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

[poss]

The jacket was still warm from when Ian had been wearing it as she slipped it over her arms and pulled it closed around infront of her, hugging it to her with her right arm. Oddly comfortable, even for being in the midst of a torrential downpour and.. in another mans clothing, her nod brought a quick, and to the point reaction from him. And they were off. The heavy black leather steel toed boots, rising to mid-calf, pounded against the asphalt. A moist splash, a squish and a soft echo with each tread forth- it sounded like she weighed perhaps three times what the scale read the last time she checked. No worries, it was never a bad thing to appear to be the big bad wolf when really you were just one of the piglets. She just wasn't the type to do any of the hiding. Perhaps a better description was that she was little red riding hood. so was well armed and using herself as bait to lure out the evils on the streets at midnight. Yeah, that sounds better. At first glance who would assume this petite blonde would be able to take a full grown man to his knees, even without the use of weapons? Well.. perhaps those that had met her before, but other than that, it would have to be one hell of a lucky guess.

Anastasia was a hard person to describe in detail beyond physical attributes. From friends, to co-workers that she had worked with for years, no one had enough knowledge about her to give a worth while description. Her personality was unnervingly.. hard to decipher. It never took long to realize she was strong willed and thick skulled.. stubborn to every extent of the word. But there was more to it than that. Ana was loyal- a woman who based her actions out of respect. Rarely did she act before she thought, her mind always several steps ahead and ready for any possible outcome. If she found someone worthy of her respect, then they had it.. but she as not easy to impress. Nor easy to keep happy. A slip up, a broken promise.. they were rather unacceptable. And yet if someone, anyone, gave her their word she would take it. Everyone was given that- the chance to prove they were worthy. If they gave her their word, she would not hesitate to take it. Perhaps she would remain cautious and not let her life dangle in their hands, but that was just survival. So, down to the point: Ana hated liars. It crossed the line. If the lie was big enough to have cost she, or someone else their life, then no matter what side the person was on, her trigger happy finger woul curl around that mechanism and aim in their direction. Their weakness.. their fault, cost someone their life. And thus, what a better way to even the odds, then to take theirs with it as well.

A ruthless savage? Perhaps.. at some point. Yes, Anastasia felt at home, calm, and comfortable with the grip of a weapon in her grasp. It was like the first puff of a cigarette for a chain smoker. That effect.. so.. perfect. It could make any situation a walk through the park to a point. Should we mention she slept with her weapons? A .10 mil was strapped to her headboard. It was a large gun, her small hands barely able to fold around it to give a good grip, but it still felt.. comfortable. It felt right. She was used to having midnight visitors- it came with the job she used to have. A hunters job was never done, and there was no such thing as not bringing it home with you. Those you killed had friends. Family. Lovers. They sought revenge. And in their attempts, they often released hell through a window or door to your apartment. Exciting.. no?

The wet streets shimmered underfoot against the dim glow of street lights. The water splashed up, dampening her legs more so than the downpour of rain had done already, yet it was expected. The wind blew waves upon waves, sheets upon sheets of the rain in their direction. Some of it hit so hard it felt as if it pierced the flesh- a needle like quality due to the deep bone chilling temperature of the wind. The night had started out warm and damp, but now it was a blizzard, just without the snow. The waves mess of her blonde hair clung to the back of her neck, strands having escaped and cascaded across her face, casting a devious veil through which she peeked in to the night. The lunge- that last step from the rain swept streets of hell and bittersweet shelter was swift, and fluid, turning to look out in to the night in the direction they had come as she approached the door under the awning.

She never realized he had said anything until his hand was in the pocket, the deafening white noise of the storm washing out his voice yet not the obvious reasoning behind his actions. She never moved beyond shifting her arm out of the way of the pocket, her gaze still licking at the street that was dappled and glistening. The key plunged home, and the door swung open. She hesitated when he opened the door for her. Slight pet peeve, she hated the 'ladies first' through a doorway technique. For more reasons than one. A cold stare, not so much a glare but a search of his eyes as she hesitated before tearing her gaze from him and walking in to the building. That put him at her back.. one of the several reasons she hated the whole ordeal, and yet he swiftly moved to the stairway rather than wasting time behind her. That earned some brownie points.

