sirenspull_logs

Entry tags:

OPEN

Who: Chuck Shurley and YOU.
When: Friday-Sunday of the event
Where: all over the place! (and Purgatory)
Summary: Rule 63 is fun.
Warnings: TBD.

[Chuck is having a weird week- as is the rest of the city. After spending the first half of the week going through various and sundry traumatizing experiences, he- she decides to get out into the world and spend the weekend basically being irresponsible. Except at night, when she's in Purgatory, doing her new managerial duties and busily drinking on the job.

Friday is for lurking around various bars and restaurants, engaging in some healthy day drinking and wasting money on arcade games. She's pretty convinced that she's awesome at air hockey when she's drunk. Which is a lie.

On Saturday, she spends a lot of the day roaming around the Underground Mall vicinity aimlessly and eating weird bacon-based foods. She might also be sitting in a city square on the edge of a huge fountain, tongue sticking out in concentration as she busily paints what appears to be a... giant invisible dog.

Sunday has her in a park somewhere, playing an expensive-looking acoustic guitar- mostly Simon & Garfunkle, the Beatles, whatever she can remember without too many mistakes. Which isn't always successful. She's singing softly, too, trying to get used to her new, very unfamiliar voice.]

(ooc: A couple closed threads are posted below, but everything else is totally open!)

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[The music pulses in the air, bass vibrating in her bones a little. It's just loud enough to drown out excess thoughts, but not so loud a person can't hear a voice two feet away from them. This club is a little too dark and not quite crowded enough and the wrong kind of sleaze for Chuck's cup of tea, but here she is.

It's not her usual place. She makes use of Castiel's pet hookers (a strange choice in pets to adopt, but okay) often - at least with her normal male body - and has a couple favorites he's nice to and who appreciate his unassuming service and tendency to offer them beer, food, and not ask questions when they vanish into the bathroom.

This isn't the club they work at. This is where one of his other girls works, a tall, angry woman named Lucy who mutually dislikes Chuck and is bitter for all the right reasons. Not that Chuck blames her, but she can't be in a room with Lucy for more than five minutes without some snide comment that suggests the woman doesn't care about taking Chuck's money.

Chuck is here tonight. Seeking out someone who hates him. Who doesn't pretend to laugh at his jokes. Someone with cold hands.

She isn't drunk this time. There's maybe two drinks in her- stone-cold sober by her standards. Alcohol would magnify her emotions tonight, make the recent losses (another angel down) all the more present in her mind. It would numb her.

When Lucy spots her from the stage, with the faint sneer that says Lucy knows she might not just be stripping tonight, Chuck thinks she doesn't want to be numbed.]

[Lucy came into work five minutes early, as usual, because the train either drops her off early or late, and she endured the kisses on both cheeks from the manager, same as usual. She dressed amidst the babble and gossip of the other girls, and listened to the chatter with little interest and a lot of drowning it out with sound of her own humming.

And then something very different happened.

As she was walking out of the restroom, a black cloud assaulted her, and Lucy wouldn't remember anything until later that evening. (When she asked coworkers what happened, and they called her unusually inspired without explaining what it meant. She’d ignore it, and hope the sinking feeling of not knowing would go away. But that’s neither here nor there.) The thing wearing Lucy's body cracked her neck, and turned back to look into the mirror. Not bad. A little more intimidating than she went for, because she liked being underestimated, but nice enough. For now.

Lucy grinned into the mirror and her eyes went black as pitch for a split second as the demon surged under the surface.

Oh, yes. She'd do nicely.

When it was Lucy's turn, she got up and performed, careful to keep to the choreography. Wouldn't do any good to get lazy in the middle of the act. This was nothing new. It was a long game, and when she caught sight of her target she nearly gave it away.

Her pacing always went out the window when she smelled blood in the water.

But when Lucy's break comes, she surprises the other girls by taking it out in the other room, slipping on a thin robe before heading to the crowd, and her grin is sharp when she ignores the girl asking after her with some real concern.

She comes up behind Chuck with feigned annoyance and drops into the chair beside her with an ease born of slipping in and out of bodies like dresses. Her own was actually safe in a storeroom, locked up tight and abandoned like a dead thing. It fit better than this borrowed skin. But beggars couldn’t be choosers, and there was something sweet about going through with a plan. ]

What's a girl like you, doing in a place like this?

[By this point Chuck is depressed, drunk, and out of it enough that she's numbed to the Hellfire scrape of having a demon close. She simply doesn't notice- what's one note of discomfort to a constant soundtrack of unhappiness?

She looks at the stripper-slash-hooker dully.]

It's me, Lucy. It's Chuck. Whenever you're done dancing, I guess- I'm not really in a hurry.

[Even with a bitch he hates, Chuck doesn't like to demand too much. On some level, she thinks She lost the right to demand anything many, many centuries ago. So even to this person, he'll lie down and be a punching bag. To go at her convenience, not care when she insults him (because she knows he won't steal, and that Castiel could kick his ass), and pay her well for her tender affections when they're done.

Feeling vaguely guilty for taking up her time, she shrugs a shoulder.]

I guess. I mean, it's after sirens and all, so I can't exactly go anywhere, but whatever.

Believe it or not? I could tell. Something about the smell of vodka and shame just....lingers.

[Lucy's head tilted, and she raised an eyebrow, leaning forward in her chair to make an attempt at eye contact. Humans rarely knew what to do with eye contact, and from her trip through Lucy's brain for information, she'd picked up a tendency towards a lack of bullshit. At least she didn't have to play along with the obvious pity party.

Small miracles.]

And, don't make it seem like such a chore, I've got plenty of people I could spend my time with who are willing to salivate over me with a little more conviction.

