| Prepare for Bad-Assery |
[01 Jan 2010|11:51am] |
GW smiled and waved as his last (and youngest) student in the 12:30 karate class left the room with her mother, and then breathed a silent sigh of relief. Mrs. Jenkins had been not-so-subtly trying to pick him up for a few weeks now and he'd been doing his best to indicate he wasn't interested, short of actually telling the woman off, as he made a point not to date other men's wives. If Sally wasn't such a dedicated and gifted student, he'd probably have tried to find another instructor for her to go to, but the girl was a joy to teach.
The Cajun took a swig from his water bottle and then checked his watch; he had a good half hour before his next class. That meant he had a little time to stretch and practice some of his more advanced katas before the students started trickling in.
Old Town Fitness was a modest building with dark windows and a sea-green front. The owners could've just as easily sold tire rims in there as taught fitness classes; from the outside, one couldn't tell what went on inside. Hannah had passed it before, back when it was called Iron Bodies. Being a naturally petite sort who walked her dog and liked to swim, organized fitness didn't make the list of things Hannah was burning to try. A pilates video in her Christmas stocking had put the nail in that coffin, thanks to a particularly grueling set of flutter kicks and a pulled ass muscle. And that was that.
( Or Its Diminutive Friend )
|
|
| Some Assistance Required |
[08 Dec 2009|12:38pm] |
Long after the last cruise ship left port, Hannah closed out her register. The vendors of Mallory Square lounged in folding chairs and on stools. They talked amongst one another, arms propped behind their hands and flip-flops dangling off their toes. Some packed up their goods for the night. Since Hurricane Hannah's was a cart, all the proprietor needed to do was pull down an aluminum door and lock it. She took her time stuffing items in her shoulder bag, which contained the day's necessities: a notebook, gel pens, phone, keys, sunglasses, chapstick, and enough fruit-flavored gum to give a person TMJ.
Hannah set it on the pavement and began to pull the rolling door into place. Unfortunately, its tendency to get off-track flared up. "Crap," she grumbled and dropped her belongings. Hannah hated technical difficulties, like getting a flat tire on her moped, locking herself out of her garage apartment, and the rare occasion when her cash drawer jammed. Nice as people on the island were, it was embarrassing to encounter problems a can of WD-40 wouldn't fix.
"And breeeeaathe," she coaxed herself. Hannah shook out her arms. Ugh, people were staring. Maybe if she gave the door some time to think about its actions, it would cooperate. "On a count of three," she coached, "You're going to roll all the way down, got it? One. Two... Three." She heaved the door up, then slammed it down again.
( A Little Help Here? )
|
|
| Dog Beach on a Sunny Afternoon |
[16 Nov 2009|03:04pm] |
Key West boasted a few public beaches, but only one catered to dogs, the aptly named Dog Beach. It sat near the corner of Waddell and Vernon. There was an open area of sand that led to the water's edge, which was calm and turquoise. On the left side, piles of slippery rocks were less easy to navigate. Hannah kept her dachshund away from those, paranoid the little hot dog would wiggle into a crevice and never make it out. She pedaled up on her beach cruiser with the dog in a heavyweight basket. It danced around her legs while she locked up the bike.
"Hang on a second!" Hannah hopped around to keep her ankles free. The U-shaped bolt resisted. "You're going to chop off my feet. I dunno who you think's gonna pedal us home." Finally managing to snap the pieces together, she straightened. "Unless stranding us is your master plan." The little dog wiggled in place, not the picture of innocence. Hannah scowled. "Thought so. C'mon." Out on the sand, she unhooked the leash and let him run around.
Mallory usually made time after work for her dog, since Tuffy liked to play in the small waves and dig in the sand. It always meant a bath when they got home, since the salt and sand made the bulldog's thick fur stiff, but it wasn't much of a hardship. The redhead had made sure to bring along the pooper scooper and a couple of paper bags in case the mutt made a mess. Even without a law in place, she wasn't leaving anything behind for anyone to step in.
