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Putting Pieces Together [25 Apr 2009|10:02am] How Hayden looked was the last thing on his mind when Juliet called, saying she spotted Kris. He barely put on his shoes before leaving. Outside of Devil's Own, reality hit him like a ton of bricks. It said, 'Hey man, this isn't Hooters. You shouldn't have worn a t-shirt and jeans'. Trying to get past security like that? Iffy. At the very least, he'd draw attention. So he waited in his truck, near what looked like an employee entrance. As the long minutes ticked by, he drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel, strung out like he took a handful of pills. Kris is alive. She's palling around with criminals, but she's alive. At least he had that. Forcing himself to leave off staring at the door, he mashed the cigarette lighter in and cranked down the window. The weather was cool and dry, and the air smelled like food from a nearby restaurant. He heard music in Devil's Own, a fast number with a lot of bass. Just as well that Hayden wasn't in the strip club. He'd have a hard time blending in, even after the right clothes and a shaving razor. It the place didn't have a dart board and serve wings, he was a fish out of water. From the moment Juliet re-entered the club she tried to concentrate on behaving normally, feeling Ralphael's eyes on her whenever the man was in eyesight. She knew it was probably just her paranoia kicking in, but she figured it was better to be safe than sorry. The last hour had never taken so long to pass before, even when she'd had Eric waiting to meet her afterwards, though those times had been few and far between with her patrolling almost every night. ( Let's Take a Ride ) ( Email to the White Hats ) Comment

Helpless Guys Standing Around in the Rain [21 Apr 2009|12:17pm] By the time Kris was missing for five days, Hayden's truck tires were almost bald from circling the neighborhood. The same old streets, the same places, over and over, until he looked like some kind of lurking sexual predator. He had a spiral notebook on his truck seat, a chewed pencil marking a place between the pages. He kept track of who he called, who he talked to, where he looked, and when. He jotted down ideas and scratched them out. He tore out newspaper articles about George Robinson. Being meticulous didn't get him answers, but it helped Hayden keep track of his racing thoughts. He kept coming back to Aspire. He had this idea that he'd run into one of her Slayers at the gym, or somebody else Kris knew that he didn't. Hounding her neighbors just turned up loose ends. He wanted to avoid going to her family and upsetting them, unless he knew for sure it was time. The truck brakes complained when Hayden pulled up to the curb and shifted into park. It was dark out, but he saw a figure huddled near the doors, like he was waiting on the gym to open. Keeping an eye on the guy, he picked up his notes and climbed out of the truck, giving the door a heavy slam. The weather was miserable, clammy and cold, like walking through a low-hanging cloud. Mist beaded on his hoody and short beard as he jogged up the steps and lifted a hand in greeting. "Hey, man." Hayden pushed the hood off his hair and squinted in the bad light. His jeans were old and a little tan at the bottom, like clay stains from the construction sites had never washed out. "Can I talk to you for a second?" ( Talking to Toby ) ( Kris Would Never Bludgeon! Wait... ) Comment

A Knock on the Door [15 Apr 2009|03:59pm] Her injuries from the fight with Grace almost nothing more than a distant memory, and a few other things taken care of, Faith could now focus her attention on informing those close to her that she was no longer incarcerated. The Slayer figured that would've been pretty big news, considering how the local media seemed to foam at the mouth when she was arrested. Then again, being released because she was innocent probably wasn't as juicy as being locked up for a series of grisly murders. In the nights following her release, Faith had been tempted to hit the streets in search for the real killer, but thought better of it each time. Not only did that have a creepy O.J. vibe to it, the Slayer wasn't keen on putting herself in the way of the police again. She'd told Meg upon her release she wouldn't pry into the matter, and Faith was one to keep her word on that. Besides, she had more important things to do. With a deep breath, Faith allowed herself a small, sideways grin. She was standing in front of the door to Hayden's apartment, thinking she probably should've done this sooner as her knuckles rapped against the surface. But between her run-in with Grace and a number of other things, the Slayer hadn't really had the chance. She wondered which emotion would prevail for the former Watcher -- relief that she was free, or annoyance that she didn't come see him sooner. Probably a bit of both. The previous twenty-four hours were unpleasant for Hayden. After Kris didn't check in, he went out and looked for her. The apartment was quiet and dark, her gym the same, and there was no sign of her at her mother's house. So he drove his truck in circles around her neighborhood, slowing down whenever he passed a dark-haired woman, or a person about her size in a hoodie. When he was close to getting reported for suspicious behavior, he came home and crashed on the couch. He slept with the cell phone on his chest, so that if she called, he couldn't possibly miss it. As morning came and still no message, he called out sick from work and checked hospitals. That didn't turn up any leads. He didn't know if that was a relief or not. ( Kris, Prison, and Connor ) Comment

