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Shadow Of Herself
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| OOC: Please note this takes place before the Darian/Grace scene. How Grace felt about her sire usually depended on her mood. The making of their bond carried a lot of weight with her, and they'd always maintained a rough sort of affection between them. Get her drunk enough or find her in a particularly perverse state of mind, she'd tell you that she got a kick out of the surface age difference. That in a certain light he could pass for her son if he tried. They could also drive one another utterly batshit with very little provocation, but tonight they were pretty content with one another. She'd insisted on dancing, and the music thundered through the overhead speakers like the heartbeats they no longer had as Rob Zombie's Foxy, Foxy poured down on them like sonic rain. The overhead lights made the thrashing bodies around them look like a preview of hell, and he leaned in to put his mouth close to her ear from behind, one hand tugging on her belt to keep her close. "What's an educated horse, anyhow?" "One with a college diploma." Reuben snorted, a rude sound. "Music today don't make no damn sense. When I was..." "Yeah, I know, 'back in your day'." Grace rolled her eyes at him over her shoulder. "Spare me the history lesson just for tonight, man. You're havin' fun, right?" "I suppose so," he allowed, a little grudgingly. She wondered suddenly if he'd be around to ring in the new year with her. December was already on them, the year's end just around the corner. It'd be nice to celebrate it with him for a change. Bethany had slumbered for a long time, wrapped up in and around Darian. He had satisfied her, he always did, but there was a restlessness in her that had her back on her feet and wandering again. Her movements appeared aimless but there was some sense of direction to them, moving from place to place and tasting the sin of Las Vegas on the edge of her tongue. She broke off only briefly to shower and change, stripping away the clothes from the other night and replacing them with clothes bound to get her noticed; a stark black dress against pale skin, held up only by thin spaghetti straps, and boots high enough to wrap and compliment her calves, with heels that looked like they might snap if too much weight was put on them. It wasn't that she was looking for anything other than attention tonight, she'd had her fill with Darian after all, but there was a certain power in having people look at her and not being able to touch. She could easily switch moods, from sex to violence, it was all a trick of balance and it was a line that Bethany was walking with very unsteady strides. ( Newly-Unleashed Violence (Mild Violence) ) ( Are You Okay? ) | ||||||||||
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| Bethany had itchy feet and given that she had heard so much about a place called ‘The Basement’ she had felt the need to get to know it, inside and out if the opportunity presented itself. She hadn’t changed her attire, no matter that she was taking herself out of her familiar surroundings and submerging herself in another environment. Bethany’s curiosity had piqued at the mention of human and demon drinking together, further indulged by the fact the establishment had a no fighting rule and if rumour was correct the rule was held steadfast by magic. Bethany approached the address Ralphael had been kind enough to note down for her, confidence oozing from every step she took and sex appeal echoing in the *click-clack* of those stiletto heels she walked on so effortlessly. She might have come back from her ordeal a changed woman, but some things remained the same. She only paused long enough to right the strap of her purse and correct the way her trousers fell before continuing onwards. "Come then, swine," Atia sneered, pointing the blade at the erstwhile leader. How touching that they should offer their lives in service to her cause, the most noble of gestures. Too bad they weren't fit to lick her boots. "Your glorious deaths await you." Bethany’s pace slowed as the sound of voices from a nearby alley caught on her sensitive hearing and tipping her head to one side brought into view a woman and several demons shadowed in darkness, the woman obviously the victor in whatever fight had taken place. She passed her eyes over the spectacle for a moment before pulling her attention away, fully intending on passing it by and leaving the group to handle whatever was theirs to deal with. ( Open Combat ) ( Did They Scream? (Mild Sexuality) ) | ||||||||||
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| [[Non Journal Entry]] "Why am I wearing tweed?" Ralphael looks like a deer caught in twin headlights. "And why are you in that?" It takes a couple seconds before Bethany realises that she is in fact in a museum and somehow God only knows how she has a camera around her neck and she looks like a tourist. A few more minutes tick by until finally Bethany remembers Breana, every awkward move and every uncomfortable second of the woman that had apparently played her on television. "This is..." There were absolutely no words for what this was, but it definitely wasn't good. "I need to get out of these clothes." Ralphael looks like Christmas has come early but it's short lived because Bethany turns on him. "Check in on the club." Because if she's been living this life as Breana then God only knows how her club is faring. Unable to walk any further in the flat unflattering black shoes Bethany leans down and pulls them off, not even caring to notice the looks passed her way as her stocking covered feet carry her out of the museum. Given the fact she'd just walked miles in another woman's shoes Bethany Richards found herself so damn grateful that she was who she was and she was nothing like Breana Richmond. Life would be dull and boring if she was. | ||||||||||
