No Sympathy for the Devil (3/2/11)

Featured Characters: Lizzie Roy, Killian McCray & Stefano DiMera.
From the Perspective of: leftoversaintleftoversaint.

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Amidst the drizzled freeway traffic a rather handsome car can be seen. It is a brand new, black Rolls Royce - the type of car that would set someone back hundreds of thousands of dollars. The windows are darkened enough so that the driver is not discernable. When the luxury auto passes the lone hitch hiker it slowly drifts over to the shoulder and comes to a halt. The driver-side door opens out with a soft hiss of compressed air. Out climbs a dashing man quite familliar to the young woman; Killian McCray. He is dressed tonight in a wine-red silk shirt and beige slacks, complete with ankle-strap leather sandals. His face, visible with his blonde hair bound behind his head, lights up at the sight of the girl. He gestures her over to his inviting vehicle which lights the asphault around it with little lights set into the frame. "Come on, get in out of the rain!"

Shuffling along the side of the freeway in the light drizzle is a young woman with dark hair cut into long layers, though the sides have been lifted up away from her face and clipped behind her head with a barrette on this occasion. A long coat made of brown courderoy hangs open over a dark blue dress with a deep v-cut neck, just enough to show a tasteful hint of cleavage where an unusually elegant golden locket hangs. Her thumb, slightly raised in a could-be-hitchhiking state toward the cars that whip by at break-neck speeds on the eight lanes to her right, sticks up a little further when a vehicle seems to slow, and becomes fully extended when the car comes to a complete stop. She turns in a mix of elation and awkwardness toward the driver, but her expression quickly changes to surprise at the man's identity. "Killian? Holy cow!" Any lingering hesitation dissolves and she heads to the vehicle with her hand up to shield her eyes from the rain; despite the gesture her eyeliner is still smeared all over the place. "I totally didn't feel like being murdered tonight, so this works out pretty well…" She slides into the car and shimmies out of her coat, tugging the wet garment across her lap. "Here I thought you'd left town. How's it hanging, Mr. Bond?"

The handsome blonde man slips back into the car and pulls in the door, sealing the outside air out and the climate-controlled air in. He turns toward the girl and offers her a prize-winning smile. "I /did/ leave town. I had urgent business that couldn't wait. I tried to call you before I left but I never got through, and after that I was outside of cellular range until just yesterday." He quickly fastens his seatbelt which seems a lot more soft and comfortable than the standard black strap in most cars. "In fact, I was going to get in touch this evening to arrange for dinner." He gives her another smile before rolling the car back out onto the road, merging with traffic with seemless ease.

"Oh reaaally? Missed me, huh?" the girl asks as she reaches to follow suit with the seat-belt fastening, clicking hers into place after some distracted struggle to find the right spot, "No cell phone service? Where'd you go, the deep jungles of Africa?" A rummy look comes over her rain-streaked face at his prize-winning smile; the way most people look when tipsy after a couple beers. She turns her head toward the window as a result, grinning stupidly at the glass. With the back of her hand she rubs wetness off her forehead. "Lets go have dinner," she says, pausing before adding, "If you really meant that.. Uhm… if you just pulled over to pick up a woman in a dress, I mean, a girl in the rain, and you didn't know it was me or what you were getting into, you can drop me off at home and all's gravy."

"The desert, actually. I won't go into it, but there are individuals in my line of work who congregate at a specific location in Nevada and it is about as off the grid as you can get." He doesn't smile at this statement; indeed, he seems to be ready to move on from it almost immediately. He focuses on the road for a moment, not responding to anything until they turn off the freeway into Santa Monica. "I would love to go out to dinner. You look lovely, by the way - I don't believe I have seen you in a dress. It's quite becoming, and makes you look more feminine if possible." A wink is tossed her way now that he is able to converse more easily on the less intense roads of Santa Monica. "What do you feel like eating?"

"I had a job interview," she says at once to the idea that she looks 'becoming', seeming as ready to move on from that subject as he was from what he was doing in the desert. Her head turns and she glances at him out of the corner of her eye, still looking a wee bit goofy, as though just a glance at the supermodel-like face made her go into schoolgirl mode. After staring at him for a single second she shifts to rest the side of her head against the passenger door window, pressing her lips together in thought. "Wherever you want to go is fine with me. Keep in mind my make-up's running and I'm soaking wet. So, nowhere nice."

