my name is T R O U B L E. {Anastasia}

[dorian]

IT HAD BEEN AN EXCEPTIONALLY FANTASTIC NIGHT.
By Ian Knight’s standards, that alone said something substantial.

After all, good nights for a weary, mildly downtrodden man – one with little more excitement in his life than exhausting manual labor and paying the bills that kept an apartment under his name – they were a rare occasion, to say the least. However, their rarity had less to do with the daily miseries and trials of a black angel and more to do with a simply dull, unadorned life than one would initially assume. It wasn’t hard, really, to take a plain-old night and turn it into a good one. Ian was a man of simple tastes and pleasures, after all. Indeed – an evening need only consist of one of what could be called Ian’s ‘two-utmost-favorite-things-in-the-entire-universe’, for it to be officially considered ‘good’. The only difficulty to be had was the actual ability to acquire one of the man’s utmost-favorite-things. They took money – something the man had little of. Undeniably, it would be nearly impossible to have both at once. And that alone was what had made Ian’s night so exceptionally fantastic. He had, in fact, enjoyed both of his favorite things this very same night.

For the record, his favorite things did not include prostitutes or gambling.

For whatever reason, he had managed to have his two favorite things in one night. It was, truly, a fantastic feat. And now, as he shrugged on a beaten leather jacket, stepping out from the restaurant and bar into the chill of a murky-skied night, he almost wished he could fly the eight blocks back to his apartment.

Sadly, that thought was a bit of a mood-killer. Not only was he unable to fly, but he couldn’t grab a taxi, either.
He would have to walk.

His semi-euphoric state never lasted very long to begin with; it was no more than a brief respite from the grim and rather doomed state of being one often found the man belonging to. If he were lucky, he would fall asleep with a good demeanor still partially in tact. Sadly, Dorian was not found by many to be a very fortunate man in any regard. He blamed this directly - his inconceivably ill-starred, unlucky nature – for the all-too-quick end that came just then to his fantastic night. His rare, optimistic fire was snuffed out almost instantaneously as he rounded a corner onto what could be called, at it’s best, an unfavorable road to walk on in the daytime.

It was, for the record, about 12:30 at night. And, it had begun to rain.

How pleasant.

It wasn’t the rain or the dangerous street that had caused his mood to plummet more quickly than gravity would actually allow; no, there was an even worse reason. What was it? Well, it might’ve had something to do with the woman standing, maybe, twenty feet away, backed up against a wall, in the process of emptying the contents of her purse and pockets to a man who seemed uninterested in anything but the woman herself.

Ian was not a hero. He wasn’t the most upstanding citizen in the world. Not in the city. Probably not even on that particular street. But on that rain-drenched corner, standing under a smog and cloud-blanketed sky and basking in a halo of dim, yellowed lamplight, he was the best there was to offer.

His two favorite things were steak and vodka, by the way.

Ian hated his luck. Hated it. Not only did he have no one else to hand over the ‘save-the-day’ card to, as he was considerably alone, but he didn’t have a choice in whether he helped the woman or not. Even though part of him wanted to, he couldn't just walk away and leave it alone. The instant he had heard the woman cry out, something had gone to work deep inside his soul. It was a primal, angelic instinct, not quite entirely extinguished by his fall. It conditioned him reshaping him – if only for an instant – into a convincing silhouette of the person he used to be. When he became that silhouette, even death seemed laughable.

Yes - this was a very, very, unlucky night.

The other man’s hand went to the woman’s throat, and Ian made towards the two at a break-neck speed. He didn’t yell at the man. He didn’t tell him to stop. The monster didn’t deserve a warning – what he deserved was direct knuckle-to-throat contact from a man whose body could have easily been made of steel, and that’s what he got.

The man fell back momentarily, choking, but before Ian could land another hit, the monster lunged, slamming him so hard into the brick behind him that there was an unpleasant crack left in the building’s structure. The man had a feral face, made half animal by his expression alone, and Ian had a bad feeling he was lycan of some sort. Though the fallen angel had enjoyed a few drinks himself that night, but there was enough alcohol on the other man’s breath alone to thoroughly tranquilize an elephant.

Ian was not, by nature, an exceedingly violent man; he did his best to stay away from trouble. He would have preferred to avoid it altogether. However, if Ian was anything other than unlucky, he was also a magnet for trouble. He was, even more so, a fighter. And though he had fallen and the way he fought for them was different, the things he fought for would always be the same.

As he stood there, pinned up against the wall by what he didn’t know was actually a multiple-count rapist, Ian wanted nothing more than beat his face in so badly that his nose showed through the back of his skull. He might have done it, too - but, before he had the chance, the other man jerked his head to the side, looking to something down the street that Ian couldn’t see. The man nailed a hefty blow to Ian’s stomach before he bolted, no doubt before he could be seen by whatever force had caused him to run – though Ian was unaware of it. Slightly winded, Ian turned to the young woman still held by fright against the wall and placed a hand on each of her shoulders, about to ask her if she had been harmed, when movement to his right caused him to turn his head in the direction away from which the other man had ran…[/size]

[poss]

For crying out loud I'm running from a comedown
God forbid I know I've been a letdown
Reaching for the sky while leaving in a gutter
Kicking and screaming I am singing bloody murder

The night had not been going when. Several acts of mischief she had to investigate, and even a few assault charges had been made. Two of the perps decided to make light of the situation and flee- and thus, Ana was forced to give chase on foot through the streets of the city. The night was crisp, a caress that licked her figure, pressing against her and through her hair as she had ran down the concrete paths in every direction imaginable. Both had been caught, at gun point, one taking a few bullets in order to prove the point that she was serious. Have you ever tried to arrest a man when on foot in the middle of the night? Not to mention the fact that Anastasia was petite, a short, slender female who had yet to come across a criminal she was eye level with. And yet, she made up for lack of height in many other ways, and yet they still always pressed her to the edge of having to prove she meant it when she said 'Hit the ground". If they didn't do it on their own, she would assist them, with the aid of a bullet or two.. or three if need be.

It had started to rain after she had met up with a police cruiser on the side of the street, handing over the last criminal of the night- bloodied and bruised, and yet Ana had no wounds to show for the 'struggle' It had been a high speed chase.. on foot through the streets of the city. Over an hour of constant running, through the alley ways and across busy city streets. She had to leave her car parked on the sidewalk on the other side of the city, and now, as she handed custody of the apprehended man over to a man in blue, she leaned back against the brick wall that mirrored the street, as she stood on the sidewalk. The rain was silent, no thunder rolling or electric streaks overhead. Uneventful, much unlike what her night had been so far. It was just after midnight, and she was soaked from head to the toe. The white halter top was now sheer, clinging to her body as the rain continued. The blue jeans she was wearing were soaked as well, and becoming rather uncomfortable now that they clung to her skin, every step she took threatening to chafe.

I'm alive when I'm vulnerable
I'm out of control, I'm losing my soul
I can't be your angel when I'm living like a devil
Can't be your lover when I'm living like a rebel

Pressing fingertips back through her hair, she dropped her hand to her side, pushing hem in to her tight front pocket, and taking a new clip of ammo. Hitting the release with her thumb, and dropping the clip in to her hand, she replaced it swiftly. No need to run around the streets with a clip that wasn't full- not when you were never sure what would be happening next. Luckily, Anastasia was not tired. She worked nights, and was used to it. Daytime she used for sleeping, for training when she had an appointment with someone, and otherwise, it was just free time. At night, she was all business, unless, of course, it was raining. However, she had a feeling that after how much she had gone through tonight, even the rain would not have Head Office giving her the rest of the night off. It seemed the city was alive with crime, and as long as she was around she would try to put a stop to it. She pushed off of the brick wall, no longer leaning against it as she began to head in the direction she had not yet explored for the night. Oh, what adventure would lay ahead? Don't answer that.

Don't want your pity and I don't want your help
Don't try and save me go take care of yourself
I'm alive! Sick of the pain I'm sick of the sorrow
Sick of today I'm sick of tomorrow

Several minutes passed like every other- silent, and damp. Her steel toed boots echoing down the empty street as they collided with the moist concrete below, every tread forth carrying her closer and closer to yet another criminal act, if only she had known, maybe she would have turned and took a different direction. Probably not. The scream of a woman shattered the silence of the thick, heavy night that had enveloped the area, and immediatly Anastasia quickened her pace, right hand taking hold of the Glock from her shoulder holster that rose over top of the wet white halter top, aimed for the concrete below as she let it camouflage itself in her hand against the dark blue of her wet jeans.