( Shooting the Breeze...Then a Bombshell )
|
|
| Beautiful Places (Hannah's Epilogue) |
[18 Jul 2009|11:46pm] |
Captain's Log: September 27, 2014
Location: Italy
This is Hannah, reporting to you LIVE from a farmhouse in Tuscany, where I'm taking part in La Vendemmia (to the uninitiated, that's the grape harvest)! And guess what? The host family sent me to bed with a bottle of wine and I am soooooo drunk! In fact, it's a miracle I can spell drunk.
Let me take this opportunity to thank my sponsors, the FABULOUS Powers That Be, for granting my lifelong wish of globe-trotting. The first leg of Hannah's World Tour has started out great. Okay, my butt is killing me from today's horseback riding lesson, and I'm kinda dreading my cooking lesson tomorrow, which apparently involves making pasta from scratch, but I'm in good spirits!
I have a travel buddy! His name is Dmitri and he's from... crap, I dunno, someplace outside St. Petersburg. We met yesterday when we got to the farmhouse. He's staying in the room across from mine. He's helping me with useful Italian phrases, such as 'Where is your bathroom?' I've discovered he's kind-of a prankster, though, because the first time around, he actually had me saying, 'You smell of rotten cabbage'. But don't you worry... he'll pay! Oh, he'll pay. There's a dead lizard waiting under my poor Russian friend's pillow (before you ask, no, I did not kill it myself...sheesh).
Anyway, I better get to bed! Tomorrow, I'm going into town to buy a postcard for Oliver. Next week, it's back to work in the coffee shop. Then begins the countdown until my next trip in January... Brazil!
This is Hannah, signing off.
PS: Holy smokes, Dmitri. That was the girly-scream heard 'round the world.
|
|
| Steady Ground |
[07 Jul 2009|11:07pm] |
"And in here, we have the master bedroom. As you can see, it's got eastern exposure, and the sunrises are really gorgeous during the fall. New carpet was installed after the last tenants vacated the premises, so it's under warranty for the next five years or so. The second bathroom adjoins this room over there. If you want, you can take a look in there, see what you think."
Oliver padded across the room, the soles of his shoes making soft noises on the thick carpeting, and he opened the bathroom door to study the contents of the next room. The floor was white tile, the fixtures dark blue. He liked the sparseness of it, a sort of austerity that appealed to him.The cigarette in his mouth was transferred to his right hand, and he used it as a pointer when he asked, "What are your leasing terms like? I'm leaning more towards buying right now."
The Realtor, a woman in her late thirties, replied, "Well, what with Lincoln Park being rebuilt and a lot of new properties going on the market, the current situation favors prospective buyers, but with summer halfway over the market's a little uncertain. What do you think of the place, Mr. Jerzyck?"
The spellcaster took another look at the bathroom, then stepped back and pulled the door shut. This was the third place he'd seen this week, and he was glad Hannah had been able to make time for this visit. He glanced at her, then around the unfurnished bedroom. "Well, I like what I've seen so far," he said with a thoughtful nod. One eyebrow lifted as he turned his attention towards the little blonde. "Hannah? What do you think?"
( Putting on Airs )
( About This Jessica Girl )
|
|
| Lord Foppington and the Impudent Wench (Featuring AU Tobias) |
[01 Jun 2009|11:30pm] |
Though it wasn't a quality that suited her budget, Hannah was becoming a clothes horse. It all started with Carrie's wardrobe. Most of the garments Hannah inherited didn't suit her style or measurements. What started as a replacement of lingerie (she was definitely not going to wear another woman's underwear and bras) eventually emptied the closet of seventy-five percent of its contents. Piece by piece, she added staples like jeans, sweaters, and t-shirts. Unfortunately, an obsession with discount shopping formed. A person could get great deals on last season's clothes, if they followed sales. Then she discovered vintage. Hannah loved vintage.
The shop on Belmont was pricey, but the clothes were in great condition. If she saved up, Hannah could afford an extravagance once per month. Today was the day. In the late afternoon, she circled a rack of pants, scraping their hangers along the metal rod. A red peasant blouse with white polka dots hung around her neck. She selected a pair of denim bell bottoms and held them up, examining the multi-colored patches. "Let's get crazy." Waving at the shop's owner, she dove into a dressing room and pulled the curtain.
