From Kansas City to Lawrence

[tobeclosetohim]

Kansas City isn't the patron glory hole of the middle she expects.

Sparsely peopled on the edge of a teetering world, where looting and cowering came first. Jo is never going to attempt the second, but she's never been above the first when in need. Which is why she spends a good deal of the day collecting things. First came new clothes, specifically tight jeans and another thin, clinging, long sleeve shirt. Then there is a back holster and then a back pack stuffed through the afternoon with two shirts, two boxes of rifle rounds, canned food, flint and steel keychain, a large bottle of water, a bottle of tequila, a container of salt, a box of tampons and of condoms, betadine and two rolls of bandages.

Beauty personified showed up in the mid afternoon, in the shape of a motorcycle lying on its side in an alley in a deserted part of the town. Her paint job was crap on one side now and some of the casing cracked, looked like it had taken a hard tumble landing here, but her gears and wheels were only well worn, and she purred like a kitten once Jo finished the hot wiring.

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship when she started it up and rode out of town, headed west on I-70. Jo didn't know what she was looking for in Lawrence (She'd steered clear back home out of respect.) but it was getting a once over before she headed toward any commune farm outta Topeka.

(no subject)

[not-macgyver.livejournal.com]

Sydney is much bigger when you're the only person in it. Quieter, too.

At least the world he came from is ticking away as it always had; it's just him that's in trouble. Mac finds a measure of comfort in that. His mother, his friends, all safe.

He's tried every international number he knows, but no answer. Not that he'd expected any. But if the god was correct, leaving Australia was his best option, and there weren't many other ways to accomplish it.

(no subject)

[deathonnahorse.livejournal.com]

Flash, bang, you know the drill.

Somewhere in the Iraqi desert, a man goes sprawling face first into the sand. He'd been on a horse a moment ago, but now the horse, and the three others he'd been riding with, were all gone.

Methos crawls to his feet with a roar, drawing his sword in one fluid motion, and turning quickly to face whatever had just attacked him. Stark, featureless desert is all that greets him, though, as far as he can see in every direction.

He takes a measured sip from his waterskin and sheathes his blade. He could not fight witchcraft with a sword, after all.

Looking into the sky, he gauges the position of the sun, three palm-widths above the horizon. It would be dark soon, and the God of Night would soon blow his chill breath across the dunes. The Horseman's camp lay some distance ahead of him. He would be lucky to make it there in time, especially on foot. But, with no better choice, Methos sets out on his way.

(no subject)

[untwisturboxers.livejournal.com]

There is a bright flash, a loud Bang, and a well-rounded string of curses issued in the city once known as San Antonio, Texas. The culprit with the mouth a sailor might blush at sits in the middle of the street, where once roamed tourists and things that go bump in the night, and stares balefully at the delapidated building that houses a faded sign.

Alamo, it claims.

"Bullshit. This is complete and utter bullshit!"

She rises to her feet after a moment, dusting off tight jeans, straightening a brown leather jacket, and flipping back long, blonde hair.

(Because she can, and she's female, and ready to kick your ass if you give her shit about it.)

Welcome to the Shattered 'verse, Jo Harvelle.

(no subject)

[twiceahero.livejournal.com]

Despite her loud and aggravated protests to Dinah and Zinda about 'wasting her time', with the exception of the first ten minutes in the club to get oriented, Babs has spent the entire time out on the dance floor. She's currently working on her fourth dance partner, the previous three all having been wimps taken a breather.

There are few things Barbara Gordon likes more than dancing, and even fewer things that she can still do in the chair. And her enjoyment is evident in the absurdly large grin on her face.