Around the corner, she slowed her pace from a run, taking in the scene for as best as she could see it. A woman, stood shaking, afraid. Her fear was thick in the air, and infront of her stood a single man. His hands on her shoulders. There was no doubt in her mind as Anastasia approached silently up behind Dorian, gun drawn upward from her thigh. There was nothing in the womans eyes that proved that Dorian was the savior, not the culprit, and with that Ana approached, about to press the muzzle of the barrel against the small of his back.. yet he moved. The slightest movement of his head had changed her reaction, and to take him by surprise, as well as limit his options if he decided to make a move to hit her, she pressed her body up against the back of his. One foot stepping between both of his, and she raised the aim, pressing the muzzle of the gun against the back of his head. Her mouth was inches from his ear, and she spoke softly, yet with a tone of authority. "Do not move, or I will blow your head off. I have had enough crap tonight, so don't push me."

I'm addicted to the misery in my head
I better stop before I end up dead

[dorian]

"Do not move, or I will blow your head off. I have had enough crap tonight, so don't push me."

…

Well, shit.

This certainly hadn’t turned out as planned.

Feeling the gun – and the woman – firmly in place behind him, there was almost no resisting the incredulous half-laugh of disbelief that escaped the man’s lips as he came to fully grasp the situation. A slight chill slipped down his spine with the woman’s words. Oh, sweet irony, cruel and twisted as always. This, without a doubt, was a prime example of how short-lived his good nights could be.

“Now, wait a second –” But Ian cut his own sentence short. What was there to say? In his predicament, what could he possibly use as his defense? The woman behind him, whoever she was, obviously hadn’t seen the other man – the real criminal – who had run off, no doubt safe in the hills by now. Even more obviously, this woman was – if not always, then certainly at that moment – in a both testy and demanding state, bearing a weapon that was aimed pointedly and promisingly at Dorian’s very own skull.

Her tone left no room for doubt: Ian wasn’t to move, or she would do her best to give him his end. Granted, while a shot to the head might not have actually killed him thanks to his own abilities, he couldn’t remember if he’d ever experienced one {either because he actually hadn’t ever been shot in the back of the head, or simply because memory loss was the ending result}. If it was alright with everyone else, he didn’t really have much of a desire to give it a try. He had the intent to stay frozen still - and yet, in a motion of good faith, Ian slowly released his hold on the woman before him, one finger at a time. He moved his hands back slowly from her until she had her own space, and held his hands as still as he could at either shoulder while fighting to maintain focus within a rush of adrenaline - not to mention, a slight buzz.

“This is going to sound ridiculous, but this is not what it looks like.” Ian tried his best to keep an even, serious tone as he spoke above the torrential rain – however, there was something in him that was laughing uncontrollably at the situation. Perhaps it was the sheer incredulity of it all; there the man was, about to be pinned for an assault, when he was guilty of nothing but trying – and succeeding, for the most part – to keep an atrocity from occurring on his way back home. Perhaps he was guilty of a little more – say, he couldn’t really afford to go out for dinner that night, but he’d gone anyway, and because of it, he’d left a lousy tip. But, in the scheme of it all, was that really worthy of gunpoint? Really? Was his karma so pathetically poor? Ian had to shake his head, if only slightly, swallowing a stream of laughs masked with coughs, not wanting to give even the slightest reason more for firing to the woman holding him at gunpoint. This sort of thing had become typical in the past few months. He would try to do a good thing, and it would end up badly, somehow. That was his punishment for simply trying, it seemed – and yet, he kept on doing it. Trying. Why? Why did he bother? Ian was not a masochist in the slightest {or, so he maintained}. There was no reason for it – and now, he had himself mixed up in something incredibly serious.

It was only when the woman in front of him turned on her heel and bolted that Ian was pulled from his thoughts of self-pity by the realization that the woman running off into the distance was his sole ticket out of the entire mess. Without thinking about the other woman and her gun that lay directly behind him, he turned and took a step after the one that was running away.

“WAIT! Shit–” His plea was lost in the sound of the downpour as the assaulted woman vanished, not exactly into thin air, but instead, into something in which it was far more difficult for a person to find what they were looking for - that is, water and mist. It was a lost cause now, it seemed. Ian might have ran after the woman, but the thought of the woman and the gun - most importantly, the gun - hadn’t slipped that far from his mind.

Maybe, though, it had slipped just far enough to cause a bit more trouble. As if they needed any more of it.

...

Shit.[/size]

[poss]

For crying out loud I'm running from a comedown
God forbid I know I've been a letdown
Reaching for the sky while leaving in a gutter
Kicking and screaming I am singing bloody murder

His amusement caught her attention as odd. Intoxication does marvelous things to a person. This man stood, half laughing as the warm muzzle of a gun was pressed firmly to the back of his head. This put a whole new meaning to laughing in the face of danger- Anastasia was not just dangerous, however, she was lethal. One move and she would decide whether or not to take his life, or at least cause injury to the man whom she was suspecting of assault, and perhaps what would have been rape if she had not shown up when she had. She was losing count of how many men would be behind bars tonight because of her, but she wasn't hesitant to another another man to the list.

The very moment his words spewed thoughtlessly from his mouth, the gun pressed harder against him, her free hand reaching up to grasp his shoulder to hold him in place. The sentence fell incomplete, and Ana silently sighed in relief. Perhaps she wasn't going to have to use any more force, and even better- maybe she wouldn't have to give chase to him. Oh goody!

I'm alive when I'm vulnerable
I'm out of control, I'm losing my soul
I can't be your angel when I'm living like a devil
Can't be your lover when I'm living like a rebel

Anastasia had no sense that this man was not human, not yet. When it came to vampires, she could sense an aura of power. Of energy. They could not pretend to be human in her presence, she could sense them by touch, and depending on their strength, sometimes from a few feet away. As her hand settled on his shoulder, her grasp tight yet not a death grip by any means, there was nothing but cloth. The material of his shirt, wet from the rain that continued to cast sheets down the length of the road. They were soaked. Eyes caught the movement of his fingers as they slowly began to peel back from the woman's shoulders, and she grew tense. For all she knew the man was going for a weapon, and with that it drew the reaction of pressing the gun even firmer to his skull, audibly cocking it and twisting her wrist from side to side to make the point clearer. And yet, he still seemed sure of himself enough to try to talk himself out of the charges that would be laid.

She shook her head, as just then the woman whom had been assaulted took off. It would seem that both Ana and Ian had the same reaction, however Ana did not voice hers. She took a step, fluidly a direct copycat of his step as he called out to the lady whom took off through the dim lighted streets. Yet, Ana was not pleased with the fact that he moved, even after her threats. The hand that had been on his shoulder earlier reached out to grab him, pull him back and down subsequent to her left foot kicking out to connect with the back of his knee. It wasn't a force meant to injure, it was simply meant to bring him to his knees where she would immediatly bring the gun to his head again. This time, the muzzle was closer to his eyes, rubbing with a firm press against his temple. "You do not follow directions very well. Stay down!" She raised her voice, yet it was more the tone of authority than a yell. She wanted to make it clear to him that she was serious, and would not hesitate to bluntly hit the butt of the gun against him, or even go as far as shooting him, if he tried to move again.

Don't want your pity and I don't want your help
Don't try and save me go take care of yourself
I'm alive! Sick of the pain I'm sick of the sorrow
Sick of today I'm sick of tomorrow

"You say this is not what it looks like. Then by all means, sir, explain. " as she searched for her handcuffs that were usually shoved in to the side of her pants along her hip. Nothing. Just the smooth curve of her own flesh and bone, "Shit.." Cussing under her breath as she realized she had left her handcuffs on the last guy who she had sent in. How was she going to escort this man to a cruiser without them? Well, it could be done, but it would be awkward as hell. Her eyes had left Ian as she searched her own body for anything she could use. Not even a belt on tonight, damnit. The silence was then shattered by the shot of a gun- muzzle flare illuminating the brick wall beside them as she dropped to one knee behind Dorian, ducking her head a moment before looking up again just in time to see a man slip back behind the cover of an alley way a few feet ahead.

It would seem the man who had truly assaulted the woman thought he should come back and clean up the mess. Perhaps he thought Dorian was going to talk to the cops? Explain, and give a detailed description? Who knew, but it looked as though he had not been expecting to see Ana there. Perhaps being short had a few advantages, if you could call getting shot at an advantage. The hand on Dorian's shoulder pushed down as she crouched behind him, "Get dow--" Another gun shot sounded, muffling her words. A seering heat torched her arm- the bullet had grazed her, but not enough to embed or penetrate, simply slicing along the flesh of her upper arm. "Damnit! What is going on?!" The question was aimed at Dorian, however she had a doubt that he had anything to do with it at all. For all she knew, it was someone who had followed her from earlier in the night.

