I am as constant as a northern star

OOM: vive le Mardi Gras!

Wed, 01 Mar 2006 02:59:39 GMT

It's just a car.

Sititng in the parking lot, unassuming, blue, carefully locked. A small compact model. Nothing special about it.

Poor, poor Ecklie's car.

[ooc: Locked to lvpd_sidle / all CSI characters; thread slowtimed until further notice.]

OOM: feast day of St. Valentine's

Wed, 15 Feb 2006 18:49:46 GMT

Catherine's ready, in her best dress and highest high heels and sparkliest jewelry, and waiting by the bar as she sips absently at a glass of water.

Time to go out on the town tonight.

[ooc: Plotlocked to inquistivehero, backdated to the evening of Feb. 14th.]

OOM: and afterwards

Wed, 25 Jan 2006 17:50:46 GMT

The wedding’s over; time for the party to begin.

Chairs have been rearranged and tables loaded with food and drink appear, lit by the same candles; there’s chatter and laughter and music, and skating out by the edge of the lake, and the stars are brighter than ever tonight.

The magic continues--and will continue for the rest of their lives.

[ooc: Reception post, same as below; Millitimed to after the wedding.]

OOM: with this ring I thee wed

Wed, 25 Jan 2006 17:14:25 GMT

Amid the trees and rocks and shorelines, a space has been cleared by the lake for a white canopy. A bunch of chairs have been set up in a split semicircle underneath, an aisle down the middle formed by a trailing white carpet.

The place is lit by flickering tea candles, in silvery lanterns, and small bouquets of flowers and silk ribbons. It’s a chill night, the wind shivery and icy, but underneath the canopy the air is warm and relaxing—almost as if by magic.

Outside, the sunset glows on the horizon as the stars begin to glitter in the east.

[ooc: Wedding post! Entire post Millitimed to seven o'clock tonight, and slowtime definitely possible.

Edit, 2:10 p.m.--important!: We're currently waiting on Faith-mun to begin the ceremony, so in the meantime, if everybody wants to head on over to the reception thread, you're all welcome there...]

OOC: wedding plot

Thu, 12 Jan 2006 22:03:43 GMT

Catherine would like to invite Barry and Sara, Gil, Sheila, Jack, and Georgia, Greg, Nick, Charlie (from Lost), Guppy, Mercutio, Lady Macbeth, Tony, Michelle, Jack Bauer and family, Naraht, and... that's all I can think of for now.

Ideas?

[ooc: Locked to inquisitivehero.]

OOM: walking in a winter wonderland

Tue, 13 Dec 2005 04:29:45 GMT

Down by the lake Catherine's lacing on skates awkwardly, clumsily. She hasn't ice-skated in ages, and her legs wobble as she stands up, her knees buckling. But soon she gets the hang of it, balancing without slipping sideways, and takes a few hesitant sweeps out onto the ice.

Now, all that's needed is one blue, furry beast to show up.

OOC: Meme

Wed, 16 Nov 2005 20:58:38 GMT

*sigh* I give in.

If you woke up and I was in bed with you, what would your first thought be?

OOM: meet the parent

Fri, 11 Nov 2005 18:55:21 GMT

Nervous? Catherine? Never.

Never in all the world.

No way, not happening, nuh-uh, zilch, nada--

"Catherine, that's the third test tube you've broken today! Out! OUT!"

...eh, maybe slightly.

Almost time. She's dressed in the suit Hank gave her, fiddling with the ring on her finger, watching Lindsey run in and out of the room while chanting one of her 'magic spells' (mostly gibberish with some made-up hocus-pocus words and, surprisingly enough, a couple of Irish epithets mixed in).

Soon he'll be here, and Mum will be here, and they'll sit down to dinner together, and she'll have to tell her about the ring, and soon it'll all be here. Dealing with it right now instead of later, maybe later...

Almost time.

OOM: room 502

Wed, 02 Nov 2005 23:29:46 GMT

Catherine gets there before he does, kicking off her shoes and running the bath as she undresses. Her movements are stiff and heavy as she bends over the taps; I need a bath as much as he does, she thinks ruefully with a quirky grin.

Finally, as she hears the door click open, that smile turns slow and lazy and she steps into the hot water, sinking down into the bath with a grateful sigh.

[ooc: Locked to inquisitivehero and warning for possible NC-17ness.]

Tue, 18 Oct 2005 18:13:30 GMT

It's late at night. Lindsey's been tucked away to sleep with a story book and an extra big hug, the lights downstairs are turned off, the door's locked. There's a piece of plywood nailed up over the broken window to keep the drafts and bugs out.

All the lights are turned off along the street; the windows are shut, the cars are parked. The road is silent, the night is calm. A dog barks in the distance, the crickets hum. It's peaceful.

There won't be any peace for Catherine tonight.

Not as she tosses, turns over, stares at the ceiling. Tries to find a cooler spot on the pillow, a place that isn't wet with tears. Goes out to the bathroom, stares at a pale, drawn face with so many more lines and wrinkles than she thought she ever had.

Hugs a pillow to her chest, in the end, curls around it and pretends, and then pretends that she slept long and restfully in the morning. That she didn't stay up all night crying and feeling horribly miserable--that she's not missing him at all, that she's doing fine.

She's so much more fragile--so much more easily broken--than she thought she ever was.

[ooc: Millitimed to tonight.]

OOM: each man kills the thing he loves

Tue, 18 Oct 2005 17:13:10 GMT

Catherine heads upstairs softly, treading noiselessly on the carpet, and taps on the door.

"Sara?"

