The Ghosts of Golden Gate {IC}

Lance Barrett - San Francisco–Oakland Bay Bridge - 5PM February the 11th

The sun was setting into the Pacific Ocean as Lance strolled out to the first pillar of the bridge a sea breeze gently ruffling his hair as he leaned back against it, far below surfers were paddling lazily back to the shore. "It's a wonderful day to be alive," he grinned as a figure began a stately walk out of nowhere towards him. "I'm sure it is," answered Norton without enthusiasm. "How’re you keeping?” Lance asked amiable to be rewarded with the spectre answering gloomily, “My body rotted nearly a century ago, they didn’t even try to preserve it.” The tiniest hint that he was at all glad to see the medium snuck into his voice as he inquired, “You making the arrangements on your side?”

“Yup,” Lance rocked forward onto the balls of his feet stretching enormously until he was nearly twice as tall as he was wide, “Meeting up with four of them tonight at Hoy’s chinkie about seven,” the only reply this elicited was a “Hmm.” “What?” asked Lance with irritation. “No, it’s nothing,” Norton shrugged making his uniform clink. “Bullshit. Tell me what you’re thinking.” After a pause Norton said, “Well…” then paused again, “It’s just funny how that’s round the corner from Cameron house,” he looked up with a hint of a smile, “You plan on breaking them in the hard way?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” muttered Lance turning away to face the cars racing past. “Yes, just a coincidence no doubt, just like the date coming up.”

Lance changed the subject, “Invited the Montgomery girl for one. One of a handful of mediums I’ve met with a heritage of the gift. What do you think? I won’t be around forever, she good enough to take over the chore of talking to you?” “I agree with you there,” said Norton. “That’s good then.” “I agree that you won’t be around forever,” completed Norton. Lance ignored him, and made to walk off. “Wait,” called Norton, “Go on, I won’t interrupt again.” Lance stopped and carried on, “Well we also have Professor Klein.” “You mean mad Sam?” interrupted Norton. Lance glared, “And we’ve got Jaeque and a rich girl called Serena who I’m getting paid enough to mentor to cover all expenses involved,” he garbled out without pause for Norton to interrupt. “Okay, why did you invite Jaeque? What use is he going to be exactly?” “Well for starters he’s picking Serena up from the airport.” “That’s not an answer.” Lance looked out over the bay and bit his lip, “I worry.” Norton looked like he might speak so Lance carried on, “I worry that ghosts aren’t the only things we’ll have to contend with.”

They were both silent for a second the sanctity of which was violated by someone yelling out of a passing convertible, “Don’t jump fatso! We can’t afford a tsunami!” Norton snorted, “I wish I got the jumpers, they all go to Golden Gate.” He started pacing and his voice took on the kind of petulant irritation seen in biblical kings about to order the killing of the first born, “I mean sure I get the depressed but never anyone interesting. No pacts and no thrill seekers and no tourists, the best I get are the odd inve…” “Norton! Calm down.” Norton scratched behind his ear and looked about him a little confused. “How’re things on your side?” asked Lance politely. “Awful, they all know something’s happening, Pleasant has seized half the graveyards in the city half everyone’s up in arms about it a few gone poltergeist which just makes it harder to work out who’re these new ones and whose just in a bad mood.” Lance glanced at his watch, “I’m sorry got to be getting off, back to the land of the living and all.” “Oh, well goodbye then,” said Norton miserably watching Lance already strolling off of the bridge. Norton didn’t agree really, Lance might not be on this earth much longer but he wouldn’t leave this city for the world.

Allegra sat at her vanity and considered the contents of her jewelry box, her lips pursed but her brows unknitted. Her mother had been very adamant against scowls and unpleasant expressions, not only for the unsightly nature of the expression in the present but for the lines they formed in the future. “The skin remembers Allegra-darling,” her mother had always said as she’d run her smooth fingers over her daughter’s forehead. Since her mother’s skin had remained largely unlined until her death just a few years senior from Allegra’s own age, she’d taken her mother’s advice to heart. Be it genetics or habits, Allegra's pale skin was youthfully smooth which was a strange contrast to the streak of silver in her hair to the left of her forehead.

