Below are the 4 most recent journal entries recorded in cajun_devildog's InsaneJournal:

Sunday, December 27th, 2009
6:54 pm	Converging Paths GW waved goodbye as the taillights of Henri's van sped off down the street after dropping him off at the Marina. They'd had a couple gigs up in Miami and the upper keys over the weekend and it had been easier for all the band to go up together, and it certainly saved on the gas! It had been a profitable trip, both in exposure and money, but traffic had been terrible. GW had spent the last eight hours in a van crammed full of musicians and gear during the ride back to Key West, and the Cajun was definitely ready to stretch his legs. He really needed to decide what he was going to concentrate on professionally, trying to juggle fitness/martial art instruction and music was getting to be a hassle. That thought in mind, GW hefted his guitar case and duffel bag and started down the dock toward his boat. "No, would'ja listen, I--" Whistler paced to and fro in front of his houseboat, glowering at the static voice in his ear. He hated phone calls with the Council. They always knew best. Forget that their ranks were decimated almost a decade ago, their headquarters destroyed by a bomb. An enemy they didn't see coming. They were blind to the obvious. "She's already got some fight training! Kris is a fuckin' police officer. She doesn't need to start from square one, so if you're gonna hook her up with a Watcher, make sure he's up to speed before he gets here." Pause. "Yeah, trial by fire. Took out a vamp without much trouble. No clue about most of the supernatural stuff though, so bring a copy of 'Slaying for Dummies'." Another pause. "Don't even start, Rupert. I've been doin' this longer-- Oh fuck off. I'm not goin' senile." Whistler lit a cigarette, his impatience growing. "No, she hadn't gotten back to me yet, but she will. Could see it in her eyes. Just have someone on a plane today and be ready to hit the ground runnin'." He snapped the mobile shut and took a drag. "Fuckin' Council-ly know-it-alls." ( Meeting again for the first time ) (Comment on this)
Sunday, November 22nd, 2009
6:30 pm	Centerfield The heat of the day had disappeared with the setting sun, leaving a pleasantly cool evening in Key West with only a few clouds here and there to dim the moonlight in an otherwise clear sky. GW leaned back in his seat and brought his beer glass to his lips as he listened to an obviously drunk tourist from Minnesota try to imitate Kenny Chesney with 'When The Sun Goes Down'. Some musicians looked down on karaoke, but GW enjoyed singing for the fun of it and didn't really care if he was being paid to perform with his band or just kicking back with friends and belting a few out. Tonight he was doing just that down in Two Friends Patio Bar with a civilian cop he'd befriended shortly after arriving in Key West. The Marine winced as the doughy faced tourist mangled another verse and turned to the other occupant of the table. "Kenny Chesney isn't poetry to begin with, but this is painful." Kris grimaced as the drunken tourist all but butchered the song, abusing her eardrums and everybody else's. "This is really painful," she agreed with a nod of her head. "I wonder who put him up to it." Her eyes regarded the group of people he'd obviously come with and bit her lower lip, nodding at the cackling blonde in the middle. "I'd say she did. What about you?" She picked up her beer and took a slow pull from it, catching wayward drops of it in the corner of her mouth with her tongue. It felt good to be out, with a friend, and just enjoying some time away from everything that made reality so real. ( Put me in Coach, I'm ready to play. ) (Comment on this)
Sunday, November 15th, 2009
2:05 pm	Making Do “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” GW shook his head, thankful of the fact that the object of his derision wasn’t within earshot. “’Fraid not Robichaux,” the Sergeant Major drawled, and Gunnery Sergeant Robichaux wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry.( personnel changes ) (Comment on this)
Tuesday, March 25th, 2008
7:47 pm	Conversation at the Wagon Wheel "Y'all were a great crowd, thanks once again an' be sure t' tell your friends about us. Good night from the Cajun Devildogs!" GW waved from the stage as he and the band wrapped things up for the night. They'd had a good crowd in the club tonight. The Wagon Wheel liked to have them around about once every six weeks, drawing in homesick Louisianans as well as music lovers and curious tourists who wanted to hear an authentic Cajun band. A number of the patrons in the crowded bar were familiar faces, fans who showed up wherever they played. One person who definitely was not familiar was the tall man with salt and pepper hair dressed in a suit and looked distinctly uncomfortable in the boots n' sawdust environment. Markowitz was not precisely uncomfortable, it was just that he'd never seen quite so many pairs of broken-in boots in one place at one time before. Give him the jazz clubs of New York any day. He couldn't wait for this portion of his assignment to be over so that he could get back to a city he was more at home in. But he applauded right along with the other spectators, deciding that it maybe wasn't so bad. His untouched beer was sweating through the paper coaster in front of him, and he glanced at his watch quickly before rising from his chair. His opinion of the music aside, this was not technically just an evening out. Work always called, especially for something this important. "Mr. Robichaux," he said, hovering on the edge of the small crowd of autograph seekers who had gathered near the stage. To show the badge or not to show the badge? This was not Wolfram and Hart, and he didn't want to cause a stir. Besides, the suit was enough to indicate that this was not a usual hang-out for him. Markowitz indicated the table where he'd been sitting with a tilt of his head. "When you get a minute, I'd like to have a word with you, please." ( Your country needs you. ) Note: This takes place the Friday before Holy Week Agent Markowitz was written by Stargazer (Comment on this)