[There's some familiar sass- or sort of familiar, at least - to get her dander up.]

I'm just trying not to be an asshole, walking in here swinging my dick and demanding that you rearrange your night to do me for money. Okay?

[A glance around the bar. Yikes.]

Like you'd rather have these windowless-van rape factories anyway. I couldn't arm wrestle a puppy. That's workplace safety. It's fucking OSHA.

[She smiles and almost looks ready to laugh. It settles on her face with a harshness born of the body she's wearing.]

You think I should want you because you can't hurt me? That sounds like a letdown waiting to happen.

[She gives a look around and while Chuck is right, there isn't much in the way of potential in the room, she's willing to pretend she can see it. She's playing the whore, not playing easy.]

And from the look of things, at least they have a dick to swing.

[She settles in closer, and looks ready to conspire.]

Look. Is this some...wanting to run a test drive thing? Inquiring minds....

[Chuck frowns in confusion. Why the hell is the bitterest prostitute in the world talking about wanting people like that's actually part of the job? As a matter of fact, why is she talking weird at all?]

Are you high?

[It's actually a serious question. If the answer is yes, she knows not to worry. That's just the helluva drug.]

[Her face goes blank, and she pauses, wondering if it's too early to play her hand.]

Is that what you want to hear?

[Okay, kind of seriously worried.]

You just sound really- not yourself. Or stoned.

[She rolls her eyes and stands up, taller in her heels and more intimidating than she really should be.]

And you care.....? Less than zero, last time I checked. Maybe I was having a good day till you walked in, or maybe I was giving you a little pity because of your....situation.

[She stepped in closer, and took advantage of the fact that her robe had gone and started to slide off her shoulder. That sort of thing was always good for getting people to ignore what was in front of them.]

Are you trying to prove you can still get it up for me without your dick? Because that would be lame as fuck, and we all know I'm not your favorite, so I'm safe in case you can't get your rocks off. I'd just mock the ever loving shit out of you until the day you go home. Someone else might feel bad. So. Do you want to get this over with, Chuck, or do you want to find out how to use your hand when you can't jack off.

[There's the Lucy charm she knows and hates. Chuck grits her teeth and gives her a hateful death look.]

Do I really look like someone with something to prove?

[Or a damp towel blown over by a light breeze.]

[She fights a smile, and lets it transform into a sneer for Chuck's benefit.]

Aren't all guys when they're questioning their masculinity?

[Her heels click on the floor as she circles around behind Chuck, trying to keep the focus on her as she scouted the place, and once she was behind Chuck she leaned down to speak into her ear.]

Tell me. Are we heading upstairs, or are you expecting a show? Because you've got an hour before my next dance, and a girl's got to keep on schedule.

[There's another thing that makes her frown even while scooting her chair back. Something about this seems off. Maybe it's just her- she's been off all week, ever since Lucifer vanished. Since Michael.]

This isn't about the girl thing. Okay? Let's just... get upstairs.

Then follow me.

[And there's a win right there. She starts off in the direction of the stairs, Chuck should know where to go, and near the bottom she collects a key from a bouncer with a wink.

She selected the room closest to her body, and she knows it's close enough to get to when the time comes. She doesn't want to wear this tramp forever, and she'd become accustomed to Kirsten's big brown eyes and tiny hands. She liked that body. It wouldn't do to let it rot somewhere when it was nice and empty and all her own here. Not like Lucy, filling up space in her head and screaming loud enough to give her a headache.

She stands just inside the door, holding her robe shut despite the tie, and giving Chuck a look stolen from this Body's memory. There was enough distain here to last a lifetime.]

[Chuck follows in after her, answering that look with a put-upon, unhappy stare that is nonetheless rolling over to her. She doesn't waste time once the door closes in shucking her jacket, dumping the purse the Death conjured up for her on Tuesday, and, after a moment's thought, her shoes. She supposes she can't just keep her pants on anymore, huh.

Once she gets down to just clothes and reaches for her belt, she gives Lucy an uncertain look.]

You've, uh, had... female clients before, right?

[The blind leading the blind doesn't sound like much fun.]

I've had all sorts of clients. Acting like you're special doesn't get us anywhere.

[She shuts the door, and locks it with a disinterested look back over her shoulder. Not the usual way of things, but she wants to make it a little harder for the prophet to leave should Chuck decide things are less than normal. And well. They are. She lets the robe fall open as she walks forward, and decides to pay it no mind. She's wearing black lace masquerading as lingerie underneath and tosses Lucy's hair over her shoulder as she stalks forward.]

Need a little help?

[Without waiting for an answer, she bats Chuck's hands away and undoes the belt while giving her best exasperated 'you're absolutely hopeless' look, hoping the irritation will rile Chuck up a bit. It's no fun when they're tame.

[Chuck rolls her eyes at the bitchy response. Unwarranted, but not really surprising. When Lucy goes for her belt, she sputters a little.]

I could- okay, fine, whatever.

[Then, irritated, she grabs Lucy's hands and pushes them away.]

No way you do this to everyone. Come on.

[Trying to strip her down like a patient getting a physical. No. Even hookers have some kind of procedure for this, pretending at sexy and doing some of the work for the john. Chuck is just irritated- irritated because she doesn't know how this body will work, or if she'll need foreplay, or whether Lucy will even do that or what the hell she's even doing here, pissed the hell off that she has to go to a fucking hooker for this instead of having Fred at home to unzip her shirt slowly and not pretend to care. Fuck.]

Kiss me. Something.

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OPEN

closed - Wednesday - all the warnings for this log are here :|

Warnings for Meg. Being Meg. And causing all the problems.

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