at night. [lolita]

[steph3]

[atrb=border,0,true] [atrb=style, width: 350px; height: 200px; border: 3px solid #232323; border-radius:50px 50px 50px 50px; background: #232323, bTable] Personally, Dom loved the park. He used to go to one close to their apartment building in Barcelona with his older brother and a bunch of their friends to play soccer during the day. Whenever their mother had off, she'd sit on the sidelines and cheer them on even when brothers were on opposite teams. It was always friendly rivalry though as always the competition got the best of both of them and grudges were held for a little over a day before it all disappeared with a simple shut the fuck up. Somehow, things always got solved. Since he was in high school and started his bit of a double life, he hadn't been to a park. He was so busy trying to make money and just stay alive that the park seemed trivial and just not as glamorous as it used to look. Last he heard, they had built another shopping complex on the land. Jason, since he didn't like calling him dad, told him how he had to take Mel over to the other side of town now to go play. Apparently she was becoming one hell of a little soccer champion-she'd already won for the toddler division at her school. Sitting on the bench, he took a long drag from his cheap cigarette. America was beautiful, even the ugly parts, but not as beautiful as Spain. He loved his country way too much and leaving it was much more difficult than he'd anticipated. Running his fingers through his hair, he looked out vacantly at the large field and the thick trees surrounding it. The stars were pretty bright here and the last time he saw stars, he was sleeping in his black 1969 dodge charger in the middle of the Kansas countryside-having left New York City to stay away from the police. Sapphire Bay was a nice step down from the hustle and bustle and the weather sure was nicer but he knew he'd have to keep moving because eventually, he'd see a cop, get too paranoid, and be on his merry way before they could get a good look at his face. Checking his watch, it was about eleven at night. Not that late but he had a race to get to over in the countryside by one so he figured killing time at the park couldn't hurt anyone. Hearing the footsteps down on the dimly lit path, he didn't bother glancing over. They weren't the heavy thuds of authority figures so he didn't bother giving them a second glance. That is, until the wind blew and the smell of perfume hit his nostrils and penetrated right through the cigarette smoke. Finally, he looked over and his eyes landed on a blonde. Why she would walk in the park at night was beyond him. It was like she was begging to get jumped and raped since she was good looking. He shrugged at the notion. It was her problem, really-but he damn well knew if someone attacked her, he'd jump right in to save her. He could only imagine if it was Melanie who was getting attacked-or his mother. He wouldn't wish such an experience on anyone. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out a pocket knife, "Hey," he called out to her when she was close enough, "Here. You shouldn't be walking around here at night," he didn't say it like an order, no. He said it genuinely, if not maybe a bit too bluntly, and he obviously didn't mean he was any danger to her since he was handing her the pocket knife. She could take it or leave it-he really didn't care.

made by rockie at caution

[lou]

she's wearing this.

If nothing else, work had certainly proved entertaining. The high school dropout in charge of grilling the burgers had asked for her hand in marriage at least six times; he'd ended the evening with an awkward, most likely alcohol induced kiss planted right on her mouth, hers closed and his open, which she, quite frankly, didn't deserve after locking him behind the building for two odd hours during her break and only deigning to let him in after he swore on his life he'd give her his leopard print doc martens. Though her customers had been significantly less than desirable, she could deal with it with the knowledge burning in the back of her mind that she'd be walking out of the shitty, grime-crusted doors of Five Guys with a new, glorious pair of shoes on her feet. She took a strange satisfaction in tossing the beat-up sandals she'd wore to work in the garbage, stealing the only clean pair of white socks from the kid's locker in the back after securing a promise that he hadn't jacked off into them, and wearing her new kicks out of the building, down the street, and almost entirely to her dinky apartment and Zach, who was probably curled up in front of the television with a pint of pumpkin frozen yogurt and the cat he'd recently found on the street and named Gustav.

To get there, to the warmth and comfort promised by the tiny corner apartment tucked above a deli in town with ceilings about her height and only enough room for a couch, two beds, a television, and their teeny kitchen and bathroom, she had to march through a park. It wasn't late by the time she made it there, but it wasn't somewhere she wanted to spend extended periods of time if she could help it, and typically this leg of her journey was met with a brisk jog, head down, assuming there was no one there, and a confident, steady stride enforce with fingers wavering in her pockets, head up, staring anyone in the eye to be able to later identify them in a line up if they were caught and dragged into the Sapphire Bay police department. It was a small town and she knew most of the people, but that didn't stop the high school drop outs who couldn't get a job in the kitchens from turning to crime to sustain themselves. Lo could see the other side of the park, and, from her corner apartment, the blue glow of the television when a voice roused her suspicions and forced her to revert automatically to her 'I'm not afraid to fuck you up' stance.

