Lune II

[Apollo Wilde]

Oshun Leone

The day was too long and her “temp” job was too boring.

Suppressing another yawn, she idly drummed her spoon against the edge of her coffee cup, a white ceramic thing covered with the semi-smiling faces of fat-faced angel babies. But soon enough, the time would come for her to leave the desk and head out to her usual late night haunts, art galleries and jazz bars, perfumed with the scent of narcotics, cigarette smoke, and stale intellect.

Not much, but in order to get anywhere in this town you had to know people.

Easing off her heels under the protection of her desk, she stared idly at the blinking cursor on the nearly finished document, the flickering teasing her. If she squinted, she thought that she was able to make out the forms of her other co-workers moving around behind her, for sure, she could smell the overwhelming sweetness of Victoria’s new cologne. The girl was as sweet as could be, but wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box. At least, for once, she wasn’t on the phone to her boyfriend.

That and she couldn't help feeling on edge most of the time. She was a competitive sort, making sure it was her paperwork that got in before everyone else's and with the flawlessness that most had come to expect from her. But still, right about now, she was no higher than a glorified secretary, which suited her just fine. She hated offices and cubicles were the devil. In fact, that's all the eye could see once you sat up. Sterile and cold....the contast clacking of keys and the hum of the lights overhead.

Yargh.

As she leaned back slightly, her earrings swung slowly back and forth, dangling beads of rose quartz across her cheekbones. She’d worn the damn light stone in order to attract some lover her way, but they didn’t seem to be working. Maybe she could get her money back, ha!

Oshun Leone wasn’t the type that you would just find anywhere, though. She had the distantly beautiful and elegant looks of a seasoned model, the intellect of a professor, and the personality of an artist. All together it didn’t make for the best conversation. She was the one that people would talk about over the water cooler, drawing up wild and imaginative stories of what they thought her personal life could be like. And unfortunately for her, for all of her exotic and lovely features, the sheer strangeness of her mind always rendered them moot.

Sure enough, when it would come 5:00, she would slip from her desk with all the stealth of a ninja and disappear in the bathroom. In five minutes flat she’d re-emerge, hair let down, in an iron-on transfer shirt [ usually of some odd band that no one had heard of, and one time, just for the hell of it, one with the scowling visage of Beethoven ], suitably ripped jeans, and cigarette tucked behind an ear. Not to mention that strange tattoo on her lower back, mocking her co-workers by not showing itself completely.

 

[Steiner]

Leon McKenzie

Finally the specification reviewal meeting came to an end. Of course this was because it was half an hour past five o'clock on a Friday - and many participants were already thinking longingly of their couches and their barbecues in their suburbanite homes. Those people were shuffling out now, talking animatedly about the weekend ahead and looking happy.

The flamehaired senior consulting engineer who followed them out DIDN'T look happy - because he still had several hours of work left to do, and the meeting had wasted most of his afternoon.

Walking back to his desk, Leon was aware that he was very much going against the flow - a happy throng of officeworkers was passing him in the opposite direction as he entered the administration section as a shortcut to the engineering section, one floor up. Most of the cattle prefered the main staircase or the lift - but Leon liked using the seldom occupied staircase that connected the two floors in case of emergency.

As he reached the doorway to the emergency stairwell he caught sight of a woman emerging from the admin restrooms - someone dressed more for clubbing than for working in a conservative office. He could hear two older women at the coffee machine talking about her in a subdued tone of voice, their voices like arsenic and honey as they critiqued her outfit and made speculations about her personal life. Leon felt an odd attraction to the woman though, she was like a parrot in a flock of crows, and everything about her seemed different. Better. Even her body language, as she walked towards the exit, told him that she rated herself as a cut above this place and its inhabitants.

Finally her eyes caught his as she turned to the exit. He stiffened as he realised he'd been caught and yanked the door open, making a slightly undignified exit to the stairwell and quickly ascending the three flights to his own floor - the New Concepts and Design section.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Oshun Leone

Humming “I say a little prayer”, she stopped mid-tune, glancing up to the eyes she’d felt raked over her form a few minutes before.

