WELCOME TO RAYVEN'S REIGN.

Ash woke with a start lying face down on the couch in her tiny flat. Sunlight was streaming in through the window, illuminating the dust in the air as though it were a spotlight on a stage, the beam finally touching down on the still-unfinished painting she'd been slaving over all night. She sighed, rubbing at her weary, bleary eyes with her scarred palms before she forced herself to sit up. Her stormy eyes drifted warily to the sight of her vacant bedroom, the bedding ruffled and twisted as though its occupant had been tormented. She hadn't even been able to stay in bed; instead, she painted.

Stretching her arms over her head, the creaky muscles in her back unwound deliciously and her spine popped a few time, causing her to heave a contented sigh. Her lifestyle was taking its toll on her, but there was little she could do about it. Looking at the clock she grimaced; she had work in an hour.

Standing from her impromptu bed she swiftly made her way to the bathroom, stripping off her tank-top and pajama pants before cranking on the shower til it was steaming hot. A passing glance in the mirror once again reminded her of the tangle of scars that striped her back; the marks having flared up yet again. When she stepped into the shower she had to contain a scream as the hot water pelted her inflamed scars. With a breath she steadied herself, showered quickly, then dried off and dashed into her bedroom to dress.

Tight black pants, her boots, and a button up made up her outfit, though she now grimaced at the feel of the button up. It reminded her too much of what she used to wear before, but it was required for work. Checking the clock again she ran to grab her apron, sweatshirt, hood, and messenger bag with her sketchbook and pens. Wasting no more time she morphed her brilliantly red hair to standard brown, and blended the scar beneath her eye into invisibility before she tore out the door, pausing only to lock and double lock the door behind her.

She got to the shop just in time, and from there-on the day was a whirl of activity. Order after order, drink after drink, she was in non-stop motion, her body too occupied for her mind to torment her too deeply. The hours flew by and before she knew it, she was punching out. After the little sleep she'd had she was exhausted, but she didn't want to sleep, she wanted to sketch, and so before leaving she made herself a latte, then slipped into the bathroom to make a few changes to herself before she left the shop entirely.

When the door closed behind her she immediately dropped the color morph on her hair, too exhausted to even maintain her most common morph, and making it so that only her eyebrows were still brown and her scar was still hidden. She then pulled the pill bottles out of her bag and took her much needed medication, before finally pulling the knitted hood she'd grabbed over her head, successfully hiding most of her brilliantly red hair, the rest concealed when she donned her sweatshirt.

Feeling slightly better she left the restroom, grabbed her pre-poured latte and waved goodbye to her co-workers before dashing out the door. As soon as she was outside she started digging through her bag, trying to decide which sketchbook she wanted to use before settling on the one with natural fiber paper, which she promptly yanked out of her bag and tucked under her arm. Then came the hunt for a pen! In her search she forgot to look where she was going; a big mistake when walking down the streets of New York in the middle of the afternoon.

Without warning she collided shoulders with someone, and in an attempt to keep from dousing the stranger in coffee her sketchbook went flying, along with a second one to her surprise.

"Blimey!" she yelped, backing up a step in shock. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going and---" she started her explanation, the words sliding to a halt as if they were made of molasses as she looked the stranger in the face. Something about it was so familiar, but she couldn't say why, and that sent her heart pounding. Was he with the LVA? Was he one of the agents she'd seen in passing around the grounds during her time there? Had they finally found her? Was he going to drag her off somewhere, kill her, and dispose of her body in the river?

Her mind started to spin out of control and to stop the downward spiral she stooped to pick up the fallen sketchbook, grabbing his instead by accident as she quickly stole a look around, trying to find her best escape route. "Sorry," she said again dumbly as she stood up, staring hard at his face, trying to place the memory that seemed just a hair out of reach. He probably was going to think she was a madwoman, if he really was just no one.

Lars was having the artist's equivalent of writer's block. Artist's block? Whatever. He was stuck on a character design he had been working on for weeks and was due to be sent back to the company in only a few days. He hadn't even started. He just spent hours staring at a blank page of his sketchbook, seemingly willing the creation to come to life just by giving the paper dirty looks. His pencil was so chewed it was a wonder he hadn't bitten the thing in half.

Frustrated, he threw the pencil down onto the sketchbook, spinning his chair so that he faced out the window instead of at his desk. His hands massaging the back of his neck, he contemplated what he should do. He hated not making deadlines, and he wasn't known for doing it. In fact, he was known for sending in his commissions a week or more ahead of schedule. Then again, his commissions were usually for vicious monsters, not people. Maybe that was it. He had so many monsters in his head, but he couldn't remember the last time he had a normal conversation with a normal person. Maybe he just needed to get out and do some people watching.

