow me there if you don’t believe me, if you want—” She rambled a trifling enticement and pursed her lips,

“ Please? ”

Of course, Saturday would be in The Devil’s Lettuce. It was the definition of a good time. His kind of store.

He wasn’t as into marijuana as you’d think. He came mainly for tobacco, sometimes cigars if they had any that were up to his standards.

Examining a Villiger between his fingers he hadn’t paid attention to the background chatter. He hadn’t even heard the woman come in. In typical Saturday fashion, if it didn’t concern him, it wasn’t important.

The light hand on his big shoulder was a surprise, quirking a brow and turning to see who had touched him without his permission. And when he saw no one at his eye level, he had the good sense to look down to find the woman’s face.

A small smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. Amused, he crossed his arms, “Mm. I’m sure you don’t.” He wasn’t an idiot. 

But he liked people who went out and got what they wanted. And hey, he was a generous man when people were generous back. Parting his lips before she offered some sort of repayment all on her own,

“You’d invite a stranger, twice your size, back to your home? You’re bold.”

“Hey you!” she called out, rolling her eyes, “yes, you.” Alejandra walked over, drink in hand, “I’m bored, talk to me.” She looked around to see if anybody was sitting with this person but ultimately invited herself to sit down regardless. “I just moved here, and I can’t believe I missed all the action of the last murder. Talk about bummer, right? I could’ve made a whole podcast of it–a serial type show,” she waved her hand in the air, “murder at the celestial tower’ would’ve been a hit…Get something to eat, I’m hungry.”

Saturday was sitting with a group of guys from DSI but to be completely honest he was increasingly less interested in talking about work over drinks with his co-workers once the woman approached. If she was talking to anyone else at the table it didn’t matter, as far as Sat was concerned she was talking to him.

“What a coincidence. I’m bored too.” It was easy enough to shoo the other guys away.

He leaned back in his chair, raising the glass he already had in front of him to his lips. He liked anything with a high alcohol content but preferred his liquor brown. And tonight was no different. Oh, he knew all about the murder. It was a pain in the ass, he didn’t want to talk about it, “Mm. Things were busy.”

At the demand, he let out a short burly laugh, “And just what would the lady like?” already holding a finger up to motion for the waiter, keeping his eyes on his new table guest with a tilted head.

“Where do I know you from?”

iv. μωρά

A piercing scream rang through the gym, a burly buff naked man scrambled out from the showers, droplets of water rippling down the hard muscle as he passed them. “There’s something in there!” He didn’t stop running, blood dripping down his calf from an open wound. “It bit me! It bit me!”

The gym goers gave each other startled glances, some of them choosing to follow the panicking man out of the gym, others went back to training as if nothing happened, and a few nervously peered towards the showers, waiting for some monster to come following out. Nothing did, John let out a sigh, a roll of his eyes as he set down his weights and stood. “Are you all seriously afraid to go and check?” he asked, wiping his face clean with a fresh towel. He tossed the rag into the laundry bin just outside the showers, pausing long enough to catch someone watching him. “What? It’s probably some roided up freak in there, high off his mind, you can’t possibly be afraid of that.” 

Believe it or not, Saturday didn’t hear the scream.

He felt it.

But didn’t hear it.

Listen, he had on 4:44 he was busy.

So he kept lifting until people started running. He started to count down with his reps.

Five, four, three, two...

Ah, there it was. Right on time. Ladies and gentleman, we have our hero.

Sat dropped his weights, pulling out an earbud and letting it drape over his broad shoulder. “So you want to run in there and..?” He raised his eyebrows at the man, holding his hands out as if to say what?

 “Listen man, in Haiti, we have a saying: Zafè kabrit pa zafè mouton. -- You know what that means?” A pause to catch the sweat off his brow with his towel,

“To mind your own business.”

Still, he took a moment to pause his music, “It resonates with me.”