The stairs were never a bad idea, and she took to them without a moments thought. Wet foot prints marked their travels through the 'lobby' and up the stairs, marking out their exact path."Yes, I have had that happen a few times as well. My old building had a lot of issues, the elevator was stuck more often than not- I remember they were painting the stairway once and I was told I had to use the elevator, and ended up having to climb out the top panel. I was stuck between floors, but managed to make my way up to the floor above me." She shook her head, beads of water drizzling down her face, clinging to her eyelashed and others dropping off her chin. Her hair was soaked, and it was running down her back. Perhaps she shouldn't have left it tucked in under the jacket, it was acting as a runway for the water to stream in beneath it.

They reached the door, and she dragged her feet across the welcome mat to clean the bottom of her boots. Just damp streaks left behind, no mud or debris. Lifting her other arm as he reached in to the right pocket for the key to his room, listening to the tumblers in the door work as he pushed it home, and the door opened. The room was more than she had suspected. No, she never expected him to be sleeping on wooden pallets and haybales, but it was pretty classy, in her opinion. Perhaps it was the fact his color scheme rather closely matched that of her apartment back in the Plaza. Either way, it had a 'homey' feeling to it, and she felt herself relax. She let his apology slip, and nodded to him when he mentioned the counter being a good idea. She kicked off her boots before moving past the entry though, leaving them neatly at the door as she waded through the room to the counter.

Gaze washed over the interior, taking in every little detail she could. It was habit. Not all the time was it simply her admiring the decor, but it was also a way to pick the room apart. Possible weapon here, and there, possible exit, perhaps a weak spot in the wall- an open window, a snag in the carpet, etc. It all helped her come to terms with the room, and feel more comfortable, and by the time she took a seat and finished her examination, he was already back. One leg was crossed over the other as she sat at the counter, sitting straight backed as she always practiced good posture- it was part of her training in hand to hand combat, a way to strengthen muscles, and keep yourself balanced. He said to take off the jacket and she felt stunned- realizing that she was still wearing it. Odd, she normally would have taken it off at the door- perhaps it was just because it was comfortable. Or.. the smell? No, let snot go there. She nodded with a brief smile, and slid it down her arms, setting it on the back of her chair.

A wide wet streak went down her back where her hair lay, stopping at her waist where the bottom hem of the white halter top ended. The black of her pants did not show wetness- and that was good, otherwise she would look like she pissed herself. Always interesting. A smirk twisted her lip line at the thought and she tried to get back in to the moment. They were going to stitch up the wound. The wound that had already lost its natural numbness from rubbing on the inside of the jacket. "You really think it needs stitches?" She asked, a slight quiver to her voice. Oh boy- the big bad bitch of the west was letting her true colors shine through if there was one thing she didn't like it was needles. Damnit, she would almost rather get shot again. She moved her arm to stretch it out on the counter infront of her. The scar tissue along this arm was just a brief example of what else she had on her body. The inside of her elbow was a mesh of white veins of tissue over her skin- a large wound, at one point- actually a vampire to be precise trying to gnaw through her arm. It managed to break the bone in its jaws. Interesting what something would do to save its own life.

In the light of the room many of the scar tissue regions were visible. Her face, was unmarked. Her collar bone was the same mess as her elbow- and was from the same fight. The damned creature had chewed right through that bone as well. Her wrist on the arm outstretched was dappled with small pinhead sized white scars- from flaming debris of an exploding building. Her shoulder blades, bare to about the middle of her back due to the type of shirt she was wearing, were oddly untouched. Very rarely did she allow something behind her long enough for an attack, and so far it was working well. A recent gun shot wound to the gut was hidden behind the white material of her shirt. Still banadaged it was so fresh, on both front and back as it had gone right through her. And yet, she looked past all of these, not minding the fact they were out for him to see, and her gaze fell on him. "Ian." She started. A direct, blunt mention of his name to get his attention. If he wanted small talk, he would be disappointed, because this surely was nothing small. "What are you, Ian?" There was no need to add in 'I know you are not human' because that was obvious. He had let it slip earlier, and she wanted him to know she had caught it. But more so.. she just wanted to know, period.