God, it was him. She’d recognized that flame hair anywhere.

Leon McKenzie, the office golden child. He could do no wrong, apparently, but every time she looked at him he just pissed her off. Like a cold wash of rage would just come over her form at the sight of him. And what the hell was he looking at, anyway? Probably jealous because he’d be stuck for the rest of his abysmal little life in this office while this was just a temp job for her. She was no office worker – she was an artist!

Couldn’t they tell by the lavender shirt she wore, adorned with the face of Prince?

No matter.

As she glared at the closed door behind him, she fought the urge to hiss at the white paint as she paced back to her desk. She usually liked to do a last once-over, to make sure everything was in place. She liked things in an immaculate order: HER order. Besides, someone could’ve called [ like that art gallery owner ], and it was just…good to check.

Flopping down at her desk, she propped her feet up on the nearly immaculate black surface and idly picked at a shoelace as she thumbed through her papers. So far, so good….Ugh, she could hardly read that. Where were her glasses? Fumbling around in one of her pockets, she pulled out her thin-framed glasses and placed them on, pushing them up her nose. Much better.

Hm. That reminded her – not all of her earrings were in. Damn fucking office. Cramping her artistic vision. Shuffling a few papers around, she put them in the “Out” basket once more, and dug through one of the drawers to find the rest of her hoop earrings. To the casual eye, it would seem that she only had one hole per ear. However, she had gone on a “Back to Africa” trip a few months ago, and spotting a picture of a multi-earringed Woodabe woman in a book, decided to up the ante from one hole per ear to 6, the first hole being in the lobe [ and holding the largest hoop ] moving up to nearly the tips. As she put the rings on, she idly watched the people walking by.

 

[stalwartone]

~Scott Walsh~

He sat hunched over the drawing board, his hands moving in tightly controlled motions, the images in his imagination flowing onto the page. He did have, of course, the storyboards and notes from his supervisor, but he felt better using them only as occasional references. His finished product might not match the dreams of the writers and initial visionaries, but his material was what the customers were buying, and he was the one getting paid to show up at conventions.

Sure, his parents didn't find his career as remarkable as he did, and they certainly found every chance to remind him that they had pressed for something that allowed them more bragging rights. How do you explain to the neighbors at the club about how you have one son finishing at "Rah-Dah", one in line for the political fast track, and one the regular artist for Battle Girl A-Go-Go ?

Actually, he could care less about the parents. He'd given up on the chance for parental love and understanding when their concept of personal tragedy meant losing the summer house, the perfect career goal meant marrying a Kennedy, and the only answer to issues was a better physician/pharmacist combination. And, ever since the episodes began, he had found the true limits of his parents' love.

It wasn't like he'd become a rapist, a murderer, or, gasp, an auto mechanic. But he had found himself needing releases of his creative energies. He had discovered bouts of manic energy, writing, drawing, painting, even playing video games for not merely hours, but days. He'd simply hunch over, narrow his eyes, and cut loose. Eventually he would return to reality, finding time had passed without eating, drinking, or blinking. Religion didn't help, psychotherapy didn't help, drugs didn't help. Burning off the energy through some form of creativity at least cleared his head for a time.

And this job allowed him a chance to burn off that energy. He was known for being able to complte the workload for a month in only a couple of days, and he was forced to admit that his work done under the spells was far better than his work done while conscious and aware.

But the spells were getting worse, or at least more common. He had begged for extra work, and been allowed only certain amounts, but it didn't help for any length of time, and his superiors were annoyed that he was making the others look bad.

Now, the work was done. The final panel was done, and an amazon cyborg female sumo wrestler was laid out in the aftermath of a battle royale with the heroine. He pulled away from his board, and wrenched his back for a moment. Something more was needed. Maybe a visit to someplace different. Occasionally his spells were minimized by flashing lights and alcohol. He grabbed his ancient denim jacket and left, waving at the floor manager as he did. Hey, if they wanted to complain, they could do it after delivering his latest work to the inkers and colorists. Hell, even the cover work was done.

