too good to be true.

[Alexander Vaughn] 7:30pm and Alexander's coming off his evening workout. Tribull gym's just off the south end of Grant Park, and it's easier for him to just cut through than go around. It's hot in Chicago today, clear and humid. His red Tapout shorts and sleeveless shirt, loose and grey, aren't particularly standout. He looks like another jogger, only he's not jogging; he's walking with his feet bare in his sneakers, a gym bag slung over his shoulder.

[Liadan Whelan] Líadan is sitting alone in Grant Park, people watching. It's summer now, and the tourists are out in force, wearing ball caps and colorful shirts, shorts and tennis shoes. She likes to come to Grant Park because it's close to her studio, where she's been staying while Danicka is in New York, and because nothing in the park looks the same from one day to the next. Her black tee reads in white block letters across her chest: ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US. Her khaki cargo capris show off her calves. Her black and white Chuck's are no longer as pristine as they were when she bought them a few weeks ago.

Usually when Líadan is found in Grant Park she has a camera swinging from a strap around her neck. Today she just wanted to be outside, so she sits on a stone bench and watches the world move around her. She feels oddly at peace with the city, for the first time since she moved here at the end of March.

That is, until she sees a man she recognizes coming up the stone walkway. Fabulous. Alexander Vaughn hasn't seen her, not yet. Lee doesn't call out to him, is content to sit and watch as he passes her by. She's reluctant to lose the sense of peace she feels, and yet as he comes near she sits forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Her red hair, held high on her head in a ponytail, falls over her shoulder.

[Liadan Whelan] [That should be: high on the back of her head. No Madonna hairstyles for her!]

[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander looks like he's in a good mood tonight. His hand grips the strap of his gym bag high at his shoulder. The other swings free. He's still faintly flushed from exercise; his muscles are pumped, veins bulging on his hands and forearms, at the crest of his bicep. His hair is damp from a quick shower, and he's actually whistling as he comes down the walk.

Some cute jogger girl bounces past. Alex doesn't stop whistling as he grins at her, checking the impulse to turn around and look at her ass only because if she turns to look at him, he wants her to see only his departing back. Even that's a sort of competition. And it's because he doesn't turn that the flash of red catches his eye, and his whistling falters a moment. He starts to scowl -- thinks better of it, puts a cocky-ass grin back on his face and strolls on over to Lee. He reads her shirt.

"For great justice! Fuck you doing in Grant, Lee? Stalking me?" Up close, his knuckles look red and chapped. There's a fresh bruise on his jawline too. Both of them are from his workout in the cage, though -- not from his tussle just down the path here, a little under 18 hrs ago.

[Liadan Whelan] And he's spotted her. From her position on the bench, she has to crane her neck to look up at him. When he comments on her shirt, a corner of her mouth twitches, but otherwise her expression remains bland, unconcerned. “How are you, gentlemen?”

Then, “Seeing as I was here first, I'd say you're the one stalking me. I should call the cops for harassment.” Her mouth twists in a grin now, and there's a look in her eyes that's difficult to read. She looks him up and looks him down, notes the gym clothes, the bag, the bruises, the now-slightly-off-center nose. She doesn't comment on these, though, nor does she mention that the last time she saw him his face was black and blue and distorted. Judging by the direction from whence he came, Lee has a sneaking suspicion they have memberships at the same gym.

[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander, contrary to popular belief, is not a completely insensate clod of muscle. He could probably, with a little effort, figure that look on her face out.

He doesn't bother. He just swings his gym bag off his shoulder and drops it on the bench beside her. Then he plops down himself, knees apart. He still smells a little sweaty; he gives off waves of heat.

"Listen, I probably shouldn't have unloaded on you last time. I was a little hopped up on painkillers and still pissed about the whole deal."

[Liadan Whelan] Luckily for Lee the breeze off the lake is carrying their smells away from either of them, her with her smell of soap and shampoo and, slightly, of chemicals from her dark room, and he of the masculine scent of sweat. The air is cool, but not chilly. Summer has finally come to Chicago, after all. The night is cool, but luckily she doesn't feel the need for a coat; she still needs to replace the jacket soaked with Taggart's blood.

“Aw,” she says, grinning in spite of herself, “is that an apology? And here was me thinking there wasn't a decent bone in your body.” She rises from the bench just enough to turn her body to angle toward him, to see him better, and then she settles back down. “How's Slim? Did he like your flowers?” No doubt Alexander had seen the signs of her wrath when he went back to his room, saw the bits of petal and stem and leaves strewn all over Slim and Slim's bed.

[Alexander Vaughn] "Nah. No way." Not an apology. "Well, maybe a little one. I just didn't want you thinking I was some sort of crazy ... down with the oppressors! type."

It's hard to say what Liadan's thinking. She comes across as a bookish little thing. She comes across as the girl next door. She's a better liar than most world-class politicians.

Alexander thinks maybe she's deciding he's not so bad, though. Which isn't really the point; Alexander's an ass and he's not above charming his way into a girl's pants just to kick her out of bed in the morning, but he isn't a manipulator. He isn't a liar. He doesn't play at penitence to wrap people are his fingers. He's just ... in a good mood today.