[dorian]

Ian allowed himself a soft, faintly bemused smile – the slight shake in her voice as she asked about the stitches hadn’t escaped him. To both humor the woman and to be certain, Ian took up the injured arm carefully in strong, yet gentle hands, his fingers lightly calloused from long years of hard labor, though far from rough. He hit a switch on the other side of the counter, which lit up five bulbs encased above them. The light gave the counter the feel of a surgeon’s table as Ian examined the wound closely, doing his best not to cause any discomfort as he moved a thumb carefully along the bottom edge of the gash. Ian half wished that he had some latex gloves on hand, but he had washed his hands thoroughly when he’d ventured back to the bathroom, so at least he was germ-free.

“Well, there’s no getting around it. This definitely needs some stitches - about ten of them, I think. Don’t worry, though – once your arm is numbed, you’ll hardly notice.”

He pressed the ice against the wound himself in the delicate fashion of a seasoned caregiver, shifting it ever so slightly in a manner which would Anastasia hadn’t seemed to mind her surroundings when she entered, which was a relief to Ian, for some odd reason. Perhaps it simply put him at ease to know that she was at ease, for if she were already uncomfortable, it would make the situation that much more unpleasant. He noticed with a certain amount of pleasure that Ana had taken off her boots at the door, and that she sat with impeccable posture and a certain amount of finesse that left him all-in-all quite impressed. She would have made quite the enjoyable house guest under other circumstances, Ian figured, and he had to wonder – if only for a second – what a regular visit from the woman might be like. After a long minute or two, Ian removed the ice he had been moving in circles around the edges of the jagged flesh. His eyes had not failed him in noticing the many other markings from the past that rested upon the woman’s skin – he had even detected the outline of the bandage beneath her shirt on both sides, and had to force a grimace from his face. In the same motion that he tossed the ice into the sink, Ian grabbed up a bit of gauze and swabbed the area with rubbing alcohol, taking care not to get any in the open wound. He then took the needle, threaded it, and ran it through the flame in but a few seconds. Ian lifted his head when Ana spoke his name to catch his attention. Her next words rung and echoed through the man’s mind for what seemed like an eternity.

“What are you, Ian?”[/b]


…well, shit.

The question planted itself in Ian’s mind. What was he? What did she mean? How did Ana know he wasn’t human? He gave a quick glance behind to make sure – there was nothing there. No tell-tale signs. He must have said something, then.

When in the goddamned hell had he let that slip?

A slightly aback look abruptly marked Ian’s features as he gaped, blankly, for a long moment. He ran through what little conversation the two of them had shared out on the street. There was nothing he could think of that would have implied he was anything but human – oh, wait. The doctor question. “A few lifetimes ago –”[/i] He had replied with something akin to that, hadn’t he?

Damnit.

It was a surprise to him, now, if not an absolute shock – while he almost always kept his statements very guarded, the stress of the situation along with the after effects of his drink beforehand had left Ian with a copious amount of distraction. For him to have let it slip without noticing, however, was the part that was truly unbelievable.

“I…” Ian started his reply without realizing he had done so, his expression still somewhat dazed, his eyes distant. He snapped back suddenly, and sent a careful, calculated look Ana’s way, locking onto her own gaze for a long moment. She deserved an answer. As much as he would hate to give it, Ian couldn’t exactly deny her a reply and still sew her arm up, could he? He might’ve tried the ‘if you want my help, no questions’ response, but he knew almost instantly that wouldn’t work with Ana. The last thing he wanted to do was to risk her walking right out without being tended to at all, or, even, to make her trust him less. Hadn’t he just escaped suspicion?

The real question was how to explain. Of all the things that Ian hid from the world, this secret was his most deliberate. To tell her of his disgrace would be shameful – but, wouldn’t showing her be even worse?