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| [[Non Journal Entry]] Bethany Richards, a strong self-sufficient woman with looks to kill and an attitude to match. She was and would always be a force to reckon with. But that was only until Breana Richmond (after having tried walking on the ridiculous eight inch stiletto heels they seemed to expect her to wear every goddamn day) tripped. She very inelegantly sprawled herself across a very patient Ryan who happened to play the part of Ralphael. “Cut!” Breana grimaced a little, apologising to Ryan while she picked herself up before she tugged at the skirt that had just ridden up. “My bad,” she offered in an authentic British accent because the writers had been generous enough to incorporate that part of the actress in her character. “Does this skirt really need to be this short?” She questioned the wardrobe girl for the fifth time since walking onto set and finding that she barely had a bit of cloth to cover her everything. “Yeah, Bre,” the obviously tired girl muttered. “You’re Bethany Richards, and I hate to break this to you but she doesn’t wear old woman skirts.” Breana merely rolled her eyes and let the makeup people fuss with her, waiting patiently as they touched up that nasty looking scar for the sixth time in the space of two hours. God, if her father could see her right now. Breana Richmond, one of the privileged and talented from a young age. She’d always been into mock dramatics, her father had once said she had cried so convincingly at the age of five when she’d wanted a Barbie and had only gotten a sweater for Christmas that he’d felt compelled to go out and get her the Barbie. “You alright?” Ryan asked after having gotten himself a coffee in the interim. Breana turned, flushing a little under his close examination then offered a wry smile. “I’ll live.” She had this scene to finish and then she had to get ready to attend a black tie event, promoting the new release of the perfume range she’d invested a lot of time and energy in. “I’ll try not to fall into your lap again.” Ryan’s lips tugged into an easy smile. “You’re welcome to fall into my lap anytime, Breana.” “Flirt,” Breana shot back as she gave his shoulder a friendly shove before turning to the call of her name, apparently they were ready to start shooting again. She had sworn to herself that she’d give this show a performance to remember, especially when they’d axed her all those months ago. Bastards. But thank God for her fans, without them she wouldn’t be back and she owed it to them to give Bethany everything she had. The irony was that off camera Bethany’s actress was quiet, clumsy and for lack of a better word: a dork, but once that camera started rolling she was everything Bethany should be – sexy, powerful, dangerous and a woman you wouldn’t want pissed at you. That was the beauty of show business, you were never who you portrayed yourself to be. | ||||||||||
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| [[Non Journal Entry]] Sweat drips from the tangled ends of blonde hair, soaking them and casting them darker against the pale skin, only pulled away by the brief movement of fingertips that quickly turn to snatch the air from her opponent’s throat. Grip tight and bordering on oppressive, blue eyes widening with shock before closing at the last second the grip’s released and he’s dropped, landing with a sickening thud and shuddering with big gulps of air. “He won’t do,” Bethany mutters. “He can’t even take me down, how is he supposed to handle anything with fangs?” Ralphael nods, moving in to pick up the latest guard interviewed and put through his paces by Bethany and found lacking. Bethany angles her head, sweeping her eyes over the rapidly diminishing line and tuts softly under her breath. “It’s so hard finding good help these days.” She brushes a thumb over her bleeding lower lip, one of women had been lucky enough to score a lucky shot and Bethany had hired her provisionally because she admired the balls of the other woman. Another couple of hours to go and she’s only managed to find two guards and she still has spaces left to fill. She rolls her neck - hearing it crack in three places and easing out the tangled knots of tension that have steadily built there – and then turns to the line, cocking an eyebrow. “Next.” | ||||||||||
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| It had been a long time since Beth had gone out into Vegas at night for the sole purpose of enjoying herself, too long. She'd been shying away from too much public appearance, still a little wary and insecure about being surrounded by so many people and having that much attention paid to her. But tonight was different, tonight was about going out and letting down her hair and having a bit of fun. It wouldn't hurt and it certainly would do her a world of good. She was dressed up in a figure hugging black dress with thin diamond straps and black stiletto heels, her blonde hair left loose and falling around a face accentuated by only the smallest traces of makeup. Currently she was weaving her way through the crowds on the Vegas sidewalk to get closer to the kerb so she could hail a cab but her attention instantly shifted as from out of nowhere her bag was snatched from her shoulder. Oh boy, had he picked the wrong person to steal from. Bethany turned, eyes watching his erratic movement through the crowd before she eyed her dress because there was no way she was going to be able to keep chase when it was fitted so tightly; aesthetics had clearly won out over practicality tonight. She shredded one side of her dress without so much as breaking a sweat and did the same to the other until the slits enable her free movement of her legs again. Bethany lifted her head, looking at the crowd through a strand of blonde hair and managing to somehow narrow