Because he had a good workout. And because he caught up to that pretty little shit whose name he doesn't even know (he'd pin him as a Cameron, maybe. Or a James. Jaime.) and he headbutted his fucking face in. Which, if Liadan finds out about, would definitely nullify whatever effects his not-really-an-apology would have.

A faint scoff as she asks after Slim, whose name was actually Jose. "I have no fuckin' idea. He had his curtain drawn when I got back and all he'd say was 'that girl's crazy, man, she's fuckin' nuts'. What'd you do to him?"

[Liadan Whelan] “Oh, I still think you're crazy.” Her smile is charming, her chin tipped down, coy.

Líadan may look like the girl who will let you cheat off her calculus homework, like she grew up in friends' basements playing Dungeons & Dragons or building model rockets. And maybe under the right circumstances she will or has done all of those things. She looks like the girl who would faint away dead if the quarterback sat beside her in the stands.

But when Alex is near, she is not that girl. She is snippy, and sarcastic. And, for one night only, more than a little whorish.

There was a time when the face Líadan showed a person was not a lie, but merely a facet of the whole, one face of a twenty-sided die.

“I just thought he would appreciate the flowers more.” She smiles as her gaze turns away from Alexander, to the thinning crowd of tourists.

[Alexander Vaughn] She thought he'd appreciate the flowers more, and she looks toward the tourists. Which is all well and good, because Alexander ducks his head at that and looks the other way, squinting into the setting sun.

"Thanks for coming by." This is even more awkward than the not-apology. "It was a nice thing to do."

He doesn't give her a chance to say anything to that. He slaps his palms on his thighs, then, and gets back to his feet. "I'm bored. Are you bored? What are you doing here, anyway?" He slings his gym bag back over his shoulder. "Let's go get a hot dog."

[Liadan Whelan] [Are j00 lying?]

[Liadan Whelan] Her head whips away from the tourists to study his profile. She suspects he's being insincere, the way he's dishing out little not-apologies all over the place. She would say something, but he's already getting up, asking several questions at once, and suggesting hot dogs. She laughs, the sound a low chuckle.

When she stands she lifts her arms over her head and stretches from fingertips to toes. Rising to the balls of her feet, she doesn't lose her balance, doesn't stagger when she twists her body slightly away from Alex, working out the kinks.

She lets out a contented sigh, then: “I was just getting bored when you showed up. People watching. I work around here,” she says evasively. It's not a lie. Truth be told, Líadan rarely utters an outright lie. “And yes to the hot dog. You got a wallet in there,” she nods at his gym bag, “or do I need to be your sugar mama for the day?”

[Alexander Vaughn] It's fair enough that Liadan's looking for lies. Alexander isn't the most trustworthy individual on the planet. But as far as she can tell he's being upfront; he's not hiding anything. He's over whatever resentment drove him to yell at her for, essentially, doing nothing but being nice to him, and now he even feels a little bad.

It's a common trait of men like him. Stay on their good side, keep them happy, and they're charming enough; they're even nice. Get on their bad side and -- well.

"I've got my wallet," he replies, and unzips the side pocket to fish out a battered brown leather thing. Hot dog vendor isn't far away, but the lines are longish right now -- the dinner hour. Alexander falls in behind a big fellow, almost as wide as he's tall. "So what's your job? Computer programmer?" He turns to give Liadan a wry look. "Or are we still asshole and babydoll, don't-ask-don't-tell?"

[Liadan Whelan] She answers his wry look with a lopsided grin. “I'm a photographer for a fashion mag in Canada. My official title is Stick Wrangler, though.” She doesn't explain further unless he asks. They stand beside each other in the line, which actually moves along fairly quickly. Líadan stands with her hands in her pockets, resting all of her weight on one leg, keeping the other bent, slouching. Every time the move forward a step or two she shifts her weight to the other leg.

“What about you, Alex?” She doesn't ask permission to shorten his name. “What brings you to Chicago? Was it the loose women?”

[Alexander Vaughn] "Stick -- " then he gets it, throws his head back, laughs. "Oh, you mean the models. Right? Clever."

He's at the hot dog stand now. He wants two with everything on it. He pays with a ten dollar bill, jerks his thumb at Liadan and says she's on his tab too. What a gentleman. Then he stands aside holding his little paper tray of food, waiting for her to get hers.

"Yeah, exactly." He smirks. "The loose women. Nah -- just curiosity. It was this or New York City. I wanted to live in a big city up north." He bites into his hot dog. "I'm from Miami."

[Liadan Whelan] When it's her turn, Lee orders a chili dog with onions and cheese. It looks like a hot dog someone vomited on. This doesn't seem to bother her in the slightest. When she has her little paper plate, she walks with Alexander away from the stand a ways.

“Miami. I've been there once. It was hot and muggy and miserable. I can see why you'd want to escape to the north.” She looks at his arm with the tattoos of women's names, but doesn't comment on that. “That explains the tan, though. You don't seem like the tanning bed type.”

And then she digs into her chili dog. Líadan is a very strange woman. She looks like she should be hiding out in the library, or hosting a LAN party. She goes into strangers' motel rooms in the middle of the night like a pro. She goes drinking with werewolves. She eats chili dogs in Grant Park with assholes who pick fights with those werewolves. To think, just a few months ago 'normal' life meant jetting from international destination to international destination, living out of a bookbag packed with one change of clothes.