He spoke the first few words as quickly as he could.

“I’m a Fallen.” He breathed the statement in a hushed tone, turning his gaze in another direction. He let out a sigh, dressed in just the slightest tremor. His next words were slow and careful, but deliberately attention-catching, even if he wasn’t looking directly at Ana’s face. “I was born in France, 780. After I died, I served until 1909. A century ago. That’s when I fell.”

Though it didn’t seem like much information, it was, in truth, several tons more than what Ian was used to giving out – that would be obvious to Ana. Of course, he left out the part about how he was a guardian – not to mention, an archangel. He might not have gone into any detail at all, were it not for the fact that he’d taken note of Ana’s nervousness in regards to the stitches. As she might have noticed in the silence that followed Ian’s abridged history – he’d finished the stitches and was cutting the excess thread.

“Done.” Ian spoke in a gentle undertone, pushing away all the supplies but for the gauze, which he wrapped lightly around the newly closed wound so as to provide a layer of defense against the elements. He still had it – his healer’s touch, his movements, deft and precise. In an attempt to shake of his own discomfort at being in his own skin, he offered a faltering smile with his next remark.

“I bet you didn’t even notice them, did you?”
[/font][/size]

[poss]

Anastasia blinked several times before squinting, her eyes adjusting to the five lights that were turned on over the counter. They were bright, but probably worth having the man be able to see rather than poking and prodding with a needle in the dark. The thought made her visibly shudder, slight goosebumps rising along her skin as he took her arm in his grasp and examined the wound. She never meant to, but her eyes were practically pleading. Like a child, an innocence glistened over her large eyes as she watched him take in what he could of the wound. It never hurt very bad, this damaged break in her skin, it was more of a dull throb- a pulse of pain but she was never one to complain. Even the shot to the lower abdomen not that long ago had been bearable, however after much pleading and a few threats, she had allowed for a friend to take her to the hospital. Another notch in her namesake at the head office, great. She arrived home that night with six missed calls and two voice mails warning her to straighten up or ship out.

Her attention perked as she lifted her head slightly, eye brows following suit and her lips slightly parting as if she were about to reject him when he spoke of the ten stitches. But, she stayed calm- stayed rather quiet. No need complaining. She knew if she really wanted to, she could have walked out of here. Hell, she never had to come here in the first place. As used to scars as she was, it was still nice to have the option to perhaps minimalize the size of each one. Ten stitches would perhaps bring down all chances of a scar, or at least leave her with only a small one. A sigh seeped through her lips and she nodded, a slight smirk following the obvious disapproval. What a baby.

Ian took the ice and began to numb the wound. She watched carefully. This part didn't bother hr, not one bit. In truth, she could watch someone get stitches or hell.. even open heart surgery if she needed to, and it wouldn't bother her. It was the simple fact that that needle would be going through her skin. Another shudder washed over her body, the goosebumps returning for a second showing as she peeled her gaze away in hopes he wouldn't notice. The smirk remained, and she noticed a slight heat rising to her face.. a blush? "Sorry I guess I am not the best patient by any means." She joked, no looking back in the direction of Ian, or the wound, until the goosebumps, and blush, subsided. Embarrassed- and that was rare for her.

The bandage beneath her shirt was not too bulky, but it was a bright white that beneath her soaking wet white halter top, was slightly visible. It had been healing well up until a recent fist fight with.. a friend. Oddly, it was the same friend that had brought her to the hospital, that she later found on a rampage through the streets. It had gotten close to a full out brawl- fist to face action on the streets as women and children ran screaming from overturned cars that were ignited and broken buildings. The man was strong, but Ana had not hesitated to try to bring him back to his senses. She hadn't seen him since. High tension was never enjoyable.