in on the thief and just like that she gave chase, managing to run quite amazingly on her heels. Grace had just finished disposing of her latest meal, draping the corpse artfully across the hood of a parked car, when she returned to the sidewalk to have the would-be thief run headlong into her. They collided, and he caromed into a mailbox before taking off again, the purse clutched tightly to his chest. "Jesus fucking...damn, son, where ya goin'?!" The vampire glowered at the guy's retreating back, thinking about giving chase just because he'd annoyed her, but she discarded the notion. No time to deal with one single idiot, not when she was full. She did hope he got run over or something, though. That, at least, would make her laugh. And then she saw a flash of blonde hair go whipping past her, and her eyebrows went up when she recognized Bethany Richards stampeding down the sidewalk in hot pursuit of Mr. Purse-snatcher. A Bethany Richards with a really interesting choice of wardrobe. The snicker was barely out of Grace's mouth before she sprinted after both of them, just for the pure entertainment factor of it. She'd never seen a woman who could actually run in heels before. ( That's Mine ) ( Outta Shape ) ( Fair Match ) | ||||||||||
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| [[Non Journal Entry]] There was something to be said for coming home, a certain familiarity that left you comfortable and aching for more, and God knew that Bethany Richards never thought she’d come to think of Vegas as home. But after a week spent in California, Bethany had come to appreciate the small things about Vegas: the hot desert air, the bright neon lights, the cool night breeze, and that smell of sex and sin that always hung heavily in the air. “There’s no place like home,” she drawled, accent thickening on the syllables and lips curling into a slow smile as her heels clicked together once and then carried her slight weight back into the Vegas lifestyle. She ebbed and flowed with the crowd, moving her hips and passing a smirk at the wandering eyes before she rounded on a phone booth and slid into it, cotton clad shoulder pressing into clear Perspex. Bethany dialled a number and waited for the beep. “It would seem the city of Sin is as addictive as its name would suggest.” She paused and her lips twitched. “I know I could have called you from my club or my phone, but I thought a little variety never hurt anyone.” She tangled the cord around her fingers, tipping her head to watch as people passed by, caught up in their day to day life that they didn’t think to see beyond it. “Just letting you know I’m back in town and I’ll be seeing you. Hope you had fun in my absence. Take care of yourself, Darian.” And then she hung up, leaving the phone to hang loose in the air, swinging back and forth, as she faded into the busy street life of Las Vegas. | ||||||||||
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| [[Non Journal Entry]] Bethany had been nothing if not a dedicated ring fighter, partaking in every match she possibly could and arranging several herself. She’d already killed more than her fair share and left a few others wounded given that it had been what the crowd had wanted, she wasn’t entirely sure why but whatever made the money flow the fastest was fine by her. Bethany had done exactly what Tristan had asked of her, she’d killed the man he’d flung into the cage and collected his head as proof of that, even though she was sure he’d been there and watching already. Her hands were stained with blood, quite literally and metaphorically speaking and she wasn’t at all perturbed by it. Some were made strong and destined to survive while others were weak and prone to being crushed beneath the weight of reality. It was addictive and entirely intoxicating, but business out of state was calling her away from Vegas and it was an assignment that could possibly mean an absence longer than a few days. She’d already spoken with Darian as she’d promised she would if she ever had a need to leave again, and between the two of them they’d agree to an amicable break. No hard feelings and certainly no bad blood – deal sealed with a hard kiss, just enough to leave them both aching for more. Ralphael would take care of everything at home while the cat went away and Bethany knew she could trust him to do what was right for her and her business, it was all he knew after all. So clad in her finest attire and with her fashionable luggage in hand Bethany disappeared into the airport and in the direction of the gate that would take her away from Vegas and into foreign territory. The things she did for business, honestly. | ||||||||||
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| [[Non Journal Entry]] In Vegas the ability to disappear into the ether was a talent that most possessed, some had learned it through sheer necessity and others had crafted it into a fine art. Some said that those that felt a need to disappear were either not cut out for the fast Vegas life or had attracted too much heat. Perhaps both of these applied to Bethany Richards or perhaps not. Her face had been seen at countless ring matches and her blood littered the dirt covered ground along with that of her opponents, she was relentless and unforgiving. Some believed she fought with the ferocity of a caged animal; trapped, pacing, and lashing out at those that got too close. All trace of her had fallen away, disappeared into shadow and submerged by the darkness of night. Some days Bethany wasn’t even sure of who she was or what she was meant to do, expectations weighed heavily on her shoulders and pressed down on a chest already struggling for breath. She’d sort out people she didn’t know, those that hadn’t known her before her abduction and subsequent change, ones that wouldn’t see her and expect the person she’d been before. Of course that didn’t stop people from her past from seeking her out. Bethany had agreed to a deal with Tristan – kill the bait and reap the reward, it was simple and Bethany would take care of it. She’d shed the demon blood and then kill the bait, let Tristan collect his winnings and take what was owed to her. It was easy. | ||||||||||
