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rainbowfic2013-08-30 04:40 am
greenling) wrote in rainbowfic2013-08-30 04:40 am
Entry tags:
Iceberg #1
Name: Greenling
Story: Asking for Roses
Colors: Iceberg #1 (snow)
Supplies and Styles: Stain (A little inaccuracy sometimes saves tons of explanation. Saki (1870 - 1916), "The Square Egg", 1924.)
Word Count: 1,139
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Summary: A little more setting/character exposition and a little more being mean to my characters. (Alex will deserve it eventually.) Cutting back a little to the bits between the character intros and the Snowman/Equinox scene.
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
Twenty-nine hours after the meeting, Alex touched down in Los Angeles, a little ruffled and ill at ease, but otherwise focused. The sky that morning had been slate grey, a thin blanket dimming the light of the sun. It had been dark enough to make him oversleep, and nearly enough to make him late, had he not packed his bags and done most of the research he'd wanted to do the night before. He enjoyed his morning coffee with justified cynicism and hazelnut.
The ride to the airport was outwardly uneventful, and outside of a short delay due to snowy weather, so was the flight. His superiors had been nice enough to spring for business class, and it was quiet, so he spent most of his time going over his notes, doodling, and trying to think up a plan good enough to ease his jitters. Alex had been working in his current position for about a year and a half, and he'd been introduced to Diana not long after he started. She'd sat him down, explained the basics of what he'd signed up for, and since then... no, that was wrong: the explanations he'd gotten were fairly detailed, they just weren't satisfying. The fact that the amount of detail available to him on the intranet had changed since yesterday morning didn't make him feel better.
He'd spent a few hours at his desk the previous evening looking for information on the occult communities in Los Angeles- as Diana had hinted, there wasn't much- and not for the first time, grumbled at the fact that most of the information on Outsiders and sorcery was in hardcopy somewhere he hadn't been given the address to. He understood the reasoning behind the things they did, security-wise, but it was still frustrating not to be trusted, even if it was somewhat mutual.The Society (he was convinced that wasn't the full name) was, as far as Alex could tell, a conspiracy. It wasn't exactly a conspiracy to keep certain things secret; most of the occult communities happily did that themselves, for one reason or another, and it wasn't as if half the world didn't believe in magic or werewolves or creatures from other realities regardless of what the other half thought. (Six months spent dating a neo-pagan in college had taught Alex quite enough about that.) It wasn't necessarily a conspiracy for power, either: they obviously had some means, but neither their methods nor the personalities of the people he'd met made sense for that. The organization, certainly the parts he was involved in, seemed almost parisitic.
Eventually and with not much more fuss the plane landed, and after a few tries, Alex found his way to the car rental spot and out of the airport. He felt tired mentally, cramped physically, and he caught himself glaring (quite hypocritically) at people on the street wearing thick coats and sweaters in the 55-degree weather. It wasn't going to be easy to worm his way in, and he wasn't sure how much time he had. The files he'd been given concerned a series of disappearances in the occult community, concentrated among the local fey-touched, and most recently a murder, public enough to make the news and bloody enough to turn his stomach remembering it. From what he'd read, that was very unusual in two parts: one, because the communities in LA were more properly a single, interconnected community, unlike in most places, where the different aspects of the supernatural tended to keep apart; and two, because the point and result of that structure was a community that kept very close watch on itself and the information flowing in and out of it. The fey were closely tied to Outsiders, which might explain Diana's theory, but he needed more information. First, though, he needed to find his hotel, check in, and get something to eat.
The hotel was roughly the same as the flight: slightly impressive, but not very. The lobby was a mix of algae-green and white, the furniture clearly having been updated recently to make up for the rest of the decor. Alex couldn't find it in himself to care that much, though, so long as the room was comfortable. His mind began to wander as he approached the counter and went through the motions of checking in.
"I'm sorry, sir, could you spell that for me?"
Alex's focus wandered back into the present. The clerk behind the counter was a square-jawed, slightly boyish collegiate type with curly brown hair; the look of concerned confusion on his face was cute enough to make the corner of Alex's mouth turn up.
"M-e-r-i-, w-e-a-"
The clerk blinked and made a noise, so Alex stopped, but he didn't go on. There was about to be an awkward moment, so Alex finished, eyebrow quirked:
"-t-h-e-r. Alex Meriweather."
The clerk pursed his lips for a moment, then looked up at Alex. "Did you- excuse me- did you book this room personally, sir?"
"No." That worried Alex a little; if something went wrong, it might be hard to fix, given he didn't actually know how any of this had been arranged. He didn't really have the money to get another hotel room, presuming it wasn't all booked up for the holidays. "My employer booked it-" he unzipped the front pocket of his bag to check the notes he'd been given- "it should be room 717?"
"Right. Let me get that for you." The look he was given definitely implied bad things. The clerk turned to rustle in a drawer for a keycard, so Alex zipped his bag back up and went for his ID, keeping one eye on the man.
"While I'm here, could I confirm how long I have the room?"
"Uh, the people doing the walls are coming on the 12th of January, so you have until the 10th."
Alex stared blankly for a long moment. "I'm sorry, what?"
"The people doing- your room-" the clerk was giving Alex a look he recognized distinctly as "please don't yell, I was not involved in this decision"- "The room is, uhm, under renovation. Normally we wouldn't rent it, but it was requested, and you'll get normal room service and everything. It's one of the rooms with a minikitchen."
Alex's mouth fell slightly open, trying to sort out how to respond. He wasn't sure what was going on there, but he also really wasn't sure he wanted to say so. "Erm. All right."
The clerk handed Alex a card and a key on a ring. "The door has two locks while we get some things sorted out. Just check out normally when you leave."
Alex nodded, conscious of the slight stiffness in his movements. "Thank you, I will."