 

[Steiner]

Reaching the top of the stairwell, Leon walked into the New Concepts office. Its size was emphasised by the small number of people working here - but less than three years ago the whole department hadn't existed. This series of rooms was Leon's skunkworks, where the aforementioned "New Concepts" were born. It was the only reason he was here.

The work done here was loosely connected to the company's main business - advising its clients - which was Leon's main job. But what this place was about was finding new ways to do things. Better, faster and more efficient. It was the reason why some of Leon's eccentricities were tolerated. He preferred to work in the dark. His equipment was extensively silenced, he didn't like "white noise". He worked best in small groups of generally quiet people - disliking or mistrusting those prone to brash overcommunication. The company had arranged for some psychotherapy - but the therapist had discontinued the treatments after two sessions. She cited non-specific professional issues as the cause.

Meantime, some of Leon's patents were already making the company serious money.

He thumped into his chair and twiddled his thumbs nervously. What the hell was wrong with him? Attractive women didn't usually have this effect on him. Nothing did. He winced at the migraine that was threatening to descend on him again, and instead dialled HR to identify the strange woman. He spoke to two clerks in Personnel that night to find out the same thing from both - the woman was nobody, a temp contracted admin worker with no record, producing decidedly average work and staying pretty much under the radar. Such a humdrum report didn't fit in at all with his read of her - but then, what did HE know?

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Mabh Fallon

Mabh (why couldn't anyone ever pronounce that the right way? Meev. MEEV, for crying out loud!) Fallon wandered through her lair, better known as "Research and Archives" and sometimes just "The Library", of Lykos Corporation™. Over time, she'd come to understand why newspapers referred to departments like hers as "The Morgue" -- most times it was certainly as quiet as one.

The diminutive, raven haired, blue-eyed woman was the first of her family to have been born in the States. Granda and Muime had come over with their son, Michael, her own Da, a mere babe in arms, in the thirties from the Aran Islands near Galway, Ireland. He'd married late to a much younger woman who hadn't survived the birthing, and so Mabh was raised an only child by Da and Muime when she saw fit to interfere.

Growing up, Mabh had appeared almost antisocial, but truth was that she preferred her own company, and that of her immediate family. Not that she had much choice, they lived on an isolated farm -- their nearest neighbor more than ten miles distant. As a result, it didn't seem strange to anyone who knew her -- or of her -- when she chose to become a librarian.

The position with Lykos came as a godsend three months ago, if you believed in a god that is. Muime and Granda were long gone, and Da had passed six months ago. The farm was hers now, though she had no desire to work it. Loath to let the homestead go, Mabh needed to generate an income sufficient enough to keep up with the taxes if nothing else. And so here she was...

Mabh was feeling inordinately restless today. She had just finished collating a series of documents, followed by putting them on microfiche and also into the Corporation's extensive computer database, and there were a million other things to do -- but she just couldn't seem to settle.

It had happened again last night. In fact, more and more frequently since she had begun working at Lycos. Mabh didn't like to think about it. Or even consider the ramifications, let alone put a "name" to IT.

Muime and Da always just called it her "spells" and assured her that it wasn't uncommon for girls to have them during puberty. Having no reference, she took their word as law. Until university -- when she found out that it wasn't as common as they had made her believe. And now...

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Oshun Leone

Well.

Nothing.

Nothing.

So. Nothing+nothing = nothing.

Fabulous. Might as well head down to the gallery anyway. Hopefully Jhonen would be there. She grinned slightly to herself. She'd gotten a little crush on the damn near emaciated black attired artist, and tried not to miss a chance to be close to him. He was usually at the gallery at about this time....

Ooo!

She should get going. Leaning down, she checked her hair in the small mirror on her desk before she headed for the doors. It seemed like it had taken forever for her to even get this far...ridiculous.

But it'd be worth it.

Hopefully.

 

[stalwartone]

~Scott Walsh~

Running from the office, Scott practically bowled people over. He needed to escape, to run, to find another release for his energy. More importantly, he needed to be away from all those people that knew him.

The jacket fell into place on his shoulders, the faded material a second skin to him. A brush at his hair put it into the semblence of an orderly shape, but it still looked like a rat's nest to the unwary. And after his fingers dipped into a pocket, the iridescent red tinted glasses covered his eyes, forming another barrier to the outer world. He put on his best disinterested demeanor, and pressed for the elevators.