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| It was a slow night at Fang Noir, the crowd was barely half of what it normally was. Leah wondered if the recent trouble further down on the strip was scaring away business. It made sense, considering they'd actually closed down part of the strip and were having to ID bodies from dental records. She'd just finished her first performance of the night and was dressed up like some ancient Summerian priestess, well, like Hollywood's version of some ancient Summerian priestess. From what she understood they'd gone around topless and that wouldn't have worked in Fang Noir if they wanted to keep their liqour license. It was a shame Vicky wasn't in tonight, she wanted to talk to her friend about her recent behavior. The changes in Vicky were starting to worry the hybrid and she was tempted to sneak into her bosses office to steal back that stone. The only thing stopping her was Elfleda...the Corrputress probably wouldn't like that very much and Leah didn't think getting on her bad side was such a good idea. But if the changes in her friend kept coming, well....Leah might have to chance it. Given her reclusive behaviour, Bethany had fallen out of touch with her nearest and dearest. Victoria being one of those. Deciding to rectify that, she'd stepped away from her own club and made her way to Fang noir. She had taken to wearing silk in public again, maintaining the public image of Bethany Richards alive. Everything that happened behind closed doors wasn't for anyone else's eyes except Bethany's and those she let close enough to see. She glanced at the stage briefly before looking away. She hadn't come for a show after all, she'd come to find Victoria. She found her way through the crowd, catching sight of a dancer who had apparently finished her set. Bethany parted the crowd milling around with one look and caught the dancer's eye, "Do you know where I can find Victoria?" ( Odd Contrast ) Bethany finished off her drink, passing a thoughtful look over her shoulder before reaching into the bag she was carrying with her. "On second thoughts, I'm going to head out. I have some business to attend to." She pulled out a small notepad and a pen to scribble a note for Victoria. It read: "Vicky, I called by to see you but it would seem it was not meant to be. Call me soon? Love, B." She folded the paper neatly and offered the slip to Leah. "Can you make sure she gets this?" The paper was accepted and tucked into her outfit. "I certainly will," she assured Bethany. "Please come again, I'm sure next time she'll be here.:" The hybrid hid her disapointment, she wouldn't be able to use the woman for her own ends after all. A pity. Ah well, if it wasn't meant to be, it wasn't meant to be. "If you'll excuse me, I need to schmooze some of the other guests. Have a pleasant evening." "Thank you, Leah." Bethany got to her feet slowly and took one last look around herself before she simply let herself out. Hopefully Victoria would get her note. For the time being Bethany lost herself in the crowds and shadows of the Las Vegas night. | ||||||||||
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| [[Non Journal Entry]] There are three options in Vegas: Kill or be killed. Sink or swim. Win or lose. Most of the time people aren’t even aware that those are the options facing them when they set foot in the Devil’s Playground. Vegas is full of drunks, liars, and compulsive gamblers. There’s no hope for them and none for those that fall afoul of the very same vices. The problem with Vegas is that it washes you under - drags your feet away before you even have a chance to find your footing - and most of the time people don’t survive the crush of the wave. It’s only the smart – the cunning - the strong – and the obstinate that last the journey from beginning to end. Bethany Richards is a survivor; she’s pulled herself to her feet from the ruin wreaked upon her by one foolish choice. She’s scarred and she’s tortured but who isn’t in the world of today? Her choice is simple now: grow and be stronger because of it. The first step was to return to Vegas – the second to restore herself to power within her business – the third to reconnect with those that mattered – and the fourth? Oh, that’s simple: Remind Vegas of who she is and what she’s capable of. She’s been gone too long, people forget, but after tonight she can guarantee people will remember her. | ||||||||||||
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| [[Non Journal Entry]] There was beauty in death and an art to living; some knew it better than most. Every experience a splash of colour over a canvas stretched wide and thin, worn down by the undeniable truth that life goes on and keeps going on no matter how far or wide you might be from where you first started. Bethany was what one would call a free spirit, not tempered or hampered by the physical limitations set upon the waking world. Last to care, first to know. She had been an artist with graceful elegant strokes that had her life sweeping ahead of her like a visage of effortless beauty but now she was an amateur with short, sharp, almost blunt movements. Like it was taking her very life and soul to carve out a picture of what had been and would be again. The canvas shifted over and over again, constantly repainting, until destroyed by the doubts and second guessing. The endless splashes of red across tiled floors and clear surfaces cleared her mind, focused her thoughts, and showed her the way. Every breath taken was like inhaling another moment of time, time she had been so sure she would be without for the rest of her life. It was all about seizing the moment, taking the risk that one experimental stroke of a brush would either save or damn, and being brave enough not to care. She’d already started, by reopening her club and changing what lay beneath it but there was to be more; bolder strokes of movement and life, vibrant colours dancing over what had been a dull canvas of routine and drudgery. The undeniable truth was that life moved on; the only problem was that sometimes people got so caught up in the past that they forgot how to breathe life into their future. Bethany Richards would not fall afoul of that, not now and not ever. | ||||||||||||
