Fandom Street Corner, Sunday Afternoon

[livebytherules.livejournal.com]

"EXTRA, EXTRA! BILLIONAIRE BRUCE BITES IN A BOARDING HOUSE!"

It was a time when newspapers were the only way to get yer news, when the hum of a print machine was what people fell asleep to and when the ink on a newspaperman's hands meant he was big time. Willie West wanted to be that newspaperman but he had to pay his dues. That meant delivering the news first. That meant trying to make the news important to all the guys and dolls that passed him by.

The city was glitzy and gauzy, full of the lowest of the low and the highest of the high and Willie wanted to climb that ladder and be the guy that shared eel juice with the dames and the birds that ran this town.

"EXTRA, EXTRA! FLATTIES FLOUNDER ON DRUG CONTROL? JUST WHO RUNS THIS TOWN?"

With a stack of newspaper in hand and the brim of his hat pulled low, Willie worked hard on getting the news out there in the hopes that someone would notice. Anyone. He just wanted to be noticed.

[Only thing I could think of! Open, of course]

George's Gin Joint (Formerly an abandoned warehouse named George)

[notaweenie.livejournal.com]

A high time was always to be had at George's Gin Joint. Barry "The Brain" Ween always made sure of that. The liquor was always pouring and the casino was always dealing and spinning depending on your choice of games.

And more importantly, the place was always open. You have to love a place like that!

So come on in for a good time and a complimentary drink. Surely you can't pass that up?

The Magic Box, Sunday, July 13

[not_every_mage]

It was Sunday evening. Maybe in other, better cities people were waking up from the naps they took to sleep off Grandma's pot roast dinner after church. Maybe they were riding bikes under streetlights or swinging on suburban porch swings, counting fireflies.

But this was Fandom, and Fandom Sundays were a lot like any other day. Which meant the magic had to keep coming. Anders had an opening shift, which meant he had to sweep up the cigarette butts and wipe the sticky rings of dried hooch off the tables, and check to make sure all the props and sheet music were in order for the night. It was dumb, and dull, and more than a little gross, but it kept him on the owners' good sides and that was where he liked to be.

He fretted as he went through the routine of busywork. The kid, Elsa -- the chatter backstage was that she was up for a couple special jobs. She was way too young for anything like that, but Anders wasn't the type to stick his neck out, not when it would just give somebody like Angelface a perfect chance to slit his throat. Besides, Karla wasn't dumb. If anybody could going to keep Elsa pure, Karla could.

Once the club was in tip-top shape for the night, Anders went backstage to get into costume, chat with the girls, and wait for the show to begin.

The Seedy Streets of Fandom, Sunday

[voiceoverdue]

It had been a rainy night; it always was. The sun was up now, Gershwin supposed, though you'd never know it. No light ever got shed on these streets.

Gershwin hadn't had a lot of light in his life lately. What he had were bills in his pocket that needed paying; a sick little brother ate through cash fast.

The darkness couldn't last forever, though. He had names, he had dates. He had descriptions of faces. A few photos, a bit of eyewitnessing, and the light would shine on Fandom like never before. He would finally get his big break, maybe a job at a nice, cushy paper, and his troubles would be over.

All he had to do was get it all together.


[OOC: Open post for all your needed street-wandering! Also open to any attempted murderating of the Intrepid Reporter!]

A dark and seedy coffee house, Sunday

[vdistinctive]

The place might've once had a name -- might even still have one -- but as far as Eliot was concerned, it didn't need one. It had enough shadows to sink into after a job and the blackest coffee in town, and that was just fine for him.

You needed a hot drink after spending so much time in the dark and the rain. And if it came with a little bit of lonely, 3 AM atmosphere, so much the better, right?

The Black Swan Theatre, Sunday

[bluhblahbluh.livejournal.com]

Welcome back to the Black Swan Theatre. Where The Screen Door was still on stage and, amazingly, the cast had not changed from the previous evening; none of the young ladies had gone missing in the night. This, coupled with the general good mood of the Count today, made the actors relaxed and happier than they had been since the company had arrived in this strange little town. Poor silly children, chuckled the Count as he sat in his office reviewing ledgers. He'd had a very pleasant night and the noises of the House that penetrating even this dark sanctuary today couldn't turn his spirits. There are far worse things awaiting... He would be hungry again tonight, after all.

[The Boards is still the Black Swan Theatre. Come see the play or chat with the Count]

The Even Meaner Streets of Fandom, Sunday Evening

[gunslingerpose]

After their long, er, interlude, Katherine had been starving and with the mood Nikolai had been in, it hadn't taken much to convince him to try Cafe Fina across town. Sure it was pricey and after her mugging that afternoon there was no way that Katherine could cover it, but Nick didn't seem to be all that upset. It was just the kind of place you took a lady like Katherine. No booze, no drugs, no dames, not even a crooked card. Yeah, it was a hike from the hotel, but it was pretty much the only place that played it straight in the whole town.

The extra distance and extra price were worth it to show a lady a good time. To show a lady you could be civilized. Maybe even to show a lady there were better things in her future than going home to Connecticut once her sister was found.

For the first time since he kicked the dope habit, Nick found himself thinking about something other than justice, revenge, and Lady Dokkaebi. Thoughts about a fresh start. Hell, maybe even a future.


[For Lady D and her girls, please! Post written by spin_kick_snap who set out to write Kathy and then apparently had her brain invaded by Gorgon. Crazy dame.]

The Chilly Pipes (Formerly Groovy Tunes), Sunday

[furnaceface]

Lips had himself a bit of a dilemma. Of course Lips had himself a bit of a dilemma. Why the hell he'd ever thought he could scarper off across the Atlantic and think that was the end of his trouble with dames he'd never know. Sure, Gayle had stayed behind. Gayle was the one with the grudge against him, and the reason he'd met Momoko at all.

Momoko was only the one who tried to kill him after kissing him for the first time. That sort of thing left a mark on a man. Or, in Jonothon's case, a very prominent set of disfiguring scars, right across the bottom half of his face, winding down over most of his chest and torso. And now she was here. Here, and whether she was on a new job or not, that understandably had Lips wary. Life had been a lot simpler when she still thought he was dead, and he could sell music and other assorted instruments in relative peace.

Even though most of his face was obscured, as usual, by his tall collar and his hat, Lips was looking exceptionally displeased as he manned the counter at the Chilly Pipes, contemplating whether it was worth it to take the run-out, or to dig his heels in here and refuse to be intimidated by an attractive dame with a nice rack.

[OOC: Open!]

Trooper Station: Sunday Morning

[fracknotfrak.livejournal.com]

It was bad news for Vic Morretti but then again she never got any news that wasn't good. Turns out the morgue had lost Wayne's body and without a body there was no autopsy, no habeas corpus and just no damn progress at all.

Vic sighed and took another belt of rotgut and lit up another smoke. There was no point in it now. None at all. She shooed Ralph away as he started to chase down the leads on the Wayne case.

"Forget it Ralph."

She took a shot and poured herself another.

"It's just Fandom."

Very late Sunday, a miscellaneous streetlight

[14andseven]

As the weekend started to fade, a lone figure could be found under a lonely streetlight, sax in hand, playing out the night with a low wail of blues.

Let the credits roll.

[ooc: because he's my only character who didn't manage to do anything yet.]