Deciding that this was the best course of action, he closed his sketchpad, standing up from his desk and pulling his shirt over his head as he headed toward the bathroom. He'd need a shower if he was going to go out in public. He walked into the bathroom, brushing a hand along his stubbled jaw and deciding against shaving as he turned the shower on hot, stripping and hopping in. He washed quickly before turning the shower off, wringing out his hair and towel drying the worst of the water before stepping out of the bathroom to dress.

Loose fitting blue jeans with a tear in the knee, a dark tee-shirt, a zip-up hoodie, and finally his sneakers made his outfit. He pocketed his cigarettes and his lighter before grabbing his sketchpad, pencil, and keys and heading out, locking up his apartment and hitting the side walk.

It felt like it had been forever since the last time he had gotten fresh air, not counting the times he had stepped out for a smoke... which wouldn't count anyway, because he was inhaling tobacco and not fresh air. Regardless, he had been cooped up in his apartment since he had been given this assignment that had his mind boggled. Draw a girl. That's all he had to do, and yet getting fantastic beasts and horrible monsters onto the paper was easier for him.

He sighed, opening up his sketchpad and glancing at his most recent drawings, all personal ones and all ones his terrible mind had brought to life in the middle of his apartment. He shook his head at them, not finding them so terrifying now that they were on paper. Still, the memories of them roaring in his face haunted him, and he self-consciencely touched through the fabric of his hoodie the large scratch one of them had given him on his chest.

He was so engulfed in his art work and the memory of the hallucination he didn't notice he was about to bump into someone until it was too late. His sketchbook was knocked from his hand, and to his astonishment, another flew through the air in front of his face. "Blimey! His sentiments exactly.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going and---" He had been kneeling down to collect their dropped belongings, but now he stopped, looking up into the woman's face. He saw something there. Familiarity, was it? She recognized him? But how? She looked way too kind and gentle to be with the LVA. As distracted as he was, he grabbed her sketchbook by mistake, slowly standing to his full height again. He wasn't able to break eye contact with her. She seemed so frightened of him.

"Sorry."

"No, it's fine," he finally said, brushing his hand over the back of his neck. "Look, I wasn't paying attention either, there's no need to apologize. Are you all right?" he asked her, how frail she was not escaping him. She looked like she could be knocked over by a strong wind.

"No, it's fine...Look, I wasn't paying attention either, there's no need to apologize. Are you all right?"

Her eyes flashed back and forth over his face, trying to find some detail to trigger a memory as his question stopped her thoughts in their tracks. He seemed so genuine, so sweet, could he really be an agent of the LVA? Perhaps he was just a really good actor...weren't they all, really? Nearly every one of the people there had been found by an undercover. The muscle had been sent in afterward, they were hard to miss, but you never knew when an undercover had targeted you.

"I---I'm fine, sorry," she blurted out when she realized she'd been staring at him too long. To stop herself she looked down at the sketchbook she'd picked up, hanging open in her grasp. A terrifying beast stared back at her and her brow furrowed. She'd seen gruesome creations like this in the media, that wasn't surprising, but it was the style with which it was drawn that caught her attention. It was rapid and scratchy in hand, almost frightened; it was a recording sketch.

"I think...this is yours," she flicked the sketchbook shut and raised it up, offering it back to him as she hugged her coffee cup close to her chest. She took comfort in the steaming cup, knowing that if he tried something she could at least toss the hot liquid in his face to buy herself some time. She couldn't shake that familiar feeling and it frightened her so deeply that she couldn't place it, but she knew better than to run.

Running caused a scene, running drew attention, running made it hard to think clearly. She was struggling enough with that as it was, her mind slipping out of her control and twisting into horrific knots and twisted imaginings of all the things he might do. All she knew for sure was she couldn't go back there, and if he wanted to take her there, she would do whatever it took.

What she should do is walk away, see if he follows, but her legs seemed to be rooted to the ground and she couldn't stop staring. All she needed was one little detail, one thing to grab a hold of that shadow of a memory dancing behind her eyes or one thing to prove she was just imagining things. She wasn't sure which she wanted more.

"I---I'm fine, sorry."

"Really, there's no need to apologize," he repeated, not realizing that she was apologizing for an entirely different reason this time. She had been staring at him, yes, but he had been trying to ignore that part. He didn't want to think that his first public outting in a long time had landed him in the arms of the LVA once again. He didn't want to believe that this woman's kind soul was just an act.

"I think...this is yours."

"Oh," he said, bowing his head to look down at the sketchbook in his hands, his hair falling from beneath his hood. He hadn't opened it to check, but looking over at the one in her hands now he could see one of the terrifying beasts that was his mind's unintentional creation. "Yeah, it is. Thanks," he said, handing over hers after his was back in his possession. She had no doubt seen the beast he had drawn, but she'd probably just think that he was creative and not psychotic. At least, he hoped she thought that. Sometimes he thought that people could see it in his eyes despite how heavily medicated he was.