[Alexander Vaughn] And Alex doesn't comment on the names on his bicep either. He hasn't commented on Liadan coming into his motel room like a pro. He doesn't comment on how she can go from one thing to the next like that: wary woman alone at night, promiscuous slut, dismissive girl in a restaurant, making amends in a hospital room, pissed as fuck in a hospital corridor, and now this.

He could ask what the fuck. He could try to get an explanation. But Alexander has the faint notion that something in Liadan, something buried pretty deep, might be fairly fucked up to allow her to flit from one thing to the next like this. Might even be FUBARed. And he doesn't comment on this. They don't delve very deep at all; he's not sure what her excuse is, but his is that he just doesn't really care.

So he eats his hot dog. And they stand around near one of Grant Park's ubiquitous fountains, chitchatting without ever getting far under the surface.

"I miss it, actually." Miami. "Today was nice. Reminded me of the weather there. But my brother thought it might be best for me to stay outta the way of the Miami wolves for a while." A faint scoff, "I wasn't much more popular there either. Big surprise, huh."

He scarfs down his first hot dog, leaving just the stub of a bun, which he tosses into a trash can. He starts in on the other.

"So you never answered me. Do you live up in that Brotherhood thing, or what?"

[Liadan Whelan] Were Alex to ask about Lee's seemingly erratic behavior, the answer he would likely get is that she has a volatile personality. That she went into his room out of curiosity when he said he was the only thing worth anything in that motel. That she dismissed him at the restaurant because she didn't want to be confronted with her one-night stand, and then her friend came up. That curiosity and a desire to make sure he wasn't dead made her track him down in the hospital. That he was preachy and that pissed her off. Maybe it would be a lie. Maybe it wouldn't be.

But he doesn't ask, so she says nothing about any of it.

“Total surprise, actually. You're such a charmer.” She tosses her empty plate after the remains of Alex's bun.

“And no, I don't live at the Brotherhood.” She runs a thumb along her mouth, checking for any excess chili sauce, then she licks her fingers, wipes her hands on her khakis. Her eyes scan the park. It's almost 8:00, the sun has set but the sky to the west is still lighter than the sky to the east. “I go there a lot, though. The beer is awesome. Ambrosia of the gods quality.”

[Alexander Vaughn] "Huh," he says, thoughtful. Then, "I'm not trying to figure out where you live. Just trying to figure out what sort of place the Bro' is. I might move in."

Now he's down to half a hot dog, and it's getting darker in the Park. He starts walking again, heading roughly in the direction he'd been going when he stopped to talk to Lee.

Offhand, "Which way you headed?"

[Liadan Whelan] Her hands slide into her pockets, and she shrugs at him. “I've only stayed there a couple of times. It's not bad, but I already did the college dorm thing, so it's not really for me.”

She moves with him when he starts walking north and west, heading out of the park. “Same, actually. My studio's about four blocks from here. You're welcome to come if you want. I kind of had a party there day before yesterday, and I still have tons of pizza leftovers.”

The day time travelers are starting to disappear out of the city for the night, to be replaced by the night time revelers. This was the way Líadan was going when she cut through a motel parking lot and met Alexander the first time. She had expected to fight him then, when he challenged her from a lawn chair, empty beer cans strewn all around. She hadn't expected to fuck him all over his room. She hadn't expected to see Taggart break his face at the Brotherhood. She hadn't expected to find herself shouting at him in a hospital corridor. Nothing with Alexander went the way she expected it to.

Even now, she doesn't know what she expects to happen, but she imagines things will still go very differently.

[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander gives a gruff, short laugh, muffled through a mouthful of hot dog. He seems to think it over -- her offer, or whatever else might be going on in his head -- for a moment before he shakes his head at her.

"I don't get you at all," he says. And then, pitching the last of the empty hot dog bun into a wastebin as they pass, "Are you looking for another go-around? Or did you just want company?" He sucks a dollop of ketchup off his thumb. "Just ... for my information."

[Liadan Whelan] She laughs, a short, “Hah! No. I guess just the company. And you're the closest person right now.” She pulls her hand from her pocket, lightly punches his arm to emphasize his close proximity. The hand goes back into her pocket, and they continue walking.

“If you're looking for sex, though, I guess I'd be down with that.” She sounds so enthusiastic, like she's choosing between going to the movies or staying in.

[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander gives her a long look. The corners of his mouth are turned up but his forehead is furrowed; it ends up being a rather confused look, somewhere between a frown and a smile.

It occurs to him that (she's quite possibly FUBARed somewhere inside) it's perhaps a little sad, a little pathetic, that she wants company badly enough that she'd tolerate even his. They aren't friends. They were fuckbuddies for a night; then he proceeded to piss her off every time they met. He's not even sure he likes her very much. He's sure as hell not certain what's in it for him if she wasn't actually offering sex.

Except: not going to some meat market and trying to pick up some emptyheaded slut. And not going back to his crappy little motel room to either a) bang emptyheaded slut or b) watch crap movies all night. And not having to explain to Aaron who was pissed off at him now, and why, and how he could take care of himself, and how he used to take care of Aaron, for fuck's sake, doesn't he remember?