A handsome blonde man with a tan complexion notes the bashful nature of the girl when she looks at him, and it makes him smile in return, though without any of her shy connotations. "Alright then. I know a little Italian place not too far from here. It's quiet and very authentic." He reaches out a hand and gives the thigh above her knee a gentle squeeze. "Not that you couldn't go somewhere nice - you look great, especially with that wet dress clinging to all the right places." His rich laugh fills the car immediately following that statement in its warming, pleasant way. "I have a handkerchief if you would like to wipe away that mascara."

After his last comment sinks in she sits up and folds down the vanity mirror on the roof of the car, pushing it until it hangs at a proper level to show her face. "Oh man…" she says in a low tone, more to herself than the man beside her, "I look like a post-fuck prom date…" The expletive rolls off her tongue without a hitch, though she does seem to notice she's said it in the moments after. "Sorry," is mumbled as she pulls out a small amber compact case with a faux-gold printed 'C' on the top. She pushes it open and examines her eyes a little more closely with an expression of mourning. "It's okay - save your kerchief. This stuff doesn't come out of cloth, really. Italian sounds good to me, by the way. I love spaghetti. And lasagna. And pretty much everything else… uhm… Did you have fun in the desert? Business go well? You never told me what you do."

There is a very slight double-take when the girl rolls out her rather vulgar sentence. He breaks into a belly-wracking laugh which impairs his driving for a moment, causing him to very nearly jump lanes. He regains control very quickly and seems quite unaffected. He dabs at his eyes with one balled up fist until he gets ovet the fit of mirth. Wordlessly he pulls out his handkerchief and passes it to her. "Don't worry, please - it's just a handkerchief." He mutters, still sighing with humour. "Post-fuck prom date.." he repeats, shaking his head, "Good lord, Elizabeth." The car rolls into a single-lane street lined with palms. "As for my work, fun? Not really. I'm a consultant, if you must know, but I loathe talking about work. I despise how much of my life revolves around it as it is." Just like that, she's shut down.

The girl takes the kerchief with a soft word of thanks and carefully wipes her face, careful to put minimal pressure against her eyes. The cloth is left ruined by streaks of black, and she tucks it into her own coat pocket. She looks oddly pleased by her horrible faux-pas in language being responded to with amusement, though it doesn't quite banish the embarassed flush from her recently cleansed face. "Wanna know what I do?" she asks after he has divulged his profession as a 'consultant'. Her bluish eyes dart toward him and she lifts her eyebrows. "I don't mind telling you, but you'll probably laugh."

"Go ahead, I'd love to hear." He responds with a light smile. He turns the car off the road again, this time into a little and very narrow street which is quaint in its simplicity. A few small restaurants dot the area, each one looking authentic and old world. A few pedestrians mull about, most of them unassuming locals, many of whom eye the fancy car with wide-eyed stares. "I'm sure I won't laugh, so long as you don't tell me you're a lawyer or something mundane and ill-fitting."

An apple-cheeked brunette with long layered hair and dark liner smudged around her eyes laughs, "You might prefer a lawyer, honestly…" She peers out the window at the pedestrians, giving each and every one an incredulous look. As they stare at the car and she stares at them she continues, "I'm like a walking gauge for supernatural activity. If a person is capable of something that your average everyday run of the mill human isn't capable of, I can see it plain as day, like they had a tatt on their forehead." Her palm smacks her own forehead lightly, somehow making the point of her last statement. "If they're a good person even if they're not, you know… normal, I'm not needed. If they're not a good person, I have to do something about it, like… I have to /fix/ it." Her brows tightly furrow; obviously the subject she thought she wanted to pursue took an ill-turn without her intending it. "I have to kill them, I guess is what I'm saying. It's a terrible job; no dental and no benefits package, definitely no retirement." The last bit is added with an attempt at humor. "Anywho, I just wanted you to know… mostly so that if you find out somewhere along the line you won't think I was after you for any reason beyond thinking you're charming and gorgeous. I know you're able to do things most people wouldn't classify as normal. And it doesn't matter."