She dipped her finger into the contents of the box and finally pulled out a short strand of small pearls. They were becoming but not too valuable or ostentatious. She was uncertain of the location but considering the company she was about to keep it seemed that being understated was a good course. With deft fingers she fastened the pearls, put on the matching earrings and stood, smoothing out her skirt. She was wearing a custom tailored black suit, gray silk shirt and a pair of black Louboutin heels that were as understated as she got when it came to footwear. She gave herself a last once over, smoothed her fingers over her forehead in an offhanded, habitual manner and then left her quarters.

Her heels made a soft clatter as she walked down the hall to the elegant staircase she used to slide down so long ago. It was a trick taught to her my Maisey one of her first friends long before she’d learned that there were certain things one simply didn’t do when one was a Montgomery, One being slide down banisters, another being talking to long dead slave girls with half-burnt faces. She descended the staircase, ignoring as she always did the pair of wide brown eyes that watched from the shadows near the top of the stairs, eyes that hadn’t changed since those long ago days when they had played together. It used to hurt to walk past that spot, so much so that she’d used the servant stairs for years when she was young, but like most difficult things, one got used to it. Maisey had too and it was all for the best.

She headed for the foyer and smiled lightly to see her butler cum chauffeur, Richard, poking his head out of his sitting room.

“Will you be needing me to drive Miss Allegra?” he asked in his rumbling basso voice.

“No, I’ll drive myself. Would you pull the silver around?” she asked

He nodded his ascent and headed off to fetch her car. She walked past the couple sitting on her settee, both dripping wet with bloated faces turned blue whose eyes followed her hungrily as they clutched at each other’s hands. On the side table there was a large bouquet of gladiolas and greens and she spent a few minutes rearranging the blooms until she heard the purr of a car engine near the front door.

“please…”

“Just a moment of your time Ma’am”

She ignored them, just as she had for the past week and headed for the door. They would go, learning eventually that pleas didn’t work with Allegra Montgomery or she would grow used to them so that they barely registered. As it was her eyes flicked to the mirror near the entry way as she passed it, and saw them in their pitiful state and felt an errant tug on her heart. Her heart which should very well have known better. She hadn’t acknowledged them, but somehow they knew and they seemed almost brighter as she slipped out the front door. One moment of weakness undoing weeks of hard work. She was disgusted with herself but did not let it cross her smooth porcelain face.

This was why she had even agreed to the meeting she was heading too. Things were not right in the world of the dead and it was seriously starting to infringe on her carefully orchestrated life. That simply wouldn’t do. She’d not gotten a good night sleep in some time because of the way things had been shaping up. So when she’d received the note the other day about the meeting she’d only dismissed it for an hour or two before several unsettling encounters had convinced her that she might want to at least see what he had to say.

She slid into the car with the help of Richard, gave him a few last instructions and then sped off for the meeting and hopefully a few answers. She tapped the screen of her in-dash GPS and headed into town, her stomach a knot of anxiety as she ignored the mauled woman slumped in the back seat whose one good eye stared daggers at the back of her head.

September 19th, 2001…
Glass from a third floor window rained down over the entryway to 1600 Holloway Avenue on the campus of San Francisco University. A simple wooden chair, which followed shortly after the glass, bounced off of the curved roof guarding the building’s entryway before tumbling to the concrete below, shattering into timber with the impact. In the third floor office that the chair once occupied Professor Samuel Klein sat on the floor, his head cradled in his hands, and protestations falling from his lips. The handcrafted cherry bookshelves that lined his office walls looked as if they had been ransacked, small desk sculptures, ornamentations form many differing cultures, were scattered across the floor or lay in broken piled against walls, and the worn brown leather couch tucked into one corner was covered in a rat’s nest of blankets, clothing, and bottles. Samuel was just as disheveled as his office. His white shirt and gray trousers had been worn for three days, stained by sweat and alcohol. A red crosshatched tie was so loose around his next it looked like a limp noose, and he looked and smelled as if his clothing had seen washing more recently then he had.

