Drunk and Disorderly

[Existentially Odd]

(ooc: Trying out a new character to see if he\'ll gel with Saccharin\'s character - possibly a lamb for slaughter, too )
 
Nashoma Winter was being very careful about getting through the park by following only the lighted paths. Unfortunately, they wobbled and evaded him every now and then, for he was excessively drunk, it was almost three o\'clock and he needed to piss badly. Spying a massive oak tree, he decided it looked like the perfect place to take a leak, so he stumbled over towards it, fumbling with the stupid buttons of his fancy jeans as he went.
 
"I throw my hands up in the air sometimes, saying ay-oh, gotta\' let go," he muttered to himself as he went, singing the last song he\'d heard before he left the club. Well, it\'d been a song in there somewhere, anyway.
 
He arrived at the tree and with great care, reached into his pants and pulled his dick out, pointing it at the bark ahead of him and sighing heavily as the flow began to shoot out of him, a little steam coming off it in the coolness of the air. "Ahhh. I dunno\' why nobody wan\'d t\'take you home tonight," he told his penis forlornly. "Fuck\'n Wade."
 
Wade Runningpaws was his best friend and the reason he was even where he was. They\'d left the reservation together as sixteen year olds, travelling here to this city because Wade had been told by his grandfather that the white man here had learned their secrets and there was a place for their kind, in amongst many other supernatural creatures. Wade\'s family could shift into wolves. Nash thought it was pretty cool and was looking for any fucking excuse he could get to leave his shitty life and his annoying family behind, so he\'d gladly moved on with his best friend.
 
That\'d been almost five years ago and the two of them had done alright in this white man\'s world. This city really was filled with more freaks than just Wade, though, and Nash had seen things he didn\'t really care to explain, let alone investigate. They shared an apartment, they each had a job - Nash worked as a greasemonkey at a local garage and Wade was waiting tables but he was smarter than Nash, and he was also doing night courses in political science and... shit Nash had no interest in - and they were the best of friends.
 
Until one of them picked up and the other didn\'t, of course, and then it was, "Take your time getting home tonight, yeah bro\'? Me and my lady be getting nasty for a bit!" So Nash had been forced to drink more and stay at the club longer, to give his roommate time to do his thing. He was confused about why he\'d missed out tonight, and a little bitter, truth be told. Usually it was him that picked up.
 
Wade worked his Native American angle, though. Kept his black hair long and straight, wore little vests and traditional jewellery he knew all the stories for. Nash shunned his heritage, wanting as little to do with it as possible. It had never done him any favours. He shaved his black hair close to his head, letting his fierce black eyebrows dominate his cocoa-coloured face. He didn\'t look only native, he could pass for a number of cultures and he liked that. He even had a few darker freckles smattered across his nose, declaring his mixed heritage - his high cheekbones and almondine eyes directly referenced the strongest influence he\'d received from his native father, though.
 
Another thing his father had done - besides teach him how to hold his liquor and smoke like a train - was bestow upon him genetically average height. Nash was just shy of six feet, though what he lacked in vertical impressiveness, he made up for in muscle. He took care of himself, boxing, running, hitting the weights down at the local boxing gym, where training was cheap and he could spend as many hours as he liked on the equipment, or in the ring. His body was lean and powerful, with muscles bulging everywhere - his looks were the main reason it was usually him picking up, not Wade.  He\'d had a few amateur fights down at the gym, due to his excellent musculature, but showed no talent for pugilism - much to his trainer\'s disgust. Nash guessed he\'d expected more from a stacked native with shit to prove, but, as usual, he\'d let the man down. He was good at letting people down.
 
Once he\'d finished his piss and tucked himself carefully back inside his underwear, Nash was overtaken by the strong desire to smoke. Before his jeans were done up. With the caution only one so drunk he can barely remember his name can show, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and extracted his cigarette pack. He got one in his mouth then pulled the lighter out of the pack, not quite having the manual dexterity to flick the roller over at a speed fast enough to cause a spark - in fact, his thumb was waving over the top of it and barely contacting it at all for most of his attempts.
 