Pace icy hued gaze finally returned the 'doctor' and her wound, giving notice to a slight sense of hesitation after her question of 'what he was'. Perhaps he was confused? Ana could have jumped the gun, so to speak, and took a casual saying in as a fact. For all she new he was human. Nothing she had seen yet had truly proved otherwise. He wasn't a vampire- she could sense that. When it came to the bloodsuckers, she could often read them from a distance, and even predict their possible age through their energy levels when coming in physical contact. Just lately she had actually considered going back in to the hunter business. More money to be mad,e but truthfully money wasn't appealing. She had enough saved up in the bank she could retire. In truth, it was simply a job that she was good at, that didn't have a 'head office' to answer to. No one to hassel her about injuries, etc. But if she went back in to the business, she may be without a home. She did justhappen to be living in a Plaza owned by an elder vampire- but she could always find a new apartment, or a motel.

Her train of thought was tossed from the tracks as she met his gaze, feeling him paying attention to her wound, but not noticing exactly what was happening as she concentrated on him speaking. He seemed stressed by it, and to be honest, it made her slightly nervous. Every muscle in her body slowly became rigid, even the arm in which he held in his grasp. Her breath caught, and she held it silently. Seriously now.. what could be so bad? There was no need for such a reaction, but the way he was handling the situation, the very way he seemed to shaken to answer, caused her to ready herself for anything. Oh how a gun felt great to hold at a moment like this- but she never reached for it. Oh, the fingers in her right hand twitched subconsciously, kneading the air as if they were grasping the grip of her 9mil, but she never moved for the weapon otherwise. Not need holding a man at gun point while he helps you doctor up a wound.

The man's attention fell on Ana and she held his gaze as he offered his own to her. It was distant at first, but grew more intense as he thought of a way to describe what he was. In truth, what would he say that would cause her to actually go for a weapon? Perhaps if he said ' I eat babies for breakfast' then she would have an issue.. but otherwise he deserved less of a reaction from her. She willed her body to relax, every muscle growing cold, growing loose and relaxed one by one. Her breath spilled over her lips and she waited, trying to help him calm down by calming herself. And then he spoke.

Fallen. What was with these fallen folks? Did she have a big magnet that attracted her to them, or vise versa? Her friend, the one who had brought her to the hospital, the one who had later engaged in a fist fight with her- had been fallen. A black angel as they described them. Her attention peaked once again, and in a moment she realized she had tilted her head to the side, one raised brow, and offering him her full attention and curiosity. And yet, he still seemed so shaken by expressing this truth to her. It boggled her mind, " What is it that has you so ... tense about sharing this with me?" Surely he was not afraid of her. Hell he had over a foot of height on her- she was in his home and OUCH, damnit, he had a needle. Her eyes widened as she looked down to the wound just as he finished and he announced it was done. She never withdrew her arm, it was as if she were afraid moving it would hurt.

Her other hand reached over and traced around the stitched up wound tentivly, carefully, curiously. What a way to take someones mind off of the act at hand, than to get their full attention on your story. Her want to hold her weapon had subsided to the usual which meant she was fully relaxed. The wetness of her shirt made the shoulder holster uncomfortable, and she unbuckled it from the waist bands/belt loops of her pants and slid it off the left side, setting it on the counter infront fo her. She was less threatening in appearance this way, but still as deadly- it was in reach, but without it actually being on her body, it seemed she had less of that 'scariness' that people noticed when they first met her.

The smirk returned full bore and she nodded to him, "Yeah, I never noticed I must admit. You are pretty good at turnign my attention elsewhere while you do your dirty work." She joked, the smirk fadng to a genuine smile. It amused her that it had worked out so well, no need to feel the slight pull and tug of the needle and thread through her flesh. It was as if it hadn't happened. Her fingers traced around the wound again, eyes examining it. Yes, it was real. And then she lifted her gaze to Ian again. "And.. why is it you have fallen?" Ahh yes, Ana was well known for being blunt and not beating around the bush. It was how she liked things to be done. With no hesitation, no need to walk on egg shells, just get to the point. Her gaze held his, with no intention of wavering as she leaned toward him, head tilted to the pint her cheek bone rested on her shoulder.

[dorian]

Ian had been relatively oblivious to Ana’s moment of weakness as he prepped for the miniature ‘surgery’ – he had felt the goose bumps appear on her skin beneath his hands, but Anastasia had looked away before Ian had a chance to take note of the blush. Had he caught it, he might have found it to be another very flattering attribute of the woman. Physically, she had many – Ian had yet to learn enough about her personality, however, to determine one way or another on that matter.