Texts RE: Kris [13 Apr 2009|07:17pm] ( To Rhiannon, Connor, Faith, Juliet, and William ) Comment

Unlikely Hostesses [01 Apr 2009|04:38pm] http://asylums.insanejournal.com/city_limits/233101.html Comment

Introductory Reading [06 Mar 2009|12:21pm] ( Email to Juliet ) Comment

The Deep End [03 Mar 2009|07:43pm] The local YMCA was an aging building, constructed late in the 1970s. The nautilus equipment was outdated and the basketball courts always smelled of old sweat. However, it had one advantage over the other membership gyms nearby: an enormous, indoor pool. It was Olympic-sized with a deep end, floating lane barriers, and diving boards of varying heights, as if a competitive team had once practiced there. The walls were cinderblock and painted a bright shade of goldenrod-yellow. Skylights added a nice view, though a blanket of thick clouds had seemingly parked over Chicago for weeks. People were getting stir-crazy from the snow, icy wind, and below-freezing temperatures. Hayden and Kris were pretending it was summer. He came out of the locker room and scoped out the pool area. The lifeguard was a young guy, around 20-ish, with his radio tuned to a rock station. He had a textbook open on his lap and looked half-asleep. There were racks of clean towels, low wooden benches, a couple of inflated balls, and a hot tub off in a corner. Underneath his feet, the tiles were clean but clammy-feeling because of the moisture in the room. Hayden tied the drawstring on his swim trunks. Since the pool was devoid of other swimmers, he lowered himself onto the nearest edge and stuck his legs in up to the calves. Kris was still in the locker room trying to choose between the red one piece or the two piece black bikini. Nobody had ever told her picking a swimming costume would be this difficult. She eventually settled on the black and let her hair down until it fell around her shoulders, fingers smoothing the stretch material of her bikini around her curves. Her phone was in her bag and switched off; the last thing she wanted was to be disturbed by another family emergency in which Kris had to play the role of mother instead of sister. She was beginning to tire of it. Kris undid the necklace from around her neck and put it into her bag so she didn't lose it before doing the same with the rest of her jewelry. ( Splashy Antics ) ( Chock Full of Innuendo ) ( Getting There From Here ) ( Throw-Down (Adult Content: Sexuality) ) Comment

Hindsight is 20/20 [11 Feb 2009|06:58pm] As a rule, coffee shops weren't Faith's cup of tea. Even so, it seemed like the perfect place, aside from stopping off at Hayden's apartment or asking him to stop by hers, to meet up for a serious conversation. That wasn't really something the Slayer had a lot of experience with, but she figured it was a sign of personal growth that in a moment of great distress, she managed to reach out to someone she trusted and ask for help. What help she needed, Faith didn't know -- but she realized she'd made a huge mistake in her conversation-turned-confrontation with Jessica. Whether that meant she'd broken her trust with Connor for good remained to be seen -- and right now, it wasn't looking good -- but the Slayer had passed the beating-herself-up-over-it phase, walking instead through the okay-what-to-do-now phase. Problem was, Faith didn't know what to do; she couldn't remember losing a friend before and actually being upset about it. ( Hayden to the Rescue? ) Comment

Hard Hats [22 Jan 2009|03:14pm] "Hey, can you hand me that nail gun?" Inside his thick, brown gloves, Hayden's knuckles were chapped. The wintry air was a reminder of places he'd rather be than at the construction site, like on his couch, where he'd spent the last three weeks recovering from an accidental gunshot to his upper arm. There were worse things than being riddled with bullet holes. Hayden thought the renovation of the Jordan building was one of them. Calling it a renovation was a stretch. The crew had stripped the building down to the steel girders before new work got started, and they hadn't gotten far on it. A portable heater and rolls of plastic sheeting didn't do much to keep out the January weather. He wanted a cigarette, but the next break was five minutes off. "Thanks, man." Scratching an itch on his cheek against his coat, he positioned the power tool and fired a sharp, thin spike into the wood. The wind was up, and plastic snapped and billowed in the breeze like a poorly-tied sail as Bastian blew his nose on a bandana, then adjusted his safety goggles. The cold always got his nose running, and when he had to spend the morning out in it he kept a pocket rag tucked into his heavy coat. He was handling pieces of drywall, carrying the grayish slabs with the help of another man to where they'd be added to the skeleton of the building the crew was working on. ( Lunch Break ) Comment