And so this was how he was found, standing there in his floppy, unbuttoned jeans, a tight, short-sleeved black button-up shirt and chunky black shoes, facing a tree holding a pack of cigarettes near his face in his right hand and an unlit - but trying - lighter in his left. His frown of concentration was great and his eyes were just about crossed trying to co-ordinate the lighter with the tip of his cigarette and so he didn\'t even hear her approach until she spoke to him.

[Saccharin]

Anna had been watching him since he\'d veered toward the tree she was perched in. Even when she didn\'t leave her forest with the intention of visiting the park, she always found her feet traveling the path that took her to the heart of the city. After climbing the same oak he\'d relieved himself on like some dog, she would spend hours upon hours trying to touch the flow of energy just beneath the surface of the earth. All she\'d ever achieved was to frustrate herself. Whatever innate ability she\'d had to submerge herself in the streams had been taken from her when she\'d been turned.

  She\'d been given a chance to live a hundred lifetimes if she so chose, but she was forced to remain for all time on the outside of all she\'d been able to interact with as a mortal. Knowing something was there, but not being able to touch it was perhaps the most torturous part of her existence. That taken into consideration, the deal she\'d made didn\'t seem like a well thought out one, but her strong desire to right the balance that\'d been upset when her people had been ripped from their lands had made her willingly accept William\'s offer to make her like him - a perfect killer. She\'d loved him for the gift he\'d given her, though she was loath to admit she\'d ever harbored such feelings for him.

  When she heard the strike of flint against metal, she frowned. She\'d expected the man would continue on his way, but it seemed he was set on lighting his cigarette before doing so. Failed attempt after failed attempt she watched him, her face growing thoughtful when she realized there was a way to accelerate the process.

  Silently, she climbed down the tree, taking a route that had her landing on the opposite side of the trunk that he stood on. And just as silently, she approached him, still wearing the same outfit she\'d worn on her trek across the country and every night she\'d been into the city; a black tank top, faded blue jeans and hiking boots (though they were nestled at the foot of the tree, hidden under sticks and leaves). Her hair was held back in a long, thick braid and she pulled it over her shoulder as she approached him, donning the largest of smiles.

"You need help with that?" she asked, making it a point to look at the lighter and not lower, where he had left his pants unzipped. She didn\'t want him to think she was making an offer to assist him with the latter.

She wanted him to leave, not stick around.

[Existentially Odd]

Nash flinched at the sound of her voice, and slowly squinted over his shoulder to see her just standing there smiling at him, like she hadn\'t just scared the life out of him.  He uttered a Comanche swearword beneath his breath - a little something his father had also bequeathed him - and seemed to have the grace to realise he shouldn\'t just turn around with his jeans gaping.

"Shit, yeah, gimme\' a second," he slurred, staring down at everything before him in an effort to formulate a plan of attack that would end with his jeans buttoned up and his smoke lit.  Firstly, he eased the packet into his back pocket (having to hang onto the gaping front lapel with his other hand so he didn\'t end up pushing them past his slim hips) and then he set to buttoning.  His concentration was great and he wobbled a little whilst doing it, but eventually he was successful.  He made a show of hefting the pants and fussily straightening the lapels of his black shirt over the hem, before he turned (having to steady himself on the tree at one point).

"Thanks," he mumbled around his cigarette, holding the lighter out to the girl.  It had all happened quickly for him, so he was unaware that his entire excruciating show had taken almost ten minutes to complete.

[Saccharin]

 After she took the lighter, she glanced down at it briefly and then flipped the cheap plastic device so it was upright in her fingers. She leaned in and with her other hand cupped to guard his cigarette from any winds that might stir, deftly struck the sparkwheel with her thumb, getting it to light on the first try. She held it up until he took a short puff, causing the thin cylinder to draw in the flame.

"Here," she said, holding the lighter back out for him. She was pleased that he took it without much hesitation, because at the rate he\'d been going earlier, there had been a possibility she would\'ve been standing there for another couple of minutes waiting for him to figure out that yes, the lighter was his and yes, it needed to go back into his pocket.

Once she\'d taken care of lighting his cigarette, she could\'ve left him to amble in whatever direction he\'d been going before, but his eyes briefly met hers and she hesitated. They were familiar eyes in an unfamiliar face, and irrational as it was, she suddenly didn\'t want him braving the park in his current state.

