ArchivedLogs:Morning After

Morning After
Dramatis Personae Anette and Killian
In Absentia	2015-08-24 Takes place the morning after Fierceness and Fatigue
Location <NYC> BoM Safehouse - Lower East Side
Tucked away off a little-used side street in the Lower East Side, sandwiched between a youth drop-in center and a taqueria, this narrow three-story townhouse has very little to catch the eye. Boarded-up windows, a door peeling its paint, shabby grubby brickface; from the outside it does not look like much. Inside someone has gone to great lengths to renovate the building into something more habitable. It isn't glamorous but it is comfortable, old furniture dragged in, the place generally swept clean. The first floor holds a large living room, a smaller dining room, a spacious kitchen, a half-bathroom. There are three bedrooms and a full bathroom on the second floor; the attic is just a large empty space crammed full of boxes with a window out to the large flat roof. The basement, much like the attic, consists of a lot of empty space. A bare concrete floor, no windows, occasional poles running up to the ceiling. A tiny half-bathroom down here, too. Not a whole lot else. The sun is barely risen when Anette suddenly jolts awake. No screams or noises other than a sharp gasp and shaking of the couch. She does look panicked, with that wide-eyed look most people get when they wake up somewhere unfamiliar. Still, it dissipates relatively quickly when the memory of the night before comes back and she carefully sits up, trying to remain quiet so as not to disturb the dog. He's not so furry this morning, Anette would find. Well, besides some chest hair, that stubble, and some mildly unkempt hair that has some of his attention at the moment as fingers lazily run through it. The young man is seated in one of the beaten recliners across from her, leaning over with elbows over his knees and head down as he messes with his hair. He seems awake as if he'd never slept, and likely very recently having left his canine vigilance given his slightly ruffled presentation. The owl-touched mutant's sudden waking gets the attention of those blue eyes of his, and the lines that enscribe his face with the growing of a crooked grin. "Goodmorning, sweetheart." As casual as he could be, of course, in that quiet unconcerned tone. Anette seems startled to find Killian in human form, groaning softly and rubbing her eyes. She does not do mornings. "Jesus, how long have you been up?" she mumbles, the gears in her brain still beginning to kick in. Once she's mentally sound enough to remember the state she's in, she remembers she's also still pantless. So she reaches for the blood soaked jeans laying on the floor and, looking them over briefly with disgust, begins slipping them on. "Surprised you're still here. I figured you'd sneak off in the middle of the night," she murmurs as she wiggles the jeans back on, struggling a bit when it comes to her bad leg. A brow raises as Killian sits up slowly, though he doesn't lose the grin. The attention he pays her as she reaches for her jeans is not so appropriate, a thumb and forefinger running across the stubble of his face. Eventually, blue gaze travels away, traveling the room before turning to her. "Slept yesterday." Is simple, dismissive, but not really an answer. "I could've, probably should've." He chuckles quietly under his breath at her comment of sneaking off. "But," And there's a slightly over-dramatized single-shouldered shrug, "Maybe the carpet's a little more comfortable than the street corner or maybe," the grin grows into more of a smirk, "Just couldn't leave a'lady injured and all alone." There's enough sarcasm that it may be difficult to determine if he means it, or simply means to get a rise. Killian's glance does not go unnoticed and she turns her head, yellows eyes glaring for a moment before returning to her dressing. "Such a gentleman," she responds with just as much sarcasm, though a grin does peep through. "Well, I don't think anyone will mind you sticking around here longer. It is a safehouse and it's open to any mutant." She carefully shifts herself into a sitting position, carefully setting her leg on the floor. "I don't think I ever got my rescuer's name," Anette says, glancing over Killian again, her eyes scanning his form and mentally taking it in. The hand that was on his face leaves it to motion idly towards Anette, Killian's grin fading a degree or two. "I haven't exactly rescued you, love. You're still just as injured as you were before. Y'got people that'll see you soon?" A beat, a look towards the door before back at her, "And a way there?" The offer of him staying doesn't get a response, though there's a hint about his expression that flickers, maybe a touch of a narrowing of his eyes that could be amusement, could be something else. "You don't just want to tell everyone the story of your terribly handsome savior, leave all the nameless mystery to it to make it good?" He rocks forwards and stands, coming to stand closer but, of course, not within taloned reach. Hands are shoved into his pockets, his posture a touch slouched. "I don't believe I caught yours either." "Yeah, I've got people. And wings. And you're as much of a rescuer as I'm a lady so the title's sticking." Anette stretches out her arms, waking the muscles up, her wings following suit. "Well, if you had snuck out in the middle of the night like any self-respecting man after spending the night with a lady, then