New Year's Eve Threads [04 Jan 2009|08:33pm] http://asylums.insanejournal.com/city_limits/151858.html http://asylums.insanejournal.com/city_limits/153507.html Comment

Belated Christmas [31 Dec 2008|05:06pm] That the Christmas holiday came and went without so much as a card for Faith really didn't bother her. Seeing as how the season had never been a big deal in her life, the Slayer really had no idea what she'd been missing. Time was, Faith would be a bit sad with that knowledge, knowing that while others huddled around a tree, laughing and tearing open the pretty paper that concealed their gifts of love for each other, she was just going about things as if it were just another day. In fact, were it not for the fact that downtown Boston was lit up every year for the occasion -- and that Chicago did much the same -- it might very well have been just another day. Every time Faith went on patrol the last couple weeks, she could see the wreaths hanging off almost every door in every neighborhood, the icicle lights hanging from the roofs. Downtown was overly festive, with skyscrapers adorned with lights and seemingly every street lamp saddled with either a wreath, a fake candle, a large candy cane or some other indication of the season. Rumor had even told of some of her neighbors in the apartment complex going door-to-door caroling, but the Slayer had apparently been out the night they did that. Good thing, too; Faith never was much for strangers singing at her door. It just seemed ... weird. ( Bad Wrapping Paper ) Comment

Dinner Party [19 Dec 2008|10:13pm] http://asylums.insanejournal.com/city_limits/137607.html Comment

All the Good Ones [09 Dec 2008|12:22am] ( Shooting Pool With Faith ) Comment

Couch Potatoes [08 Dec 2008|08:26pm] If she hadn't thought Chicago weather was crazy before, Kris Michaels officially thought it now, given that about three to six inches of snow had fallen in the last couple hours. The worst thing of it was that she hadn't been prepared and was trudging her way through it as best she could, well aware of how soaking wet her jeans happened to be and how she was sure her trainers would never be the same again. Jesus, she was cold. Her teeth chattered for the fourth time in the space of thirty minutes and large white flakes made a polka dot display across the long strands of dark hair that had been left loose, much to Kris' dismay. The weather reports hadn't said a thing about the severity of the storm, but then she should have learned not to listen to those after they forecasted bright sunny skies, only for the sky to open up and near flood them out of house and home all those weeks ago. God, she hated those weathermen and weatherwomen, with their massively-sized grins and over-the-top hand gestures as they talked enthusiastically about weather that would have made a normal person crawl under the bed covers, never to be seen again. It was only when Kris took a tumble towards the pavement and she managed to scrape open her hand and knee that she took a long hard look at where she had ended up. Hayden's street. Huh, clearly her feet had found their way there without her even thinking about it. And she totally didn't blush at that realisation; no siree bob, not her. She pushed herself to her feet again and took a couple careful steps through the snow and over the ice as she made for his place. Hopefully he was home, or she was totally pitching a tent on his doorstep and staying there until he did come home. Kris blew on her hands to stop them from shaking as she willed her fingers to curl so she could knock, grimacing faintly as the cold stung her fingertips. She wasn't entirely sure the red skin look was all that healthy. Kris bounced on her heels and curled her arms around herself as she tried to keep warm. Snow was no big deal in upstate New York. It was an inevitability. Hayden couldn't remember a single winter during his childhood and adolescence when the clouds hadn't dumped a few feet of it before things warmed back up. The thing was, the three years he spent in the desert had gotten him used to not having it around. Now, when it snowed in Chicago, he no longer thought of it as 'no big deal'. It was kind-of a nuisance. He watched it from the back stoop for a while, a beer bottle in his hand, until he couldn't stand the cold anymore. It served him right for going out there in his sock feet. After that, the snow was relegated to a distant thing he saw through his living room window, beyond the heat vents, and the television rerun, and the smell of his empty Hungry Man microwaveable food tray. He dozed off on the couch while reading a weather update that kept scrolling across the TV screen. It couldn't have been more than ten or twenty minutes that he was out, but it was enough to seriously addle his brain. The knock on the door jolted him up, but he couldn't remember what did it. Hayden picked up his cell phone. Kris exhaled a couple ice heavy breaths and huddled further into herself before being brave enough to pry a hand free of its refuge beneath her armpits, rapping her knuckles against the door again. God, it really was cold. She totally wasn't prepared for the weather. "Please somebody be home," she muttered in between ducking her head and wiggling her toes in her now very wet trainers. Yeah, they were totally never going to be the same again. Oh well. Kris licked her lower lip and immediately regretted it, feeling the sting of the cold more there than ever before. "Oh, shit," he mumbled, tossing his phone. ( Goofing Off ) Comment