Looking up, the man had slipped back in to the alley, yet Anastasia raised the pistol which had been pressed firmly to Dorian, and squeezed off not one, two, but three rounds at the edge of the brick wall. Fragments exploded on contact, debris clouding the mouth of the alley for a moment before the rain helped to clear the air of the dust. No sound, beyond the ringing of her ears from the gunshots,no movement.. this night just kept getting better.

I'm addicted to the misery in my head
I better stop before I end up dead

[dorian]

He couldn’t follow directions? Was that what the woman had said as she forced him to the ground? Hmm. Perhaps that was true in terms of what the woman had seen so far. But, in reality, ‘disobeying’ wasn’t a habit of Ian’s. He didn’t get off on undermining authority – really, he had better things to do with his eons. Even so, Ian didn’t dare shake his head to disagree with the woman’s statement – not with the barrel of her gun settling itself uncomfortably in a new spot at his far-less-fortified temple. Ian’s knees had hit the ground with a slam, but he didn’t resist the woman’s check of her own authority over him. He couldn’t really afford to cause any more problems for either of them. He heard the authoritative tone in the woman’s voice. He noted it duly. Alas, that didn’t stop him from groaning under his breath.

“I can’t say I’ve had many problems with following orders before tonight.” Ian muttered the somewhat risky comment to himself quietly enough that the rain would disguise it; his more or less loose-lipped nature could certainly be blamed on the helping of vodka he had enjoyed with his meal earlier. Truthfully, a ‘loose-lipped’ Ian could be an enjoyable thing. It was really no more than Ian's actual persona, amplified; perhaps, under other circumstances, the woman might have appreciated his mild disregard for the seriousness of the situation, his uncalled-for commentary, or his ill-timed laughter. Unfortunately, there were no ‘other circumstances’. Things were what they were. What they were, at that moment, was unbelievably misunderstood.

Ian waited as the woman seemed to fish around for something – oh, Lord, she wasn’t looking for handcuffs. No, no, no. That did not bode well for Ian. If that was the case, he didn’t have much time to convince the woman of his innocence before his words were wasted and he spent God only knows how long in a jail cell with a number of others who were probably behind bars for a good reason.

“Well—”

Ian got out the first word of what would have been an exceedingly thorough explanation of the ventures of his evening – if he hadn’t been interrupted. He didn’t cut himself off this time, however. No, no, no – a gunshot had done it for him.

…

Wait, what?

A gun had indeed went off somewhere in the nearby area. The woman ducked down behind him, yelling out a command he took no notice of; instead, he let his instincts take over. And his instinctual reaction was to spread out like a shield in front of the woman crouched behind him, wrapping a backwards arm protectively around her one side. Unfortunately, it had been the wrong one. He heard the woman curse and turned back just in time to see blood trickling from a fresh wound before the woman let off a few rounds of her own at whoever had shot at them first.

What was there to say at a time like this?

“Christ,” Immediately after the curse escaped his lips, Ian regretted it; his hand went to his head as a splitting pain rocketed briefly through his skull, reminding him that he wasn’t quite out of enemy territory when it came to his own choice words.

But there wasn’t much else to say. He was left slightly breathless from all the chaos, but when the last of the rounds had gone off, he turned wordlessly to see what answer from him the woman could possibly expect.

It was the first time he’d gotten a good look at her, and although she was bleeding and soaking wet from the rain, she was nothing short of stunning. If only he could get past the domineering, violent behavior the woman had displayed that night, he might have easily seen what could only be described as an angel trapped in flesh.

Ian himself didn’t look like much more than a leather, cotton, and jean-clad drowned animal; and still, there was a certain intensity in his stony, impenetrable blue-grey eyes that made one wonder if he was actually concerned about the woman who was most likely still in the process of detaining him for a crime he didn’t commit. The unreadable look upon his chiseled features was one that might have made a person doubt him in either of two ways: less, or, if he was that terribly hated by the ruler of fate,
more.

“I don’t know any more than you do – if not even less.” He breathed the words, breaking the eye contact he had formed with the woman to squint pointlessly through the darkness and the rain. “I couldn’t tell whether or not that was the same guy from earlier. What now? Are you alright?” Though there was a small part of him that wanted to help, he chose to wait for some sort of direction, lest he make another wrong move. The last thing he needed was to have to ‘go downtown’, as they called it in all the movies and television crime-dramas he tried to habitually avoid. But, even if he wasn’t feigning innocence, the armed woman had no way of knowing that.

The way things were going, though, they might have had more important things to worry about.

[/size]

[poss]

For crying out loud I'm running from a comedown
God forbid I know I've been a letdown
Reaching for the sky while leaving in a gutter
Kicking and screaming I am singing bloody murder

The dull ringing of her ears after the echo of the gunshots against the brick wall and down the street left her wishing she were deaf, making it hard to concentrate on anything the man was saying- if he was saying anything at all. The first noise that caught her attention after what felt like minutes had passed with the hot burn in her ears, was the roar of a car engine and the squeal of tires. The bastard was leaving the scene, and the fact that her car was across town meant that she was either going to have to go after him on foot, or call it in. It never took any hesitation to decide on the latter.

The wounded arm moved, ignoring the throbbing sensation of torn flesh, as she reached in to her pocket for her cell phone. Nothing. She reached across herself and ran her palm over her second front pocket. Empty. It would seem she lost her cellphone, probably fell from her pocket while she was chasing after the last guy who decided to make her night miserable. The crisp caress of rain trickled down her arms, her back and her face, dripping on to her neck. A soft sigh and she lifted her chin to the sky, tilting her head back as she shook her head slightly. What a night.

I'm alive when I'm vulnerable
I'm out of control, I'm losing my soul
I can't be your angel when I'm living like a devil
Can't be your lover when I'm living like a rebel

Wait a minute.. no cell phone. No handcuffs. This was just not going to work out well. "Please tell me you have a good enough excuse that I don't have to walk you down to the nearest station." It wasn't like her to give the option to someone, let alone the fact she was even going to consider what he had to say. It was after midnight, the rain was just beginning and seemed it would not be letting up any time soon, and to be honest, all she wanted to do was sit back and enjoy the rain.

Ian turned around, and for a second her breath caught in her throat. Thoughts clouded her mind, taking details of his face, his eyes. It wasn't often Anastasia found someone particularly good looking, especially when it came down to someone she had just forced to their knees and held a gun to their head. She offered a slight smile, forcing the thoughts from her head as she tore her gaze away from him, looking over and past him to the alley then over her shoulder to the street behind her. She hesitated, but stuck to the subject at hand the best she could, smirking to herself that she could let something such as how a man looks to cause such a reaction from her. "You say ' the same guy from earlier'.. tell me what you mean." Ana pulled herself in to a stand from the crouched position, right hand still flexing around the grip of the Glock 9mil, thumb teasing at the safety. She did not put up the weapon just yet for several reasons. For one, this man infront of her was still a stranger- a suspect as well. And two, the fact that the shooter could still be lurking around the corner and in to the dark shadows of the alley gnawed at her.

Don't want your pity and I don't want your help
Don't try and save me go take care of yourself
I'm alive! Sick of the pain I'm sick of the sorrow
Sick of today I'm sick of tomorrow

Ana could let the fact that she never knew if the man had truly left the scene or not, and thus she stepped around Dorian silently, pressing a finger to her lips to motion him to be silent rather than explaining himself right then. Her boots on the moist concrete were silent as she hugged the brick wall, arms taking on the braced hold of the pistol once again as she swung herself around the corner and in to the mouth of the alley. Ian could have run away- he could have taken the opportunity to high tail it while Ana was distracted, and yet she was more concerned for safety than having to give chase to someone. She slipped around the corner in to the thick darkness, casting scrutiny over the musty stretch between the two buildings. Nothing, no one was here. Not even a garbage can to hide behind, or a door way to step in to- just long expanses of brick down either side until it opened up to the other street.

The rain poured in a heavy stream from the roof of the building, and she stepped through it as she turned and headed back to the sidewalk where she had left Ian. The coast was clear, now to get down to other business, "He's gone." Yet the pistol remained naked in her right hand, safety off, pointed at the concrete below. No, she didn't trust anyone. Just because he may not have been the one assaulting the woman didn't mean he was a good person. And even if he was a good person.. it didn't mean she had to trust him. Left hand lifted pushing the slick, wet blonde tresses that dangled in her line of sight back over her head as she walked over to him. "Now.. explain."