we wouldn't be having this conversation. Nameless mystery is only good for a few hours. By morning, it's just sad if I don't have his name." As Killian approaches slowly, she can't help but grin. "I don't bite. And it's Anette," she says, offering a taloned hand to shake. "Self-respecting." The words are mused over as Killian stands there, his head slightly tilted as he watches her. "I did find you on a corner." He adds, considering with a growing devilishness, "But if it was that sort of night, I suppose I woulda had to pay you something before running out." He rolls his eyes, though the consideration of an answer to her question- as simple as a name may be- seems to take longer than it really should, "I'm Killian." Is said somewhat gently in comparison to all the sarcasm, a hand retrieved from his pocket to take hers. "It's only sad if it's not a memorable night." His grip is firm enough to keep her hand, a wink coming with the gesture before he releases her. "And perhaps you don't, but you did threaten my gorgeous eyes. And I would like to keep those." "Oh, a couple drinks and I would have called it fair enough," Anette says, offering a playful grin of her own. "Killian. Unique. It suits you. Better than Fluffy anyway." An eyebrow shoots up at the mention of a memorable night. "Well, I don't know how memorable sleeping in the same room as a dog who won't even let me pet him is. And as far as your eyes, I'm awfully fond of them now and I'd hate to remove them. But you can't blame a girl for being cautious and you didn't call a SWAT team in the middle of the night so I think they're safe." Killian shifts to sit on the rough coffee table in front of the couch, within a foot or two that would be of Anette. He returns to that thoughtful pose of elbows on his thighs. Despite his careful approach- which seemed more ingrained over time than situationally concerned- he still seems quite nonchalant beneath that general amusement. "Don't sell yourself short, beautiful. Worth more than a couple drinks." That playfulness is returned in that wry way of his that isn't so much corny flirting as it is a smug, cocky, dangerous sort of thing. Her summary brings about that breathy chuckle again, a shake of his head with it. "Calling the SWAT team would hardly be of benefit to me." He alludes, his tone darker, his grin a little different, "Surely there's much more in not running away and leaving you to their mercy." He doesn't let that sit though, whatever he means by it, and follows after her thought of being pet in his most comfortable and common canid form. "I might make an exception or two." "Are you always such a charmer? Or have I somehow earned this?" Anette asks, leaning back against the couch with a sly smirk as she continues to banter playfully. "Oh, I know I'm worth more. A couple of drinks gets you a sneak preview." His reaction to not calling a SWAT team brings about a less playful, more genuine smile. "Well, I am in your debt, so thank you," is all she responds. "You know it could be worse. You could be one of those yappy little ankle-biters in a bedazzled dog purse." "Count yourself special." The words are muffled slightly since they're spoken into his palms, Killian having leaned his head down to rub his face roughly in his hands, fingers rubbing his eyes as if to rub the sleep, or lack of it as it may be, from them. "I suppose you could say I haven't had much in the way of pleasant interactions in a while." Or any, would be more accurate. The latter is said clearer as he looks up at her again, "A debt can be a heavy thing to owe." He notes off-handedly, though still-smug tone doesn't put the weight on it that should be there. "I could be anything." As if that was a challenge, "You come up with a sudden interest in," The search for the right word makes him shake his head, as if in a motion for 'whatever', "gawdy things like that god-awful thought, I could fit in just fine." He pauses in that gap that adds an unspoken 'but', "But, I'd rather not be so easily stepped on and all that crap." The fact that he'd spoken so much makes him sit up, scratching the back of his head idly, "Shouldn't be keeping you here." "Well then, I will hold it near and dear to my heart then," Anette replies to Killian's assurance she's special. Though the rubbing of his eyes and the reveal of his exhaustions does elicit a concerned frown. "You really should get some rest. There are some bedrooms upstairs that I promise are more comfortable than the floor. And the pleasure is mine, I've been a little short of pleasant encounters myself." She leans forward, carefully using the couch to pull herself to one-legged stand. "Then I'll just have to repay that debt soon," she adds, looking about the room briefly. "Right. The sooner I get this properly fixed the better. Mind if I borrow you to hobble to the door?" Killian doesn't respond at first, moving to some position between her and the door. Not quite as close as the night before, not quite, perhaps, as intimate. There's only a faint remnant of the smile that was there, thoughts creeping up and distracting him noticable in the rather suddenly distanced look he has about him. "Appreciate the offer. Easier to sleep when nobody can find you though. Take care. Maybe I'll see you again some time." It doesn't sound hopeful nor promising, but sort of that goodbye of a stranger. And, should she take off into the sky, some moments later a pitch black crow could be seen flying away in the other direction.