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| [[Non Journal Entry]] One even step on a previously uncertain ground had led Bethany to the basement of her club where once before she had considered expansion. To go deeper underground until perhaps the roots and foundations of the building were as deeply immersed in the underbelly of Vegas as the owner itself. Now she saw other opportunities. Seeing Darian and feeling the warmth she’d been lacking for months had seemingly opened her eyes or perhaps it had just pointed her in the right direction. To say she had been wandering aimlessly since her return wouldn’t be a lie. Bethany was vulnerable and she knew how weakness could drag you down. How many times had she had her face smashed into the ground and had the words “you’re weak” hissed in her ear? One too many to simply forget the sentiment. She knew she needed to be stronger and that could only come from hard work. She was a fish in an ocean full of sharks and she needed to earn her teeth back, and that would only happen if she made it happen. Turning slowly, lifting weight onto the tips of toes, and stretching both arms and legs she found the space she had to turn and move within. It was adequate for her needs. She’d be able to regain her physical prowess in private, beneath the very thing that had stood for all her achievements in her absence. “Make it happen,” she murmured in passing to Ralphael as she appeared back in the club and as always he didn’t need an explanation. Rebuilding her strength and regaining her former glory would be slow but steady, patience to be invested in every move she made across the board where opponents just waited in the wings to claim your King. She’d gone too long losing everything including self respect and dignity – now it was time to claim it back with tooth, nail, and claw. | ||||||||||||
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| [[Non Journal Entry]] Snow in the Nevada desert? How was that even possible? Bethany should have learned to expect the unexpected but this had been as far from her mind as a sudden restoration back to her former glory. There had been many reasons for her departure of England, all of them selfish and none more selfish than the desire to escape the weather. Las Vegas had been a beacon, drawing her like a moth to a flame of corruption long burned into the night. She had gone – thrived - and fallen, only to start all over again. Her breath curled before her and every flake of white against her skin sent a chill down her spine, a chill like she’d only ever felt when she’d bled too much and hadn’t enough left to warm her veins. There had been nothing but chaos within the confines of her mind since her return, a constant and never-ending source of questions and doubts, and it had left her restless. She was awake when others slept, busy when most others chose sloth and worrying when it was probably better to forget and move on. Darian. The Dealmaker had never been far from her mind and his image was a cigarette burn across her eyelids every time she closed her eyes and breathed. If she paid it just enough attention she could catch a scent of his aftershave but the moment she opened her eyes and looked out into the snow encrusted land it was gone. What she hadn’t been ready for was the empty heavy feeling it left in the pit of her stomach. Love was a fool’s game and yet no matter the odds or how high the stakes, everybody just kept playing it. Her withered hands clasped at the collar of her jacket and pulled it closer and tighter in the useless attempt to warm away the cold she’d had with her ever since she’d heard that voice in her ear telling her that they had her now. God, what she wouldn’t give to feel warm again. | ||||||||||||
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| [[Non Journal Entry]] Depending on mood or preference a mirror could reflect one or a hundred different images; perception was the only thing that mattered - the only thing that could show you the truth or lie right to your face. Currently Bethany’s reflection was taunting her, reality shifting and twisting, entirely reliant on the emotional hailstorm wreaking havoc beneath her pale surface. She’d spent hours just getting lost in Vegas, becoming part of the crowd and slipping into obscurity but there was no escaping this, no turning away from the reflection looking back at her. Seeing Darian had …Bethany didn’t know, all she knew was there was so much going on in her head that somehow screaming out loud wouldn’t be enough and all she could do was stare until the image in front of her blurred. In a split second the mirror was apart and shattered, sent crashing to the ground and as the chaos gave way to silence, drops of blood dripped from the fragmented edges and Bethany’s breathing was soft and obviously laboured. Her knuckles were gaping open and if she looked close enough she could almost see her soul in the crimson glinting in the dull light. In that moment, everything was serene and there were no feelings beyond the quiet – nothing and no one could touch her, she was just Bethany. No expectations, no emotional demands, no what ifs or buts – just her. She swallowed hard, pushing the words she had so desperately wanted to say to him down until there was no more need for them and she’d forgotten what they were. A sick little voice in the back of her mind sneered at her that Darian wouldn’t want her now anyways. Damaged goods were never as attractive as the complete package, but she wasn’t a fool, Bethany knew she’d been damaged goods before but at least then her imperfections hadn’t breached the surface. Now they were just there, for all and sundry to see. Fuck. ( Take It All Away: (Mild Violence) ) | ||||||||||||