I'm addicted to the misery in my head
I better stop before I end up dead

[dorian]

He had opened his mouth all-too-willingly when given yet another chance to clear his name, hoping that, maybe, he’d get more than a word out this time in his own defense. However, when the woman made the clear motion for him to stay silent, yet again, he chose to do as he was told. Ian pressed his lips together firmly, not wanting a single word to escape before it was warranted.

In all honesty, it didn’t make the former guardian comfortable to see someone else – an admittedly beautiful woman, no less – taking the lead with a possible killer around the bend. This woman was obviously particularly well-trained and fully capable of handling herself; however, even so, something within Ian writhed unnervingly when anyone was placed in even the slightest danger in his line of vision. Yes, he had been ‘fired,’ essentially, from his job as a protector – that didn’t mean he knew how to put out the ‘duty-bound flame’.
Even if he wished he did.

As much as he loathed putting responsibility on himself – especially responsibility for the well-being of others – Ian put himself through a number of things, these days, that he didn’t exactly enjoy. It was a sort of punishment cycle; he didn’t know how it had started, or when, but he was finding it more and more difficult to end it, the harder he tried to. At that moment, Ian was doing his best to restrain himself from,

a.) diving out in front of the woman to take the front of any attack that might be waiting,

and

b.) simply picking the woman up and taking her straight to the nearest hospital for treatment for her wounded arm.

Despite the madness he had experienced with the woman that night, Ian hadn’t missed the faint smile that had momentarily graced the woman’s pretty features in the mix of events. He hadn’t returned it, really, though he might have, were he not so caught up in everything that was going on. Still, that smile alone was proof that there was something other than a commanding attitude and good aim to the woman.

Ian was, in a word, a difficult man; it was hard for him to take the edge off of his actions, or his persona. Of course, a drink or two helped him with that. When the woman at last turned the corner and discovered they were, in fact, alone, a huge weight was immediately lifted off of Ian’s chest. Perhaps the tension would recede, somewhat, with time – but only time would tell.

The woman’s next statement drew Ian from his long-winded trail of thought.


”Now..Explain.”


Right.

A reason not to go to the station?

“Well—“ Ian began again, praying {well, not really} that he would go uninterrupted this time. ”First, I didn’t run off when I had the chance. I think that, were I actually guilty, I would have bolted the first opportunity I was given. You’ve given me a number of chances, now,” Ian paused for a moment to let his words make their way through the weather which lay between them. “And second,” he reached into his back pocket and pulled out something small, lifting it up momentarily in the dim light for the woman to see before she jumped to conclusions. He passed it over to her, trying his best to keep it out of the rain.

It was a cell phone.

”It’s low on minutes, but do what you have to do.” In giving her the phone, he was also knowingly giving her the option to call him in. That was reason enough in itself to let him go, wasn’t it? ”As for what happened earlier –“ He dragged his hands over his face, wiping away dripping water and a bit of the stress only to have it replaced, quite thoroughly, by the emptying clouds and the recollection of the night’s events. He clenched his fists for a moment, glaring daggers at the brick wall as he spoke in a terse, low undertone. “I have some shit luck, first off. And, no matter how I try, I can’t seem to walk away from trouble when I see it. I went over when I heard the woman scream; I pulled the bastard off of her, but he heard or saw you coming before I ever did. He ran off in the opposite direction.” Another mock laugh leapt from his lips, half a smile forming on his face as he continued. He turned to look at the woman straight on, the grin a dashing compliment to his features, though completely unbeknownst to him. ”You can see how bad my luck is – when you came over, I was trying to ask the woman if she was alright.” His glance fell to the gun pointed down, momentarily, before a question bubbled into his mind. It wasn’t like Ian to actually ask questions; sure, he was gods-awful curious, but he tried to restrain himself when it came to asking things of other people. Normally ,when you asked something of someone, they asked something of you.

If there was one thing Ian hated, it was grown-up ‘show-and-tell’.

Regardless of how he felt, how firmly planted in his ways he was, something compelled him, now, to do the exact opposite of what he was used to – something far more powerful than he had experienced before. He finished his explanation of the night without actually saying so – and, even if it wasn’t in his nature, he followed with a question of his own. Glancing somewhat hesitantly to and from the woman’s face, Ian ran a hand through his saturated locks as an expression of complete uncertainty – almost worry – donned his features. Whether it was because of the weather, the situation itself, or simply the alcohol, Ian took a risk.

”This might be completely out of line – what’s your name?” The statement seemed to rush together; he obviously didn’t do much of this sort of thing. Why did he feel the need to start now?

Really, Ian had no idea. Except, it was getting a bit tiring to simply refer to the woman as 'woman'.

...

Don't ask him.


{wow - so, edited some horrid mistakes I made in this post last night. sorry - I'm at my aunt's house, and it's very distracting. ._.}
[/size]

[poss]

For crying out loud I'm running from a comedown
God forbid I know I've been a letdown
Reaching for the sky while leaving in a gutter
Kicking and screaming I am singing bloody murder

He seemed awfully set on clearing his name. Hurried, and taking no chances to be interrupted, obviously hoping to get the full story out before something else added to the disaster of a night. Ana's thumb teased over the safety of the pistol that sat uncomfortably in her right handed grasp. If you hold on to a gun too long without firing it, you start to get uncomfortable- or maybe that was just a rule for sociopaths. Ian had a few good points, and had picked up on how she had given him several chances to escape. He may not listen to authority very well, but he was observative. Was it just Ana, or did he seem nervous? I guess you hold any man at gun point long enough and he will try to crawl out of his skin- whether guilty or innocent. And yet.. his tone, these words that flowed as seamlessly as lyrics, were of the latter. You could not tell if he was sweating.. due to the rain that continued to cast sheets of white down the streets, drenching them as they stood there. She felt a smirk creeping up, but faded to a smile as to not look too cynical.

Reaching in to your back pocket, however, in the presence of a trigger happy femme fetale was never a good idea. Most would jump the gun so to say, but luckily our blonde agent was a bit too confident in her aim to raise the barrel of the gun even an inch. If he had a weapon in his back pocket.. well.. okay, so she wouldn't know. It could have even been in the small of his back- tucked in to his waist band. The thought hit her after he had already pulled the cellphone in to view.. and yet she felt more nerves licking at her senses now then when his hand was concealed. She continued to smile a smile that never reached her eyes, and reached out with her left hand to take the phone. Fingertips curled under the front hem of her white halter top, peeling back the material a few inches as it was suctioned to her wet flesh, and tucked the cellphone in to her front pocket with a grin. No.. she wasn't stealing it, she just needed her hands free right now.

I'm alive when I'm vulnerable
I'm out of control, I'm losing my soul
I can't be your angel when I'm living like a devil
Can't be your lover when I'm living like a rebel

"Thank you... And, I must say, that sounds awfully rehearsed." She joked, the humor was in the form of a sarcasm so thick it may take a moment for someone to try to decide if she was being serious or not. Left hand outstretched to rest on his right shoulder as she stepped around to the side of him, and pointed with the gun-wielding hand to the wall. "Against the bricks, hands outstretched to either side- palms on the wall. Feet apart." She made it sound like they were going down to the ice cream parlor.. but it wasn't even close. She needed to search him before she could be sure that he was not a criminal. The smile faded back to a serious, authoritative facade that was as emotionless as a blank slate. A motion with her head in a tilt toward the wall, hoping he didn't hesitate too long, or else she would simply haul him over there at gun point.

Don't want your pity and I don't want your help
Don't try and save me go take care of yourself
I'm alive! Sick of the pain I'm sick of the sorrow
Sick of today I'm sick of tomorrow

He had asked her for her name before she had told him to get up against the wall, and yet she let it slip as if he had asked a stranger on the street for the time while they jogged by to catch a cab. Not important, not now. She would touch on that subject once she was sure he was not something to worry about. Concealed weapons.. a wallet.. and thus, a piece or two of ID were what she was mainly looking for. She stepped to the side, squeezing his shoulder lightly as she waited for him to approach the wall and do as she said. Ana couldn't help but notice how his nerves changed before he asked for her name. One minute he was like a puppy backed in to a corner, and now he was like the mouse moving in for the cheese on the trap. It caused her to smirk once she was behind him.

Secretly, she was beginning to question if this man could harm anyone. He had a sense of innocence about him. A calm demeanor. Nothing about him screamed 'dangerous' and yet she had been known to underestimate men who seemed submissive. Oh, here we go passing judgment already- she never even knew him-yet she was already assuming he was a push over. A pawn. Not the type to attack a woman on the street.. but then it was dark.. and empty. Perhaps..desperation? Wait just a minute.. For all she knew he played the leather clad dominant at a pain for pleasure club on the other side of the city. For all she knew he slaughtered children in his basement on the weekend. The last thought hardened her stance.. okay, down to business.