"Do you live close?" she asked, hoping that he did. The closer he was to his home, the less time he\'d spend in the park and the less likely it was that he\'d encounter a vampire who didn\'t mind feeding from someone as obviously drunk as he. She might\'ve been that very vampire if she wasn\'t so far from home with it so close to sunrise.

It just wasn\'t worth the risk.

[Existentially Odd]

"Thank you, pretty lady," he grinned as he retook his lighter, managing a rare moment of dexterity and tucking it harmlessly into his front pocket.  Unfortunately, all agility ended when he got his large hand somewhat caught in the pocket.  He was still tugging at it every now and then as he squinted through the smoke curling up in front of his eyes and tried to answer her.

"Mot," he began, then realised he should withdraw the smoke from between his lips in order to speak more freely.  Luckily, he still had a hand loose to do just that (he gave the other one a tug as he thought about it), so he took a leisurely drag, removed the cigarette, exhaled smoke through his nose and contemplated exactly where he did live.

"Yeah, not far," he told her equably, smiling a happy smile that didn\'t bare his teeth.  His eyes couldn\'t focus on her too well and it was dark anyway, but he thought she seemed friendly, so he smiled at her in the same way nice and friendly. She was almost as tall as him, though, which he found a little off-putting.  He could tell that much, even in poor light.  "Xavier Lodge.  Sorta... that way," he slurred thoughtfully, pointing vaguely eastward and towards the city\'s centre.

His building wasn\'t far away but he was also in no rush to get there.  He and Wade had taken an apartment in the tidy little complex when they\'d first arrived in the city with barely any money to their names.  Their apartment was only a one bedroom place and they would never admit to anyone that they shared a bed (it was a big bed now, though it had been barely fit for two and very broken down when they were sixteen) in the name of saving money, but it never became an issue.  They\'d grown up sharing beds on the reservation and nobody\'d ever thought much of it.

Of course, when one of them wanted to use the bed for sex, the other either had to go back to his date\'s place or be content with the couch for the night.  The couch wasn\'t as comfortable and had been a large part of the reason for Nash lingering and drinking.  He wouldn\'t feel the broken springs or bunched-up padding as much in his current state.  Plus, Wade and his girl would be pretty busy in the bed \'til around four o\'clock (knowledge he\'d learned well in the last five years), so he didn\'t want to arrive home to the lumpy couch too soon.

He was planning to just stroll his way there and arrive in an hour or so (likely a very appropriate time frame for a walk that should take half an hour at most).

[Saccharin]

"I will walk with you," she said in a tone that didn\'t invite argument. She would be able to lead him home - acting as a sort of vampire repellant - and still make it back to her cabin with night to spare. This, of course, would only work out so long as they didn\'t encounter anyone older or stronger than she was, but if she stayed alert, they could easily avoid anyone who met either description.

Whether he questioned her or not, she walked around the side of the tree and lifted her shoes from the spot she\'d hidden them. A spider that had thought itself the proud owner of a new home found it was sadly mistaken when she brushed it off the boot it\'d bravely been climbing up the side of. Leaning against the oak\'s trunk, she pulled her socks on and then shoved her feet into her boots. Her footwear easily gave her another couple inches of height, and her head was level with Nash\'s when she returned to him.

"I\'m Anna," she said, holding her hand out in greeting. It was polite, she\'d been told. She was being polite in doing it.

[Existentially Odd]

He gave an indelicate sort of snort giggle when she told him she\'d walk with him - like a mother duck, marching her baby home, but was baffled when she suddenly disappeared from sight.  He took a thoughtful drag on his cigarette, frowning at the space she\'d been, and flinched yet again when she turned up back in front of him with her hand out.

"\'m Nash," he told her seriously, still frowning because he was either very drunk or she was excessively fast.  He thought it just as likely to be both of them, as one or the other.  He withdrew his cigarette using his left hand now, in order that to shake hers with his right, and was surprised by how cold she felt, yet she hadn\'t been shivering.

"Y\'re not really walking me home, are you?" he asked, a disbelieving guffaw cutting through the night air as he again found the notion incredibly funny.

[Saccharin]

Her eyes narrowed when she registered that his laughter had been directed at her. Nothing she\'d said had been amusing; she was offering him a kindness. Although he looked perfectly capable of handling other mortals, even a freshly turned fledgling would be able to best him. She could make sure he made it home safely, so why he was laughing? It wasn\'t a bad idea.