And then, as if this would pacify the man in front of him, he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder towards where the poor shmuck that was bit ran, “He’ll survive.” 

hazards of the job

He was a forensic pathologist. Why they forced him into interrogating living people was a mystery. He preferred them limp and unmoving. Emmanuel brought a hand to his temple, massaging himself until the next ‘witness’ in line paraded before him. The imbecile was about five paragraphs deep when he held up a palm, free hand white-knuckling his tablet until the other’s verbal diarrhea came to a stop.

“That’s enough,” The coroner interrupted, lips pressed tightly into a frown. “You are describing an episode of Supernatural. A bad one.”

Asshole didn’t even have the good sense to skip season seven. He watched a spider crawl along the drywall until the moron left, tail practically glued to his asshole in a display of permanent shame. Emmanuel motioned for the next witness with a bored beckon of his fingertips. 

Vampires never had anything better to do. Fuckers couldn’t die faster. 

Barely looking up from his iPad,

“Name, approximate date of birth, don’t care if you don’t remember, just guess—relationship to the victim? Any unusual eye witness accounts?” A pause as the other gathered their thoughts.

They were burning daylight. 

“Any time today.”

Sat had just come from a long lunch break. He didn’t know why they had teamed him up with the tiny human but hey, it was fun to poke at him. He was so serious all the time.

He sipped on his iced americano, shades still on as he entered, flopping into what looked like a comically small chair for his size, and spinning to sit Gaston Style while he waited for his human for the day to look up and greet him. His bottom lip jutted out when it didn’t happen, deciding it’d be a bit of fun to play along.

“Name? Saturday. Birthday? Irrelevant. My relationship to the victim?” A pause, “Huh.” he rubbed his chin, sipping thoughtfully at his big Starbucks drink. As if he didn’t remember, “...Oh. That’s right. I’m the one that brought the body to you.”

He lifted his sunglasses to rest on his brow, “So how’s interrogating? You know as I walked in I could feel a little piece of you had died.” He found this amusing, “And I saw this coming. So you know me,” he let himself dip into a thicker Haitian accent, “Because I am so kind, and I thought of you,” tossing a bag onto the table in front of the man, “I brought you a cake pop.”

Late Night | Open

Sinclair had just finished up a show, and honestly she was.. exhausted. She wasn’t in a mood for an entrance, she just wanted to get up the elevator to her penthouse and go to sleep..

She pushed the door open and probably hit someone with it but didn’t really care.. someone was outside dealing with the cameras that had followed her home so she was able to slip into the elevator with a someone. But she was way too tired to even try and fight and ask for them to leave.

“Would you mind pressing the button for..” she paused and pulled out her phone and glanced at it before telling them her floor number before giving a final thanks, leaning on the wall of the elevator.

Saturday was the definition of a night owl. When the sun went down his energy, and appetite for life’s pleasures, knew no bounds. In all honesty, it was early for him to be turning in. But for once, with work in the morning, he decided to be responsible.

God knows why.

He was on his phone in the elevator, earbud stuck in one ear, the second wrapped around the rim of his other. He was playing something on his phone, some mindless dribble where you had to stack platforms.. Or he was until the doors opened. It was the smell of whatever perfume she was wearing that made him glance from his phone. “I’ll press whatever button you like.”

“All I need is a number.” He motioned with his head at his floor number, already lit up, “-- Unless we’re going to the same place.” 

OPEN

“I am so terribly sorry.” The stuffy individual lacked the essential pieces to deal with this situation and one could see compassion was necessary. Amitiel reached down to He needed that mental reminder. He didn’t know why he needed an alias or a disguise. It wasn’t as if someone wouldn’t have been able to piece to two together with this being the epicenter of a supernatural cocktail and blend. He pursed his lips, letting his eyes venture down to meet their face and he smiled. Sure, it caused a scene for three people to be involved in one situation but the man was only present to keep the peace. Peace, he’d encourage as he smiled warmly upon the other and gathered their things. He stepped between both parties and ushered the problem on and offered the belongings. “Mind if I help you? I promise it’ll be painless. I’m…Wynter, by the way.” 