Voicemail to a Watcher in England [17 Nov 2008|12:00am] "Bryce, it's Hayden. Hey, I meant to bring this up when we were talking earlier, but I got distracted by the thing with the museum. I'm trying to track down some information about a vampire we've been dealing with in Chicago. Apparently she was back in Las Vegas, too. Her name's Grace. She's about... I dunno, 5'6" maybe? 5'7"? Brownish-red hair, southern accent, drives a Plymouth. I have no idea if that's helpful or not but I thought I'd throw it in. Anyway, she's done some damage and pissed some people off, and I think it's time she got what's coming. She needs to figure out she can't dick around with this many white hats and not get dusted. Give me a call if you know anything. Thanks man." Comment

[16 Nov 2008|11:36pm] To: "Kris", "Rhiannon", "Whistler", "Faith", "Logan", "Purity", "Connor" From: Hayden.Maragos@gmail.com Subj: Museum Hey, just a heads-up. I got a call from a guy w/ the Watchers' Council, the one that sent copies on the gov't files about Lincoln Park. He says there wasn't a press release, but whatever went down at the museum last week's being blamed on an earthquake that was detected by USGS seismographs. A paranormal investigator made the connection between the quake and a hairline fracture on a piece of Polynesian pottery. He thinks it unleashed some kind of fear demon that went ape-shit during the benefit dinner. In other words, all quiet on the portal front. Hayden Comment

A Week's Time [26 Oct 2008|07:52pm] Usually the contractors that renovated properties along the north boundary of Lincoln Park wrapped up well before sunset. In October though, with the days shortening and the sense that the crews were perpetually behind schedule, they finished with their work lamps on and got out just after the sun ducked behind the other buildings. It made for long days, but nobody complained with the kind of overtime they got paid. Hayden was one of the last ones off. A chain-link fence surrounded the property where the work was being done. He came around it with his empty lunchbox in hand, a tool belt bulging underneath his coat, and his hardhat and gloves still on. He was running his mouth at another crewman, whose wife was waiting in the parking lot with her blue sedan running and the heat cranked to high. They had a four-year old son who rode in the back seat and liked to press his mouth to the glass and blow on it. Hayden’s truck was a few yards away on the gravel lot. He meandered in that direction, but he was looking over his shoulder at his coworker. “Yeah, man, try selling that shit to Stacy, see if she buys it.” He laughed and lifted a finger towards the crewman’s wife. Kris had closed the studio early and hit the cool streets of Chicago, relying on her jacket and hoodie to keep her warm in the absence of heat. She just stuck her hands into her pockets and kept her head down, ignoring the wisps of black that kept escaping the edges of her hood. A week had passed and Kris figured if she could be brave when it came to fighting monsters she could be brave with her heart, even if it was her most guarded treasure. Her feet found their way to where Hayden worked and her path brought her to a stop beside his truck, leaning back against it as she waited for him to finish. She spotted Hayden long before he spotted her and merely tipped her head, smirking ever so slightly. "Good shift?" She called, keeping her hands in her pockets and the hood over her head, trying to maintain some warmth. Hayden was in the middle of laughing at the epithet his coworker shouted back, even though his son was within earshot. To deflect attention from the in-joke he was losing, John pointed at the woman leaning against the truck. Hayden turned his head right about the time Kris called out to him. He was surprised. A heavy feeling smacked him in the center of his chest, and he thought about how strange it was that a shot of adrenaline felt a lot like being kicked dead on. “Ah, I dunno how good it was. Try long,” he said, coming to stand near the back left tire. Hayden stared at her for a couple of seconds, looking curious but also friendly. “Hey.” He lifted his cooler over the side of the truck bed and set it down. As the blue sedan pulled out of the lot, John leaned over his wife’s arm and honked the horn obnoxiously. ( Hang On ) ( Waiting ) Comment