"You wanna drop by a blockbuster's and grab a movie or something?" This passes as an answer.

[Liadan Whelan] As much as Alex thinks that Lee is a little off, a little messed up in the head, she's thinking the same of him. But she doesn't ask what drives him to pick fights when he's out matched and out numbered. What makes him rile up the people who could potentially be his friend, alienating them and pushing them away.

Instead she walks along beside him, not anywhere near enough for an accidental brush of her arm against his, not close enough to pretend to stumble so she falls into him. She slants him a look in the fading light, then she shakes her head and laughs.

“You're weird. And there isn't a Blockbuster between here and there, so we'll just have to settle for something I have saved on the playstation. Or we could actually play the playstation. I think I've got some two-player games.

“There's the building.” She points to the red and beige brick building ahead and to the left. At night there is no interesting play of light reflected off the skyscraper across the street.

[Alexander Vaughn] "PS 2 or 3?" he wants to know. It's mostly an offhand question. "If you've got fighting games, I'll take you on."

Of course.

And then she points out the building and he follows her finger, looking at the red and beige building. "Let's cross," he says, nodding across the street. "So is this like a real studio? Like with backdrops and lights and a darkroom and all?"

[Liadan Whelan] She jogs across the street with him, before slowing back to a walk. She's glad that her muscles have started getting used to moving. A week ago she would have winced to jog even a few steps, did wince, in fact, when she was first starting out on the treadmill. But she was a woman on a mission to increase her ability to defend herself, to take care of herself. Taggart, after all, wouldn't always be there to protect her.

“Three. I've got King of Fighters twelve and Street Fighter four.” She sounds like a fifteen year old boy on his way home from school, explaining to his buddy how awesome his house is.

“And yeah, it's a real studio. It's not very big, but it gets the job done. Here we go.” She leads the way inside, down the hall to the elevator. When she presses the button, the doors swing open immediately. “Going up?” she asks, grinning. It's almost as though she could actually like him, like they could actually be friends, instead of...whatever it is they really are to each other. Little more than strangers, who knew each other physically before they knew each other at all.

[Alexander Vaughn] "Anything from the Soul Calibur series?"

It's hardly light out anymore, but still seems darker inside the building. He's not used to this place. He keeps a hand on the wall until they emerge at the elevator lobby.

Going up? "You tell me," he retorts, with a half-grin. The doors shut. Up they go. Somehow, side by side like this at close quarters, their slight height difference is more obvious. He looks at her sidelong, up a little. "Jesus, you're really tall," he says, and laughs under his breath. "That wasn't meant to be a diss. I liked it."

The doors open again. He follows her to her studio. When she unlocks the door, the first thing he sees is whatever backdrop she had up from her latest stickwrangling expedition. The ladder and the lights, too; the props.

"Cool," he says, kicking his shoes off to go barefoot across to the photography corner. He riffles randomly through the props bin, pulls out a pair of Everlast boxing gloves. He turns back with a smirk, crooked. "Any of your models actually know how to use these?"

[Liadan Whelan] The backdrop is blood red now, contrasting starkly with the blue and black walls of of the studio. There's also a box of several other colors in one of the closets. Líadan decided to stock up when she replaced the blue backdrop that was sacrificed for Taggart's wound and decency.

When Alex pulls out the boxing gloves she feels a spike of apprehension, but ignores it, relaxes. Laughs. “Not likely. I think you're the first person who could actually lift them off the floor.”

She goes around the desk, flips open the laptop, takes it out of hibernation. When it boots, the desktop picture is a photo she took of a little cafe in Paris. It always makes her heart twist to see, but she doesn't change it out for something else. Instead she opens folder after folder, apparently looking for something.

[Alexander Vaughn] (oh hell. empathy: do we see the flicker of apprehension?)

[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander fits the righthand glove on. They're clipped together for easy storage, and he doesn't bother to unclip it. The empty glove dangles from his right wrist. Even so, it looks right on him. Not perfect, but right. It goes with the Tapout shorts, the muscle tee. It goes with the muscles and the hard, ripped physique. He looks like a welterweight prizefighter with the red glove on his hand, though he's not exactly a boxer.

He isn't really trying to intimidate her, or looking to see if he has -- it hasn't even occurred to him. But he does put it on. And he does turn. And she is apprehensive, and he does see it, quite clearly -- for the second or two, at least, before she turns away and starts futzing with her laptop.

Alexander makes a wry sound, something like a laugh. "You don't have to look at me like that. I don't randomly whale on people." He tugs the glove off, tosses it back into the bin. "Besides, boxing gloves were designed to minimize injury."

He pulls a cowboy hat out instead. And, whimsically, claps it on his head, pulling the brim low over his eyes. It's a black hat, of course. Alexander isn't the white-hat type. Bored with the props, he comes across the room to where she is, idly rubbing his still-reddened knuckles against his palm. Since she hasn't bothered to turn the laptop away, he looks over her shoulder to see what she's up to.

[Liadan Whelan] Could've fooled me with that bike helmet shit, she thinks but doesn't say. Instead she continues digging into the files, looking for movies. When flighty model-types (or, to be quite honest, flighty anything-to-do-with-fashion types) could be roaming the room at any time, she likes to keep her personal files buried deep within ten to fifteen randomly named folders. And she moves them from time to time.