See. This was what we aren’t going to do.

Saturday knew how to handle his business. He didn’t need anyone interfering where they weren’t needed, much less wanted. That was when things got messy -- one moment a little brat is trying to make off with your wallet, the next you’re the big scary buy that knocked him the fuck out for no reason.

 “Oh no, no no --” He interjected, he was like a bull, huffing smoke through its nostrils before running after a red cape. It was lucky the man had stepped between him and the much smaller man on the ground. Even though talking to the stranger’s back pissed him off, “Don’t talk to him!” He pointed with a thick finger, “That creep stole my -- AY!” He threw up his hands in disbelief as his wallet was offered to the snotty little thief. It was good his arms were long. It was easy enough to just reach over the man’s shoulder and swipe his wallet back.

“Tshh. People don’t got no respect.”

My Prerogative - Bobby Brown (Don’t Be Cruel, 1988)

Y’all I-

1000 years / rey

xthepaniccord:

It stressed Rey out.

Sure, that was what Grayson specifically told him not to do but he couldn’t help it. It wasn’t that he didn’t think Grayson could “handle” prison but... He didn’t want Grayson in prison at all. Especially not when he knew there was no chance in hell he’d be treated right. 

Rey didn’t push the water thing. Deciding to lean back against the front of his desk. He loosened his tie, “Yeah,” patting his pockets for his phones, “Yeah, ‘course.” He handed his cell to Grayson. Bishop had called.

“What?” He asked, “Of course it’s alright you’re here, Gray... Shit.” He starting packing up his things anyway. He was done for the night. Even if he wan’t he wanted his priorities lied with Grayson, “I’m always glad to see you. ‘Specially to see you in one piece. You call whoever you need and then I’ll text Bishop.” He paused, 

“Let me at least get you something to eat. While you’re figuring out everything with your place.”

There was little chance he was going to take no for an answer.

1000 years / rey

@reynard-boisseau

Grayson had no idea how he ended up getting out of jail this time. This was the third time in this year that the order had thrown him in jail, this time shipping him off to prison and making him feel as though he was good as dead. 

He wasn’t surprised, or sad, he just wished he had had more time to be able to help more rather than just sit in a jail cell with a collar that rendered him useless. But somehow here he was, signing off on his things and walking right out. This didn’t smell good, and he knew that sooner or later there would be a price for him to pay. 

When they asked if he had a way back, he said no and they gave him enough money to cover the bus and that was it. Grayson wasn’t sure where he’d go, he was sure he had lost his apartment, and even if his parents had covered it, he didn’t have a way in or a way to call a locksmith. 

He debated going to a million and one places, but somehow he ended up outside of Reynard’s work, knocking and hoping that somehow this was still okay to do.

“Hey Rey…” 

It was like pulling teeth to figure out where they’d send Grayson the third time. Sending letters was hard. Visitation was even harder. There was little to no communication. No calls. No updates. Nothing.

So he waited.

And hoped Grayson would eventually return like he had the last two times. Roughed up, but in one piece.

They could have given him a couple quarters for the phone. Rey would have come for him. Grayson knew Rey would have stopped what he was doing and drove to where ever the fuck, USA so that Grayson could sit comfortably in his car and not on the bus. But that was assuming Grayson would even call him.

Their relationship hadn’t been that simple lately.

He wasn’t doing anything particularly important. Just signing off some bills, ordering flower arrangements, writing pay checks.. when he heard a knock. 

It was after hours but he wasn’t expecting Grayson.

“-- Grayson, hey...” He was tempted to go in for a hug, but didn’t want to make this weird, “Come in,” He glanced around before shutting the door. He couldn’t help placing his hands on Grayson’s shoulders then. He needed to get a good look at the man, “How are you? -- Sit. Lemme get you some water. Better yet lemme take you home.” He was already shoving paper in his desk, searching for his jacket.

By home, he meant to his place. Bishop wouldn’t mind.