Across from him, standing in front of the shattered window was a woman that may have once been beautiful before the detonation of hundreds of gallons of jet fuel had sundered and burned her corporal body. Cara, as she had called herself, had been a victim of the terror attacks in New York eight days ago and somehow had followed Samuel back to San Francisco. She stood before the window and wept without pause as Samuel tried to make sense of the turmoil that seemed to be growing around him. Her skin, once a smooth ebony color, was now a charred black and drawn tight like the skin of an over roasted bird. It was hard to tell where charred skin began or where melted clothing ended. Her coffee colored hair had been all but singed away in the intense heat of the fire and her eyes were nothing more than milky pools of light that consistently generated the tears she wept.

Samuel looked at the women, anger registering on his face. His hands searched for something else to throw and found a pint bottle of brandy. The good professor slugged back the last of the bottles contents in one gulp and then whipped the bottle at her. The solid mass of the bottle sailed through the air and rippled through the incorporeal form of Cara before sailing out the window and down to the campus grounds below. Cara’s weeping did not stop but a powerful knocking on his office door began.

“Leave me be woman!” Samuel shouted at Cara, ignoring the knocking at his door. “Move on from this life, do whatever it is your supposed to do! I have no answer for you! Go away!”

Samuel stood, his anger rising as this ghost; this spirit did nothing but weep in reply to his drunken anger. He approached her yelling and screaming, his voice going horse with the effort. As he waved his arms for the woman to go the latch to the office door turned and campus security poured into the room rushing towards him and wrapping their arms around him. He was inches from the window ledge where Cara stood; his motions would have carried him over the precipice had the security officers not stopped him. Samuel collapsed in their grip.

“Make her leave” he whined, his anger spent, pointing at Cara who still stood before the window. The security guards reeled at the smell of alcohol and body order and shook their heads when Doctor Klein pointed at the empty space in front of the window.

Current day…
Samuel walked on down 17th street in Oakland as the sun began to set. He was hunched into his wool pea coat and walked with his head down, his eyes barely opened as a yawn stretched his face. He had bought a fifth of rotgut vodka at Campbell’s Market with the days panhandling money a few minutes ago and already he had cleared the neck of the bottle. The next swig started his nightly drinking in earnest. A shiver ran down his body when the liquid hit his stomach and he looked up and smiled when he saw the intersection of 17th and Perella ahead, that block held a building he often squatted in when on this side of town. Ahead of him a group of children played just off of the intersections street corner. The young boys jostled for a basketball that the tallest boy was doing everything he could to keep away from them. Samuel hit the bottle again as he watched the boys step into the street, chasing after one another. A FedEx truck barreled down the street and without stopping drove right through the boys, moments later the quicksilver mist that the young boys seemed to be formed of gathered on the street corner and the scene replayed out again when the next car came driving down the road. People returning to their homes for the night walked by without a second glace to the young boys, only Samuel and Cara saw them.

“The Anduze boys again” Cara said as she caught up to Sam stepping in stride next to him. Her voice always sounded as if she were one second away from breaking into a sobbing fit. It was something Samuel had become accustomed to. Samuel turned and plopped onto the stoop of the abandoned building that took up the entire 17th and Perella block and watched the boys replay the incident that had taken their lives two years ago. “They still play there a lot” Sam said as he tucked his pack under his head and took another healthy gulp from the vodka bottle.

“I had a boy” Cara said, her voice shuttering with emotion. Samuel drained another gulp from the bottle and rolled his weary eyes as Cara started crying again.