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| The closure of Heaven's Peak had not gone over very well with its regulars but Ralphael had just turned them away and promised them free drinks the next time they were in the club. It seemed to smooth all ruffled feathers. Bethany had been reclusive, being very much the woman behind the man. She was happy with keeping a low profile and keeping her face out of public arena. She'd spent her time in her office, surrounded by books and papers - the very same things she hadn't touched in months. It took some getting used to, especially when paper cuts kept impeding her progression. Not that they were in any way proportional to what had been done to her but annoying to say the least. She'd left the phone in her office off the hook because she hadn't wanted to be disturbed and that had assured her privacy. Bethany hadn't bothered with changing a lot of how she looked, she'd just thrown on some clothes every day before hitting the books and scrambling to understand the business she'd left behind. It was like she was trying to read a map that she didn't have the directions for. She'd had a moment or two where she had seriously considered selling and starting from scratch but then getting back had never been about starting back from the beginning. Bethany had, had a life before the demons had yanked her out of it and she was going to get it back. Perhaps it would not be as complete as it had been before but it would be hers and that at the end of the day was all that mattered. She sipped at the bottled water and rolled her head to pass a sharp eye over the wage slips for the last pay period before rubbing the bridge of her nose as she felt the all too familiar feeling of her skin crawling. "Beth...?" The door had been quietly clicked open. A voice both soft and familiar being heard; recognition setting in further as the owner’s face peered gingerly around the side of it. Victoria was cautious, apprehensive. Not knowing if to believe the message. After having a car set alight outside her place of business, such a reaction was understandable. "Oh my God... Beth..." The vampire stood there with mouth open for a solid ten seconds. Not a time which would seem too long, until finding oneself in such circumstances. Especially when mortal friends looked so... So different. It seemed as if a twin with completely opposite motivations had replaced the Slayer in her stead. Closing the distance, Victoria was the very picture of sympathy. Hand reaching out to both hair and shoulder. "Honey..." ( Past Meets Present Day ) ( Breaking Hearts In Style ) ( Are You In Love? ) "Alright, then. I'll do just that. You should be hearing from them in a couple of days. They owe me a few favours." To the casual observer, Beth had very few real friends in the world and even fewer in Las Vegas as a whole. However many there were, Victoria was counted amongst them and had no ulterior motives when it came to the recently scarred Slayer. She was going to help the girl get back on her feet, even if only a little. The Council of Watchers would probably have had a fit, if they ever had an inkling of what such a relationship represented. Then again, considering how very mild-mannered Victoria would, perhaps most of the vampire population would, too. Gaining a Slayer's trust and not trying to drain her, indeed... One more small hug was given. It was up to Bethany, that time, whether she wanted to accept it. "It's good to have you back, Beth," the vampiress smiled. Victoria truly meaning the sentiment, rather than just voicing it. "I'll see you soon..." | ||||||||||||
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| [[Non Journal Entry]] For the first time in what seemed like weeks perhaps even months, the doors to Heaven’s Peak were closed and locked shut. All entrance was barred and no business was to be traded for however long Bethany required to familiarise herself with everything. It was strange enough to be stood in her office, a place that had once seemed so much like home but now nothing in it felt familiar and she couldn’t reconcile who she was with her surroundings. Ralphael had done a brilliant job at keeping the books on the up and up but the club lacked something. Bethany was unable to put her finger on it but there was a certain energy missing and she’d felt that the moment she’d stepped through the door. Nothing felt quite the same, not like before. The leather under her hand was cold to the touch and yet the mould and the creases were like memories of yesterday and better days. She hadn’t sat in her chair yet, feeling alien and out of place amongst the obvious extravagance and wealth. She’d instructed Ralphael to announce that the club was under new management but she wouldn’t reveal who exactly would be pulling the strings. Bethany had something she hadn’t had before: anonymity and she would capitalise on that. Heels echoed off the walls and breathing was soft and gentle in the silence of the club as Bethany took the time to walk the floors. It felt like an eternity ago when she’d last stood in the middle of the dance floor and she could recall everything with such vivid details. She walked to the bar and slid onto a stool, blunt ends of her nails tapping on the hard wooden surface before the flat of her palm was reaching across the bar for the bottle of vodka. Rotating the cap, she pulled it free and tossed it aside before simply taking a few substantial gulps, draining the bottle almost completely dry. Bethany regarded the clear liquid now only an inch away from being exhausted completely before she pushed the bottle away and rose to her feet. There was so much to be done and she didn’t even know how to begin. No one knew she was back and that for the moment would serve her well. | ||||||||||||