The car is pulled up against the sidewalk with a casual twitch of the steering wheel, and the engine is shut off, thus parking them. As she talks he listens quietly with his eyes solely upon her face. He does not respond to her at all, save for expressional movements including a frown, a nod or two and a raised brow. Once she is finished he gives her a smile of understanding. "Of course, I was aware something was different about you. I don't have the ability to discern exactly what, but I knew. Not a vampire, of course, nor anything I have experience with." He reaches out a hand and touches her face. "I am human, Elizabeth. I am different, but human. I was born, I will die; I eat, drink, feel emotions. I have been called many things, but not one was correct - I am merely a human with a handful of extraordinary abilities." The emotional expression of his face is hard to read, but intense, as if somehow conflicted between too many feelings to actually show them.

"No, of course not…" she says at once, a bit breathless at the idea that he could have thought she believed he was a vampire, "I don't pretend to know what you are. I barely know what /they/ are. But I'm a hunter. It's what I do. I don't have much choice, so I thought we'd just get that out of the way and move onto the balls. Meatballs. Spaghetti and meatballs." Her hand rises and touches the outside of his - the one touching her face. She gives him a strange, goofy sort of smile, already having forgotten what she'd said a moment earlier. Where most people might take the opportunity to say something profound, or at least affectionate, she says instead, "I can stand being around you," she laughs a bit awkwardly and reaches to push her hair out of her face, moving the stray strand to be pressed carefully behind her ear, "in fact I kinda enjoy it. But, I'm no good at lying, and besides, I have every intention of reining you into to a more permanent-type relationship, Kill. Honesty's the best way to chase you off before that can happen." She winks in an unusually smooth gesture, though when her hand lowers from her ear it knocks him in the nose; This rather ruins the effect.

"Hunter." He remarks as if commiting it to memory. He smiles at her Freudian slip, but he doesn't pursue it for some reason. Instead he simply stares at her face until she bops him on the nose. Unusually he doesn't seem to see it coming and actually flinches a little, causing him to laugh bashfully - a rare emotion shown by him. "Permanent? We'll see. I refuse to commit to agreement - it's far more exciting when things are a surprise. I am, however, considering getting a permanent residence here in the city. Perhaps I'll give you a key." He winks at her and turns to pop open his door, stepping out immediately.

"Oh man, don't do that. You'll only encourage me. Ruin everything before it has the chance to get serious." At his wink she crinkles her nose and gets out of the car, careful to close it behind herself gently, so as not to damage the exceedingly expensive vehicle. She leaves her wet coat in the car, but the dress is still soaked, clinging all over her figure; the tiny white pattern of polka dots seems brighter because the blue fabric is wet, but it's not an entirely unappealing sight despite the abhorrant material. For the first time it becomes fully apparent that she's wearing cowboy boots - pale brown with red accent stitching; needless to say, it doesn't really match in the conventional way. She steps up onto the curb and slides up beside the blonde man, refraining from taking his arm or looking like she would have found such a thing necessary. Her hair has started to dry, leaving it more wavy than usual. "I'm about starving."

A handsome blonde man with a tan complexion takes the girls arm without requiring any signals. "Me too." He replies to her, glancing over the clinging dress. He gives her a low purr of definite approval before turning toward the little Italian restaurant. He guides her in through the door and directly to a table for two. Evidentally such a small place needs no hostess. Killian sits and gestures across for the girl to do likewise. Almost immediately a young waiter approaches. "Sparkling water to get started, and penne with green pesto, please."

"Ooh, I'll have the same," the brunette adds to the waiter, smoothing out the front of her menu and handing it politely to the fellow. It slips out of her hand before the transaction can successfully conclude, of course, and their heads smack into one another when they both go to pick it up at the same time, but the attempt to be polite was there at least. The girl sinks down into her chair until the waiter has gone.

