I haven't written in this like a journal very often, but I think this is a journal type thing to write about ( Read more... )

Claire wandered through what looked like some kind of palace. He'd never actually been in a palace before, and he hadn't realized that they came so big. It seemed like the place was an endless maze of rooms and corridors.

But Claire wasn't worried. He followed the red string attached to his finger, turning by instinct where he felt it was right to ( Read more... )

Claire waited for his two companions just outside the Caraggioso. From there it was an easy street car down to Times Square for the celebration, and they could easily make it back for cards and brandy later, if his new friends were up for it ( Read more... )

Claire was an assassin. At any moment, in his life, someone could come along that might have a grudge against him. He moved in dangerous circles generally, and the fact that no person in their right mind would be dumb enough to actually attack Vino didn't mean that he didn't encounter pretty dumb people on a semi-regular basis ( Read more... )

Claire stood at the kitchen sink, watching blood from his hands and humming to himself in contentment. Tempting smells issued from the oven, and from the bubbling pot on his stove, and a bit of music floated through the apartment from the radio in the corner - a bit of soft jazz, Claire's favourite ( Read more... )

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I got a message from the Gandors last night. They need me for a job, so I'm going to head back to Manhattan on the next train. It'll be nice to see my brothers again, I think.

I have a feeling this is going to be my last trip on the Flying Pussyfoot. I wonder where life will take me next!

Vino waited comfortably for his date for the evening, leaning casually against the monument with his hands in his pockets. He wore his standard outfit for killing - black slacks, black turtlenecked shirt, and a long black duster, only his bright red hair standing out in the night, but the fedora he wore obscured that somewhat ( Read more... )

Early in the evening, just past the supper hour, the Flying Pussyfoot chugged into the station in Salt Lake City, hissing steam. The first class cars at the front of the train were almost ridiculously ornate, gilded in gold over glossy black paint, the odd name of the train embossed on the side in gold lettering ( Read more... )

Claire wasn't sure whether to keep his uniform on or not at first, but after some consideration decided that a fight with a man from another universe probably wasn't in line with his cover. He told Tony he wasn't feeling well and was going to lie down for a bit, then trotted out of the engine room and back to his own small cabin. Once there he ( Read more... )