I'm addicted to the misery in my head
I better stop before I end up dead

[dorian]

”Rehearsed, huh?”

Ian wasn’t certain if she was joking until he saw the ghost of a smile on her face through the shadows. He was at a point where he might have joked back in some way, if the response would have been something other than, ‘you believed it, didn’t you?’, or, ‘yeah, I practiced in the mirror a few times earlier’.

Even when coupled with a smile, he didn’t think that would go too smoothly, and he wasn’t feeling quite that adventurous. He offered the grin by itself, instead.

He was caught only slightly off guard as she placed a hand on his shoulder, but the question was answered as soon as it had risen to his mind – he was normally a quick thinker, after all. The woman would still need to check him, of course, for any sort of weapons. Ian couldn’t tell if he had been convincing enough with his story – not that he had to be convincing, per se – not that it was even a story. It was the truth any way one looked at it; the only problem lay in cleaning the glass box it was nestled in well enough that the woman could actually see it. Perhaps he was fortunate in the sense that, in all honesty, Ian acted nothing like a criminal. Sure, he might have looked like one the moment in which she’d found him – concealed by darkness, his hands on the shoulders of a woman in panic. But his mannerisms, his choices, his simple looks all spoke for a character that, though certainly guilty of not volunteering for community service, certainly didn’t assault anyone, either. At least, not without reason. For as innocent as he seemed, one would be shocked with how hard of a punch he could throw.

She had demanded him to stand against the wall, yes – but she had done so rather nicely for someone who still held powerful suspicions. He could only hope that he was safe from all questions of guilt. Though she had ignored his inquiry of her name, he had expected something like that. It wasn’t particularly offending. He was a so-called ‘suspect’, and she was surely on the job. Still, it didn't stop him from wondering.

He noticed the air seemed to tense up momentarily – why? Ian wasted no time in moving to stand against the wall, palms dragging over the rough grooves and edges as he placed them in the requested position. With half a sigh, he shuffled his feet outwards until his legs were appropriately spread. He let a faint grin slip on his features as he mulled the predicament over – didn’t every man joke about being patted down by a hot cop at least once in their life? Ian thought so. And now, he shared the joke with himself. His smile faded, however, as he realized something. She was doing this for a reason.

She wanted a name.

Only…he didn’t have a driver’s license. Sure, he could drive a car, but he didn’t own one. He never carried a license with him. Actually, he didn’t carry anything with him. He was kind of regretting that now. His wallet contained a whopping 96 cents at the moment, along with a couple of expired gift cards, and a nondescript credit card. Where was his ID tag for work? Well, he took a shower right after work. It was probably still attached to his work shirt.

Laying on the bathroom floor.

…

“Shit.”

The word was quite popular that night – popular, and appropriate. “I don’t have any ID with me, if that’s what you’re looking for.” He cursed inwardly. And again. What now? Though it was only seven blocks away, there was no way in hell he would walk her back to his apartment for it. He let out a soft groan, once again drawing a hand over his face in exasperation before replacing it back upon the wall.
[/size]

[poss]

For crying out loud I'm running from a comedown
God forbid I know I've been a letdown
Reaching for the sky while leaving in a gutter
Kicking and screaming I am singing bloody murder

She nodded, and waited for him to move up against the wall. Anastasia was hard to define. Hell, she was hard to break, period. She had a look to her that was sophisticated, young, and sure, beautiful could be tossed in there as well. It was hard to see her as a cut throat authority figure when you first laid eyes on her. Petite, only about 5'2 and barely enough meat on her to cover her bones. Usually the first thing a man thought was 'fresh meat', and their eyes never left her chest until she would force them to make eye contact by doing something she was rather infamous for. When you feel that your weapon is like another piece of your body- a limb made of steel, you used it as such. Ana never hesitated to put the barrel under a mans chin and lift his gaze to meet her eyes- not that it was very much higher than where he was previously looking, seeing as she was rather short.

Short- the one thing she wished she wasn't. Well, that and being a sociopath, but don't bring that up. Actually, don't bring either of them up- lets just say that are both rather sore subjects. So at first glance, Anastasia was just a piece of meat. A pretty little thing with nice lips, nice legs, and everything in between a man could ask for. But what about those who knew her? Well.. most of them were dead. Whether by her hand or not, but it was the truth. Like they say- keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Ana just made it even simpler- everyone was an enemy. She was persistently suspicious, and wouldn't hesitate to hold a gun to her own mothers head if the woman wasn't already gone.

I'm alive when I'm vulnerable
I'm out of control, I'm losing my soul
I can't be your angel when I'm living like a devil
Can't be your lover when I'm living like a rebel

She was a spitfire. A woman who could hold her own. Lethal in combat and as for in bed- well no one knew for sure. Very few tried after the initial eye contact phase, something about emasculating men seemed to be a turn off. Who would have guessed? She liked to hold her own weight, and never compromised an innocent life without putting herself in the line of fire first. Never ask of someone what you, yourself, are not willing to do. She didn't, however, like to wear the pants in a relationship. It was hard to find a man who could dominate over her personality when it comes to the relationship, but maybe that was the reason why she was single? Okay.. So where are we? Oh yes. Anastasia: Cute. Cocky. Sarcastic. And Lethal. That sounds about right. But lets not forget respectful. When someone treats her with respect, she does so in return. It is only common courtesy.

Ian was up against the wall and she moved in behind him, placing a black leather steel toed boot between his feet and swaying it from side to side, a slight kick to the inside of either of his feet. "Further." She said, wanting him to spread his legs a bit more apart. Shoulder width apart may have been standard, but if you really want to be sure- bring them down a few notches, and leave very few crevices behind. Gaze licked the rain swept street around them, taking in each direction silently for a moment as she cast scrutiny over the scene. Nothing was moving. Not even the moist sound of tires rolling over the soaked pavement, nor the roar of an engine- not even in the distance, but the rain helped with that. It muted out the nonsense, and left behind a white noise that you could only hear over by concentrating.

The scene was clear- at least for now, but Ana had confidence in many areas, and one that really mattered was how fast she could draw her weapon, aim, and shoot. Shoot first, ask questions later- a rule she lived by. It was always easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission- that is how she liked her men, too. The pistol was pressed back in to the leather folds of her shoulder holster that she wore uncomfortably over her white halter top. The rain pelted her, cleaning the wound on her left arm as she continued to ignore it. She had started out tonight with a black leather jacket, something to help conceal the shoulder holster and the fact that she was a cop- but the first man she had to give chase too climbed a fence, and the material had caught on the barbs at the top. She left it behind. And now, she felt a little under dressed, but at least the rain was warm, and the air even warmer. A perfect summer night for a walk.

Don't want your pity and I don't want your help
Don't try and save me go take care of yourself
I'm alive! Sick of the pain I'm sick of the sorrow
Sick of today I'm sick of tomorrow

Her hands were free and she started on his pockets. The pockets of his pants, and then the pockets of his jacket. The wallet was rather empty, and he spoke up quickly to explain. A soft laugh managed to seep from between her slightly parted lips and she shook her head, pushing the wallet back in to his back pocket and patting it from outside of the material so that he knew she gave it back. "No worries, I was more concerned about whether or not you stole that ladies wallet than if you have no name, Mr. John Doe." Her attention moved to his left hand, both of her hands feeling around the cuff material of his shirt/jacket for anything in the thickest fold of the material before she ran her hands down his forearm to his elbow. Every inch was covered, and not done very quickly. She was used to dealing with convicts- men who knew how to hide things, whether it be weapons or drugs, and she wouldn't let anything slip by without being noticed. Attention turned to his right arm once she got to the shoulder of the left, and started there, feeling very carefully, with a firm squeeze down his arm as she examined for anything out of place.

"And I am Anastasia- Anastasia Steele." The answer to his earlier question as she bent slightly to start on one of his legs. The pistol was back in her right hand, unholstered at some point during the pat down, when she did this- it wouldn't be the first time that someone tried to kick her in the face when she did this- but it seemed the pistol, firmly pressed to their inner thigh, aimed for their goods seemed to change their mind. Dorian was over a foot taller than Ana, so she never even had to bend over until she nearly met his knee. Her hands started high on his thigh, moving over the hips before starting down the leg to his ankle. She stood, and began working high on the other leg down to the ankle there as well. Taking a step closer to him, her right hand pushing the pistol back in to the shoulder holster so that her fingertips could curl around the collar of his jacket as she pulled back gently, "I am going to have to ask you to take your jacket off." She said hesitantly, her gaze lifting to the sky and rain that dappled down against her face, clinging to her eyelashes and drizzling down her chin. "Sorry." The apology was quiet, but it was sincere. He was going to get soaked. "We can step in to the alley if you want- I don't think the rain is very bad in there, the buildings are too close to let much in."