"Why do you laugh?" she demanded impatiently. "It isn\'t  safe out at night. If we go together, no one will bother you."

[Existentially Odd]

The seriousness of her words only made him laugh harder.  Sure, she was tall and shit, but she was hardly going to protect him from danger lurking in the city, was she?!

"Because... of you... walking... with me?" he laughed, having to bend forward and lean on his knees in order to stop himself from falling over.  His laughter wasn\'t vicious sounding, it was the happy, giggling sound of a child innocently amused by something he simply couldn\'t help but find funny.

"What good will you do?" he asked after his peals of laughter had died.  He looked up at her from beneath a curtain of thick black lashes, his deep brown eyes twinkling merrily.

[Saccharin]

Still he laughed. But why? She reached out with her mind to touch his, not having to dig very deep to find her answer.

  "You think you can take care of yourself," she said flatly. Okay, yes. As she\'d concluded earlier, he could handle himself against anything a human might throw at him, but there was so much more in the city that could tear him limb from beautifully sculpted limb without any effort at all. She was among them, though apparently having breasts made her seem less than capable.

"You are drunk," she reminded him. "What good will you do?"

[Existentially Odd]

He snorted indelicately and straightened up, imbued with all the cockiness alcohol can give a healthy, physically fit twenty year old.  He took another deliberate drag on his cigarette, exhaling the smoke upwards and squinting at her through it.  When had she got so much taller that he was seeing eye to eye with her?  His doubling-over had wiped his memory of that happening.

"I do alright," he told her arrogantly, deliberately keeping his answer mysterious - like he didn\'t feel the need to explain how strong, fit and fabulous he was.  "I\'ll be fine," he asserted, "thank you for the light."

His haughty statement given, he looked around himself in an attempt to get his bearings, spun on the spot, wavered and caught himself on the tree and finally shambled off in one direction... correcting with a rightward lean every couple of steps as he caught sight of the building that was his landmark, and finally figured out where he was heading.  He seemed to feel he\'d finalised the argument and was heading off home, alone.

[Saccharin]

She watched him bumbling about like a newly born fawn and couldn\'t help but to laugh under her breath. He was almost as stubborn as she was. Almost.

He\'d almost disappeared from sight by the time she moved after him, closing the distance between them with supernatural speed. After she slowed to match his pace, she deliberately cleared her throat and then spoke. "This Xavier, you live in his lodge?"

[Existentially Odd]

Nash jumped visibly as she re-appeared beside him, swore, stumbled, tripped over his own feet and almost fell on his ass (he didn\'t realise that she caught him and helped him get upright again, he thought it was all him).  His cigarette lay forgotten on the pavement somewhere behind him, having been spat out when he swore.

"Holy shit!  Do you always go around sneaking up on people like that?" he bellowed at her, blinking rapidly and panting as he tried to get his pounding heart (which he was clutching girlishly) under control.  It wasn\'t even that she\'d used her supernatural speed so much as the fact that he was too drunk to pay attention to what was going on around him that had him so scared, and this fact occurred to him almost the instant he stopped speaking, so he straightened and continued walking in the direction he\'d been going.

"Fuckin\' ninjas," he muttered to himself as he stumbled onward, believing she wouldn\'t be able to hear him.  When he noticed she was still travelling alongside him, he squinted at her as he walked (dodging a tree and a rubbish bin on the outskirts of the park as he went).  "I\'ll be alright," he told her petulantly, feeling he needed to reassert his independence before he answered her oddly-phrased question.  "N\' it\'s jus\' the name of the place where I live - Xavier Lodge.  I guess the guy who owns them is Xavier, I dunno\'.  My buddy, Wade, and I share the place and he pays the rent and stuff.  Where d\'you live?"

He was really hoping she\'d say she lived near him; that would make him feel somewhat better about her insisting on accompanying him home, like she wasn\'t going out of her way, and was really sort of just keeping him company.  Rather than being a chick protecting him.  Which was just embarrassing.