Killian laughs heartily at the ridiculous altercation, an action which causes the young waiter to seem a little disgruntled and perhaps a bit more embarrassed. When the fellow has gone to retrieve their orders, Killian lights up a smile at the girl. "If you ever drop anything around /me/, I'll let you pick it up yourself. My head doesn't need that kind of punishment." He laughs a little. "Of course, that pink colour in your cheeks reminds me of a rather enjoyable evening."

The girl stays slumped down until the waiter is well out of eye-shot, and only begrudgingly rights her posture even then. Killian's commentary earns a mock glare first, then a stare of non-comprehension that is quick to fade out for shock. "/Killian/", she admonishes, sounding purposely like a parent, "Careful, or I'll embarass /you./" The threat is uttered with an air of comical confidence, "Don't think I can't do it."

"Oh, I'd love for you to try, really I would." He grins, winking at her. "Of course, if you /really/ want to talk about things that happen between the sheets, well… you may still be starving in several hours, because I'll be too worked up to stay here much longer." His smile is broad and dazzling, showing many of his magnificent white teeth. "You speak more than I do anyway."

"Oh, I'd love for you to try, really I would." He replies immediately, grinning with self satisfaction. The waiter arrives with a dark green bottle of Perrier - not sparkling water at all - and places two narrow glasses with an unusual shape down onto the table before each patron. Killian collects his water and gives it a sip before laughing quietly. "Oh I am just playing with you, Elizabeth. There's nothing to be embarrassed about." A very suggestive wink and a quick lick of his lips indicate all sorts of things, even though he was likely just removing traces of his drink from his mouth. Food arrives next, placed before them without decorum. The portions are ridiculously large. The handsome blonde immediately sets to eating with a smile on his face.

Gliding through the front entrance like a spectre, a tall, agile figure with an olive, very italian complexion and a rather nice suit arrives on the premises. A lazy smirk edges his fine mouth into jagged pleasure as he walks from the doors to the center divider. He doesn't take a seat. Instead he stands beside a table where four older gentlemen are seated, sharing a large bowl of ravioli and hand-cut breadsticks dusted with parmesan. Each has a glass of very red, very deeply colored wine. He begins a conversation with the old men that seems to put them on the defensive; at least, they certainly look nervous. After a few minutes spent discussing whatever they have to discuss he spies the brunette from across the restaurant, and his smile takes a turn toward dangerous. He licks his lips generously and languidly strides into her direction, whether she is with company or not. He nears as they finish their meal.

The girl says little but 'pft' in response and settles into her food the second it's placed before her. She eats with surprising delicacy, though very little formality; no napkin on the lap or proper utensil choice. When done with less than half the portion brought to the table she sets down her fork and sits back, admiring the room in silence through quick sips of water. When Killian finishes his meal, however long that takes, should he look up to regard her he finds her face entirely drained of color and her mouth hanging slightly open. There is no humor in her expression. She looks toward the center divider, that which separates the smoking section from the no-smoking. Without saying a word her hand moves beside her, fingers blindly groping to unzip her bag.

The handsome blonde is a slow eater. He consumes his food bite by bite until about half of his portion is also gone, a few minutes in Lizzie's wake. He dabs his mouth with a napkin and looks up at the girl, his expression happy until he notes hers. His face becomes as empty as a blank canvass and attains a rather predatory remoteness. His head barely moves, but his eyes head directly to where she is looking. He looks again at her. "Tell me what's wrong in as few words as possible." Is spoken with incredible calmness.

"The gentleman that I mentioned to you the night you came to my house has walked into the room," she replies as her hand delves into the open zipper on the bag next to her, sinking toward and closing around an out of sight firearm, "He saw me, and he's coming this way. You see that, how everyone is leaving?" Sure enough, the dining room is almost completely empty - left is only the waiter who served them, and only the back of him is visible as he pushes through the kitchen door, "I think he owns the place." The bag is pulled into the girl's lap with a slow pull of her arm. "I'm about to ruin dinner for the both of us." she murmurs quietly, sounding unusually determined. As the very handsome, tall and dark-featured man rounds the corner she pulls her Valentine's Day gift out of the bag in her lap, sloughing the canvas free of the submachine gun and clasping both hands into their proper places on the weapon. The gun points steadily at the approaching italian in her lap, though she doesn't say anything to him.

