[ location: bronte beach ] let that igloo cooler mark your piece of paradise.

[theextras.livejournal.com]

Word has it, Taxon, that there's going to be a party. These rumors are not untrue, for one slaying has arranged something of a get together for the Fourth of July. Unfortunately, the Extras have caught wind of this soirée and are already in the presence of crashing it, rocking those holey jeans and chilling with some Lynyrd Skynyrd and good ol' Hank Williams. This is their kind of party.

Don't let them have all the fun. The sun is getting low, so get on out here and get your party on before fireworks start lighting up the faux night sky.

Comments

but, uh oh, those summer nights;

[lajolieblonde.livejournal.com]

"Language, Angel. I can't tell what you're sayin', but I can tell it's nothin' you can say in church." Sookie's scolding is humorous, though, and the hand she lays on his shoulder is barely more than a brush, careful of his obvious sunburn. "Honey, didn't anybody give you sunscreen? You're bright red. Honestly, men. Y'all're just--"

She falls silent midsentence as Angel's thoughts filter in; she's so used to not shielding around him that touch is enough to reach in without meaning to, and for a moment she just loses herself in the rise and fall of his thoughts. Maryann's thoughts were just as foreign, but they were ugly, frightening. Angel's are lilting and beautiful, like listening to music even if Sookie can't understand the words. Then, flushing guiltily she steps back, wishing she had pockets to put her hands in.

"I'm sorry, I just don't have to block you out normally-- and touchin' people helps, and I swear it won't happen again."

but, uh oh, those summer nights;

[undoing.livejournal.com]

Shouldn't say in church, maybe, but that doesn't mean one can't or that Angel didn't. There's a long list of things he did to tick his father off and no matter the amount of faith he may or may not have had when he was alive, swearing in church was pretty tame compared to the other stunts he pulled before he was stupid enough to ask a pretty stranger outside a bar to show him the world.

He winces as he leans forward, longing for the rapid healing of the vampire he should be. Her touch is cool and it's completely foreign to him to feel cold radiating off another being, his own body temperature -- or lack thereof -- when he was undead canceling out any of that.

"I never really had to do that," he answers. And he hadn't. The early-mid eighteenth century predated sunscreen. "There wasn't an--" Whatever he's about to say is cut short in favor of staring at her in confusion. So used to being unreadable, Angel forgets that Sookie's a telepath and it takes him a moment to realize that's what she means: she could hear his thoughts.

"...oh. No. I mean, that's okay. Don't imagine there's anything too pretty in my head, but I've got nothing to hide." Lies. Angel hid a lot of things, but it sounded better to say so and sunburn aside, he was in a good mood and didn't feel like playing up to his gloomier self.

but, uh oh, those summer nights;

[lajolieblonde.livejournal.com]

Sookie would whack him a good one, you don't say those words inside a church. (Not that her attempts at correction ever once stopped Jason or Tara, but she lives in hope.)

"Well, I know that. But somebody oughta be watching out for you, just until this whole thing is over. I mean, sunscreen's just the tip of the iceberg, sweetie. Bein' a human's tough, and you're out of practice." What could sound condescending is just worried, because Sookie has attached herself to Angel and he can't escape being mommed to death. A particular skepticism about mens' ability to take care of themselves without a women prodding them is something Sookie was weaned on.

"No, it's beautiful!" Careful to keep her shields strong, Sookie lays a gentle hand on his forearm. "Your thoughts are in Irish, like that nickname you call me sometimes? It's pretty, it really is. Like a song, almost."

but, uh oh, those summer nights;

[undoing.livejournal.com]

That would involve getting him inside a church in the first place. Secretly, he's tempted to go to the one that's here in Taxon, the one he saw located on the map in Central -- if only to touch things he hasn't been able to pick up in centuries without burning himself, to sit in the House of God without feeling like he was about to be struck down by lightening. (And it would be amusing, if it weren't so sad, that a Champion for the Powers That Be, the ultimate Good Guys, still feels damned and smited by God.)


"Not that out of practice," he reminds her. "But, I didn't exactly have these kind of luxuries in hell. It's kind of nice to be human and not have to worry about maintaining the appearance of still being a vampire while trying not to get killed every time I leave the office."

Her comment with regards to his thoughts gives him pause. He'd forgotten that he thought in Irish. It's something he just does, has always done, and translating his thoughts into English before they leave his mouth was second nature before he became a vampire, due to the English occupation of the ports of Galway.

"Aos Sí. It's one of the many names my people have for the fae."