To be anywhere but HERE...{Open]

[Roxy St. James]

Have you ever had days that made even the seventh circle of Hell look like paradise? Well, she definitely had, and its name was Monday.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LOST IT?” Del roared over her tiny cell phone, making the poor thing vibrate. “YOU SAID THAT YOU HAD IT COVERED!”

“I know, Del, but you see, there was this virus on my computer—“

“DON’T GIVE ME EXCUSES, NICK. GIVE ME—“

“Solutions. Yeah, yeah, solutions. You ornery old fart. Kiss my left butt cheek and get laid sometime. That should make you happier…” She sighed, though with her mouth pointed away from the phone. She’d heard this song and dance so many times that she could practically recite the rant in her head.

“SOLUTIONS.” Del finished, totally oblivious. “I MEAN, IF YOU DON’T THINK YOU CAN HANDLE IT, NICK, I’LL JUST GIVE THE STORY TO RANDAL.”

“I can handle it, Sir.” She replied quickly, frowning at the clicking noise that was her reply.

Growling to herself, she flipped her new- and quivering, the poor thing; she’d have to leave it in the charger for an extra hour tonight, just to pay for emotional duress- silver Verizon ‘Razor’ closed, tucking it securely into the mangled leather side bag that hung over her shoulder.

“Jeesus…” She muttered, a deep New York drawl making the word sound more like a curse than a prayer. “Why can’t I ever have good days? Why can’t my computer break down when I don’t have a story due the next day?” A pause. “And why the hell did Del just call me ‘Nick’ two times in a row?!”

Oh yeah, it was really one of those days.

Walking down the darkened street with her arms crossed over her chest, the female cut an interesting figure. A mess of curly red hair stuck out in every direction, falling down into pale blue eyes every now and again, resulting in an answering snarl from their owner. A bright yellow Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt stood out oddly under her creased leather biker’s jacket, falling over a pair of paint stained blue-jeans and a pair of worn Nikes.

The walk from her friend’s apartment was relatively short, thank all that was holy. Maybe she could actually manage to grab a few hour’s sleep before she had to get up and coax her computer back to life. She had a deadline coming up, four stories to work on, a few leads to track down and a particularly annoying rumbey in her tummy to take care of, before she died of starvation.

Not to mention that she was going blind. “I swear, you get outta my eyes, y’all.” She muttered to yet another kamikaze lock. “Or I’m gonna cut you off. All of you, I promise.”

Houston, we have a problem; we’re talking to hair. Great, she could add insanity to her list of problems.
Ah, the life of Roxy St. James, resident a tabloid journalist. The world should bow down and give homage.

[John Sheppard]

Great, the world was spinning again, and this time it wasn’t from a bad hangover, heck he wasn’t even halfway there.

No, it was those three big guys who didn’t seem to like his attitude all that much. Not his fault that they all looked like pansies, was it? They did! Big pansies…ok, maybe it was that he was being an ass and trying to get into a fight and those guys took the bait. A guy had to have some fun once in a while.

Ok John, get a grip and wipe that blood dripping from the corner of your mouth. Those guys hit hard, good. What good would do to pick a fight with a bunch of guys that punched like girls? Off course that didn’t stop him from telling that they did and laughing at their faces though, and blocking the next punch geared to his head.

Those guys had their fun, now it was time for him to have his. Sending his knuckle flying, he hit the one before him straight in the jaw and watched him spin around and fall out could in the floor. Big guy had a glass jaw…bummer.

The other one rushed at him from behind and grabbed him, keeping him in place.

“Sorry dude, you’re not my type!” he said throwing his head back and smashing the guy’s nose. Man, that shit still hurt, there wasn’t enough alcohol in his blood to soothe his aching head…or maybe it was the blows he took, never mind, duck and use the elbow to smash the other guy’s face and give a spinning kick to knock the grabby dude behind.

Nothing like some exercise to make a guy feel alive.

One more punch and he was the last man standing, who said the great things in life weren’t free?

Rubbing the back of his neck, John smiled and felt the adrenalin pumping through his veins. He was an adrenalin junkie…and had to keep his reputation of driving his CO’s insane…poor Kat. She was cool and all, but she wasn’t as much into mindless violence as he was, and she had that silly rule of not sleeping with those under her command. In truth the violence helped him forget about the past, helped him focus on the here and now. But he would dance classical ballet like a freaking fairy before he admitted it, so don’t expect it to happen in this lifetime.