"I... see you're an artist," he said, immediately regretting his choice of words. Of course she was an artist, why else would she be carrying around a sketchbook? Had it really been that long since he'd spoken to someone? He contributed it to the fact that she was a pretty girl. It wasn't helping that she seemed ready to run from him at a moments notice. He couldn't be that terrifying. She must have thought he was someone else. He hoped she thought he was someone else.

He laughed, his hand moving to the back of his neck in his awkwardness. "Sorry. That was a dumb question. Of course you are."

This post has been edited by Knife Ears on Jan 9 2012, 07:31 PM

His eyes were so tortured, the poor thing. She knew that look anyway. Outwardly he was fine, but that wasn't the whole story. Suddenly she sincerely doubted he was an undercover agent. You couldn't fake that kind of torture.

He bowed his head to look down at the sketchbook she offered him and she accepted hers back absently. The changed angle on his face suddenly snapped the memory into glaring brilliance, no longer a foggy haze of questionable familiarity. Her eyes widened in recognition and she involuntarily gasped. The last time she'd laid eyes on him he'd been in much worse condition. The last time she'd seen him, she never thought she'd ever see him again; she was sure he wasn't going to survive.

When he'd been brought into the LVA she'd been standing in the main hall of the complex. The doors had opened to the boy who now stood before her suspended between two agents. They dragged him into the hall, bloody, burned, battered and dirty, his head hung low and his hair matted and limp around his face. She didn't know his name, or his gift, or where he had come from, but she knew he was to join their living hell. The agents had promptly dragged him off to the infirmary, and that was the first and last time Ash had seen the mysterious boy on the grounds. She never knew what had happened to him; she'd assumed he'd died in the infirmary, maybe they had just never crossed paths again, or perhaps the LVA thought him dangerous and they kept him away.

None of that mattered though. He was standing here in front of her. She had found another escapee.

He had been talking, but she didn't here a word of it.

"You're alive!" she blurted before she could even help herself. She immediately pinched her lips together, containing any further mad-woman worthy outbursts. Of course he was alive! He was standing here in front of her. He'd probably never seen her before; he certainly hadn't looked like he'd been capable of seeing much when they'd brought him in.

She looked at his confused face and squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head as she tried to gather her thoughts. "I'm sorry, that sounded crazy. I just...I know...I saw....you were...they....I thought..." she growled at herself, her brow furrowing in frustration. She was babbling, and making less sense by the minute.

"Sorry," she apologized yet again. "That makes no sense. I'm just...I don't even know. I must seem totally off my rocker," she smiled apologetically, her still furrowed brow making her appear utterly fragile. She shoved her sketchbook back in her bag roughly, the urge to sketch almost entirely forgotten, and scratched her neck nervously her hood moving ever so slightly to reveal a flash of her red hair.

"You're alive!"

His eyes widened, and he looked up from the ground where he had been avoiding her eyes, not wanting to see the humour in them put there by his awkward question. His hand stopped mid rub on the back of his neck, and the ghost of the embarrassed smile remained on his face. What did she mean by that? She looked like she had just been struck by an amazing revelation.

"Um... yes, I am," he commented, watching her struggle to compose herself. "Wait, what?" he added, his hand falling from the back of his neck, his face screwing up in confusion. She clearly recognized him, but she wasn't reacting as though she was an LVA agent. In fact, she was reacting as though she was another survivor...

"That makes no sense. I'm just...I don't even know. I must seem totally off my rocker."

He shook his head, about to reassure her that she didn't, when a flash of ginger caught his attention. A strand of her hair had fallen from beneath her hood when she started shoving her sketchbook into her messenger bag. Lars' brow furrowed, and tentatively he reached for it, holding it up in the palm of his hand and staring at it with a far away look in his eyes, as if he was trying desperately to clasp onto a memory that had been blurry to begin with.

He had seen her that day the LVA had dragged him into their facility. She had been one of the many prisoners gathered in the main hall of the complex that had stopped to watch the half-dead boy's arrival. He had looked up to see her face, creased with concern. They had met eyes for only the briefest of moments before the men hauled him away, but she had been all that had occupied his thoughts when he had been left alone in his cell. Thoughts of her and imagined conversations had kept him, relatively speaking, sane. She had looked so beautiful and kind to the teenage who had seen so much cruelty. It was safe to say he had fallen in love with the ginger girl he had kept in his head, safely tucked away from the monsters that also inhabited his skull.