Looking terribly amused the drop-dead-gorgeous italian with greased back hair approaches calmly, obviously unperturbed by the gun. He glances between them and offers a polite, fanged smile.

A steak knife is silently slid beneath Killians hand when the girl informs him of the trouble. He turns around, watching the people evacuating the quaint little restaurant, then he locates the handsome grease-ball. A feline smile comes across Killian's mouth, the kind of smile you'd expect a lion to give a baby gazelle when he has already eaten its mother and has a full stomach. "You're a disappointing specimen for a rapist. I expected at least an iota of intimidation, unfortunately all I really feel is absent revulsion. Is that olive oil in your hair?"

The girl's small white hands grip the matte black weapon snugly; her finger curls gently around the trigger. She doesn't answer him, but she does aim cleanly for his head, tilting the submachinegun up without lifting her arms so that it points in that direction, albeit in an amateur fashion.

A musical yet wholeheartedly masculine laugh answers the handsome blonde, and the italian reaches to smoothly tuck his arms across the front of his well-sculpted chest. "Going to shoot me, beautiful? We've crossed that road, have we not?" he sighs. "Alright then, have your fun. But remember, I'll have mine. Tit for tat." The italian's arms unfold and he reaches to unbutton his fine silk shirt, revealing his chest in a rather dramatic fashion. His head turns with faked disappointment. The blonde receives only a nauseatingly condescending wink. "Why, hello young fellow. Are you the gentleman fucking her, now?" His fanged mouth spread in a wide smile as he added, "How entertaining! I had a little taste, myself. Exquisite, the way she fought and screamed… writhed beneath me in fear. We'll be fast friends, you and I. I can see that already." The man laughs again, though he sounds genuinely amused this time. Since for the moment no shots fire off the vampire makes no move. He just stands there, making conversation and waiting to be unloaded on with an uzi.

(Combat Rounds)

The condescending, oily attitude from the stranger doesn't seem to phase Killian. Indeed his expression remains quite solidly fixed in his relaxed, predatory smile. "Oh please don't try so hard on my account. It's having the opposite effect you desire; you see, I am now even /less/ impressed." He winks in return, but his wink carries nothing with it save for a crackling of danger, as if the mere gesture is a spark beside a crate of explosives. The hand covering the knife suddenly twitches into blurred motion, darting in a reversed-swing, embedding the steak blade handle-deep into the Italian's chest. Killian is on his feet by the time the attack is completed, and his sleeves are wrenched up, revealing two military-quality matte-black blades strapped onto his flesh with nylon sheathes.

As the blonde makes his rapid attack the vampire remains stood solidly in place, looking only ever so slightly surprised. He lunges at Killian with his fanged maw gaping wide and snaps at the air less than a quarter inch from his throat - like a shark might snap at a leg or arm, the body coiling and jerking to propel the head forward. Luckily the attempt is a failed one, and it's further fortunate that it puts the italian a foot away from the handsome blonde - Lizzie wastes no more time unloading a round of bullets, three quick bursts of quick fire rapidly, vibrating her entire body and jolting her back just a little as her finger pulls the trigger tight. The bullets spray into the vampire's head, bursting one eye like a wet grape and riddling his cheek with the other two holes.

One of the knives mounted on Killian's forearms is yanked cleanly out of its sheath, revealing it as a rather high-tech black-bladed weapon straight out of black ops. It is roughly eight inches long and wider toward the end, making it appear roughly Asian in design, yet wholly western in manufacture. He waits until the rounds have finished pummeling the Italian, grinning broadly. When the vampire does not fall, however, he languidly moves forward, his body moving as if his joints were incapable of locking tight. When he reaches the Italian again, and with one very fast, loose-armed slash, he opens up his throat over half way toward decapitation. He drops down to the ground immediately, his extremities begining to crumble to ash. By the time he hits the floor in total he is nothing but dust and clothing. The handsome blonde laughs merrily. "Well, that was quite a let down, wasn't it?" He says, turning his Colgate grin toward Lizzie.