He finally got an elevator to arrive, and he groused to himself about the time it had taken. Surely the modern designed lift system could be quicker than this. Still muttering, he stepped in, and found why the wait had been so long. Some wag had decided to punch every single button, and the car had to move from floor to floor to floor before it could be sent to it's normal assignment. Scott considered for a moment, then decided to take the ride anyway. The stairs didn't seem like what he wanted. Settling against the back of the car, he pulled a battered paperback out of the jacket, and began thumbing through the pages.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

OOC:

I'm vanishing for the weekend to reclaim the splendor of a past life [ie, I was burned to death in Alexandria ]. Have fun while I'm gone!

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Oshun Leone

Oh, look!

As she stepped in, she had to fight to keep her face from faltering. One of the few true rumors that circulated about the office was that one was able to tell whatever she was thinking just by looking at her face.

It was that creepazoid comic artist. Not that she had anything against artists - hell, she was one. But this guy was the freak of the week, for sure. I mean, had he never heard of a mirror or what? If God was on her side he wouldn’t see her. As she leaned up against one of the walls, she ran her hand through her hair, taking it down from the bun that she usually wore when she was in the office. She thought it tended to make her look frumpy, but anything was better than looking like she’d just rolled out of bed and bathed in Jack Daniel’s.

Oh yeah, buddy, she had your number.

And right now she felt like starting something.

“Soooo, Scott is it? Where are you headed off to this evening? The local titty bar?” She crossed her arms and tilted her head up slightly, exposing her neck in one of the most snide gestures she knew that she could perform. “Or perhaps back to the cardboard box that you crawled out of?”

All in good fun, though, right?

Maybe.

 

[stalwartone]

~Scott Walsh~

Scott had barely looked up when the elevator doors had opened. After all, the car had to hit every single floor on the way, right? What was one more stop?

Then he realized that he wasn't alone. It was one of those freaked out deja vu moments when he simply felt someone staring at him. That is, if someone could stare at a person with the intensity of a pair of air craft landing lights.

it was, well, an energy. Or, maybe it was just someone with a double barrel of spiritual power loaded for bear. He could definitely feel it, without looking up.

He risked it, and looked over the edge of his book, finding himself staring at the woman. She was in the midst of stripping away the "faux mousy librarian" look that was so standard in the office sector. Her current fashion statement, combined with the change in her hair, spoke of someone trying desperately to hide in plain sight.

When she realized he was looking, her stance changed, as did her entire demeanor. A power was suddenly there, a strength that said, "I'll look you right in the eye, spit in it, and tell you that it's not spit, it's piss, and you should still be believing that it's raining."

On cue, she opened fire, the energy in her voice suddenly unloading in an acid tipped tongue. “Soooo, Scott is it? Where are you headed off to this evening? The local titty bar? Or perhaps back to the cardboard box that you crawled out of?”

He considered being polite, but a headache was starting to well up between his eyes, a migraine of killer proportion. Before he could completely contain himself, he returned the favor, firing away with disdain dripping from his tongue.

"Sorry, no." He recognized her face, although the name was eluding him, and he just blundered along, the Titanic ignoring the iceberg, the Bismark ignoring the threat of the planes. "I'm abstaining from the skin bars. If I want to help some poor young thing with no dance skills and bad tan lines make a hundred dollars in an hour, I'd rather do it in a fashion more likely to get me arrested. And the cardboard box is only to impress the dates I'm bringing home. Why? Are you looking to share a room?" He smiled thinly, enjoying the moment, even if he couldn't shake the headache.

But, was that due to his moment of conversation, or the fact that she was eally something to look at?

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Oshun Leone

“You’d have to add on another wing before I even considered it,” she said, “and I don’t think that you could find a box to my liking, or enough gum to attach it.” She glanced back at him, a cool smirk resting on her lips. She knew full well if she was going to pick a fight, she should be prepared to come out swinging.