[ooc: Millitimed to last night and locked to lvpd_sidle.]

OOM (sort of): Note to Hank

Sun, 16 Oct 2005 02:38:57 GMT

"Here, Bar, can you take this?" Catherine has pen and paper in hand, and with them all she writes

Dear Hank,

It occurs to me that I never really got around to thanking you properly for the rose.

Thank you, for the rose. And thank you for the suit and lingerie and earrings. For the look in your eyes when you gave them to me, and when I wore them up to your room, and when we slept together after that night, and when you saw me after I came into the bar today. For each one of your kisses--and I hope I can never, ever be able to count how many we've had--and your tears, your smiles, your laughter. For your awful fashion sense and your dorkiness and your weird sense of humour. For the way you feel, the way you taste, the way your heart beats against mine and the way you take me into your arms and the paradise I feel in every moment being near you.

Thank you, and I'll shut up now because I'm rambling and this is getting soppy, for loving me. And know that I love you always.

Catherine

and drops it onto the Bar. It disappears promptly, vanishing into thin air, and she grins before heading off to her room.

OOM: re-entry

Sat, 15 Oct 2005 16:30:49 GMT

Bags thunk down by the front door, sunglasses dropped on the table. No messages on the answering machine, a note from her mother about Lindsey at a friend's house (will be back by six, I've gone shopping, bring in the paper and water the plants). Remainders of breakfast stuffed inside the fridge, crumby plates lying out on the counter.

Catherine's home.

She runs a hand through her hair as she looks around, winces instinctively, puts a hand to her chest. Underneath her hand is a patchwork of gauze and medical tape, and underneath the bandages are stitched-up scars--ugly, scratched, bristling things. They took the needles and tubes out, left her a prescription and a bottle of pills at the front counter. She's lucky to be alive.

Underneath the scars, the torn flesh, she feels a steady heartbeat, a slow, easy rise and fall of her lungs. And suddenly she realizes--and she's never realized before--how fragile and absolutely vital each breath, each pulse, is.

She stands there with her eyes closed, one hand to her chest, for a long while.

Slowly sounds from outside filter in: kids laughing, cars beeping and passing by, an airplane overhead. A radio blares from a neighbour's window. Birds are perching on the telephone wire outside, over a dangling pair of knotted sneakers, and someone's mowing their grass.

She comes back to herself, looks around. The mess can wait for now. She heads upstairs and hesitates for just a moment, looking down at her hand on the door handle, before turning the knob and stepping inside.

OOM: reawakening

Fri, 14 Oct 2005 17:11:59 GMT

Lying in a hospital, swathed in white sheets, tubes out every orifice. Apparently it's a CSI thing.

Catherine's awake and awaiting visitors, if so inclined.

[ooc: ~~Millitimed to later tonight, because Mun will be gone from three o'clock or so onwards...~~ Slowtime in effect until tomorrow or so. <3]

OOM: late-night vigil

Fri, 14 Oct 2005 14:43:53 GMT

Lindsey can't sleep. Again.

So she trundles downstairs in her nightie, rubbing at her eyes, and ends up sitting at the foot of the stairs--curled up in a little ball, blond head leaning against the wall, looking like she needs a hug very, very much.

[ooc: Millitimed to late Thursday night.]

OOM: Before it gets better

Wed, 12 Oct 2005 16:08:05 GMT

Gil's cellphone dings just after lunch, sitting on his desk as he works through his usual crossword. The number is from Catherine's mother...

OOM: you cannot break the law...

Tue, 11 Oct 2005 02:15:10 GMT

"Sweetheart, I'll be there in a minute, I promise--" Catherine's on her cellphone, tapping a pen against her teeth as she scribbles answers on a form. "What about the DNA samples, have those been cleared yet? ...No, I know Greg's backlogged, but if we're going to get this case through to the DA..."

Lindsey mopes and trundles from the room, shuffling in her pink nightie as she holds the picture book to her chest. Her mother watches her go with a sigh, looking down at the piles of paperwork yet to be done. Two reports. One missing-evidence log. A stack of photos, five blood spatter analyses...

She groans softly. She's exhausted, dammit. She's contemplating saying screw it all and getting a coffee before chasing her daughter into bed--when something outside catches her attention.

From the kitchen, she can hear sounds of scuffling, scraping. "Lindsey, I said no more cookies," she warns at the top of her voice as she gets to her feet. "Sorry, Gil, one moment--"

The phone drops to the desk as she moves towards the open window. The sound of distant cars rumbling and doors slamming shut filters through, beneath and through the sound of rustling leaves. She feels the wind in her face as she lowers her head to peer outside. There, a glint of light somewhere, between the trees--

The glass shatters, the air shatters, the silence shatters with the sound of a gunshot. Twice.

Lindsey screams and cannot stop screaming.

[ooc: For show viewers, slightly out of tune with current CSI-canon. My apologies if anyone got mixed up--I blame it on Catherine being a blonde...

~~From a far-off hospital room: "Heyyyyyy!"~~]

[OOC: Sara's birthday present]

Wed, 14 Sep 2005 20:40:53 GMT

[ From Lindsey: A knobbly picture frame covered in seashells, macaroni, buttons, sparkly jewels and beads, and anything else glue-sticky little fingers can paste on, and a card done in scribbled markers with a big happy face and loads of balloons: "Happy birthday Sara!!!! from Lindsey".

From Catherine: A copy of this book and a copy of that book, with the note:

"For a frankly weird, pretty funny, very ballsy and incredibly smart person--who makes for a fantastic friend and CSI.

Best wishes for the coming year,
Catherine" ]