(End Combat Rounds)

The brunette doesn't look quite as amused with the vampire's downfall as her counterpart, though she does pull a quick, half-assed grin before pushing her gun back into her bag, shoving it down deep and zipping shut. "Yeah," she replies, shoulders moving slightly with an implied yet utterly soundless chuckle. "Tell you what, Kill, lets get outta here. I wouldn't mind /never/ seeing this place again." She moves for the door but stops after one or two steps, returning to the ashen pile and bending to one knee beside it. Her elbows bow out as she pushes through her backpack's many pockets, emerging only after finding a ziplock baggy - the kind kids usually carry in their lunchboxes - filled with some fresh-looking apple slices. The apples are dumped out onto the floor and she scoops up a whole handful of ash, studiously sealing the zip and shoving the whole thing away. She gives Killian a guilty look out of the corner of her eye and heads for the door.

The knife is wiped off on the dead vampires remaining clothing. "He had terrible taste. This sort of clothing, it's supposed to /look/ expensive and classy, but it surely isn't. This is the worst kind of lie." As he speaks his smile does not fade; he is a well-fed lion who sadistically killed a baby gazelle without ever intending to eat it. He rises and puts his knife back into his sleeve, pulling it down. His cufflinks are nondescript, but very well made; small and silver. He repositions them. He observes the girl as she collects the ash, yet he says nothing. The smile fades and his expression becomes more serene. He follows her outside, and once under the open air he breathes deeply. "Problem solved, I suppose."

"Yes," she agrees as she glides more than walks to the ridiculously pricey car parked in the lot outside, "Now, study time." Her hand gives the backpack a little smack before she swings it behind her, gripping the strap on her shoulder. She stands beside the passenger side with her hip resting on the door and watches Killian, looking suddenly relaxed - and enamored - as he approaches. "..Well… drive home time. Then try to talk Killian into staying an hour or two time. Then sleep time. Then internet time. Then.. /then/ it's study time." She smiles at him. "Thanks."

"I'll consider staying for a little while." Killian replies, smiling once again. He reaches the other side of the car and opens the door, giving her a pleasant sort of look before ducking down into the car. Assuming she does likewise, he turns on the engine and rolls the Phantom back onto the road. "No need to thank me. That idiot was a nothing who thought more of himself. You'd have taken him with a few more rounds from your gun anyway. And I ought have let you, as recompense for what he did to you." He winks at her, smiling. "Where am I headed? To your place?"

Sinking into the seat and locking the safety belt across her chest before settling in, the girl is all but entirely silent on the way to the street, breaking the quiet only to confirm, "Yeah, my place." It isn't until they've turned onto the freeway that she seems to think about mentioning, "My uh, my other place. South Central." Her head turns slightly and her eyes flicker toward him, "..First housing project on the right if you turn on Normandy and Florence in the Florence direction. On second thought, you should drop me off, like, an entire city district over so you don't have to see the place. I move around a lot, you know? I could uh, I could get a better spot to stay… I mean you've seen my other place…" Her words trail off into incoherent muttered statements, though they're all along the same line as what she already said. Her head bonks into the window with a light thump and stays there.

One brow raises when she details where she would like to be taken. "What on earth are you doing in South Central? No, that won't do at all. What's wrong with your beach house?" A genuine note of confusion is in his voice. He makes absolutely no effort to take the South Central exit, instead heading steadily toward Downtown. "I am staying at a nice place. You'd be more comfortable there, I'm sure. South Central isn't really the place for you. The place is a mess." One hand reaches out to the climate control, making it a few degrees cooler inside the car.

With a quiet and somewhat awkward air, she turns her head toward him without actually lifting it from the window, making the position quite weird looking. She repeats, "I like to move around a lot. Long story short there was another hunter who was, well… he wasn't the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree. He dropped a lot of stuff on the Net." Almost as soon as she's said it she corrects herself with, "the internet. He may or may not have told a lot of things about me over a public forum; a forum watched by the baddies. The real baddies. This isn't actually that short, is it. I should've just told you the long version. It was only like, five or six words shorter than this anyway." The air conditioning taking a cooler turn is met with a low sigh of appreciation. Her shoulders shift a little in a shrug. "I figure if I stay at a good five or six different spots then I'm four-fifths or four-sixths less likely to be surprised. You know what I mean? I seriously need a different job. Really. Like a teacher's aid. Anyway, I stay in South Central because nobody'd expect me to be there. You know? Plus, most months out of the year my income's zip. I could up that in about ten minutes, but it's not the best feeling in the world." She takes a breath after that long explanation and coughs quietly into her palm.