I'm addicted to the misery in my head
I better stop before I end up dead

[dorian]

Ian felt a rush of relief pass through him as the woman laughed and returned the wallet – so she didn’t need the ID. When she gave him her name, he was a bit surprised. ”Anastasia,” He repeated. It was a pretty name.

To say the least, Anastasia Steele was a very intriguing, unusual woman. She was unconventional in her areas of expertise, a walking contradiction when considering her appearance versus her true nature. She was hot one minute, cold the next. It seemed impossible for Ian to keep his imagination from running wild with ideas of the woman she might truly be underneath it all. Judging from what he’d already seen, Anastasia was a powerful mixture of both ends of the emotional spectrum; she was incredibly hard to read, dominant and unyielding. She was certainly more than your average woman.


Interestingly enough, Ian was not your average man, either.


At first glance, he seemed nothing short of a stereotypical man in the modern-day. He had the right tastes – he liked steak, women, and baseball, quite possibly in that order – a simple sense of fashion, and an average job. And yet, there was a glaring disparity between him and the majority of the male population. The only ones who could possibly hold a candle to him in terms of his differences, were schizophrenics, and those with bi-polar disorder.

Ian was, essentially, two entirely different beings, bound and trapped by flesh in a single living body.

The two beings within him came from entirely different time periods: specifically, the time before he fell from Grace, and the present – the time after. Oh yes – Ian was a black angel, his disgrace concealed only by his own innate gift of invisibility, which hid his shame from view, at a much heavier tax on his energy. Over the past century, they had begun to finally merge together, his light side and his dark, giving him a more balanced persona than he had initially possessed. Alas, there was still the lingering angel-devil-shoulder complex to contend with. Ian was flippant and unpredictable; the man was capable of being genial and inviting, charming and gallant, with a comical fashion to his kindness and a warmth to his smile, until suddenly, for seemingly no reason at all, the light would fade from his eyes. He would grow withdrawn, secretive, suspicious and distant in less time than it took him to blink.


Needless to say, his life was a challenge; just deciding who he wanted to be from day today was a struggle on its own – the fact that sometimes he didn’t get a choice in who he was made it all the more difficult. There were only a handful of things that never changed for the man: he was always unpredictable, of course, he had an impossible soft spot for innocence, and always, no matter the circumstance or the reason, his good side could triumph over his darker one, if given half the chance.

He closed his eyes as he leaned against the building, tilting his head up a touch, letting the precipitation crash against his face. Ian had an altogether mild - albeit, attractive - profile; a straight nose and a well-sculpted jaw, soft brows, thin lips, and a smooth complexion. His skin was a light bronze thanks to the six days a week he spent working in the sun; his hair was an unruly, sandy brown, riddled with lighter blonde by the natural highlighter that was also the source of his tan. He was relatively tall and slim, the majority of his figure hidden in the folds of his leather jacket. He opened his eyes again as Ana kicked his feet a little further apart, now almost the same height as she was with how far they were spread.

Most men would be uncomfortable, in his position. They might have found the woman’s independence, her strength, her sheer prowess at being a woman in a man’s profession no less than an insult. Once again, Ian was not like ‘most men’. At that moment, Ian was finding it increasingly difficult not to find the entire scene a turn-on. His eyes watched Anastasia intently for a minute – while he liked women, he wasn’t a hog. He was capable of keeping his eyes on theirs, for the most part, though with the rain and the way Ana was dressed there wasn’t much hiding her ‘assets’. Ian had to look away, however, as he finally felt the woman’s hands move down various parts of his body in a very thorough, yet very gentle search. He set his jaw and stared straight forward while Ana was preoccupied, tensing up a little despite his efforts not to. It wasn’t that the woman before Ian necessarily intimidated him – rather, Ian was no longer used to being touched, in any way, by a woman. He didn’t date. He fought. The most physical contact he experienced these days was in the form of violence – and never with a woman. Therein lay his discomfort.

He was rescued, however, as Ana spoke of his jacket. He offered a soft, humored smile at her apology. ”Not a problem,” he said, turning to duck into the alleyway while simultaneously removing the article in question. Before he could get into the alley, however, he was already soaked; the cotton shirt he work clung to a well-defined abs all-too happily, the short sleeves sticking to powerful biceps as a low chuckle escaped his chest.

”Well, this was a bit pointless,” he spoke aloud, still grinning somewhat. The alleyway was indeed much drier, if a tight squeeze, though he was drenched now, anyway. “Might’ve helped if I had waited until I was actually out of the rain. Ah, well. Now we’re both soaked.” Before he could say anything else, Ian’s eyes were caught again on Ana’s wounded arm. ”You really need to get that looked at. It’s going to need stitches.” He spoke softly, though his voice was still audible now that the rain was no longer directly in their ears. He was looking at the wound like someone with expertise might – he did have expertise, after all. Not that anyone knew that, these days. He gave a hesitant glance to the woman, seeming to think something over very hard as his eyes scanned her face. He spoke again. ”If you don’t want to go all the way to the hospital, I could take care of this for you. My apartment is about seven blocks away. We’d have to walk, but I have everything I need to take care of a wound like this.” Well, this was odd. Sure, it was common for Ian to go out of his way for someone in need – but not that far out of his way. He left the real work to the people whose jobs it was to take care of others; he acted as no more than a transporter, normally. However, there was something too interesting about this woman to let the night end so soon. He gave her a careful look as he waited for her reaction.

”Name’s Dorian, by the way. Dorian Knight.”

[poss]

For crying out loud I'm running from a comedown
God forbid I know I've been a letdown
Reaching for the sky while leaving in a gutter
Kicking and screaming I am singing bloody murder

When you meet a stranger on the street, whether it be just passing by or not, the average person seems to have adapted this.. ability to ignore people. In today's society, you paid attention to you and your belongings, and you treated everyone else as either a convict in fear they may hurt you, or.. simply see right through them as if they were invisible. It was rarely for someone to pas another person on the street and actually remember perhaps what they looked like, let alone what they were wearing.

In todays world, most everyone was very self centered. Those who do try to take in to consideration the people around them usually underestimate them. He is probably just a cashier or clerk at the outlet mall. Or, she is probably a waitress. The obvious, yet low jobs are what usually comes to mind. It wasn't often someone would think, ' I bet he is a doctor' Or 'I bet she is a scientist for NASA'. You see- that is what Anastasias job hoped for. For her to be overlooked. She was undercover, yet not on stake outs just simply meant to blend in. You see a petite young woman, with platinum blonde hair walking down the street that is just over 5 feet tall and no one is going to suspect 'police officer that could kick your ass'.

I'm alive when I'm vulnerable
I'm out of control, I'm losing my soul
I can't be your angel when I'm living like a devil
Can't be your lover when I'm living like a rebel

Ana was not like other people though. She spent hours of the night, as that was her usual shift, wandering the streets idley. And thus, she had plenty of time to think. For example when she first approached the man, Dorian, holding the shoulders of the shaken woman, yes, she did believe he was guilty. But she also took in to consideration: 'Is he married? Does he have children? If I pull this trigger right now and take him down, are there people who are going to miss him?' It was her way of talking herself away from squeezing off a round. Everyone had a life that was worth living, so she was trying to fight the urge to shoot first and ask questions later.

His body had been clean of weapons as far as she could tell. However, she did notice when he had grown tense and couldn't help but survey the area around them one again. No one, and thus, it must have been her that had caused this reaction. Not a rare occurrence, that was for sure. Standing up from her somewhat crouched position as she moved down to his ankle, she nodded and followed him to the alley. She couldn't help but laugh at the fact he was soaked by the time he got there. Did this city ever have a dry night? Not that she minded, rain meant she would get a night off, and it she wasn't paid by hours, she was payed a monthly salary. She took his jacket and began searching for inside pockets, and hidden areas. Yes, a weapon couldn't fit very well in to such a small area, but drugs could.

