Hairspray and a .45

enablemeplz time!

Sun, 28 Aug 2016 15:04:01 GMT

With ATP moving here, we don't have a fresh ad, so this month it consists of what we put up in May. click here and let me know what, if anything, is missing!

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One Step Behind The Jailer.

Sat, 02 Jul 2016 11:12:24 GMT

Clementine is, for lack of a better word, in hell. An eight-by-nine foot hell that she has to share with Trudy and Raineesha, when she's not being threatened by other inmates or being beaten up for a stick of gum.

Raineesha keeps telling them life stories. Stories about arguing 'so richly' with her fiance that she knew she was going to give him some. This was two husbands ago, and Clementine knows he'll never hold a candle to Jonesy for her. Clem herself used to feel that exact way about Jones - until she met Sam and the world decide to change.

God, she misses him. Misses him and can't tell anyone that she misses him, which sucks doubly worse than it would if she could vent to somebody. Part of her has accepted that she's stuck waiting for the Bar to work its magic and bring her back to where she wants to be. The rest of her keeps trying visualization exercises. There's no such thing as trying too hard.

But when it does happen she's not expecting it at all.

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Locked to hoochedseal; OOM; Miami, Fourth of July

Sun, 06 Jul 2014 01:50:10 GMT

This vacation was her idea, so she really should be enjoying it, shouldn't she?

They'd both needed to get away, and it was the Fourth of July, so she thought why not? Let's go to Miami and hide out while Michael does...whatever he does...over in Coral Gables for the day. He knew a guy who knew a guy who was willing to let the two of them lie next to "the largest freshwater pool in Miami" for the price of a few tropical drinks. She should be having the time of her life while she avoids burning to death under the summer sun.

But it's nagging and clawing at her, and damn it, she needs to address it for once and for all.

Obviously, the best way to do this would be to shake him awake from of one of his burger-and-beer comas.

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Tending is up!

Sun, 04 Aug 2013 01:13:30 GMT

With Miss Clementine. Open and backtagging 'til 6 AM

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(OOM) Taking a Gap Year...

Sun, 04 Aug 2013 00:37:04 GMT

Clementine doesn't mean to get locked out of Bar, but does anybody? One day she heads toward her door, tries to open it.

And it's gone.

Completely gone.

She freaks out for days over the idea that she'll never get to see Sam again; then she worries she'll forget everything about the place, the people she knows there - time stops.

Life goes on, though, and Clem flows with it; she has a very brief, very intense, vodka-soaked fling with Garcia for about two weeks before she realizes she's trying to replace the man she's really in love with, but Garcia's the one who pushes her away, right on camera and it's intrusive eye.

Time heals it all. It has to.

And then Garcia and Jones are caught on-camera beating a man in a milkshake costume. Clementine can't really blame them; the guy was a prick, all of them knew it, and if she'd been in their place she would have hit him twice as hard.

That's not how the American public nor the judicial system see it. After the perp walks accidentally into traffic and dies in a splattery mess on the Grand Junction Highway, Garcia and Jones are charged with murder. The station surrenders their tapes, and suddenly all of them are under fire.

Clem can go up the river for this. She's beyond aware of this fact, and it sucks.

She goes home and contemplates her sucky life under the low glow of candles and a marijuana haze.

And when she looks to the right, there's the door.

There's.

The.

Fucking.

Door.

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OOM (Notish): Upstairs: Nights of Future Past

Sat, 01 Dec 2012 09:18:17 GMT

Clementine has had a long few months.

Very long, and very filled with cranky sailors and grouchy spies healing from their wounds and a particularly stubborn SEAL to boot.

Whenever she comes to her room, it's to sleep, and it's no surprise that she dozes away seconds after she throws herself upon her bed. Normally she's a deep sleeper, but the sound of a creeky floorboard's enough to wake her.

Groaning, she rakes her fingers through her hair and sits up. "Look, I don't have any money and I've got a forty-five under my pillow. My stash is hidden in the ceramic dog on the dresser. Get it and get out."

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OOM: Shoot 'em Up (Bang Bang)

Mon, 23 Jul 2012 13:21:34 GMT

They're just friends.

She's absolutely fine with that. She's getting some top-quality ass, both at home and in the bar; Jim's finally settled into his new place, which means his leg hair isn't clogging up her shower drain anymore; and her favorite manicurist did up her nails in fire engine red. Life is pretty damn perfect and she doesn't want to accidentally change that.

Sitting in a back booth, she double-checks her revolver, waiting for him to show up. He's usually damn good with appointments - she likely won't be waiting for long.

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Room 35: Tommy

Tue, 03 Jul 2012 07:05:02 GMT

And up the stairs they come, to the Dan-blessed door of Clementine's domicile.

That room remains a contradiction. It's filled with paisleys and prints that belong in the distant past - Navajo patterns, psychedelic tie-dye and batiked violets. Yet is somehow neat as a pin, and manages to work as a collective whole. It smells heavily of an ambery incense and the lighting seems to be stuck permanently on a 'cheap highway motel' setting.

"So..." she says, tossing her bag on the rickety table nearest the TV set, "here we are." Bed or sofa? She picks the sofa quickly, lounges upon it alluringly, and arches her chest. "Can I...get you anything?"

Coffee, tea...boob?

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OOM: Taking an Autobot to the cabaret

Mon, 16 Apr 2012 03:40:39 GMT

Clementine doesn't quite know how they're going to do this - but they're going to try.

She's already in her stage makeup and costume and is chain-smoking just inside of her door - the door, thankfully, to the back of the theatre. "Come on in," she encourages.

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