"Well, I do understand your predicament, but avoiding one danger by planting yourself into another isn't really the best solution." He takes the first Downtown exit at a slow, methodical turn, moving through traffic without danger or recklessness. "That's why you should come to my room for tonight, then tomorrow I can help you arrange a safe house that is as off the grid as off the grid gets. Plus, if anybody was looking for you specifically they'd never come close. You could stay in my room and be safe, because nobody is aware of a connection between the two of us." He winks at her with that, looking rather pleasent to the eye as he does. "I can't in good conscience take you to South Central."

A characteristic 'pffft' follows his last statement, and she sighs in obviously fake frustration before saying, "Oh /fine./ I couldn't argue with you. You're /impossible./" His wink puts a woozy look on her face, like she just sank into a warm bath. This causes her nose to slightly wrinkle and her head to turn toward the window, though that doesn't do a lot to hide the pink flush that's risen to color up her cheeks. "So, I'm staying with you tonight. That means we're going to end up in bed."

A handsome blonde man with a tan complexion gives a rich little chuckle at her final words, smiling broadly as he brings the car around a corner toward the nicer part of Downtown. "I can't deny I was hoping as much, but we don't have to. My interest in you goes beyond sex. We could play Eye-Spy for all I care." He turns to give her a brief look of affection which is likely not seen due to her looking out of the window. One hand gives her shoulder a little squeeze.

"Oh yeah? Well, I spy with my little eye something that's the color… red." When he squeezes her shoulder she looks at him, smiling broadly, dimples and all. "Wait, wait… Your interest in me /goes beyond sex/, does it? Iiinteresting…" For whatever reason she reaches up and catches his hand before it can leave her shoulder, guiding it cautiously down to lie on the gear shifter. Like a highschool date she awkwardly weaves her fingers in with his, squeezes, then shyly lets go. This prompts an unstoppable, yet quiet, giggle. She looks horrified by the sound of it. "Oh man…"

"Something red? I'm not sure. Your face when you get a little out of breath, or shy… perhaps your lips with some nice cherry lipstick applied? Or that red SUV that just rolled by?" He flashes his teeth at her before returning to the road. His hand accepts her touch with pliability, though he seems a little confused at her giggle. "Are you giggling because you're shy to hold hands with the boy you like, or because I did something silly?" As he speaks he pulls his Rolls Royce up to another pricey, luxury hotel, aiming toward the rotunda where the valet is standing and waiting.

"My jammies, which I conveniently have stowed in my backpack, here," the brunette replies with an air of victory, having won the I-Spy challenge, Round One because he failed to guess, "I can see the corner sticking out. Hm?" The bag is held up, showing a bright red peak of some soft flannel-like material peeking out of the partially open zipper. She gives him a blank look of feigned disdain at his last question. "I didn't giggle," she blatantly lies. "But, if I /had/ giggled it would've been because while we've done all kinds of crazy on a mattress, a countertop, uhm… a wall, the bathroom sink and a hotel room, I don't think we've ever, you know, been /affectionate./ It's different. I'm not really accustomed anymore. And you're waaaay better looking than anybody I've ever even met before, let alone dated. So, long story short - shuddup." Her bluish-grey eyes float across to the valet, who receives an uncomfortable stare for a moment or so.

"Affection can be given in different ways. Like still being around to do things on more than just the wall, if you know what I mean." The car comes to a stop and Killian pops his door, sliding out with ease. He tosses his key to the valet and tucks something into the kids front pocket - something that looks suspiciously like a fifty dollar bill. Once the young woman catches him up he places an arm around her shoulder and the pair enter the hotel. The foyer boasts a andsome fountain and winged staircases. Killian ignores both in favor of the brass-coloured elevator doors. The call button is pushe- and they enter the elevator together. It is empty. Once inside he presses the button for the twelfth floor, and the box moves upward. "Penthouse suite."