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| [[Non Journal Entry]] “Bethany,” her name was breathed out in a whisper until silenced by the warm press of her hand as he was pulled in through the door and pushed up against the wall. He said and did nothing, just allowed her to manhandle him as he was unable to tear his eyes away from her. “Were you followed?” Ralphael’s head shook slowly and he kept his gaze on Bethany’s eyes because he knew better than to fixate on that scar and how so much of her appearance had changed – that was expected, all things considered. A few moments passed until Bethany peeled her hand away and she just took the bag from Ralphael, “Good.” She stepped back, resting the bag in the middle of the bed before she unzipped it and reached inside for familiar clothing. God, it had been so long since she’d felt the touch of silk. “I was surprised to get your call,” Ralphael admitted as he checked the window then turned his gaze back to Bethany in time to catch the flash of flesh when she peeled her top off. His eyes were inexplicably drawn to the long line of her back but his brow furrowed at the bruising scattered across her skin until finally he dropped his eyes to the floor. Bethany pulled a silken top on over her head and then simply pulled a pair of jeans on over her long legs until her lips twitched at the familiar stiletto heels. “You brought them.” Ralphael’s answer was simple, “Of course.” Bethany looked over her shoulder, her face now disfigured and yet her smile seemed to bring radiance to previously exhausted features. The staple of Bethany’s image had always been a pair of killer heels and the finest silk. These days she wasn’t sure how she felt about silk any more but the boots had been a must have. Settling on the edge of the bed, she slid her feet into the heels and leaned down to run the tips of broken nails over the zippers to seal the leather. “Tell me everything,” she said very simply as sharp brown eyes cut through her hair before she rose to her feet. Ralphael picked up the bag and then opened the door, allowing Bethany to go out first before falling into step beside her. “How long do you have?” Bethany rolled jagged points of thinning shoulders before opening the passenger side of Ralphael’s car, “The entire trip back to Vegas and then some.” Sliding inside, she pulled the door shut and allowed the leather to welcome and cushion her. She had so many questions and a few began and ended with Darian but those could come later, when she was sure she really wanted to know. Ralphael smirked a little, trailing after Bethany and settling in behind the wheel, it was just like old times. | ||||||||||||
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| [[Non Journal Entry]] With door locked and curtains drawn, Bethany retreated to the yellowing covers of her hired bed for the night and curled her bare legs under her. The only room she could afford on the girl’s card was in a run down practically dilapidated excuse of a motel; her skills at forging signatures had not lessened during her days of incarceration. Her father would abhor her behaviour but she’d learned the skill when she’d run up bills on his cards so Bethany really couldn’t care less. She’d pulled the phone from its place on the side table and had been staring at it ever since she had …risked the shower, complete with roaches, and she hadn’t called one single number. Maybe the problem was she didn’t know who she could or wanted to call (or maybe she did) and she didn’t even know if numbers had changed. Bethany had been away for weeks …probably even months, she really had no idea. Time had ceased to mean anything and she’d stopped keeping notches of passing days because they had only served to depress her. Her fingers reached for the receiver only for her hand to shake and it was with a frustrated growl that the hand was snatched back and cradled against her chest. How long had she been waiting for this? How long had she been promising to herself that she would reclaim her life? And now she had the chance and she was too …frightened? Fuck. Bethany inhaled, allowing the movement to calm her frantic thoughts before she was reaching for the receiver again and this time she managed to lift it to her ear but that was as far as she got. She really had no idea of how much time had passed before dialling an all too familiar number that had come to her fingertips naturally only for her to hang up before the call even had a chance to connect. This was not going as well as she’d hoped. She’d been so focused on getting free and finding her way back to Vegas that she hadn’t stopped to consider about what would happen once she started seeing familiar faces. Bridges had been burned so Bethany truly had no idea of what she’d be walking back into and perhaps it was time to give her life some serious consideration. First things first: Call Ralphael. That much she could do. The rest of it could come later - much later - when Bethany had some idea of what the hell she was doing and where she even begun. | ||||||||||||
