(no subject)

[leucemic-god.livejournal.com]

Date: June 24, 2000
Setting: First Floor Men's Bathroom
Status: Public (Newt and Loki)
Summary: Because we haven’t seen Newt ‘repair’ something in too long.



He was having a good day today. This was only the second time he’d thrown up and it was well past lunchtime. Lately throwing up les than five times qualified as a very good day for Loki, so he left the stall in almost high spirits, splashed some water into his face and smiled up at the flickering lamp on the ceiling.

There were all sorts of fun things one could do with a broken lamp and the right mark. Too bad he didn’t have one handy.

He opened the door and walked out almost colliding with ...

“Newt, my friend! What a lucky coincidence! I was just thinking of you.”

Comments

[electrictadpole.livejournal.com]

"Oh." Newt said in surprise. "Hello. I haven't seen you around since I let you into your room the other day."

He'd also been thinking since then. The Cellophane Monster Inciden (http://community.livejournal.com/neutral_omens/39961.html#cutid1) had been successfully repressed, but he was beginning to recall the ideas he'd been toying with around the time. Newt wasn't sure if it was unnecessary paranoia to say that everything he tried to do failed, but... well, he'd suspected it ever since that faulty transistor radio he'd made as a lad. The joke one that the magazine promised was completely and absolutely guaranteed not to work. The one that had picked up Radio Moscow.

It seemed as though every time he'd had a chance to take his theory further, something had happened to interfere - vis, the notpocalypse (which was still hazy in his memory), and the Cellophane Monster Incident, and countless other things. It was as though something was... hiding.

"I was actually just here to do something about the lightbulb," he added absently, "people have been complaining."

And it was relatively harmless, and if he concentrated very hard on not paying attention to his little, er, problem, maybe he'd actually get some evidence this time.

[chantinellie.livejournal.com]

There was only one type of injury that produced that particular flavor and white-hot intensity of pain, and Ellie was quite familiar with it, having both inflicted it on numerous occasions and (once and only once, in incubus form) been on the receiving end. She stopped on her way toward the back exit and winced sympathetically. Somebody had just got it where it hurt, and he was (understandably) really, really pissed.

Not just somebody, but a demon. And not just any demon, she realized, recognizing the unique signature that underlaid the flood of scarlet-tinged power. Shit. Not good, not good at all...

She didn't stop to think about the location, just barged into the men's room hoping to prevent Crowley from murdering whatever poor slob had just had the bad judgement to fight dirtier than he did. "What the hell's--oh, crap.

"Loki?" she said in as calm and reassuring a voice as she could manage, trying to make sense of what she was seeing (they were fighting over Chicago? In what bizarre alternate universe did Norse gods and demons attack each other because of kittens??--"Sweetheart, why don't you step away from the very angry demon and let me hold the kitty? Before someone--ah, someone else--gets hurt?"