“In a way to get you arrested? Been prowling about the elementary school yards again? Tut,” she added, careful not to make it sound like an afterthought. It never failed – this man just made her act as nasty as she could possibly be…and the sudden headache generated by his bad karma and his mere presence didn’t help matters much, either. She fought back the desire to rub her temples, and crossed her arms, shifting her weight from one leg to another.

The lights counted down slowly the floors.

“…Believe in a thing called love lately, Scott?” she asked suddenly, looking at him from the corner of her eye. She’d stumbled upon the unlucky fact that it seemed like making eye contact with him just made the headache worse, in addition to making her act even more snotty to him. It felt as if she held his eyes for too long, she would just want to…rip out his spine through his throat. This went beyond the mere pride as an artist thing, beyond competition. It felt like he was intruding on something, although what she really didn’t know.

And then again, there WAS the whole artist thing.

Pah. If she ever saw him at her gallery, she’d make sure that he realized how sharp her claws actually were.

She leaned against the wall, tilting her head against the wall. Above, a light flickered on and off within the confines of the white plastic grating.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

A bump to keep the thread from going under.

 

[stalwartone]

“…Believe in a thing called love lately, Scott?” [i/]

Love? Who had time for love? Love was for those who didn't have any other creative outlets. Love was for those with the interest, the time, and the need for a long term relationship.

Besides, he couldn't focus on the commitment needed for the L word. Not just now, with waves of raw pain beating at him from the inside, but never had been able to. There had been attractions, both raw lust and puppy love, but he had never been able to summon the focus for a commitment of any length.

He had another wave of broken glass and cheap alcohol roll in his stomach, sending out more pain and rage through him. In it's aftermath, he felt as if he was on the wrong end of a cappuchino bender - wide awake and nauseaus. And there she stood, that mocking glare aimed his way. For some reason, the old wildlife documentaries came to mind, raccoons in some sort of dispute, hackles raised, teeth bared, blood dripping from scratches on their flanks, snarls and howls ripping from their throats. Creatures evenly matched, yet unable to admit it, and unwilling to back down.

Whatever this energy was that was trying to explode out from within him, it was certainly fueling their little interlude. He locked eyes with her, trying to send her a "get stuffed" message, and found that they had now escalated the mutual snarl affair to a whole new level. Whether this was a staredown, or the lead in to a fist fight, they now were on an intimate standing, no surrender, no world outside of this little elevator.

He finally found the ability to direct this energy back to the art of conversation.

"Sorry, no, love is for those that believe in such outdated concepts. Like the Northwest Passage, the Holy City of Shangri-La, and the Fountain of Youth. Flights of fancy for peple with too much time on their hands for the work they do. People that have fallen into comfortable little ruts in their lives. Readers of romance novels and real crime magazines."

He offered a dark smile, and shoved the paperback deep into the pocket. She wanted attitude, so a bit of attitude it was. "So, what's the good word with you? You smoking your post-coital cancer sticks with a copy of a "Savage Hearts, Summer Nights" lying next to you, or the remote and a TV tuned to the all Springer station?"

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Oshun Leone

“So says the last hurrah of the bitter,” she said as she placed her hands on her hips. With a feral smile, she turned to face him. “I gave up smoking, honey. So it was more like a hearty gum chew after a wonderful little tryst involving edible body paint.”

Before he could say another word, the elevator dinged, and came to a slow stop. “Well, what do you know - this is my floor. Enjoy the box, my dear.” She stepped backwards out of the elevator, giving him a final grin before she paced off.

On the ground level floor, the light was more natural, filtering in through large windows. The entire illusion of spaciousness was a welcome change from the halogen jungle upstairs. Near the large glass doors, leafy plants spread out mottled green leaves to the light. As she paced out of the building, she slung her purse over her shoulder, flipping her dreads from under the strap. Pushing the doors open, she stepped outside. As the hot air hit her in the face, she tilted her head up a little, enjoying the warmth. It was always a bit too cold in that building for her tastes.