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| [[Non Journal Entry]] The first night had been the hardest, unfamiliar terrain making for an unsettled night’s rest but then sleep had been infrequent at best. One learned how to sleep with one eye open when one’s life was practically forfeit. Bethany had always been a quick learner and the demons had not been shy in delivering lessons one after another. She’d woken at the rising of the sun and had peeked open an eyelid, caked with blood and dirt, and peered out at the world with dull unresponsive eyes. Life stirred in the distance and its movements was tracked with a predatory interest, an analytical mind weighing up their usefulness and ability to aid her in her travels. Long fingers wrapped the doorway that had been her shelter for the night and body was lifted with a slow grace that had been present throughout the ordeal. Disregard blatantly shown by how Bethany turned away from the questioning gazes and the whispered words, let them say what they wanted – they knew nothing. People often fooled themselves into the belief that somehow their opinion mattered in the grand scheme of things. Bethany’s stride was slow and long, deliberate steps taken to trail the movement of the young girls she’d been watching since her eyes had opened. She leaned back into the shadow of a nearby building, ducked her head and used the darkness to shroud her presence as one of the girls turned her head. A few short seconds passed and one singular heartbeat thumped against her chest before the girl looked away and Bethany fell back into stride. A restroom attached to the local garage had been the girls’ destination and it became Bethany’s as the door swung back and forth on creaking hinges. Their voices were like nails on a chalkboard and the Slayer had to work hard not to grind her teeth together, she’d almost forgotten what life (albeit teenage life) had sounded like. It had been so long, so very long, and Bethany wondered how she would ever survive in Vegas again. Pulling open the door, Bethany’s eyes swept right to left and her lips curled into a slow smile void of all humanity as the girls turned to her and their faces pulled into sneers and disparaging expressions. As soon as she stepped away from the door, it slammed shut with a resounding *thud* and there was a shattering of glass and a chorus of muffled screams followed by an all too eerie silence. Bethany rolled her head and lifted the back of her dirty hand and brushed it across the back of her lip and a smear of crimson was left behind on her skin before it was wiped away on the ripped denim of the jeans she’d been wearing for God only knew how long. Two bodies littered the ground at her feet and young faces were twisted into expressions of horror and fear. The young always thought they were invincible – how very stupid of them. Bethany stepped back from the sink before crouching over the taller girl, cocking her head to one side and arching a slow eyebrow before she simply began to undress her. With the girl stripped to her underwear, Bethany transferred clothes to sink then carried the girl into the nearby cubicle, pulling the door shut. She was cold and clinical in the way she prowled the other before finally pulling socks and trainers off the rapidly cooling body and then she put the girl in the other cubicle before turning back to the sink and her ill gotten possessions. Stepping closer to the sink and mirror, Bethany peeled a lock of hair away from her cheek and exhaled a slow breath when her eyes fell upon the scar. It was thick, ragged, cutting through her face like a permanent reminder of what she had lived through. God, it was ugly. Ignoring that in favour of running water, Bethany began to clean the grime from her skin before hissing in a slight breath when it touched open cuts - her hands were riddled with them. Old tattered remains of clothing were peeled away from her frame, tossed aside and replaced with the clothing she had taken from the young girls. By the time she was finished, she was almost unrecognisable and that would serve her very well. Bethany’s hands ran up and tugged the hood up over her head before she sorted through pockets for a wallet and she came upon one and inside of it was the driver’s license for one Danielle Williams. The girl had a car? Perfect. Bethany patted herself down until she heard the jingle of car keys and she withdrew a silver set of keys complete with a ‘Miss Kitty’ key ring and it was with a roll of her eyes that the key ring ended up on the restroom floor. Opening the door, Bethany stepped back out into the world and she found her way to a blue VW Beetle parked at the pumps. Sparing a look over her shoulder, Bethany opened up the driver’s side and slid in behind the wheel. Driving to Vegas would save her hitch hiking. Bethany started the engine and with a slow languid movement of both hand and foot, she accelerated away and took the highway by force, leaving nothing but death behind her. | ||||||||||||
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Shadow Of Herself
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![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/pne/kanjimood/25-sad.gif){kind=small}
restless
![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/pne/kanjimood/36-mischievous.gif){kind=small}
mischievous
![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/pne/kanjimood/132-grateful.gif){kind=small}
grateful
![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/pne/kanjimood/15-happy.gif){kind=small}
calm
![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/pne/kanjimood/61-okay.gif){kind=small}
blah
![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/pne/kanjimood/33-lazy.gif){kind=small}
listless![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/pne/kanjimood/45-determined.gif){kind=small}
determined
![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/pne/kanjimood/2-angry.gif){kind=small}
stressed
![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/pne/kanjimood/46-scared.gif){kind=small}
distressed
![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/pne/kanjimood/121-surprised.gif){kind=small}
surprised
![[mood icon]](http://img.greatestjournal.com/mood/pne/kanjimood/96-weird.gif){kind=small}
weird