Now if he could stop the world from spinning and stop stumbling into the trash cans he would be fine. Forget about the rip on his tshirt or the stinging split lip.

Running a hand through his brown mess of hair, he pulled it back before he stumbled into another trash can. No, it wasn’t another trash can, was it?

“Either I got bashed real hard in the head or you’re the best looking trash can I ever saw.”

Yeah, that wouldn’t make him sound crazy at all.

[Roxy St. James]

Stupid computer, stupid Del, stupid Monday. Fumes were probably spilling out of her ears as she stomped down the sidewalk, hands jammed in her pockets and mouth pulled down in a frown. It was taking all of her self control to swallow the unhappy growls her leopard wanted to make…and oh, the urge to shift! It would be so much easier to shed her humanity and run wild for a little big; take the edge off with a bit of freedom.

Yeah, that would be nice, wouldn’t it? A smile tugged at Roxy’s lips as she imagined the wind sifting through her pelt as she raced through the park. It wasn’t too far away; just three blocks from where she was right then. She’d find a nice secluded spot, hide her clothes and run wild. It never failed to make her feel better.

Well, that and getting smashed into by a very solid body, especially when one of his feet practically smooshed hers into the sidewalk. Wait, no, that was a lie. Hello again, Monday…you freaking biotch from HELL.

The only warning of a body getting ready to ram himself into her was the smell of blood and sweat. “Oh, MOTHERFUCKER!” The curse practically burst from her lips as she instinctively grabbed handfuls of the guy’s shirt to keep herself from falling backward.

Given the slurring words and obviously weaving body in front of her, she was probably going to land on her ass anyway…but heck, the least he could do was attempt to keep them upright. But, before he could prove her wrong, her kind’s love of balance had her instinctively widening her stance to take on both his weight and the awkward position.

“Jesus, buddy, watch where you’re going! And maybe lay off the booze a bit. Trash can…yeah, that pretty much sums up my day…”

Glancing up, she planned on delivering the rest of her tirade straight to his face, and finally noticed the evidence of a fight. Hot damn, he was definitely going to feel those bruises tomorrow morning. And…mmm, blood. Dammit, she knew she should’ve eaten before she’d left the office.

“Aw, hell, you’re bleeding! I SO didn’t do that! Are you alright, Sir? Do you need an ambulance? Wait, there’s a bench. C’mon, let’s go sit down. Oh, please for all that’s holy, if you faint, I’m gonna cry…” It was all she could do not to use her hold on his shirt to drag him over to the bench. He was obviously hallucinating, thinking she was a trash can. Aw, man, she hated Mondays!

Fluttering over him like a mother hen, she fretted and gave into the urge to ‘urge’ him over to said bench. It took some maneuvering and babbling over whatever he was trying to say- the guy was big enough for he-man talk…forget that- and with a little growl escaping her, pushed down on his shoulders until he was forced to sit. He should be glad; at least she hadn’t thwacked the backs of his knees.

Rummaging in her purse, she produced a packet of tissues, her cell phone and a colorful red whistle. It might not do much against a group of morons who might be looking for the beat up guy, but seeing it made her feel better.
“Don’t fall asleep, okay? You might have a concussion. Man, that is gonna be a nice shiner in the morning. What the hell happened?”

[John Sheppard]

There was the alcohol and the blows to the head making the world spin again, and heck, stop the world he wanted out!

But that didn’t stop him from tossing a smile to the talking trash can, no she was too cute to be a trash can. And where she was dragging him to? Oh that bench over there. Man…how she talked…what? Faint? Cry? Who was doing the fainting and crying? But before he could say something she had him sitting down on the bench.

Who was the pansy she was looking after? Maybe one of the guys he had knocked and he was now on her way…oh wait it was…him? No freaking way! Was she for real?

“Take it easy lady, I’m fine, I was just having some good natured fun that’s all,” he said with a little chuckle, “You should see the other guys…they must still be out back there,” he added with a laugh and pointing back to the way he came.

Sure, not crazy at all.

