CrackedOut

Slightly Dysfunctional Relationship...

t.foley42@gmail.com — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 02:54:25 GMT

“I know you can hear me…” Meg said softly in a sing song voice. “I know your watching…like a pervy little 10 year old, peeping at his mother getting dressed….”

She paused, sitting on a hotel bed, a copy of Cosmo in her lap as she flipped through it and meticulously tore out a picture.

“I can feel you. And I know you know that I can feel you…What with your family issues and being so busy being the Whimpchester’s lap dog, I’m surprised you have time for little old me…” She sighed and bit her lip, sliding down further onto the bed until she was laying down , staring up at a stain on the celine, the magazine folded across her stomach.

“Do you want to save me? Clarence? Redeem me? Put me on my knees and pray for forgiveness for all my sins….Or just put me on my knees? Are you that good a little angel or are you just one more hypocrite..?” She gave a big sigh, “Oh the difference a year makes….it wasn’t that long ago that you were almost totally powerless. *Practically* a meat sack yourself…Just one more corpse that isn’t aware that it’s even rotting yet….You know, I don’t mind saying this, but your faith…Sweet Lucifer your faith alone was enough to scorch a demon. You *burned* baby…..Now…Now, look at you, all jonesing on Angel steroids…but you remind me of those poor little babies from Africa, all ribs and bloated heads and just dead inside….

You know Clarence..you are just one tiny hop, skip and jump away from joining your *other* brothers on my side of the fence…and you can’t even see it…” She giggled at that, stretching her arms up over her head, exposing her middrift. “I can not *wait* for your fall….Talk about a hollow thud..."

Maybe the fire would burn out the taste of clouds that *still* lingered after his kiss...that would serve him right for infecting her...

Welcome to Gothem

t.foley42@gmail.com — Mon, 26 Sep 2011 01:16:32 GMT

The dust hadn't settled from the private plane landing at the executive air strip in Gothem before half the town knew who had just transplanted themselves from the midwest. The other half of Gothem knew when the evening edition hit stands. It was big news, on several levels. Social, of course - Vivian Luthor was one of the most closely watched heiress/debutants in the United States. Business...she owned a *healthy* amount of stock in her family's companies and while she was never known for having gotten involved in business affairs...did this signal a weakness in Luthor Corp.? Had some family falling out transpired? Or perhaps she was just streaching her wings...

The rumors became more and more ludicrous as days ticked by after she took up in a suite at the Grand. Secret pregnancy quickly turned to secret abortion...maybe she was being beaten. Maybe she'd had a hit taken out on her. Really, people needed a life. But for once, Bruce Wayne's antics wern't on everyones lips.

For such a large town, the circle that Bruce, and now Vivian, moved in was really quite small. Smaller still if someone actually *wanted* to find someone. It was a matter of days before there was some event, some benefit, *something* that required a tie and a platinum card to even be invited and when Bruce Wayne *finally* showed up with the requisite number of girls on his arms, things were already in full swing, the crowd parting for him as if he were Moses. He didnt even have to *try* to pick her out of the crowd...there was just an air that some people had about them that set them from the crowd...beauty, intellegence, money all combined in an almost..aphrodesiac mix. Or it could of just been the flaming red hair set off by the flawless alabaster skin. No, Vivian Luthor stood out without having to put forth any effort at all...but it was a big crowd and heaven forbid he looked like he actually *wanted* to speak to her...so was it a suprise that a half hour later, there was a tap on his shoulder and she was there, behind him, the crowd natrually backing off, almost encircling them, people trying to subtly via for position so they could possibly overhear this first, history encounter.

A Lovely Night

t.foley42@gmail.com — Sat, 24 Sep 2011 21:57:38 GMT

It was really a quite lovely night. Mild for this time of year. And the recent rain had dampened the city's pollution down so it was suprisingly fresh and clear. Making the night even more rare was the Dr. Janet Watson out to dinner. That in itself wasn't particularly unusual - even the fact that she was out with a gentleman was something the residents of Baker Street were quite used to seeing. It was the particular gentleman in question that made the evening so unusual.

He worked with the stock markets, something that sounded terribly impressive and the resturant he had gotten a reservation at had been equally impressive. It had been a lovely evening, on the whole. Even more so, given the way she'd left. She'd expected some intensive questioning when it was clear she had been preparing to go out from the general directiy of her roommate and best friend. She had expected him to give her bullet points of how the whole evening would take place, including the particulars of what sexual position they would take up, should she be so agreeable. But there had been nothing, barely a nod, as she observed Sherlock absorbed in some novel or papers - honestly she didn't care, if it could keep his attention for the fraction of time it would take to throw on a dash of lipstick and leave, she would bless it.

"I had a lovely night..." She said as she turned on the front stoop to address her date in his very expensive, very chic suit.

"It doesn't have to end...I could come up..." He said with a charming smile, leaning in to kiss her.

"No! No no....that..wouldn't do. At all." She quickly interupted with a nervous, fake laugh. "I have....cats. Rabid cats, hate strangers....if I upset them they'll get worked up and i'll never get any sleep...it's an absolute mess..they start peeing on things...making territory...."

"Cats....." the man said, looking dubious, taking a step back down to the street where he'd been before he'd made his move to kiss her.

"Cats. But thank you..for the dinner, it was lovely....You'll call..?"

"Of course!"

She didn't need to be Sherlock Holmes to know that he was *NEVER* going to call.