And then, as if he wasn't threatening enough sitting there on the bench in the dark with his hood cloaking his features and some kind of ominous foreign accent, he whipped out a knife and pointed it at her. She stopped where she was walking, unable to pass up the opportunity to smart mouth this stranger with a knife because, obviously, that was the most intelligent route to take and she would be damned if she missed the opportunity to enact her endless cynicism. “Why, is there an army of people handing out knives to strangers that I should be afraid of?”

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[steph3]

[atrb=border,0,true] [atrb=style, width: 350px; height: 200px; border: 3px solid #232323; border-radius:50px 50px 50px 50px; background: #232323, bTable] Arching an eyebrow at her words, he moved over a bit on the bench so he was fully in the light instead of partially and let his hood slip off since it had been precariously partially on his bed head. "I never said you had to be afraid of me," he was chuckling as he said it, a bit in disbelief. Americans were so weird. They seemed to always think people were out to get them. No one cared about them. Europeans, Spaniards especially, found them to be obnoxious, conservative, and outdated. They weren't the mega giant they used to be and it was very obvious in almost every single industry minus the military, "It's a pocket knife and it's closed," he rolled his eyes, showing it a bit better, "and it's to keep from the ones who will scare you out of your way. Here," he got up, but just barely, and left the knife on the ground so she could take it if she wanted to. If she didn't, it was staying there. He was far too lazy to pick it back up. That and he was tired. He'd been working on the engine of his baby all day and doing some jobs that paid under the table. Some gardening, pool boy, bus boy, tree cutting company, stupid crap like that. He needed the money-he was running on fumes. "Now if I attack you, you know what I look like," he laughed a bit, "Los Americanos son tan estupidos," he muttered under his breath as he took another deep drag and let the smoke blow out into the wind gently strolling on by. This was really stupid. No, the situation wasn't stupid. In Barcelona, the chick would have taken it, thanked him tremendously, probably have even asked for his name, and then went off on her merry way and that would be that. He'd go wherever he needed to go and they would never see each other again. This chick on the other hand, had to make a big deal out of like the typical American. He didn't mean to bash them as a whole but it was true that most were obnoxious and so closed minded. They thought just because they had freedom here they had freedom everywhere. It bothered him, at times, but other times it just made good entertainment like right now. Didn't she think, just for a second, that if he really wanted to attack her or scare her, he'd do a better job of it? Like not smoking a cigarette, one, not being in the light so she could see him clearly, two, and not handing her a weapon she could use against him three. Those three reasons should have been good enough for anyone that he wasn't a threat. Plus, he really didn't have anymore weapons on him. Normally, he'd have a gun on him of some kind but that was in the trunk of his car along with a tool box. He didn't have much else but that. Unless she counted his fist as weapons then well, whatever. She was still stupid for reacting that way. Just take the knife and go-she didn't even have to say anything to him. Hell, she could have kept on walking and ignored him and he wouldn't have cared but she had to stop and make the typical American comment. She was such a genius.

made by rockie at caution

[lou]

she's wearing this.

Honestly, after whatever reaction he could have possibly had to what she had to say, she was going to continue on her merry way. She wasn't a huge fan of the Le Stoats and really didn't want to do them the honor of standing around in the park, let alone the vagrants that were curled up inside their plastic sleeping bags near the water and the general air of confusion and danger that swarmed around the whole place. It just wasn't a good place to be at night, though she was sure that during the day it was fine – unfortunately, the only two times she was ever in the park was to and from work, and to was in the morning when it was dark out and from was when it was also dark out. On her days off she usually slept the whole day away and found something mildly entertaining to do like read or maybe go shopping, if she had the extra money to spend, which she almost never did. Regardless, his reaction to her dubiousness flipped that interior switch that was by far too dangerous to even come close to, let alone hit, because it was the angry switch and Lo's angry switch was notoriously violent and typically triggered by the smallest, most generally insignificant things. She wasn't about to cry about what he'd said, because overall she agreed that Americans were stupid and thought by far too much of themselves, but the irony in the fact that this ignorant buffoon was sitting on a park bench in America of his own accord didn't escape her, and neither did the fact that he was effectively calling her stupid.

Most normal people would mutter something in response and shuffle away, probably tell their families that some stranger had offered them a knife, think nothing of it the next day and ultimately forget that person's existence or that such a strange thing had ever happened. Lo, who he had unfortunately critically offended, made one of her notoriously rash decisions. Briefly considering stabbing him with the knife as a flesh payment for calling her stupid, she figured that was overreacting and instead, whipping the tiny bottle of mace attached to her keys from her pocket, held the nozzle in front of his eyes from a vague distance, and unleashed an arsenal of pain and suffering that would most likely end in a couple hours onto this stranger who had handed her a knife he'd probably stuck in someone earlier and then, like an idiot, called her stupid. She would have felt remorse, but she felt it was relatively impossible for her to do so and instead felt triumphant as he squirmed on the ground, “Welcome to America,” she said, turning away from him like he wasn't writhing in ocular agony, and walking away before someone realized exactly what she'd just done.

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