“Woman, quit your bawling, we saw your boy at the De Fremery playground the other day. I will not listen to your wailing tonight. I have to get some slee…” Samuel sat up so quickly that even Cara stopped her crying, wiping away milky tears from burnt cheeks. “What is it Samuel?” she whispered. A young coupled with a stroller eyed Samuel as they passed creating as much distance as they could from the homeless man that appeared to be conversing with a door frame. Samuel knew they couldn’t see Cara but the couple made every effort in the world to convince themselves Samuel wasn’t there as well.

“The invitation woman, the one that man had brought to us, do you remember what I did with it?” Samuel wrenched the pack out from behind him and in the process knocked his bottle over. Forgetting the pack he scrambled after the bottle like a mother after a falling child. Catching the bottle with a sigh of relief he returned to looking through the pack. Digging past torn gloves and rotten clothing he found a small manila invitation crumpled in the bottom of the pack. He struggled with the reading, eyes thick with inebriation trying to adjust to the handwriting. When he finally comprehended the words and address his shoulders sagged.

“How am I going to make it there in time” he stammered.

The room was hick with the smell of cheap cigarettes and the muffled sounds on poor, tied up man. It had not been a good day for Louis Small. As a small time gangster, he made his money of drugtrade. He had a decent game going. He had to date avoided cops, rival dealers and flaky customers. So why was he tied to a chair, bleading heavily from his forehead and having a sock jammed into his mouth. Just hours ago he had been enjoying his new suit, about to go on a date. Then suddenly a bunch of guys jumped him and threw him in a truck.
The answer would be Jaque. The swindling, unsavory and immoral bastard in the chair infront of him. Unlike Smalls, Jaques clothing was neatly cut, his hair perfect and his skin seemingly unbruised. Neither was he tied up. He looked at smalls trough a pair of designer shades, black tinted glass veiling a look of contempt. If Smalls only had the vision, he could have seen the ghost of his ex that he killed 2 years prior. He ha gotten away with it, having spiked her drugs with rat poison. It was she he who Jaque had found, doing his usual ghost sighting walk through the more troubled areas. A few favors later and Louis Smalls was tied to a chair, courtesy of a rival drug dealer. The young girl had told him about the existence of a stash. The very stash she had nicked a few dollars from now and then, The very stash that got her killed.
Jaque had a way with words and he could be anyone he wanted. Today his names was Ricardo Rodriguez and he posed he spoke with a broken, Spanish accent. He had spent days on this swindle. He had gotten the word spread that a larger dealer had the desire to take over his corner. A man called Ricardo Rodriguez.
“So I bet you wonder Why? And how? Well, let us just say somebody saw you” Jaque grinned as he pulled the sock out. The man wheezed and spat for a minute or so before looking at the swindler with weary eyes. He was clearly terriefied out of his wits. “Who are you.” He demanded to know.
“I am Ricardo Rodriguez.. Maybe you heard of me. ” The fraud took a quick inhale of the cigarette.
“..Wait. Why would you want anything with me. I am small time. I heard you were going to move on my corner. We can talk. I don’t mind dealing your stuff man!” Smalls was panicking now. He had no idea it was all a set up. He had no idea that Jaques was wired.
“Ahh.. Smalls.. I can call you that.. right? Knew you’d see things my way. I need a payment up front thou.” Jaque blew the smoke into the eyes of Smalls. His face was a mask for the rage inside him. Violence against women never sat well with him.
“I got money man. No worries. I can pay. I make tons off the corner.” Smalls tried to struggle with quite a bit of a problem as he was growing weak from bloodloss.

“And does anyone else know of this… stash?” He blew more smoke into smalls face.
“I can’t...” Smalls muttered

“Do you have any other options?”Another cloud of ashen smoke to make the bound man cough.
“C’mon man. I’ll work under you.” The man tried once more but his whining was getting on Jaques nerves.

