"You've reached [insert alias here]. I'm not available to answer your call at the moment. If it's a matter of business, leave a brief summary of what's involved and I'll get back to you as soon as I delve into the matter further. If not, just leave me a message and I'll return your call at the nearest possible date."


[Mun can be reached here as well.]

[Not binding on any verse or muse. Also written for tamingthemuse.]

The thing that made dream root such nasty business wasn’t the taste—it’s the timing.

You needed to get things exactly right. You needed the DNA of your target to be sure that your mind didn’t get lost in the ether. You needed to sip the brew just as they’re entering REM sleep, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to link to their subconscious. It was one thing when they were lying right there next to you, but factor in time zones, state lines—it made things a little bit harder. You sipped the drink while your target was still awake, and you could be lying unconscious for hours, waiting for them to fall asleep.

If there was one thing Bela Talbot didn’t have enough of to waste, it was time. Actually, the fact that she had very, very little time left was the reason why she was doing this.

Bela Talbot was also a selfish woman, but that really wasn’t a surprise to anyone. She waited for as long as she could, put it off for as long as she could because she didn’t want to believe it either, but in the end, she had to say good-bye somehow, she just didn’t have the nerve to do it the right way. So she made an attempt to time it out, prepared the dream root, and waited.

Maybe in the in-between, she might get a chance at a little sleep.

( *** )

1038 words

Name: Bela Talbot
Fandom: Supernatural
Canon Point: Post her exit from paradisa

Starting Level: 055 - Camp Mahnahmahnah
Current Level: 055 - Camp Mahnahmahnah

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( Maybe this time for the first time / love won't hurry away )

Last Updated: 2011-10-30

I don't know if anyone outside beyondtherift even watches this journal anymore, but if anyone's interested there are Christmas Requests up here for anyone who wants to pick one.

(And for the record, this is open to BTR people too, if they're interested. =D)

Josef Soltini was one of the first people Bela met when she came to Chicago. He greeted her, explained as best she could, and over the months in between, her became her friend, her employer. Josef was a part of her life here, whether she wanted it him to be or not, and now he was gone.

Death isn't a concept that Bela is unfamiliar with. In fact, she's very familiar, intimately so, and it's why she's distanced herself so much from people. Losing them hurts, even when it's by her own hand, and not being connected to them makes it easier to let go. But Bela can't run away in this Chicago. She let herself get close, and that was her mistake, but for now that isn't her concern. Josef is dead, and she has a hunch it wasn't from natural causes. And that?

That makes her angry. And an angry Bela Talbot is a dangerous thing to be up against.

When she reads the announcement in the journals, she leaves a brief comment for Sonny before grabbing her coat and making her way to the club. She isn't calm, in any sense of the word, but there are answers there. She knows there are, and she's not going to stop until she has them and something is done about them.

What she does might not be pretty, but at least it's something.

When she makes her way into the back office, and when she sees Damon, she stops. He was closer to Josef, odds are he knows more about this than she does. She makes her way closer, and her tone indicates that she is just as pleased with this as he is.

"What the hell happened?"

My real name is Abigail Winters.

I sold my soul to kill my parents when I was fourteen.

I let the few people that know think I did it for the money, but in reality my father abused me from the time I was a little girl. I just wanted to get away. I tried telling people, but no one ever believed me, so when the demon offered me the chance out, I took it without realizing the consequences.

Selling your soul gets you ten years. After those ten years, the hellhounds come and tear you to shreds looking to carry your soul to Hell. If I hadn’t fallen through the Rift, I would be dead right now.

I don’t trust anyone—not even my guardian. Which is a bit ridiculous when you think about it, because of all the people you should trust, you think it would be the person who is programmed to be there for you and protect you, but honestly? My father took advantage of me. My own mother couldn’t keep me safe. My savoir condemned me, and the people who actually could help me, hate me.

I’m going to get him killed, not because I want to, but because I’m already living on borrowed time as it is, and it’s only a matter of time before Lilith comes to collect on my debts.

No matter how much bravado I may put out there, I don’t want to die.

[she tries to write this as anonymously as possible, but the detail-oriented could probably figure it out]

I have a few questions about guardian angels, and their Callings, if there's someone who doesn't mind answering.

[Clark is used with permission and love.]

This was the last time she took an amateur on a case.

One minute she had been discussing the potion that she needed to buy with the woman in the store, and the next there was this dizzying burning sensation riding up the line of her spine and everything went black. When she came to, they were in a boarded up room, and something was … wrong.

Very, very wrong.

There was a groan from somewhere next to her, but what startled her to attention was that that groan was hers. It was in her voice, and when she turned her head in the direction of it, she was surprised to see that it was coming from her body. She scrambled back into a sitting position, staring at herself with wide eyes, and her first realization was that oh, God, she was dead. She was about to utter that much until she noticed that something wasn’t quite right about her either.

“What the—”

Her voice stopped dead when she realized it wasn’t her voice. Her hand wandered up to her throat and she noticed that it was a very large, very broad hand that does not fit with her usual, more feminine limb. She pulled back to look at it, turning it over in front of her, and then she realized exactly where she was.

“Clark! Wake up!”

Her body groaned again, green eyes blinking open as she started to look around. “What the—” Then there was a gasp. “Oh, no.”

( *** )

640 words