Stepping In [17 Oct 2008|11:49pm] Avery was sure the building used to be a K-Mart. At least, he was pretty certain. He used to pass by the nondescript structure and its expansive parking lot, and for some reason a big K came to mind. It had been transformed, though, into something out of a Vincent Price film. Transported bales of hay and stalks of corn wound around a temporary wire fence to create the illusion of a maze as it led through the half-empty parking lot and toward the amateurishly disguised sliding glass doors of the building. Teenagers roamed through the walkway, and fog machines obscured the ground. He stood on the sidewalk of busy Harlem Avenue with his hands in his pockets, slightly curious at what was inside. He and Francess had discussed visiting a haunted house, so maybe he should test-run this one himself. The admission was only fourteen dollars, after all. Still, his feet remained planted on the gritty concrete. A number of small vendors had placed booths in the parking lot. There were warm drinks such as cocoa and cider, and foods such as donuts and pizza. A few other merchants sold holiday decorations like hay bales, pumpkins, and indian corn. Hayden pulled his truck into a space on the edge of the parking lot, a few yards from where Avery stood. He had read about the event in the paper and figured he could stop by and pick up some pumpkins to be carved before Halloween. His neighborhood housed a few families that still did the whole trick-or-treat thing, though they came around before sunset. It took some of the atmosphere out of Halloween, having to do everything in daylight hours; even if vampires weren't a problem on the holiday, regular criminals were. He got out of the truck and started talking to the guy selling pumpkins, asking him where he drove in from and other polite questions. Their voices drifted towards the sidewalk. Hayden scratched the back of his neck and laughed at something the farmer said. Avery's attention turned toward the men a few feet away, listening in on their conversation for a moment while he decided what to do. It was then that he sensed it. A group of them, they passed Avery slowly. Vampires. The one in front spoke quietly, assuming he couldn't be heard by Avery and the other men. "We'll enter the place, block off the entrance and exits." His brow furrowed. They were going to pick off the people in the haunted house. He had no weapons on him, and there were four of them and only one of him. Avery sheepishly approached the pumpkin vendor. "Hi. You wouldn't happen to have any... sharp pieces of wood, would you?" The farmer was slow to catch on. He adjusted the brim of his cap and looked bewildered. "You trying to put up a scarecrow or something?" Apparently sharp sticks still equated with driving posts into the ground in his world. "Nah, I don't think I got anything like that." He climbed up in the back of his truck to search it anyway, like somehow a stray post might've gotten in there with the pumpkins. "I might have something." Hayden gave the brown-haired guy a worried look. He searched his face, then looked past him, but he didn't see any signs of trouble. "Hang on a sec." He went around to the cab of his truck, opened the dashboard compartment, and a couple of stakes rolled into his palm. Walking back to where Avery stood, he held them up in one hand. "This what you need?" A quick glance showed him that the farmer was still hunched over with his back turned. Well, that was convenient. Avery nodded slowly at the stakes. "Yeah." He studied the man and then the truck for a moment before deciding to take a calculated risk. "See those guys over there?" He gestured to the foursome as they made their way down the path, their eyes trained on another group of teenagers up ahead. "They're um...awfully pale, aren't they?" If the guy had stakes in the back of his truck...unless he was an avid camper, which he really hoped wasn't the case. The vampire was getting anxious. It would be infinitely more difficult to stop them once they were inside the haunted house. Strobe lights, crowds of panicked people, darkness and the confusion of costumed civilians; there was no question, Avery would have to stop them somehow before they got in. And he wasn't sure he could do it by himself. He fixed the older man with a hopeful, almost desperate look. Hayden followed the gesture to the pack of guys, who looked like average teenagers to him. He didn't have a sixth sense to tell him if demons were nearby; when it came down to it, he was a regular man who happened to know how and where to hit vampires. Which made him wonder why this new guy figured it out. "You sure?" he asked, sounding more puzzled than accusatory. Still, if the kid's hunch was right, he wasn't going to waste time asking him to prove it. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he said to the farmer and stepped around the pumpkins to walk alongside his new acquaintance. Hayden offered a stake to him. Christ, he wished Kris or Faith was around. Four vampires weren't going to be easy to take out. A ball of nerves formed in the pit of his stomach. ( 4 on 2 ) ( Slayers and Vampires We Know ) Comment