“…Does anyone know?” He asked again.
“No, I mean yes. Well no. Not anymore. This bitch found it, tried to steal from it.So I spiked the stupid junkies dose. She is not gonna tell anyone. I wont let anyone ruin the game man.” He spoke suddenly, but without any sort of regret to his voice. Jeaques nodded sagely . “I hid 8 grand under the floorboards of my apartment. You can have it all man.” Smalls spoke in desperation. Jaques could tell he was saying the truth. Besides he had already found the stash with the spirits help. He left the drugs but took the money. They were meant to be found by police.
“If you aint lying. I’ll b back and let you out.” He spoke and patted the man on the cheek before putting the sock back into his mouth. Then he carefully removes the mp3 recorder and put it visibly on a table in front of them man while dialing 911.
“Yeah. This is Ruben on 11th street? My neighbors carried a strange package indoor. I think it might be cocaine.” He could see In the corner of his eye how Smalls struggled furiously. “Oh. You’ll send a squad car? Excellent. Oh and I think he said something about going to meet downtown. Yes’ I’ have the address” upon wich he calmly stated the address to where Jeaques and smalls currently stood.

“Enjoy jail” Jaques patted the man on the cheek again and left. Just as he did, he got a message regarding a certain appointment.

“Oh. Right. Cab duty.”

Her hardshell, once-upon-a-time-silver suitcase rolled along smoothly behind her, the well oiled casters whispering softly against the chaotic hubbub in Arrivals. As with all of her things, Serena took much care to see that her belongings were always well taken care of and functioning optimally. But much to Mother's chagrin, those soft brown eyes of her daughter could only see things off kilter and always skewed in a immature manner. Not only was the the latest and greatest model of expensive suitcase covered in garish stickers of all manners of ponies and flowers, but scrawled all about it in heavy cursive were the musings and lyrics of many creative minds. Serena said told Mother that at least Serena would always know which luggage was hers. Mother said that such a show of over-effeminate and over-juvenille indulgence would always keep her mired in short-comings.

A sigh, a slight shake of the head and a fluttering of bushy lashes over those soft brown eyes chased the annoyed tone of Mother's voice from her head. Yet again. Mother said that she was acting like this Rena person, but honestly, so what?! She was who she was. Take for instance the soft suede jacket she wore. It fit nice, it was brushed free of lint, it was clean and odour free. But it was so plain! Serena just wanted to spice it up a bit. An emblem stitched upon the shoulder did not hurt. Neither did the funky addition of some chrome studs. And what about the flower prints? Hey, those were nicely patterned on the fringes of sleeves and bottom hem; they swept up like fire too. Okay, so there were some more patches along the arms and metallic paint pen words scrawled on the collar, maybe that was a bit much, but Mother should at least appreciate the Lil'Ponies dangling from her hips, slipknots around their necks and black penned in 'x's' over their stupid bright eyes. Did that not show that she was no longer a little girl?

Okay maybe not. But it was her favourite jacket! And at least Mother did not have to pay for it. But Mother never once complained about buying her lovely dancing doll anything. Not once. The white of her pearly teeth flashed as she bit a lower lip and paused a moment to regard her open-toed shoes and her torn jeans. Multi-coloured toetips wiggled in consecutive order from left to right then right to left again. Soft brown eyes lost their twinkle and dark eyebrows dipped downward in a scowl as those eyes traced the denim of her long shapely legs, playing connect the dots with the tears and worn down spots of her jeans. Black knitted cut off tipped gloves went to the side of her caramel cheek and pressed there, knuckles of a loose fist digging into her cheek bone.

No Mother did not have to pay for the jacket, but she paid for pretty much everything she had on her. Everything she owned. What a terrible daughter. What a terrible daughter Serena was. Acting like this Rena person. She was on her own now, but still she was supposed to represent Mother; afterall it was Mother that sent her here to this Mr. Barrett's private school for her own good. Her own safety.