Don't want your pity and I don't want your help
Don't try and save me go take care of yourself
I'm alive! Sick of the pain I'm sick of the sorrow
Sick of today I'm sick of tomorrow

The Jacket was clean as well, no hidden business, just a simple leather jacket. Her gaze lifted from it to see the man standing there, almost as soaked as she was. His shirt clung to his muscled upper body and she smirked, "That makes my job easier." she said, after raising her gaze back to his face. Yes, the statement she made could be taken in any direction, and she didn't mind. Truth was.. she wouldn't need to 'rub' down his upper body after the way the shirt was clinging to him and leaving nothing to the imagination, so that meant the search process was over. And it sure helped that he was attractive. Ana held the jacket out to him as he was mentioning her wound. It was a horizontal streak of missing flesh that still trickled but was mainly washed by the rain while they had been on the sidewalk. "Yet another scar. I swear sometimes I have more scar tissue than I do just skin." Lifting a hand to run it over the area beside the wound. It was numb- a dull throb and nothing more. "Bullets are rather attracted to be lately, or so it seems." Her abdomen had a bullet wound hidden behind the wet material of her halter top, yet the small of her back was a mess of scar tissue. The bullet had gone in the front, and exploded out the back. A mushroom round, meant to stop inside of the body and not keep going, unfortunately it had gone right through. The wound on her back had been huge, and was still sore- a glossy sheen of scar tissue covering her lower back. And that was just the beginning- she had numerous wounds all over her body, her arms, her collar bone, her neck, her back, her legs, hell even her ass. Her body was a canvas, and wounds were the paint.

Dorian spoke of the wound again, and she lifted her gaze from the wound. He was offering to help. As a cop, you would think that she wouldn't hesitate to go to the hospital and get it looked at, but when it came to Ana, she hated the clinic. Every sign in there pushed the boys in head office closer and closer to putting her behind a desk rather than being out on the streets. She couldn't do a desk job- she could spend all day answering phones and dealing with paper work- she wanted to be moving around outside. Introducing himself after offering her assistance brought a smile to her face- the contemplation of whether or not to accept his help passing clearly over her eyes. Ever so slowly she tilted her head to the side as she held his gaze. "Dorian Knight, are you a doctor?" There was no hint of disbelief, it was just a simple question. She believed it was very possible she had just about arrested.. no.. shot, a doctor on the street tonight. Just her luck. Like the world needs one less doctor.

"You know, that would actually be very appreciated. I think going to the hospital, adding another accident report to my file, is not what head office would like to see."

I'm addicted to the misery in my head
I better stop before I end up dead

[dorian]

Part of him – the brooding, unpleasant part of him that Ian very much hated – was hoping Anastasia would say no.

Ian was the same as those ordinary people who walked down the street. He was, to an extent, self-centered, and self-absorbed. The only difference between him and everyone else was that Ian was not just good at ignoring people – he was an absolute expert. His avoidance and disinterest regarding the majority of the population had nothing to do with fear, nor the underestimation of others – it was simply the fact that there was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to be alone. He didn’t bother to think about others; he didn’t even give them the benefit of the doubt. He wanted nothing to do with them. It was this part of him that wanted to ignore Anastasia now - everything about her that intrigued him, captivated him – and, most importantly, everything about her that worried him. But flesh wound or no, Ian couldn’t help but be concerned about Anastasia’s injury. It was this worried part of him that had won out against the loner side when he first invited Ana back to his home. Part of him was starting to regret it. She had just accepted his invitation.

Ian wasn’t sure why he’d introduced himself to Ana as ‘Dorian’ – he never used his full name for anything, last of which when presenting himself to an almost-complete stranger. And yet, he had done it, though it made him slightly uncomfortable now. Ana held out his jacket to him, and he grabbed up a handful of it.

“Call me Ian.” He corrected himself, tugging at the collar of his saturated shirt. He turned his attention to her question - was he a doctor? “Technically speaking, no - a few lifetimes ago, yes." Ian didn’t stop to think that Ana probably had no clue he wasn’t human; his remark had slipped a little too quickly to catch it. His one true tell-tale sign was perfectly hidden, thankfully, but regardless, for as much time as had gone by since Ian had been anywhere near a hospital, he was quite up to date on procedures and advancements. He didn’t have much of a life, after all. It wasn’t unlike him to spend the day watching baseball, roaming the streets – or, reading medical magazines.

When Ana mentioned her scars, Ian couldn't help but grimace. He knew how she felt; his entire body was covered in a distinct pattern of scars, thin white veins atop his skin. It was worse, however, to think of someone as lovely as Ana to be covered in so many scars. With scars, there was always pain - the last thing he wanted to think of was someone else going through it.

He could understand why Ana wouldn’t want to go to a hospital. Every mark against her name would surely bring her closer to being taken off the streets – she was, no doubt, an undercover officer, and such work was dangerous enough without being petite and pretty, even deceivingly so. Granted, Ian wasn’t sure he wanted to condone a pretty young woman such as herself working in such a risky business. The only reason he offered to keep her out of a desk job was because she obviously loved her work. The only person he tried to keep from the things they loved was - well, you know.

“I’d imagine not,” He grinned faintly, giving a quick out towards the street. There was a powerful wind ripping through the rain, instantly cooling the city down a few degrees. “Here,” Ian handed his jacket back to Ana, his eyes following the haphazard pattern the wind and rain were making. “It’s not too far, but I think with the extra wind, rain hitting that wouldn’t be too pleasant.” He glanced at her arm as he spoke, taking his first few steps back towards the street. Ian had seemingly no interest in his own defense against the rain – honestly, he’d been through worse. He was sure Ana had been, too, but it wouldn’t be gentlemanly to leave her to fend for herself. She was the injured one, anyway.

Ian braced himself for the storm. “Ready?" His stormy-blue gaze fell upon Ana once more. "It might be a good idea to run some of the way, if you’re up to it.” With the storm whipping at the world before them, he waited.


{like I said - crap. terribly sorry; i'll try to shape up soon.}[/size]

[poss]

For crying out loud I'm running from a comedown
God forbid I know I've been a letdown
Reaching for the sky while leaving in a gutter
Kicking and screaming I am singing bloody murder

As hard as she seemed on the outside- the outer shell acting as a barrier against things that would cause others to turn the other direction and run, she was truly a curious woman. When she passed others on the street, the thoughts of who they were, where they belonged and what would come of them often passed through her mindset. Oddly enough, she could recognize almost anyone if she spotted them a second time around and this was not always under good circumstances. Finding a fallen man or woman was never easier to deal with if you thought of the body as a human. Often cops considered the fallen as 'its' not he or she- that made them too real. Especially for the more grisly accidents. A beheaded corpse, a body that obviously was not shown any respect when being dismembered.. it was hard to cope with. But what really made it difficult was those initial thoughts. Did they have a family? Were there children somewhere, waiting for Mommy or Daddy to come home? Anastasia always had a soft side for the children, and perhaps it was one of her only positive attributes.. but also a down fall. She was unable to bear children, and perhaps since she came across that knowledge, she never took them for granted. Visiting a crime scene with bodies on it was one thing.. but if there were dead children.. well.. she wouldn't be sleeping for weeks.

'How can you be such a hard case on the streets and then cry on a crime scene?' was a common question. No, she wouldn't break down and sob and wipe tears- it was a silent single tar gliding down her cheek that would give it away. But she didn't mind, she wasn't there playing Ego with the men, she would just shrug it off and say 'It looks like I still have a heart after all. What does that say about you?'. Oh, lets just hope she doesn't get called in to any murder scenes any time soon.

I'm alive when I'm vulnerable
I'm out of control, I'm losing my soul
I can't be your angel when I'm living like a devil
Can't be your lover when I'm living like a rebel

Ana was not the usual woman. When invited back to his place, one woman may think that Ian was looking for some action- a hook up. A one night stand. Another woman may look at the cruel side of it.. he could be an axe murder after all. Sure, maybe he was innocent in this crime and she realized that now, but who was to say what he did every morning after eating his Wheaties? And yet, here she stood. No regret, no second thoughts, and not reading more in to a situation than you had to. Sure- she was someone who never trusted anyone, and often people had alterior motives but truth was- confidence was an amazing thing. She knew she could handle anything that came up. And on another note, she didn't get any sense from this man that made her want to cradle the pistol- which was rare. Well, that was until he answered her question and released the information that he was not human. And yet, he began moving toward the street. Perhaps it was shock, or a moment of realization but she never turned down his jacket after he handed it to her, she slipped it on without a second thought. Not like her at all. Perhaps this wouldn't be the last time this sore subject would be brought up tonight. But lets not get ahead of ourselves.

Don't want your pity and I don't want your help
Don't try and save me go take care of yourself
I'm alive! Sick of the pain I'm sick of the sorrow
Sick of today I'm sick of tomorrow

The long, damp strands of her hair were tucked in to the jacket when she slipped it on, beads of water drizzling down her face and clinging to her eyelashes before they spiralled hell bound in to oblivion. She released a breath that she never realized she was holding as she began following him out of the ally back on to the street. What was this- a moment of hesitation? It would be the first in quite a while, so lets make sure to take heed. Or.. not. Anastasia nodded to him when he stepped on to the sidewalk holding eye contact for a brief moment thought the sheets of rain and blinding wind. It was a white out, and even as she squinted and rose an arm to block the rain from her eyes, it was nearly impossible to see a few feet ahead of you. "Yeah that sounds like a plan to me! The weather just went from bad to worse, shall we?" She cocked her head to the side, still holding his gaze as she moved closer to him, ready to get going..