He waited until he hit the elevator to clench his eyes shut and sigh.
Story: Asking for Roses
Colors: Iceberg #1 (snow)
Supplies and Styles: Stain (A little inaccuracy sometimes saves tons of explanation. Saki (1870 - 1916), "The Square Egg", 1924.)
Word Count: 1,139
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Summary: A little more setting/character exposition and a little more being mean to my characters. (Alex will deserve it eventually.) Cutting back a little to the bits between the character intros and the Snowman/Equinox scene.
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
Twenty-nine hours after the meeting, Alex touched down in Los Angeles, a little ruffled and ill at ease, but otherwise focused. The sky that morning had been slate grey, a thin blanket dimming the light of the sun. It had been dark enough to make him oversleep, and nearly enough to make him late, had he not packed his bags and done most of the research he'd wanted to do the night before. He enjoyed his morning coffee with justified cynicism and hazelnut.
The ride to the airport was outwardly uneventful, and outside of a short delay due to snowy weather, so was the flight. His superiors had been nice enough to spring for business class, and it was quiet, so he spent most of his time going over his notes, doodling, and trying to think up a plan good enough to ease his jitters. Alex had been working in his current position for about a year and a half, and he'd been introduced to Diana not long after he started. She'd sat him down, explained the basics of what he'd signed up for, and since then... no, that was wrong: the explanations he'd gotten were fairly detailed, they just weren't satisfying. The fact that the amount of detail available to him on the intranet had changed since yesterday morning didn't make him feel better.
He'd spent a few hours at his desk the previous evening looking for information on the occult communities in Los Angeles- as Diana had hinted, there wasn't much- and not for the first time, grumbled at the fact that most of the information on Outsiders and sorcery was in hardcopy somewhere he hadn't been given the address to. He understood the reasoning behind the things they did, security-wise, but it was still frustrating not to be trusted, even if it was somewhat mutual.The Society (he was convinced that wasn't the full name) was, as far as Alex could tell, a conspiracy. It wasn't exactly a conspiracy to keep certain things secret; most of the occult communities happily did that themselves, for one reason or another, and it wasn't as if half the world didn't believe in magic or werewolves or creatures from other realities regardless of what the other half thought. (Six months spent dating a neo-pagan in college had taught Alex quite enough about that.) It wasn't necessarily a conspiracy for power, either: they obviously had some means, but neither their methods nor the personalities of the people he'd met made sense for that. The organization, certainly the parts he was involved in, seemed almost parisitic.
Eventually and with not much more fuss the plane landed, and after a few tries, Alex found his way to the car rental spot and out of the airport. He felt tired mentally, cramped physically, and he caught himself glaring (quite hypocritically) at people on the street wearing thick coats and sweaters in the 55-degree weather. It wasn't going to be easy to worm his way in, and he wasn't sure how much time he had. The files he'd been given concerned a series of disappearances in the occult community, concentrated among the local fey-touched, and most recently a murder, public enough to make the news and bloody enough to turn his stomach remembering it. From what he'd read, that was very unusual in two parts: one, because the communities in LA were more properly a single, interconnected community, unlike in most places, where the different aspects of the supernatural tended to keep apart; and two, because the point and result of that structure was a community that kept very close watch on itself and the information flowing in and out of it. The fey were closely tied to Outsiders, which might explain Diana's theory, but he needed more information. First, though, he needed to find his hotel, check in, and get something to eat.
The hotel was roughly the same as the flight: slightly impressive, but not very. The lobby was a mix of algae-green and white, the furniture clearly having been updated recently to make up for the rest of the decor. Alex couldn't find it in himself to care that much, though, so long as the room was comfortable. His mind began to wander as he approached the counter and went through the motions of checking in.
"I'm sorry, sir, could you spell that for me?"
Alex's focus wandered back into the present. The clerk behind the counter was a square-jawed, slightly boyish collegiate type with curly brown hair; the look of concerned confusion on his face was cute enough to make the corner of Alex's mouth turn up.
"M-e-r-i-, w-e-a-"
The clerk blinked and made a noise, so Alex stopped, but he didn't go on. There was about to be an awkward moment, so Alex finished, eyebrow quirked:
"-t-h-e-r. Alex Meriweather."
The clerk pursed his lips for a moment, then looked up at Alex. "Did you- excuse me- did you book this room personally, sir?"
"No." That worried Alex a little; if something went wrong, it might be hard to fix, given he didn't actually know how any of this had been arranged. He didn't really have the money to get another hotel room, presuming it wasn't all booked up for the holidays. "My employer booked it-" he unzipped the front pocket of his bag to check the notes he'd been given- "it should be room 717?"
"Right. Let me get that for you." The look he was given definitely implied bad things. The clerk turned to rustle in a drawer for a keycard, so Alex zipped his bag back up and went for his ID, keeping one eye on the man.
"While I'm here, could I confirm how long I have the room?"
"Uh, the people doing the walls are coming on the 12th of January, so you have until the 10th."
Alex stared blankly for a long moment. "I'm sorry, what?"
"The people doing- your room-" the clerk was giving Alex a look he recognized distinctly as "please don't yell, I was not involved in this decision"- "The room is, uhm, under renovation. Normally we wouldn't rent it, but it was requested, and you'll get normal room service and everything. It's one of the rooms with a minikitchen."
Alex's mouth fell slightly open, trying to sort out how to respond. He wasn't sure what was going on there, but he also really wasn't sure he wanted to say so. "Erm. All right."
The clerk handed Alex a card and a key on a ring. "The door has two locks while we get some things sorted out. Just check out normally when you leave."
Alex nodded, conscious of the slight stiffness in his movements. "Thank you, I will."
He waited until he hit the elevator to clench his eyes shut and sigh.