The black knitted gloved hand slid up her cheek and multi-coloured fingertips began to massage at her temple. The spiraling vertigo slowly churned, nausea roiling in her taut belly.

“Regrets collect like old friends...” she sang softly. It was more reaction than anything; Serena always sang whenever she felt sad, happy, nervous, anxious, shamed or guilt-ridden. It was a reaction more than anything, but a mistake nonetheless.

“...here to relive your darkest moments... I can see no way. I can see no way...”

A flash of silver overtaking all senses.

“And all of the ghouls come out to play--”

The world brightened in its darkness.


She was no longer near the exit, a mere ten metres from the sliding doors and out into the San Francisco sunshine. No, Serena was singing herself to the Other side. People that whisked in and out of doors, slid past or stood in waiting, tending to customers or waiting in line grumpily or apathetically, those people faded into nothing but the silvery orbs of the living. What remained were the heavily grounded lightness of beings that could not leave this mortal realm. And as if a siren sounded out to them they turned.

Soft brown eyes were captured by bushy dark lashes coated with just a bit too much mascara. But here in the Other side, she could not close her eyes. She could only see as a medium can see into the Other side. But she was too young, too inexperienced with her gift. She could see here, but they could see her too. She was a beacon to them; a vessel for which they may speak, ask, demand, lament, cry out, cry to in whatever voice they held. These were the lost souls trapped here at San Francisco International. Maybe they did not find their final resting place here, but something drew them here, whether or not it be the amalgamation of emotions, auras and thoughts of so many, it was still a nexus of some kind. But it was not the nexus they sought; the one thing that should bring them to their place in the Other side.

And here she was. Standing at the threshold, a door, a gate, whatever they saw her as, she was not their way home, and perhaps they knew this but she was another thing to draw them close. Serena was a beacon of hope.

But as strong in her gifts as she was, she never had the proper training nor experience to deal with these lingering spirits. There was another that always walked with her, this other-who-Rena-must-never-ever-call-aloud-let-alone-think-of had always protected her from the living and the Others, but in doing so had stunted her abilities. And now that other was not here. The ghosts of San Fran International drew closer, slowly and timidly at first. And unlike the silvery orbs of the living, Serena could make out in fine detail their Other side visages. But not only that but she could 'read' them as they drew even closer. Each had a story to tell. Each and every single one of them. And as each drew closer, she was bombarded with their overwhelming auras in the silvery swirling mists.

<<--but where is Mary? She told me to wait-->>
<<--why can't I get out the doors? I just want to feel the sun-->>
<<--they took my fuckin' land!!! I'm not going to let those dirty Mexi-->>
<<--Mommy, there you are!!!! Oh Mommy, why dincha ever come back-->>
<<--I can't be dead!!! I was just on my way to-->>
<<--Daddy will save me. Daddy will save me. Daddy will save me-->>
<<--you have to tell them where I am buried. Beside the new runway my husband-->>
<<--tell my kids that I'm okay, please. Oh god, ogod I miss them so much-->>
<<--don't leave me here, help me, please! It's been sooooo long and-->>
<<--let me speak to them-->>
<<--no, let me speak!!! I need-->>
<<--I have to go! Let me speak-->>

They swirled and danced around her, writhing, reaching, pushing and pulling. They no longer had any features. Each was an aura on its own linked and chained into the next as they clambered to be the first to contact and contract the medium. They were no long individuals but an overlapping, twisted mass of life stories, repeating, repeating, repeating, all wanting to be told, all wanting to to be told the truth.

No, she was too young and too inexperienced to deal with this inundation of auras, thoughts and emotions of the needy incorporeal loners. She was swelling up spiritually from all of them, she was a bug trapped in the shrinking eye of a hurricane. She was going to crack, mind body and soul and fall to her knees; a shell of a beautiful young woman broken to gibbering pieces. She had no means to suppress them, to make them go away. They were going to break Serena Rachelle Everett. She should have cried out for Mother. But instead she called another, a reaction more than anything but another mistake nonetheless.