I'm addicted to the misery in my head
I better stop before I end up dead

[Lol, no worries, mine was worse than yours!! ]

[dorian]

“Let’s.”


When Ana moved closer, Ian wrapped a hand around her arm at the elbow, gently, but firmly; with the rain falling in torrents now, the last thing he wanted to do was lose her along the way to their destination. He watched as Anastasia nodded in agreement, and Ian found himself enjoying a millisecond-long moment of satisfaction when she took the jacket without question.

At the present, Ian was found by many to be a man of few words. After all, when one wanted to keep space between himself and the other person in the conversation, the more silence, the better. Ian liked things uncomplicated. Simple. That’s why his next statement cut right to the point, loud and plain, and got them both pummeling through the rain more quickly than anything else he could have said.

“Now.”


Feet hit the pavement slowly, at first, in order to allow both parties to adjust to a quicker pace at a more consistent rate. The water filling up the man’s shoes sloshed with each heavily propelled step, the rain so loud that the only audible noise for Ian was the beat of his own heart in his ears. What made the whole situation worse was that the two were actually forced to run head-first into the rain, which fell, caustically, at an angle in the opposite direction. Paying attention so as not to trip the woman, Ian shifted somewhat as he ran with the full intention of blocking some of the main front of the rain in defense of the woman he was with. Ana was considerably shorter than Ian, after all. While he made no direct commentary regarding her height, he acknowledged (silently) the fact that, with the foot-and-some inches he had on her, it would be simple and more effective to the cause if he used himself to shield her from the full-blown power of the storm. They would move a little faster – plus, it was the nice thing to do. Even if, in less extreme circumstances, Ian would have been undoubtedly more determined not to do the nice thing.

Desperate times, as the saying goes.

As had been stated before, Ian tried not to think about other people and their lives. What did he care if someone else was getting married? What did he care if someone else went to Hell? One mustn’t forget - Ian Knight was far from a hard or uncaring man. He was the exact opposite – perhaps, too sensitive for his own good. It was for this reason in particular – his inability not to care if given even the slightest invitation to – that he tried, with albeit inconsistent success, to lead a callous and solitary life. He objectified most everyone he met until they weren’t exactly human anymore in his imperceptibly cumbered, unrevealing eyes. Ana was one of those lucky few that had slipped through the ever-widening cracks in his façade, his mask of disinterest and apathy. That mask was splintering and fading without question in the tiniest of increments with each year that separated him from the haunts of his past, but even with the crumbling front, Ian’s eyes to the commoner were nothing more than unyielding. Only when one looked deep enough, when one was invading and determined enough themselves to force through the defenses of Ian’s own piercing eyes and crash-land in the very depths of his soul, would one be able to find the thousand year’s makings of a man, the layers of his being, and all the riches and poverties each one contained.

There were such deep-rooted natures, far within Ian, as his bounding chivalry, sagely wisdom, resolute dignity, and irrevocable faithfulness. But even deeper, other layers lay more noticeably – some marked by a consuming wrath, others, a laborious regret. One, more heartfelt than all the rest, was patent by a tender, unconditional grief. Each layer of virtue had one of sin coupled with it, overlapping so that just a bit of each one showed through, until Ian was such a mixture of a man that even he didn’t know what to call himself. The nature of his nature itself: it was Ian’s greatest and most surefire reason for keeping the large majority his life ‘behind closed doors’. In the past century, Ian had convinced himself that the main function of other people in one’s life, intentionally or not, was to scope out one’s weaknesses, to jam their fingers into all the cracks and broken parts of a person’s heart and to wrench them into even tighter, more complicated knots before going along on their merry way. Ian had pains he didn’t want to think about, losses he would never come to terms with – he himself was a cold case, and he didn’t want to be solved by anyone else. In all honesty, the last thing Ian needed was for people to pour salt into the wounds he’d already rubbed raw on his own. He didn’t think it unfair or rude or selfish in the least to expect that much from his life, so long as it was all he expected.

But alas, Ian was once a guardian of people. He could not change the past, and thusly, he could do very little to change his inherent nature. Part of him thought of people as nothing more than woodworks – but, on such nights like this one, another part of him thought better of people than that. Anastasia was the living proof.

Against the rain and wind, it took, maybe, ten or fifteen minutes to reach the high-rise apartment complex which could be loosely considered Ian's ‘home’. He leaped the last few feet and stood under a small awning out in front, beckoning Ana to do the same with one hand as he made to unlock the main door with the other. The only problem –

“Oh – you’ve got the key.” Ian reached carefully for the left pocket of the leather coat, doing his best not to offend the woman in any way as he quickly slipped two fingers in and pulled out a golden key. It glinted in the dim light coming from the main ‘lobby’, so to speak, of the complex, as Ian lowered it to the lock and hastily shoved it in. He opened the door to allow Ana to enter first. A few seconds later, they were surrounded in what seemed like perfect silence in comparison to the thunderous rain outside. In truth, the buzz of an overhead light, the hum of an air conditioning unit, along with a few other forgettable noises penetrated the air of the room, accompanied by a dank, bleachy smell, which, though certainly not roses, wasn’t entirely unpleasant, either.

Immediately, Ian made for the staircase, bypassing the elevators completely, despite his breathless state.

“You can’t trust anything here that runs on electricity,” Ian explained, “I’ve gone a week without any electric because the manager missed a payment for the entire complex. I happened to be in the elevator when the electric company decided to shut everything off. It was quite the ordeal to try and get out – though, I obviously managed.” Not entirely sure what had made him start, the story managed to last the duration of the ascent up a single flight of stairs, which brought them to the second floor. Ian didn’t speak for the rest of the climb. He lived on the sixth floor, much to his own dismay and assuredly that of Ana. He took each step slowly; there was no need to be overly rushed, though he did want to make sure that the bleeding of Ana’s arm stopped as soon as possible.

‘614’ was the number that hung, a little crooked, off of Ian’s dark-wooded apartment door.

“Home again, home again,” Ian breathed the words absent-mindedly to himself, shuffling his feet on a faded blue welcome mat without any ‘welcome’ to it but its own overuse that clearly portrayed Ian’s great dislike of cleaning the floors within. “Sorry – excuse me,” He reached into the right pocket of the jacket Ana wore, this time, and pulled out a key of silver, pressing it into the lock with as much haste as he had used the time before. The door slid open with a hefty push, and Ian led the way through the wall of absolute darkness before them. Immediately after entering the room from the hall, the atmosphere changed; the room wasn’t dank like the lobby, but instead, dryly cool, and the crisp air hung with the light scent of Ian’s soap and cologne.

He switched on a light to reveal an ultimately décor-less scene: the door had opened into a small landing; to the right was a living room and kitchen, separated by an island counter, lined with two bar stools. There was a hall just past the refrigerator which led to two other rooms – the bathroom, and his own. His own room had a small balcony with a relatively pleasant view, but that was far from visible upon entry. The walls of the entire place were a light gray, the sole hangings in the living room two black-framed pictures in black and white themselves – one of Shakespeare, the other, of a man named Joe Dimaggio. There was a sizeable TV, a large collection of music next to a more sizeable stereo system, a black leather couch, and a glass coffee table. The room was otherwise barren.

“It’s not much – sorry,” He didn’t know why he was apologizing, but he was, far more than normal. Was the poor man getting a touch self-conscious? “Take a seat where you like – at the counter might be best. I’ll be right back.” With that, Ian dashed out of the room, returning with what he knew as the stitching essentials: thread, a needle, a bowl, a candle, and rubbing alcohol. Before sitting down, he grabbed a couple ice cubes from the freezer and placed them in a cup. He then lit the candle and poured the rubbing alcohol into the bowl, taking a seat alongside Ana with a hefty sigh. His voice when he spoke was surprisingly gentle, however, low and quiet in the hush of the dimly lit atmosphere.

“Take off the jacket, naturally, and hold some of ice above and below the gash until it’s numb.” He pushed the cup towards Ana, clearing his throat as his eyes flickered about the room. The man was a bit…out of his element, perhaps, even in his own apartment. What he was doing was like second nature to him, even after all the years that had passed, and he wasn’t sure that he liked that, no matter how he looked at it.

Ana would have to come up with the small talk.



{sweet holy god. I don’t know where all this came from! ._. Sorry for the inconsistent postage. Can you tell that my muse is fluctuating? >.>'}