"This is really beautiful," the girl murmurs to her company as the elevator smoothly rises up through uncounted hotel floors. She adds, "the hotel…" to make sure he knows what she means, not that it was particularly ambiguous considering her wowed stares that fell on everything of aesthetic appeal on the exterior and lobby. "I think you're right, by the way. The affection thing. Still, I'm not going to pretend like the idea of holding hands and skipping doesn't shove a whole basket of butterflies right up in there. Uh, the stomach. Not vagina. Uhhh… yeah…" Her lips press tightly shut as they rise to the penthouse suites on the top level of the building, her one answer to anything else said a furious reddening of the face.

One of his soft, tanned hands slides its fingers through hers, holding snugly but gently. "Butterflies are nice wherever they flutter, aren't they?" He says to her, laughing just a little bit. The elevator rolls to a soft stop, a speaker uttering a low 'bim-bim' as the doors open. Killian guides the young woman out into a short corridor with only two doors, indicating that these upper floors are designated for penthouse suites only. He guides her over to 12-A, and he pushes a black card into the slot on the door, causing it to open inward without needing to be shoved. Once inside the pair are greeted by a very, very pleasent domacile. It is mostly modern in looks, granite, leather and stainless steel, but the occasional old-style lamp or ornament dot the place. "Welcome to casa de Killian."

An apple-cheeked brunette with long layered hair and dark liner smudged around her eyes walks through the door with her backpack cradled snugly against her abdomen, the straps hanging loose down her thighs. She mouths the word 'wow' and does a slow walk around the initial living area, coming close to touching an antique-looking grandfather clock but stopping her hand just short of grazing the freshly dusted finish. "You live here?" she asks, looking at him over her shoulder. The backpack is carried to a black leather sofa, where she briefly considers dropping it onto the gorgeous piece of furniture but changes her mind. The bag is clutched a wee bit tighter.

A handsome blonde man with a tan complexion moves about the place without seeming too worried about damaging anything. He slips off his sandals and nudges them beneath the coffee table. One hand takes her bag from her and drops it a little forcably onto the sofa. "Just a couch, Elizabeth. And yeah, I live here at the moment. I might buy a place of my own in the city, though… dealing with the suck ups in these places is too much." He smirks and wonders over to the window which literally takes up an entire wall of the living space. "Come over here… there's a great view."

She stands where she was when he took the bag and gives the spot on the couch it was shoved a lingering look before trailing after him to the window. Rather than impart any of the typical gestures of affection she reaches up and gives his hair a quick tousling with her hand, then settles in beside him, fingers pressed to the glass so that small prints are left behind when she moves. Her whole body leans toward the window as she looks out it, eyes large and reflective. "The city's quite a bit more appealing from above, isn't it?" She pauses a moment, looking in quiet before sighing, "Eh… If you look at it too long, you can still see the veins. I hate Los Angeles. You sure you want to live here?" What he said and what she just reiterated sunk in at about that second. She blinks, and though she keeps leaning into the glass her head turns toward him a little. "You're thinking about buying property here?"

"It's no worse than any other city. It's just more honest about it." He replies before turning away from the window. He stands still with his back to her for a moment until he makes his way to the sofa. He sits down softly and places his ankles on the coffee table. "I am thinking about it, yes. I have property in a few places; why not here?" Both shoulders give a little shrug and then his hands rise to his hair, recently mussed, and pull out the tie holding it in a tail. The thick blonde hair falls about his shoulders, loose and silken.

"Well, neat. Maybe we can hang out a little more if you decide to take the plunge and get a place around town." The statement is made with surprising non-chalonce; there is, for once, no sign that she's hiding anything in her general demeanor or expression until she turns to face him from the window perch. The smile is pretty telltale - a bit mischevious and a bit excited - until she takes in the full effect of his appearance with his hair down. The smile wipes clean off her face and she lifts her fingers to gently pinch the bridge of her nose, eyes shutting as if in stress. She retreats back into the room and lies down on the couch, falling asleep by the time he returns.

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