“You were a fine patient,” He spoke up once he’d finished entirely, trying to put distance between himself and the topic at hand – that is, his nature as a black angel – so as to lift the mood, or his own, at least, from such a serious and grim nature into something of what it’d been before. Something lighter. Alas, Anastasia did not seem satisfied with his reply – obviously not, as she continued to pester him with another question about it. Why was he anxious talking about his Fall? Ana was right in her thinking – it wasn’t because he was afraid of her. What was the real reason, then? Even Ian didn’t know for certain. The fact that he shared it with scarcely anyone, perhaps. Or, the fact that his fall had involved the loss of everything he had held as sacred to him – including, for a brief while, his sanity.

Perhaps it was a mixture of the two. But Ian didn’t say that. He let out half a snicker and then settled for a simple, witty quip of a reply that didn’t give much to go off of, but certainly put his message across. That message being, the subject was touchy.

“You don’t fall from the grace of God for missing a boy scout meeting.”

Sure, the remark was lame. But at least it was truthful, and offered with a wry smile. He’d never heard of a boy scout going to hell for failing to acquire a badge, after all. God’s wrath wasn’t that extensive. Or, so Ian hoped, anyway. Who knows? If it was, well then, he was past screwed. Damned beyond reason. Just short of becoming the Devil’s – well, you know.

(If you don’t, it’s probably for your own good, anyway.)

When Ana spoke again, Ian had to laugh out loud, even in his state of apprehension. The fallen angel’s laughter – it was an intoxicating sound, for some. It was a very free sounding sound, in the least, both carefree and liberated. It stopped short to clear the path for his reply. “If giving free medical assistance and trying to stop an assault are considered dirty work for you, I’d hate to see what would happen if I actually did something wrong. Not that I have any intentions of testing the theory,” Ian teased and returned Ana’s genuine smile with one of his own. The man had to admit, if only to himself, that for as uncomfortable as he was in the woman’s presence (in the sense that sharing things about himself wasn’t much his forte), he was truly enjoying himself, with the help of another human being, for the first time in a very long while. However, just when he was starting to relax again, Ana put out another of those damned questions. Though they’d only started talking about it moments ago, for Ian, it felt like it had been hour. Any talk regarding his nature – any at all – was immediately considered ‘too much talk’, in his book. He met her gaze once more with a hard look of his own before it collapsed into a weary expression, and he dragged a hand over his face, letting out an aggravated sigh. Ian opened his mouth suddenly after, as if to speak, before his eyes caught hold of the supplies that were still strewn all over the counter.

“One second.” He delayed the inevitable but a few seconds longer, throwing some supplies in a trash can and some into the sink before taking others back where they belonged in the bathroom. He stood in the dark of the bathroom for a long moment, eyes closed, resting his head against the wall as one hand hung from a nearby closet shelf. Ana had no intention of leaving without some sort of answer – that was obvious in the way she had posed the question alone – but, even so, Ian had no intention of giving her one. Ana might as well have moved in, for all he cared – if she was going to be stubborn and wanted his life story, she would just have to stay there and watch it play out.

He really wasn’t expecting her to move in with him, mind you. Ian was just a bit ridiculous in his reasoning, at times.

He reentered the kitchen, and, standing on the opposite side of the counter, fingers bent around the edges of its surface, he gave a reply – straightforward and direct, much like hers – even if he didn’t know that it would suffice for a woman of Anastasia’s ‘curiosity caliber.’

“Look –" he sighed again, “I’m glad you agreed to come here. I’m glad you didn’t leave that wound to heal on it’s own with the risk of it getting infected or leaving a terrible scar. And, trust me, you have no idea how relieved I am that the whole mess from earlier was cleared up. If you’d like to stay a while, I don’t mind. If you’re hungry, or thirsty, I can get something for you. If you’d like to rest a bit, please, be my guest.” Suddenly, his tone took a graver note. “But while I appreciate your candidness, Anastasia, from the past five minutes alone, you already know more about me than most anyone else on the planet. Feel free to share about yourself, but my ‘story time’ is over for tonight. If that’s all you’re interested in, it would be best for you to go.”