She doesn't see him with the cowboy hat on. From the corner of her eye she sees him come up behind her. “I'm trying to see what movies I have on here,” she explains. At last a folder with five files in it pops up. If Alexander looks, he will see that they are titled FF:AC, Goonies, Iron Man, DARYL, and Paprika. If he doesn't look, it doesn't matter, because she says the movies aloud.

“Okay, we've got Final Fantasy Advent Children, Iron Man, DARYL, Goonies, and Paprika. And of course fighting games.” She remembers something. “Oh yeah, I have Soul Calibur three. I'm up for whatever. What's your vote?”

[Alexander Vaughn] "What the fuck is DARYL?" He still has the hat on, though he lifts it up by the crown now to riffle his fingers through his hair. Then he jams it back on. "I like this hat. Can I keep it?"

[Liadan Whelan] She laughs. “It's this movie about a kid whose brain is a computer. I have a thing for old eighties movies.”

She straightens, turns around, and finally sees him with the hat. “Hm.” She leans back against the desk, crosses her arms over her chest, brings a hand to her mouth, a pose of thoughtful consideration. “You do realize this is Chicago and not Dallas, right?”

The laptop's screensaver is set to a very short timer. One minutes passes, and the screen blanks. Then a picture of a blonde haired, blue eyed woman with striking features appears. The next picture is of Aidan sans shirt, his hair an explosion of red, his eyes a brilliant green.

[Alexander Vaughn] "Yeah, alright, let's watch DARYL." It sounds ghastly, but whatever, he'll just have some pizza and maybe get smashed on beer.

She reminds him what city he's in. He smirks at her, rather lazily, and just pulls the brim of his hat down to his eyes. "So I'll wear it indoors." He takes it off, though, setting it next to the laptop.

Which flashes to a woman. "She's hot," he says -- and then Aidan shows up. And Liadan might be expecting Alex to scowl now, to make some comment about that fuckin prettyboy or something. He doesn't. He just gets a shit-eating grin.

[Liadan Whelan] [I see that look!]

[Liadan Whelan] She's still studying him when the screen saver pops up. She doesn't bother turning to see who's 'hot,' but then obviously the picture changes, and so does Alex's expression. He looks smug, and happy, and it has something to do with what's on her laptop screen so she turns and catches Aidan's picture for a split second before it changes to a picture of some metrosexual male. She could have caught only a fraction of a second and she would've known the person in the picture was Aidan.

Her head whips back around to look him in the eye. Her lips curl in a grin, but there's a hard look in her eyes, a warning. Knowing this man as she does, knowing what Aidan did, it's not terribly difficult to put two and two together. But she still hopes she's wrong. “What's that look for?”

[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander's eyes flicker back to Liadan. He snorts. "He's just such a little shit, isn't he?"

[Liadan Whelan] [WP]

[Liadan Whelan] Her eyes narrowed, she pushes off the desk, standing straight so that when her head tips down, it looks like she's looking down at him from something higher than a one inch difference.

“No.” Her voice is flat. “He's not.”

[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander breathes out a laugh as Liadan gets in his face. The look on his face is clear. It reads: Are you kidding me?

He pulls out the chair at her desk and drops down in it, sprawled. "Oh, don't tell me," he says, "he's a friend of yours too that you're gonna go all livid and defend? What's with you and shitheads? But whatever," he goes right on without waiting for a reply, "I got no beef with him now. It's settled."

[Liadan Whelan] He's made her angry before, angry enough to tell him off in a hospital corridor, angry enough to beat a man with a bouquet of flowers. She didn't think it was possible to feel such white hot rage.

Her face reddens even as her blood turns to ice in her veins.

“I don't know, you tell me, shithead. What did you do?”

[Alexander Vaughn] "What do you care?" he fires back. "Who is he to you, or do you just randomly adopt assholes?"

[Liadan Whelan] A voice in the back of her head warns her of the danger. It tells her to laugh, shrug it off, Aidan's no one important. Just a whore off the street that Taggart probably claimed, just like her. Part of her wants to listen to the voice, wants to avoid confrontation, wants to go into the other room and watch some dumb eighties movie.

But she remembers Aidan's gentle presence, the way he deftly tended to Taggart's wound, the look on his face when he put his hands on her shoulders. I understand.

Aidan wasn't just a friend anymore. Despite the short amount of time they've spent together, the few words spoken between them, Aidan is family. Líadan may not fully comprehend this feeling, may not fully understand the meaning of family as it pertains to the rest of the world, but she does know that family is to be protected.

Or avenged.

“What. Did. You. Do.”

[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander stares at her a moment. His face is hard and blank, his eyes dark.

"I don't have to answer to you," he says at last, soft and toneless. And he swivels around in the chair, standing, intending to head for the door.

[Liadan Whelan] Líadan moves to block him. “Just tell me what you did to him. Who knows, maybe I'll think it's funny.” She manages a smile, more a baring of teeth than a sign of mirth.

[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander lets out a wild sort of laugh. "Funny? You? You're fucking insane. You flip from one side of the spectrum to the other in 0.2 seconds. You'll go off the goddamn deep end and I don't feel like wrestling with a wildcat tonight. Get the fuck out of my way."