Since his initial reconnaissance with Inquisitor Maragos (the wife of their Squad Leader rather than the leader himself), Tobias had been rather taken with trying to find out more about this strange world they seemed to have found themselves in.
Whilst many things - such as the gaseous ratios of carbon dioxide to oxygen and the human population - were the same, so many things were different. Their cultural codes and conventions were so outlandish and outrageous that he wondered what poor soul had surrendered to the devil to create such chaos. There were advertisements everywhere with women in their underwear, looking sweaty and as if they had been caught doing something that they should really only be doing with a husband to create a child. Women dressed as if it were the heat of Summer and they were in the privacy of their own homes in public, of all places. Everybody seemed so loud and uncaring that there were demons and beasts roaming in their number.
( Where Is Your Husband? )
( Cooler Doppelgangers )
( Text for Toby )
|
|
| Dinner For Two |
[22 May 2009|06:58pm] |
Volare wasn't the most exclusive restaurant Oliver had ever been to, but he'd wanted Hannah to be comfortable in her surroundings. He knew he didn't have to impress her anyway, at least not as much as he would have with someone else. One thing about the blonde, she wasn't a money-grubber.
The spellcaster had brought another small bouquet of flowers, the daisies bright and cheerful against the dark fabric of his jacket, and he brushed hair out of his face as he loitered on the sidewalk in front of the establishment. Difficult not to be apprehensive, if only because this was all so new for him. Hannah still represented a bright spot for him, and now that she was alive again, well...where there was life, there was hope, right? Oliver picked an invisible piece of lint off of his suit coat, made himself not look at his watch. Battled back the apprehension.
'Every single gal needs a little, black dress.'
One afternoon on her couch, while staring at daytime television, Hannah heard that line from a deodorant commercial. She sat upright, small pillow clutched to her lap, startled to realize that she didn't own such a dress and never had. The closest Hannah had owned was a navy blue and white suit she wore to her grandmother's funeral as a teenager. She looked like a lady sailor.
( Spaghettios? )
( Awwk...ward )
|
|
| Chicago Underground: Super-Isms |
[11 Apr 2009|12:55pm] |
From Pixie Strumpet
Thread: Open to All
Okay, super-folks. I think that some of us have super-isms, or at least are super-groupies. So here's my question. Without spilling all your personal beans right here on the forum, what super-isms do you wish you had? Feel free to reference pop culture and actual super-happenings you've witnessed.
I'll go first.
My super-envy is for people (and characters!) who are extra strong w/ kung-fu skills. I would settle for just one giant, meaty fist of doom.
What about you?
|
|
| A Day in the Park |
[05 Apr 2009|03:49pm] |
"This is something I fail to understand," Hannah announced to the world at large.
Millennium Park was abuzz with afternoon activity. The pleasant weather had coaxed people outside; they hovered near the fountains, milled about on the plaza, and sat on the grass under the shading trees. Hannah was just as excited to see the sun as anybody else, and felt like a freed jailbird when she fibbed her way out of a diner shift. She dressed for mild weather: a tshirt, jeans, a thin cardigan, and tennis shoes. All was well until the chewed gum incident.
Walking alongside the enormous, silver Bean sculpture, she had been admiring the distorted city reflections when she stepped right in it. It was no ordinary gum. It was purple and warm and massive, like a kid had gnawed three or four pieces for the express purpose of spitting it on the concrete. She didn't notice it until a few steps later, when a page out of the Sun-Times blew under her foot. Now it was stuck there.
Hannah balanced like an ostrich and inspected the damage.
( Meeting Tseng, Talking about Japan, Borrowing a Book )
|
|
| Sugar Addicts |
[10 Mar 2009|03:36pm] |
The front of the coffee shop was a plate-glass window. A rainbow assortment of flyers had been taped up inside. They advertised indie rock shows, poetry readings, and little theatre performances. The sun had bleached the older ones into paler hues. A small square of unoccupied glass gave Hannah a view inside, but without shielding her face and pressing her nose to it, she couldn't see anything. It was too dark inside. No way would she be the squashed nose against a window!