He hadn't meant to sound as particularly defensive or unpleasant as the whole thing had come out - he only hoped Ana wouldn't be too offended. He hoped she had thicker skin than that.

He doubted that she didn't.[/size]

[poss]

It would seem Dorian was in good humor as she spoke of his dirty work, as if his medical assistance had been torture that she had been taken prisoner for. Mad scientist needing someone to practice on, and she laughed softly after he returned the taunt. Ana ran her hand along the bandaging that he wrapped around the stitches and shifted her weight in the chair. "I must admit I don't picture you are the boy scout kind of guy, but I guess I do not know you very well." she teased before uncrossing her legs and sitting more comfortably, back still straight her attention turning to the room around before she asked about why it is he fell.

Annnnnddd it would seem it was a sore subject. Immediately she could sense his tension and she glanced in his direction just in time to meet his hard, and somewhat cold, stare. Talk about a change in emotion, from laughter to 'my god please do not bite my head off' in her expression as she made it visibly obvious she was confused and rather surprised by his change of attitude. And then he made to clean up the supplies on the counter infront of them. Ana sat back and watched in silence, the shoulder holster fit with th 9 mil pistol folded neatly on the counter infront of her, she moved it off to the side so that it was not in the way of his sudden urge to clean.

Being left alone for a few minutes as he carted supplies off to the bathroom she assumed, she felt the tension heave a heavy sigh over the room. It was thick enough to walk on, and she was starting to feel rather awkward. Obviously he did not care to talk about it, and she was about to get up and move down the hall to address the subject, tell him that she should get going and thanks for the help when he walked back out toward her. He still seemed tense- she could see it in his shoulders, and the way he walked. Did she press a button not meant to be touched?

Eyebrows raised with interest as she listened to him as he stood on the other side of the counter. He seemed rather upset by the fact she had questioned why he had fallen and was still extremely confused by his reaction. Surprise still showed on her face- she could pull of a look of innocence very well. And the, she couldn't help but grin. "My my I never thought it would be such a sore subject. No problem, Dorian, I understand that you have your secrets and like your privacy. Much like myself." She said as she stood up from the chair and reached to take the shoulder holster rig in to her grasp and begin slipping it back on over her shoulder and feeding it through the belt loops on her jeans.

Gaze fell to the task at hand as she fitted the holster- it was often a lot more difficult than it looked, and was much easier to take off than to put on. "Thank you for the stitches, as much as I dislike having them done I am sure they are well worth it." She had that tone to her voice that people got right before they started to leave or end a conversation. Oh, Ana had thick skin. He could flail his arms and swear at her if he wanted to, and would get about the same reaction out of her. Simply put, she took his offer to leave and began to act on it. "I can see my self to the door."

[dorian]

{teeny tiny closing post. <3}


Though Ian had already begun to regret what he’d said to Ana, something in him kept him from jumping to an apology right away. It was, no doubt, his pride that stood in the way; as unfortunate as it was, it was exceedingly late in the night, and Ian was too exhausted to push it aside in an attempt to salvage what remained of his good evening.

Ian heard Ana’s tone change as she thanked him for his help, and he knew their time together was coming to a close. Ian was a bit split in two; he wanted the company despite how late it was, but it made no sense for Ana to stay any longer – especially not after he’d ruined their good mood with his defensiveness.

”Right.” His tone was somewhat resigned as he turned his gaze to now folded hands, listening rather than looking as the chair slid backwards some. His ears caught the sounds of Ana readjusting her shoulder holster back into its original position, as well as the soft, damp footfalls she left as she walked towards the door. Ian swallowed, and gave a half-hearted “Good night,” before he heard the door close behind the woman with a click. His immediate instinct was to go collapse onto the couch, turn on the TV, and vegetate for a while, in an attempt to do anything but think.

He did just that.

[/size]