[Liadan Whelan] Líadan expects the worst has happened to Aidan. If it was nothing serious, if all he did was pull a prank, surely Alex would tell her, and she'd know Aidan was alright. She'd know he wasn't hurt, wasn't possibly unconscious somewhere, wasn't possibly dead in a ditch. And she wouldn't feel so angry. She could laugh, and they could watch a movie and share cold pizza and then he'd go home. And they could be friends, of a sort.

But he's not telling her anything. He's trying to get out because he knows that he what he did is so bad, so vile, she'll be trying to claw out his eyes. She doesn't know any of this for certain, just assumes, her mind immediately jumping to the worst based on her limited experience with this man.

“You're one to talk, Little Britches. You must be real popular with the ladies. Do you always fuck them and then spit in their faces when they try to do something nice for you?”

[Alexander Vaughn] "Do something nice for me?" he snaps right back. "Wait a minute, what? You're the one that invited me back here because you're so fucking desperate for company even I'll do. And you're the one that's gone from 'hey let's watch a movie' to crazy fucking bitch with no fucking warning whatsoever.

"Christ," he pushes past her if he has to, "no wonder you're all over the shithead Garou and the shithead twink. You're crazier than they are."

[Alexander Vaughn] (+7)

[Liadan Whelan] [5]

[Liadan Whelan] [declare: a: pick up laptop, b: smash in face]

[Alexander Vaughn] (omg she's NUTS! a. grapple b. grapple again if necessary.

grapple roll, str+brawl -2!)

[Alexander Vaughn] (okay fine, let's try that again. -3)

[Liadan Whelan] pick up laptop roll, dex+ath - 2

[Liadan Whelan] [changing action to throw! dex+ath-3]

[Alexander Vaughn] (soak!)

[Liadan Whelan] [str+1]

[Alexander Vaughn] Annnd she just comes at him. His eyes widen -- are you serious? -- and then he's grabbing at her, his fingers slipping off her arm the first time, locking her into a clinch the second.

"Are you fuckin--"

-- and he'd underestimated her; she twists loose, grabs her goddamn laptop of all things, throws it at him. His arm comes up on instinct. He wards off the flying projectile, which smacks into his forearm with a solid thump, but it's the flat of the laptop, not the corners, and Alexander's no worse for the wear. Same can't be said for the laptop: it hits the floor; the harddrive screeches; bits of plastic fly loose and the hinge pops. So much for movies.

"Take it easy!" Alex yells. "Calm the fuck down! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

[Liadan Whelan] To look at Líadan Whelan, one would never think her capable of fighting. She's tall and slim, but not lean with muscle. She's only just started going to a gym in recent weeks. She's a fashion photographer. She's a geek woman.

But Líadan spent much of her free time in college in bars with drunken frat boys. She knows she doesn't stand a chance against Alex. He's bigger, stronger, practiced. She knows the odds are stacked against her, that she's likely going to be sent to the hospital. But bar fights aren't about winning. They're about getting as much damage in as possible before you're knocked out, before bouncers get involved, before the cops come. If Líadan's going to go to the hospital, she's going to do everything in her power to see that Alex goes with her.

She doesn't answer him, because if she answers him she'll shout, she'll scream, she'll alert the neighbors that something Not Right is going down in the photographer's studio.

[Alexander Vaughn] (+7)

[Liadan Whelan] 51

[Liadan Whelan] [5! not 51!]

[Alexander Vaughn] (a. clinch again b. block whatever the fuck xena warrior princess throws/does this time)

[Liadan Whelan] [kick to the nuts]

[Liadan Whelan] [dex+brawl]

[Alexander Vaughn] (moving block up, dex/brawl diff 6, -3 dice)

[Alexander Vaughn] (a. grapple -- str/brawl diff 6, -2 dice.)

[Alexander Vaughn] Liadan doesn't reply. She goes for his nuts. Alexander wishes he hadn't taken his goddamn cup out; he twists sharply to the side, moves his forearm down, blocks her knee solidly. In the next instant his arm is around her neck, and he has her arm twisted behind her, locked.

"Knock it off. Just quit it! What the hell is wrong with you? Jesus Christ, I knew you were too good to be true last Friday. Now I get it. You're a fucking lunatic!"

[Liadan Whelan] Líadan fights, briefly, but it's no use. He's bigger, stronger, and he's got her body solidly locked in place.

You're a fucking lunatic!

Her eyes widen suddenly at his angry, startled shout. What iswrong with her? A month ago she would never have tried to so blindly attack someone. And for what? Because she thought that maybe he hurt Aidan?

Her body goes limp. If he lets her go, she'll simply drop to her knees, and stay there. Ashamed.

Whatever he does with her, she says, quietly, “I'm sorry. He...they...they're both...I don't know.” Pause. “Important.”

[Alexander Vaughn] Liadan goes limp. He holds on another ten seconds, twenty, until he's reasonably certain this isn't some sort of bizarre ploy to get him to let down his guard so she can spin around and claw his face off.

Then he drops her in her desk chair, backing away rather hurriedly to grab his shoes and start putting them on.