[Saccharin]

For a few steps she walked with her eyes closed, lost in the sound of his heartbeat. Distracting as the sound normally was, adrenaline increasing its tempo made it next to impossible to fight the urge to press her lips against his neck. But he was drunk, and she needed to get home. Even though her body would filter out poison faster than a human\'s could, it wouldn\'t happen quickly enough that she felt comfortable being so far away from her home so close to morning. Her luck and she\'d stumble around in circles until the sun came up and turned her into ash. Not how she wanted to end things, really.

"I don\'t live at Xavier\'s lodge," she responded evasively. She didn\'t think he\'d remember that she lived in a cabin in the woods when he next woke or ever find reason to search for it, but he might and if she neglected to mention it at all, there was absolutely no chance of an unwelcomed visit. Other than William, no one knew where exactly she lived. She was safe there.

"Have you always lived where you do now?" she asked, tilting her head slightly to examine his profile as they walked.

[Existentially Odd]

Nash was unaware of the pout he adopted when told that Anna didn\'t live in his apartment block, and he stared forlornly at her, hoping she\'d elaborate.  When she moved the conversation on, he sighed heavily.

"For five years.  Lived on a reservation before that," he huffed, waving the information aside as irrelevant.  It occurred to him, in the act of waving, that he\'d lost his cigarette and he started patting his muscular body in pursuit of his pack and lighter once again.

[Saccharin]

He had once lived on a reservation? The information was anything but irrelevant, it explained so much; his eyes, his cheekbones.

"I am Tsalagi, ah... Cherokee. Our reservation was in Oklahoma. What about you?" She didn\'t think his answer would be the same as hers, because as familiar as his features were, they werent the same as what she remembered of her tribe - what she saw when she looked in the mirror.

[Existentially Odd]

He stopped patting his body vaguely and his shoulders stiffened as he stuffed his fists into his jeans pockets, watching her warily from the corners of his eyes.  His gaze raked over her body and he could see it now, his hatred of all things proudly Indian rising to the fore of his thoughts, uncluttered by alcohol.

"Round there," he muttered vaguely, "\'cept the Comanche shithole, not the Cherokee one."  His voice was a condemnation, his expression a sneer and he turned his head to look forward once he\'d spoken, his jaw working as he ground his teeth together.  Thinking about where he\'d come from - especially when drunk - caused his insides to churn, his heart to pound, his muscles to clench with remembered shame, anger and racism.  He was here to get away from that shit and if she was looking to get all sentimental with him on their shared heritage or some fucking bullshit, she needed to find herself someone else to shadow home.

"Anyway.  I live here now.  I\'m never fucking going back, not even when I die.  End of fucking story.  I\'m crossing here," he warned seconds before he veered across the pavement surrounding the edge of the park and hustled across the road.  He earned himself a blaring horn because he happened to cross in front of one of only a few cars driving the streets at that hour, but he gave them the finger for their trouble and hopped blithely onto the opposite footpath unscathed, hoping he\'d lost his fucking Pocahontas wannabe shadow.

[Saccharin]

Anna pursued him doggedly, darting across the street without incident. "I live here now too," she said once she caught up to him. "The reservation, it was filled with... sickness," she said slowly, as if she had trouble choosing a word that accurately encompassed all she remembered of Oklahoma.

She referred to a multitude of things; how so many were dependent on alcohol or drugs to dull the pain of living in such dismal conditions with no reprieve in sight, how they let filth invade their souls and how they donned traditional clothing to dance for tourists, not the spirits as they were meant to. They were Cherokee in blood, but not many - if not most - of the old ways had been lost in the river they\'d crossed all those years ago. What they remembered was used as a way to earn money, to bring white people in so they would play in their casinos. It was a scam. The spirits wanted no part of it.

"I do not miss the reservation, but I miss my people." Even though she\'d only been able to watch them as they aged and died, she\'d felt connected to them. Now, she was so far away she couldn\'t even feel them. It left her empty. "You do not miss yours?"

[Existentially Odd]

At her first words he groaned a sigh, his head tilting back on his shoulders as he pleadingly contemplated the skyscrapers looming above them.  Would she not just fuck off already?  What did he have to do?  He\'d been nice, he\'d told her he\'d be fine, he\'d been polite then firm, he\'d tried to run away from her and still she hounded him like a bitch.  He stared at the light-fogged night sky and thought about what he could do next, her words a rhythmic jumble he let slide right over his skin and away.