“--looking for heaven, I found the devil in me. What the hell, I'm gonna' let it happen to me!!!” she sang even louder with a certain twang in her voice.

Many heads turned towards the young Mestisa, some even with light smiles upon their faces; she had a pretty good voice, no doubt. But that pretty good voice was what drew the ghosts near. It was a certain tone unheard, only 'felt,' that drew them: a chill of the spine, a certain coldness as if someone just walked over your grave. When Serena sang with that certain tone in her voice she could Whisper to the dead or to the sensitive. But there was another type of tone that she could sing. One with a certain twang in it meant for only one to hear.

And even though she was locked away in the sealed jar, the code was undeniable and she heard it. She heard the Rini twang.

“Dance, Rena.” It was all she could do for the power of the grounding enchantment was stronger than anything she had ever known, but Rena, her sweet, loving best friend Rena had broken part of the seal for her. Finally. Fina-fuckin'-ly. And to let her know that it really was Rini, she pushed even harder with everything she had. “Paperdolls, girl...”

They were best friends. Forever.

Heels tapped together as she struck a pose. Arms daintily angled above her head, Cheek turned to the right, chin lowering with her knees. Slowly she rose upon her tiptoes, then a long leg kicked out behind her and she spun around three-hundred sixty degrees. Once. Twice. When she was done, she was low to the ground, one leg curled in front of her, the other stretched out behind her. Her fingertips held angled to the ceiling, wrists firm yet not aggressive. Her head was lowed, and soft brown eyes once again captured behind bushy dark lashed lids.

On the Other side of the threshold, each and every single ghost took a tentative 'step' backwards from Mother's lovely dancing doll.

A sharp inhale and Rena let them have it.

Up in an instant, she twirled mid-air,not exactly a ballerina, not exactly a Bgirl, but still both legs kicked out from under her, chasing her spinning motions. She landed rather daintily, arms stretched out wide, and began rocking her shoulders side to side, rather softly, yet rather invitingly. A wave drove from her left fingertips and rolled its way to her shoulder where it took a detour down her torso, down to her feet, a little Rena shuffle, then all the way back up off her chin as it snapped up. A wry look upon her face as she spied the rolling wave hold in mid-air above her on the Other side, a little giggle as it fell back down upon her and finally rolled its way off her shoulder and out the fingertips to her right. What was a little playful wave motion was a tidal wave on the Other side.

The wandering unrested were driven backwards with the ripples of spiritual energy from Mother's dancing doll and back to their tethered spots.

A small crowd had gathered as they watched the tall, caramel-skinned, pretty girl dance and twirl away, part ballerina, part BGirl. Such an interesting sight in her torn denim and in the studded, patch-ridden, floral printed sleeve, leather jacket. Many smiled and laughed as the dead Lil'Pony's swung and bounced along with her movements, happily doing their own dance at the end of their nooses. Some of the so-called gents locked into the rhythmic shaking of her hips and lewd grins shone as the denim tore a bit more near her shapely ass.

Soon enough a quartet of kids around her age jumped in and began throwing down with Rena. And soon enough the security of San Fran International had had enough. Hearty cheers and whistles for the teens mixed in with jeers and boos for the security sounded out and Rena was done. Shoulders and breast rose and fell heavily as she tried to catch her breath. And slowly the dawn of realization lifted in those soft brown eyes. She did it again. She weirded out people around her by breaking into random dance. Again.

She shielded her eyes and held her head down low trying to squeeze her way out the door. A tight pinching grasp grabbed her arm and yanked her in the other direction. The 'riffraff' had been rounded up and were given a stern talking to before getting the boot. Oh how disappointed would Mother be.

When it was all said and done, she again shielded her eyes and held her head down low trying to slink her way out the door. And once again a pinching grasp grabbing her arm.