Getting up the courage to walk into uncharted territory was a challenge, especially when she wasn't sure who she was looking for. In making plans to hang out in a den of fair-trade coffee beans and scenesters, it hadn't occurred to ask 'Java for Life' two critical things. What's your name? What do you look like? So when she took the plunge and went inside, she wound up standing there, the door smacking against her legs, searching for a pair of glasses. She let eyes that were accustomed to fluorescents adjust to wall sconce light. Mood lighting. The lighting of anti-establishment caffeine addicts listening to Leonard Cohen, from the sounds of it.
Wearing jeans, Converse tennis shoes, and a long-sleeved baseball tee, she could've been any blonde-haired, short girl. It was the bejeweled Treasure Troll in her hand that identified her as 'Pixie Strumpet'. Getting up her gumption, Hannah cleared her throat, a soft but insistent little, "Uh...uhh!" and held the pink-haired figurine aloft. "Bueller?"
Toby was flicking through a folder outlining different types of coffee machines he could order in, till systems and back office software and it was making his head hurt. He tugged his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes before he slid them back on, the folder hitting the table with a distinctly unhappy flump. Enough of that.
( Pixie Strumpet Meets Java for Life )
( Pink Ghost Gloop )
( Career Switchers )
|
|
| Chicago Underground- Demon Pants |
[04 Mar 2009|11:49pm] |
Dear Forum Folk:
There's a topic I've been ruminating on for a while. Since the Big Reveal in 2012, evvverybody's got an opinion of whether or not demons should be included in our laws (as citizens). Most people care because of legal convictions, taxes, marital rights ("MARRIAGE=LOVE"), voting, and stuff like that. But here's why I'm all for inclusion:
INDECENT EXPOSURE LAWS!
I mean, really! When are demons gonna be required to wear PANTS?!
Yesterday afternoon, I was on my way to work, when this big honkin' demon w/ slimy deer antlers rounded the corner in his birthday suit. His testicles were swaying like two tennis balls in a gym sock. Where does the system stand on such nudity?
Signed,
Pixie Strumpet
|
|
| Spy Games |
[01 Mar 2009|11:52pm] |
The W Street Diner was a fairly large place, though it only employed 3 waitresses, a hostess, 2 cooks and the never-present owner. Usually packed in the day, the night time was very light on people and it was nearly impossible to get a waitress to willingly take the night shift. Pearl, however, had jumped at the chance. The owner didn't question it, he was desperate, and so what if she dropped a plate here and there?
"Table 2 is up, Pearl!" the cook hollered at her, eyeing his masterpiece warily--the girl was not known for her grace and charm around the diner, that's for sure. They'd acquired a few more regulars and a steady bet on how many plates would be broken in one day. Sighing in frustration, she eyed the plates as well. Great. Why did people order the "Lumbering Flapjack" breakfast? Stack of pancakes, bacon, sausage, eggs, biscuits and gravy. You could feed a whole table on one order; but this table of 4 had all ordered it. Carefully lifting the first two plates, she scurried across the diner and set them before the first two that had ordered. Repeating the process was simple, though she'd almost lost one plate as it shook rather violently in her hands. "Oops! That one tried to run away!" she chirped sunnily at the diner guests, "Anything else I can get for you?"
On the far side of the restaurant, a lone woman sat with a menu propped up in standing position on her table. She crouched behind its open, laminated pages, pretending to read the list of entrees. While Pearl juggled her plates and chatted with the hungry diners, a pair of wide, brown eyes peered over the menu. They scoped out the young waitress and narrowed, noting the perky voice, the blonde hair, the... customer service ethic. "Hmph."
Hannah's mouth puckered. "She doesn't look so special to me."
( Sizing Up the Competition )
( Fire in the Hole )
[Text to Oliver within scene]
|
|