He didn\'t want to hear anything she had to say.  Especially when she started talking about her people.  The closest he\'d ever come to having the type of fucking people she was blathering about was his father\'s father.  He\'d been a product of the old ways and had begun teaching Nash when he was very small, but that had all ended when he\'d died.  Nash had been four and his father, in the midst of fighting with his wife every night about money, their house, car payments (or whatever the fuck they\'d had to haggle over like starving mongrels finding half a hamburger in the street), hadn\'t taken the death well.  That was pretty much when the drinking started, and Nash\'s mother left a year or so later, poisoning an already-sour Comanche soul for good.

"No," Nash grated, coming to a stop and turning to face her, not caring that they were in the middle of the footpath and his voice was loud enough to draw attention to them.  "I don\'t miss my \'people\'," he sneered, "I can watch guys get drunk, kick their dog and have them punch me in the head right here too, if I want!" he yelled, the blackness of his abusive childhood welling in him, drawing a fist from his pocket and pounding it against his own skull a few times for emphasis.

He didn\'t feel any pain from it, but it did make him blink and a very sudden, raw silence welled in the wake of it.  He realised he was leaning towards her, his face angry, his body furious and he straightened away, putting a little distance between them again with a heavy sigh.  His fist opened and he ran it over his scalp, scratching the back of his head and then grasping the back of his neck, his posture now uncertain.  "I don\'t wanna\' talk about it," he said quietly, his words more of a plea than a command, the sentiment echoed in his eyes.  "It\'s... in the past.  Just let it go, alright?  Please just... leave it.  Alright?"

Tiredly, he turned, intending to walk away from her and continue on his way home, knowing there was sorrow in his eyes, feeling the happy cloud of drunkenness curdling instead into a stale and bitter aftertaste.  He never wanted anyone seeing him when he was like this; it\'d pretty much never happened with anyone except Wade.  And now some random Cherokee chick that didn\'t know when to leave well enough alone.  Great.  Maybe this was why he hadn\'t scored tonight... although, he was pretty certain she\'d caused this mood.

She, with her familiar-looking features and her too-positive words.  Her reminders of home when he wanted none.  He sighed again as his arm dropped down and he tucked his fingertips back into his jeans pockets, looking around at the scenery and trying to find comfort in the cold, emotionless face of the city.

[Saccharin]

"Alright," she agreed, but only because she\'d been moved by a combination of his earnest request and what she\'d found when she\'d reached out to delve into the darkness that seemed to permeate his very being when he thought of the past.

Even though she lacked training in using her vampiric abilities, Anna had always been sensitive to what some would call auras, and it\'d been a natural leap for her after she\'d been turned to touch what she\'d always been able to sense. Nash was nursing wounds that had turned black with infection, and they would need to be lanced before they could heal properly. Now, however, was not the time to do that. Not when he\'d already looked at her like he wanted nothing more than to share some of his pain with her in a very physical way.

"I am... sorry," she said, not liking the taste of an apology but feeling it necessary to say before they moved on. "You would not feel the same way I do when you do not share my past."

Unconsciously, she mimicked him, sliding her fingers into her pockets - though she looked at him instead of following his gaze. "We are almost there, yes?" she asked, hoping he\'d answer affirmatively. She hoped to have time to stop by the park before she turned toward the forest on the outskirts of the city that housed her cabin.

[Existentially Odd]

He squinted around himself with a little more purpose, dragged out of his dark and liquor-soaked thoughts in order to judge where they were.  To his dismay, he seemed to have been walking a lot more quickly (and in a far straighter line) since he\'d hit the pavement - though it was all rather a blur now he tried to contemplate how that\'d happened.  Somehow, he could see his building\'s stairs just over a block ahead of him.

"Ah shit," he slurred his realisation, his handsome mouth drawn down into a disappointed slash.  "Yeah. \'s up there."  He thrust his chin at the stairs that were now his destination; he decided he could sit outside and smoke for a while before he went in, try to let the air steal away the dark mood he was now in and give Wade enough time to finish up.

"Got somewhere else to be?" he asked her petulantly, his snide words backed up with a slight lip curl that told her in no uncertain terms he had no respect for her, her heritage, or her choices about where she was going to hang out, tonight.  He honestly hoped she\'d leave before his vision cleared up a little and he tried dragging her down into misery with him.