“Hey, it's cool, girl,” said one of the teens that danced with her, “you dropped one of your dollies...”

Holy shit, she was cute. Mischievous blue eyes sparkling at her, hair braided and swirled into a green and gold do rag. Pale lips lined with dark crimson liner. Sparkling blue eyes. Holy shit, those eyes--

“C'mon, Wonder!! We have GOTS to go, mamacita!!!” said one of the fellas.

“Okayokay, Guerro, hold up!” the blonde barked over her shoulder, her blue eyes, the sparkling ones which Serena just could not tear her gaze from, softened once again, “that's my boo. Always impatient, always in a rush. Here. Take it. I gotta' bounce, chiquita. My lil' big bro's plane is here. Later. But hey, you have gots some sick moves, girl...”

A light slap did the blonde (with the blue sparkling eyes that Serena still just could not tear her gaze from) give Serena's ass before she fled. And was that a light squeeze too?

Serena pressed the dead Lil'Pony to her lips to stifle a girlish giggle. Shyly, she lowered those soft brown eyes and went to turn away. Then Rena kicked in. “Hey, is your name really Wonder? Like, as in 'WonderWoman?'”

A laugh and a playful downward wave of the hand from the other girl as she broke from her boyfriend's arm. “Pssshh... naw, girl. Like Wonder as in 'Wonderbread...'” a wink, a lewd pop of an eyebrow followed by a grind of the hips, “Cuz' er'yone wants a slice of this... Oh, hey! What's your FB or Twitter? Mine's MissyWunda... holla'!! You?”

“Well, Mother says--” A bit of a sheepish laugh and a responding playful wave of the hand as she broke from her good girl form and lied, “it's... um... Rena. Rena... Doll...! Yeah, it's RenaDoll... cuz... um... all the curious girls wanna' give this dollie a squeeze!”

Wow. Nice one, Serena. Loser, was her thoughts chasing her cheezy, cheezy tagline. And the perfect accent to her thoughts were the WTF looks on all the other teens faces. Absolutely stunning in your failure, my dear, she could hear Mother say right about now.

“Holler...” said Serena rather dryly. Yeah, stunning, Serena. Soft brown eyes stared into the black 'x's' of the dead Lil'Pony in her hand. Oh, how she wished she could trade places with the stupid plush thing right now.

“RenaDoll,” said Wonder before being yanked away by her boyfriend, “a'ight, a'ight then... squeeze ya' later, Dollie... hahaha... hey, Dollie you go n' tweet n' follow me, 'kay? Fresh. Hasta la Later, chiquita.”

Another wink and off the quartet went, laughing, babbling on and bouncing away from Serena.

“Hasta la Later...” whispered the tall Mestisa into her dead Lil'Pony's ear.

She watched as the fingers of Guerro and Wonder intertwined and oh how she wished so dearly that it was her hand that locked with that pale slender hand owned by the blonde cuteness. Holy shit, did Rena ever want a 'slice' of that WonderBread...

Rena, blinked once slowly then reached inter her carry-on for her bug-eyed shades. She sighed deeply before turning away and sliding out the door, the wheels of her hardshell, once-upon-a-timesilver suitcase rolled along smoothly behind her, the well oiled casters whispering softly against the chaotic hubbub of Arrivals.



And the dark eyes of the man who nearly had the dead Lil'Pony a split second before that fuckin' blonde bitch snatched it away from him followed her movements as she traipsed past him. Pointy nose tilted upward slightly as he took a sharp inward breath through said pointy nose. Dark eyes with even darker intent lit up as he took a step back to allow passage for the young lady. Just far enough away, but close enough to inhale the scent of her flowery dark locks. A single corner of his mouth coyly upturned as his midnight brows lowered over those sunken eye sockets. A simple twist and he sauntered away, melting into the hustle and bustle of San Francisco International.