"Christ! Fucking lunatic. You wanna know what happened to him? Fine. I met him running in the fucking park last night. Without his guard wolf. So I fought his pretty little ass one on one and I dropped him like a ton of bricks. All right? Happy now? Last I know your precious little model was breathing. Might not be so fucking pretty anymore though." He gives a reckless, humorless laugh, stomps into his shoes. "Jesus, you're fucking insane."

[Liadan Whelan] She watches him put his shoes on, getting ready to leave. He tells her he beat up Aidan, that Aidan might not be so pretty any more. She just looks sad. She remembers his hands on her shoulders, the understanding in his eyes. She couldn't even avenge him properly.

“Wait.”

[Alexander Vaughn] Wait? He shoots her a disbelieving glance. "What? Are you going to throw another computer at me?" Alex gets the other shoe on and straightens up, backing toward the door, wary.

[Liadan Whelan] A corner of her mouth twitches. “I don't have another one here.” Suddenly nothing in the world can tear her gaze away from the hands twisting together in her lap.

“I was going to tell you something. At the hospital. Until that nurse got too close. Do you know about Black Spiral Dancers?”

[Alexander Vaughn] "Black Spir-- yeah." His feet are still bare in their sneakers. He's still in his prizefighter's shorts, sleeveless tee. He looks ready to go for a run. He looks ready to run the fuck away from here. "I know about them . Why?"

[Liadan Whelan] She frowns. Her fingers lace together so they'll stop moving. She grips them with white-knuckled ferocity to keep them from shaking.

“I, uh. I was attacked by one, a couple weeks ago.” What she would have said at the hospital was how she killed it, and how she wasn't nothing. She was worth notice.

But that had obviously been pure, dumb luck. Lonna's gun had done most of the work. The kick Lee delivered probably didn't do anything at all. The thing must have already been dead.

And it's not that day at the hospital. Things have changed since then.

“Taggart,” she leaves it to him to decide who Taggart is, either the model or the guard wolf, or someone else entirely, “he said he would protect me. But he left me there. I almost died and he abandoned me.” She doesn't explain that the thing showed up after Taggart left her, because it doesn't matter. Taggart wasn't there to protect her. He probably never would be.

She pauses. Her face is still turned away from him. Strands of hair shaken free of her ponytail when she launched herself at Alex float around her face. When she looks up at him, her face is drawn, sad. Defeated.

“What I mean is, you're right. We're nothing but a burden to them. And I didn't invite you here because I was desperate for company.” Part of her feels the need to share with this man, so that he won't think she's crazy, so that he'll stay. He'll stay and they'll watch TV or play Soul Calibur and they'll drink beer and eat cold pizza.

Part of her realizes she doesn't deserve his company. Part of her knows that she's crazy, that she's been unstable ever since she met Taggart. And she knows that Alex won't stay. So she stops talking and just stares at her hands.

[Alexander Vaughn] (empathy: is she for real, or is this some sorta trick?!)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 1, 1, 4 (Botch x 3 at target 6)

[Alexander Vaughn] (OH COME ON.)
Dice Rolled:[ 4 d10 ] 1, 2, 6, 9 (Failure at target 7)

[Alexander Vaughn] That stops Alexander. He doesn't take his hand off the door, but he doesn't fling himself out and flee the premises either.

He looks at her. He tries to read her. Alex thinks she's probably faking it; the story, the dejection, all of it, for no reason he could understand. Hell, he can't understand why she decided to go fucking ballistic either. He might understand why she's mad about him beating up her friend, and he would definitely understand if he himself launched himself at someone else for beating up his friend, but between societal norms and gender roles, he's shocked that she reacted the same way.

He can't even begin to understand why she swings from one mood to the next. He doesn't understand why she's unloading this on him.

A long silence. Then: "Is that the truth? Or are you trying to ... I don't know, fuck with my head?"

[Liadan Whelan] A smile curls the corners of her mouth, but when she looks at Alex the smile doesn't reach her eyes. “It's the truth. I just,” she pauses and winces, as if what she says next is physically painful to admit. “I don't like who I am when no one's around.”

Líadan turns to look up at him then. She sees the distrust, sees that his hand doesn't leave the doorknob. The smile she gives him is painful to see. An expression that should show joy, or mirth, or humor should not be filled with so much pain and sadness.

“Guess I'm not much better when people are around, either. For what it's worth, I'm sorry. You deserved it, but I shouldn't have attacked you without the facts.” She turns her head to regard the shattered remnants of her laptop and thinks it's a good thing all the pictures are backed up on the macbook at the apartment.

[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander's temper flares at that. "I deserved it? For what, for getting even with the little fuckface that suckerpunched me out of the blue? It wasn't even his goddamn fight. I tried to wallop your blond friend, he bashed my face in, fine. Where does prettyboy get off? God, I hate little shits like him, bold as fuck when their Garou buddies are around to back them up, useless when they're alone."

He halts the tirade with an effort. Then he takes his hand off the door, steps forward, crouches beside her FUBARed laptop and starts gathering up what pieces he can find. Here's part of a hinge. Oh hey, here's the J key. And the D.

"What I mean to say is," he says, a little more level, "I have no respect for kin that won't stand up for themselves. That hide behind their Garou buddies and submit to them and ... "

Alexander trails off. He has a small pile of plastic shards and keys piled on top of Liadan's laptop, which he frowns at, crouching.