And it was damn difficult to hold back from laughing at the concerned look at the woman’s face. Poor girl, bumping into the crazed ex-marine…SEAL…FBI agent…whatever the hell he was now, there was even a name for it? Hello lady, I’m part of an elite team of men and women that fight the nasty supernatural freaks in the world and look good while doing it. HA! If he was to say that to some reporter out there they would be oh so happy to throw his sorry ass into jail, wouldn’t they? The psyche bitch already wanted to place him into a padded room in a straightjacket anyways. Call him insane because he actually loved his job?

But John really knew how to pick them, didn’t he? Even if he was bumping into someone in the dark that he didn’t even know was there, the girl was cute. And probably was going to be pissed at him in t-minus five.

Four…three…two…

“You know, you’re cute for a trash can…” it was all he said before his drunken grabby hands moved to her ass. Nice lady with a firm rear end.

One…

Always the charmer, always suave, wasn’t he?

[Roxy St. James]

Take it easy…right, that was a great idea. The guy looked like he was about to keel over and die, so she should just throw up her hands and party like a rockstar! But okay, the stranger was obviously loopy from being hit in the head too many times. She needed to calm down, stop the nervous babbling that was her trademark when in times of distress, and focus. She could definitely focus.

…Yeah, like focus on the way the guy started to laugh right at her face. Well, excuse HER for being a concerned citizen! Jeeze, what was with guys these days? There was a reason why her sisters were convinced that the only good men in the world were their fellow leopards. They growled, protected, strutted some very fine asses around…and definitely didn’t LAUGH in her FACE!

They also tended to shed, become overly aggressive and treat females like dirt, but hey, as long as they had those tight gluts, right? Gah, head back in the game, Roxanne!

Aka, WAS HE TOUCHING HER ASS?!

With a squawk that was half surprise and half outrage- damn, the leopard was purring…SO not a good sign- she proceeded to haul back and sock the stranger square on the shoulder. Who the hell cared if he looked like his face had just been introduced to a meat grinder? She wasn’t said meat!

“I’m sorry; concern does not mean ‘squeeze my ass!’ Lemme go right now, or I’ll beat on you as badly as those other guys did!”

Wiggling away from him, she managed to dislodge those questing fingers and shove her bag up higher on her shoulder. Good Lord, she really did hate walking around at night. Talk about a Crazy Magnet!

“Well, you obviously ain’t gonna be dyin’ anytime soon,” She said with a frown, moving to walk passed him. So what if he was weaving? He’d probably stumble on one of the park cops that were usually milling about. “So I’m so outta here. Try not to grab the next concerned citizen’s butt, dude. From what I hear, lots of big, scary men wander around the park at night. They might not like getting felt up.”

[John Sheppard]

Ah the old Sheppard charm.

Sure he got slapped for it, had drinks thrown at him and pissed a lot of jealous boyfriends with his devil may care shameless attitude, but he would call it his registered trademark. Being subtle and playing cool was for nancies, not real men, or at least that was what he would say if asked.

The punch in his shoulder was a good indication that his advances weren’t quite welcomed, but his hands lingered for a while longer, he was drunk after all, he could blame it on that even if it wasn’t quite the truth. And when did concern stopped meaning ‘please mister, squeeze my ass’ anyways?

Heck he would be sore in the morning, but hopefully he would be able to stand without stumbling around…well maybe. After all what he had in the next morning, that therapy section they pushed him into – like he would go to it anyways – he would take the little scrap over any hour of babbling.

Just hope that commander would have the decency to wait for him to sober up before she started yelling at him for being such an ass. Come on, without they expected, he wasn’t the kind of guy to sit down and share, he’d beat his problems to submission with a healthy dose of alcohol and a lot of violence.

There was the training section later on, he would probably perform worse than a newbie if he even managed to show up. Ah, what was the matter anyway? He could defuse a bomb in his sleep and beat up three large guys while drunk and take a shot most experts said was impossible, what he needed further training for?

Laughing at the girls words, he pulled himself up. It was a bit more difficult than he expected to stand straight, but he was stubborn.

“Pfffft scary men, they aren’t scary men! Baby I’m the one the scary things fear, I’ve been hunting their asses for a while now, and let me tell you, yours is far prettier than theirs. They can shed their skin and bare their fangs, I don’t give a crap!”

Alright so maybe Kat would smack him in the head for talking like this, but heck, he was drunk and so he could babble all he wanted. It wasn’t like that girl was a freaking reporter or anything that would get his story on the news.

Right?