Slowly opening her eyes, she shaded them from the glory of the setting sun, reflected and shot out in golden light over the glass leviathans of the city. Even the street in front of her seemed calm and distant, the cars dragging by. Taking a deep breath, she paused for a moment. Odd - her headache was gone, and so was the nasty mood she’d been in just a few moments ago. She took another deep breath. Although the city air was filthy, there was something in it that was calming her down, soothing her spirits.

Reaching into her purse, she retrieved her shades. Putting them on, she shook her hair from her face and walked over to the street light. She leaned against the pole, waiting for the crossing light to change. The red hand flashed over and over, causing her to look down and away. There was something about that hand that always depressed her a bit. Seemed to be symbolic of just about everything in life - stop, don’t go here, can’t do that. Always seemed like it was too long before the “walk” sign came to life.

Ugh. Listen to these thoughts. How teenage of her. Flipping her hair from her face, she straightened up. Any day now...

 

[Steiner]

Little noises were driving him nuts tonight - everytime he tried to concentrate on the development proposal in front of him SOMETHING distracted him.

First it was the buzzing of a light outside his office in the main room - so he turned the lights off. Then it was a moth battering against the window - so he freed it. Finally his CPU cooling fan became a hurricane-like noise that seemed to make his whole desk rattle and vibrate.

Enough! Time for a break!

Standing back from his desk he shut the computer down, almost shocked at the thick, velvety quality of the silence that seemed to enfold him. His frayed nerves seemed to calm almost immediately, and he decided to go in search of a cup of coffee.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Mabh Fallon

Mabh was restless and it felt as though the very air around her was crackling with tension. Ridiculous, she thought. Maybe she just needed a cup of tea or something to eat. Truth, she couldn't really remember the last time she'd done the latter. And that was another thing... What in blue blazes was going on with these memory lapses? Everything seemed to be spiralling out of control lately. Mabh shook her head as if trying to jangle her memory on a more physical plane. Lykos had a shrink that was covered under their medical plan. Maybe she should give the guy a call. Yes, maybe she'd do just that.

"But for now, Mabh, me darlin' " she said in her best imitation of Muime. "Get you a cuppa and something to fill that great empty maw of yours before ya fade clear away."

Straightening her desk, in case someone should come down while she was out, Mabh left the quiet of her sanctuary and walked over to the elevator. *ching ching ching* The sound of the car as it stopped at what seemed to be every floor on it's descent resounded in her ears, making her look around in wonder. Now why would someone hook those sounds to the infernal PA system of the building? Someone's idea of a bad joke, she was sure. Then again, she was only the cryptkeeper and it was none of her biz.

At last the elevator thundered to a halt, the doors crashing open to admit their next passenger. Prepared for the solitary ride to the main level and the private dining hall, Mabh was a little more than startled to find herself looking into someone's eyes as she stepped in. Of course she knew who he was, though she highly doubted that he had the faintest inkling of who she was. That he didn't get off, wasn't much of a shock. He'd probably missed his own floor for whatever reason. No one ever came down... Or at least very seldom.

She hadn't wanted or expected to be making small talk, but there was something about him today that made the small hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. There was that crackling again. Your imagination, she cajoled herself. But no. It was more, wasn't it? It was the look in his eyes that disturbed her most of all. Anger? Excitement? Maybe something other. Whatever it was, Mabh didn't know if she wanted to find out. Forcing herself to smile, she leaned against the wall furthest from him and prayed that he wasn't going to the same place she was. Then again, maybe she hoped he was.

 

[Steiner]

The light in the elevator was buzzing too, and Leon threw the odd disgusted glare up at it as the infernal machine dawdled from floor to floor. To his amazement it missed his floor and continued down to the sub-basements of the archives - the antithesis of his own domain, and a place he seldom visited.

As the car reached the bottom of the building Leon realised he hadn't actually pressed the button himself, he must just have stepped in and the car had been summoned by whoever was down here at this time of night.

The door popped open and like a cork from a bottle in swept the woman who ran the archives. She seemed surprised to see him, so he setteld back against the wall with a grunt and watched as she moved to the opposite wall. Fine. That suited him - he wasn't in the mood for small talk anyway.

As the lift climbed back up towards the staff facilities, Leon yawned mightily and pondered whether he would allow himself a pastry of somesort with his coffee.