Then he plants a hand on the floor behind him and rolls back to sit on his ass, slinging his arms over his knees. "Okay," he tries again, "what I really mean to say is: it sucks that Taggart said one thing and did another, and left you to die. That stings. My twin brother is a Philodox. If he ran off and left me to fend for myself, I'd be like 'ouch, man' too. But you also gotta understand that they have a job to do, and that job isn't protecting kinfolk.

"So you shouldn't expect them to protect you. And tell them to go fuck themselves if they swear they will, because they shouldn't be, and they probably won't. But by the same token they shouldn't expect us to bow and scrape either. They give their lives for the War; we give what we can to make their lives easier for them. We owe each other no more or less. I think it'd work better all around if everyone remembered that."

A pause.

"Do you wanna learn how to fight?"

[Liadan Whelan] She stops just outside the bathroom door. She could tell him that Aidan was her friend, was family, and that she would try to defend him even if she watched him walk up to someone out of the blue and kick them in the nuts. She doesn't tell Alex this, though, because she honestly doesn't understand that she feels this way about Aidan.

When she turns to face him, sitting there on the floor with her broken laptop in front of him, she frowns.

“I didn't know that. Any of that.” Her left hand comes up to push the loose strands of hair off her face. “God, there's still so much I don't know.”

Do you wanna learn how to fight?

She eyes him suspiciously. “You sure that's a good idea? I might go crazy and try to kill you again, and it'll be your fault if I succeed.”

[Alexander Vaughn] "I'm pretty sure it's a terrible idea," he deadpans. "You should probably take me up on it while I'm still insane from the concussion last Saturday."

Then he twists around behind him, snags his gym bag by the corner and drags it over. Seriously then, "No, I wasn't actually going to teach you myself. But it's probably a good idea for you to get some sort of combat training. Cold hard truth? If you get cornered alone by a Dancer Full-Moon, it'll probably be good for nothing more than dying a little less pathetically. But at least you'll have a chance against some of the other side's weaker foot soldiers." A faint snort, "Or against random prettyboys who decide to blindside your ass with their buddies."

He unzips the side pocket, feels around until he finds a scrap of paper (it's a gas station receipt) and a pen. He scribbles two names on:

TRIBULL GYM
LAKE CALUMET GUN CLUB

and holds the slip out at her. "The first seems like a pretty decent mixed martial arts gym around the south end of Grant. They have beginner's classes mondays wednesdays and fridays. The second's a gun range I might go to. Honestly I haven't been in town long enough to say if either's really that great, but it'll get you started."

[Liadan Whelan] His deadpan makes her smile, and it looks a little less pathetic than before.

She walks over to him, careful to avoid stepping barefoot on any shards of laptop, and she takes the slip from him and examines his scrawl. “The gym's a good idea. Don't know about the gun club. If I got a gun I'd probably forget it in my bag and be arrested as a terrorist.” Her eyes flick down to him. “My job makes me prone to sudden fits of sudden and unexpected travel plans,” she explains.

Her eyes don't leave his face. “Thanks. I appreciate this, really.”

[Alexander Vaughn] "A gun's probably your better shot." There's definitely ego in what he says next. There's truth in it, too. "It takes a lot more time get in the sort of physical shape where you can actually do damage with your fists. And even then, a bullet is probably a lot more effective."

She thanks him. He snorts, waving it off. "Whatever, if you attack me again I'm still getting a restraining order against you." He plants a hand on the floor behind him and bounds to his feet, a single, athletic movement. Then, bending, he picks up his gym bag and slings it over his shoulder. "I should probably take off."

[Liadan Whelan] She slides the gas receipt into her pocket. Her hand stays there.

A brow quirks at his obvious athletic display, and she has to admit to being mildly impressed.

“Are you really thinking about moving into the Brotherhood?”

[Alexander Vaughn] "Yeah." He's back at the door, back to the door -- he doesn't turn his back to her, though this might be coincidence. Or maybe not. Goodness gracious great balls of fire, the woman's moods were like quicksilver, and god only knew what she'd throw at him next. "Why?"

[Liadan Whelan] “Then I guess the next time I lose my shit and try to attack you I'll have to aim to kill. No force in the 'Verse will stop me from getting to Reuben's beer.” She's grinning now. “I usually offer to walk people out, but I doubt you'll want to be alone with me in an elevator right now. “So I guess I'll just see you around the Brotherhood, then. Or at this,” she pulls the slip from her pocket, “Tribull Gym. Oh.”

She goes to the desk and picks up the cowboy hat. “Don't forget this. If you still want it, I mean.” She holds it out to him, trying to maintain a distance out of respect for their still-fresh ceasefire.

[Alexander Vaughn] Alexander looks at the cowboy hat for a moment. Some of the wariness eases; his expression is somewhere between a wince and a half-smile. He takes the hat from her and exhales a soundless laugh, putting it on his head for lack of anyplace better to stash it. Now he looks patently ridiculous, a compact, athletic man in what's obviously workout or post-workout gear, with a black cowboy hat on his head.

"Yeah. Thanks. I'll see you around, Lee."

He tugs the door open behind him, holds it for her to take over, close, lock. Playfully, and a little wryly, he tips his new hat to her as she shuts the door, and then turns and thumbs the elevator button to call it up.