Worth the Risk? [13 Oct 2008|08:07pm] Outside the Adler Planetarium, the weather was unseasonably cool. A sharp wind blew across the lake that bordered two sides of the property, while orange and brown leaves that had fallen from landscaped trees skittered across the parking lot. Inside his hooded sweatshirt, Hayden’s shoulders scrunched closer to his ears. He moved his feet to keep his legs warm, because a tear in his old jeans let a draft into one pant leg. He kept his eyes on the parking lot. Unless she had trouble getting away from home, Kris would be there any minute so they could hang out and see what was called Sky Theater in the domed building. When he got her voicemail, Hayden had experienced the kind of ‘oh shit’ moment guys often stumbled into, because he had extended the invitation a couple of weeks back and hadn’t realized Kris was waiting on him to make a solid plan. There were cigarettes in his back pocket, filling out the square outline that all his jeans got after a while. He decided to burn one before it was time to go in. The effort to cut back was going alright, but he doubted he’d ever manage to stop smoking completely. Hayden cupped his hand around the lighter and lit up. The sweatshirt hood blew back onto the crown of his head. Kris had managed to get away, thankfully. Rosa was with her mom and her mom was at home so there wasn't anything to worry about. Connor was at the studio and right now the Slayer would have given anything not to see the other man so soon after making with the emotional moment the other day. God, that was embarrassing. She'd dressed simply, figuring it was better to layer up against the chill in the air then try to wear anything less than practical. Not that she looked dowdy or anything like that in the hip hugging jeans, the snug fitting black shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the flattering khaki jacket over the top of it all. She'd even left her hair down and tucked the necklace she had taken to wearing all the time away, possibly somewhere it couldn't be seen unless somebody was specifically looking for it. "Those things'll kill you," she said with a small teasing smile as she approached Hayden when she spotted him in the crowd of people. “Yeah… probably.” He tucked the items back in his pocket and grinned. “Hope I get decent health insurance first.” It had been awhile since he saw her at the beach and he noticed that her hair was longer, a fact that he liked. Did every guy who saw thick hair like that want to run his hands through it? Hayden went in for a casual hug because he was glad to see her, but he also wanted to smell her shampoo and it was a cheap way of getting close enough. He held on for a minute, giving her a squeeze. “How’ve you been?” "Probably a good idea," Kris said with a small smirk. She took a moment to look at him, noticing how he seemed different, lighter in a way he hadn't been in a long time. It was good to see. She had missed it. Missed him. He was probably one of the only few people that Kris would ever fully hug with both arms. It felt good, having him close and feeling his solid build. Reassuring in all the ways that she needed it to be, Hayden was okay. "Pass," she supplied with a small laugh. "You?" She fought the urge she had to play with a couple strands she could see peeking out from beneath the hood on his head. He passed the cigarette into his other hand, so the wind would carry the smoke away from her clothes. Back when they lived together it was unavoidable, but she didn't have to walk around smelling like his habit now. "Pass? That's not good." He leaned back, keeping his expression mild because she sounded like she didn't want to get into it, and looked at her. It was a rare day when he worried about his beaten up clothes, but she looked good, and it had him thinking he should've forgone the sweatshirt or searched the laundry for a pair of jeans that didn't have a hole in the knee or ass. "I'm doing pretty good," he said, reaching up to catch the hood before it blew off all the way. Hayden didn't really need to worry, his clothes were a part of the reason Kris loved him so much. She wouldn't change a thing. "Eh," she said with a shrug of her shoulders before she dropped her arms and shoved both hands into the hip pockets of her jeans. "Shit happens." She'd already thrown her bad run of events in Connor's face and she wasn't about to do the same to Hayden, especially when today was about just letting go of all of it and enjoying being the Kris she could be when she was with somebody she trusted. Kris tipped her head and looked up at Hayden, offering a smile. "Yeah, I can tell. You look better." Releasing her from the hug, Hayden looked up at the clouds and laughed, then scrubbed a hand along his jaw. "You mean I don't look like I need a twelve-step program." A lot of things were making the difference, from the exercise he was getting, to cutting back on some of his vices, to not avoiding things he considered his responsibility. Regret and guilt could do a number on a guy's self-worth. He took a drag and watched a car roll through the parking lot. "I ought to look tired. I got a couple of roommates. One of them came in at three this morning, drunk as a skunk and screaming Der Gerwelt lyrics. I heard her crash into the coffee table." Hayden lifted his shoulders. ( Under Stars ) ( Beer, Pizza, and Just in Case ) Comment

[10 Oct 2008|11:27pm] ( Faith breaks down ) Comment

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