"I know you," he said, his voice small and sounding choked off, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

This post has been edited by Knife Ears on Jan 9 2012, 10:16 PM

His eyes suddenly flashed down to somewhere around her neck and she raised her eyebrow curiously, wondering what had suddenly caught his attention, unknowing of the lock of hair that had escaped its covering. His fingers found the stray hair and he lifted it up, staring at it dreamily.

Her heart stopped and time seemed to slow. Her hair was visible. She didn't care that he could see it. If they hadn't been in public eye she probably would have pulled off her hood and showed him herself, but what she was worried about was anyone else seeing it. Her hair was too noticeable, too distinct a shade of red, too vibrant; a giveaway.

"I know you," he whispered, his voice choked up as tears glistened in the corner of his eyes as they glimmered in recognition.

She quickly shoved the strand of hair up under her hood again, safely out of sight. When that was done her heart-rate eased and she flickered a smile at him, touched now that she wasn't scared out of her wits. "I'm surprised, I didn't think you'd have seen anything that day, you looked so..." he voice trailed off at the memory of his battered body. She didn't know him, didn't know his name or anything about him, but at the LVA is was very much an us vs. them mentality. She didn't need to know him to care about him.

"We should find somewhere to go. It's not safe out here, we could be seen or heard, and...I think we need to talk," she murmured to him, a blush coming to her cheeks against her will. She couldn't help it. The way he was looking at her just warmed something inside her that had been so cold and ignored for so long.

But she couldn't think of that now.

They needed to get off the streets, somewhere quiet and discreet. She thought of her flat, but it was a mess and small, and she didn't trust the thickness of the walls. There were other shops and other flats on either side of her little living space, and who knew who was actually in them.

"Do you know anywhere quiet? Protected? Standing here so long is making me nervous..." she whispered softly, taking the first sip of her nearly forgotten coffee in an attempt to appear natural.

She tucked her hair back into her hood and out of sight when she noticed it was visible. For a second he was embarrassed. He had no right to touch her hair, he didn't even know her name. The though struck him then that it wasn't him she was worried about, but everyone else around them. They were still standing in the middle of the side walk. It wasn't that uncommon of a sight, but Lars understood her fear. If someone recognized either one of them it was all over.

"I'm surprised, I didn't think you'd have seen anything that day, you looked so..."

Hadn't seen her? She had been the only thing to occupy his thoughts for an entire year of solitude. Of course, she wouldn't know that, and he'd never be able to tell her. That was just plain creepy.

"We should find somewhere to go. It's not safe out here, we could be seen or heard, and...I think we need to talk."

The blush that rose to her cheek warmed his heart and made him want to laugh out loud with joy. He decided then and there, he had to protect this girl no matter what. He wouldn't let the LVA touch her again, no matter what. He didn't even know her. He'd still give himself up to protect her given the opportunity.

"Do you know anywhere quiet? Protected? Standing here so long is making me nervous..."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, turning and looking back the way he had come. "I'm actually just coming from my apartment. It should be safe there." He realized it was a bit weird to invite a girl back to your apartment upon first meeting them, but he had no other ideas.

"Sorry. That's a bit weird, but I really don't know of a safer place." An embarrassed smile came to his lips. He hoped she'd understand. He really wanted to get to know this girl better.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm actually just coming from my apartment. It should be safe there."

She looked in the direction he did, contemplating his offer. He sounded pretty confident in its security, so she would have to trust him on it.

"Sorry. That's a bit weird, but I really don't know of a safer place."

Her stormy eyes drifted back to him and she raised her eyebrows. "No, I don't think it's weird. I'd actually thought about my flat, but I don't trust the walls," that sounded crazy but she didn't care. "If that's where you think is safest, that sounds excellent. Lead the way...uh..." she stopped, realizing she still didn't know his name, and he didn't know hers.

"You know what? We'll exchange pleasantries when we're safe inside," she decided, ignoring the feeling that everyone was staring at them.

She knew they weren't, she was just being paranoid, but that didn't stop the feeling. It didn't make her less anxious. She wouldn't calm down until she couldn't be seen, and so she followed him to his apartment, unable to wait to get indoors and pick his brain.

She'd found another escapee! That poor, bloody, dirty boy she'd seen dragged in to the LVA compound had survived, and he'd gotten out, and he was here. For some reason that made her incredibly happy, happier than she'd been in a very, very long time. She'd actually be able to talk to someone. She hadn't talked to anyone in months. She was going to keep this boy close, she decided. Chance had brought them together, she was going to keep it that way. Surviving and staying sane almost depended on it.

"No, I don't think it's weird. I'd actually thought about my flat, but I don't trust the walls."

He understood her concern. His neighbours had never complained about any noise coming from his apartment, which was saying something, because both he and the monsters made a considerable amount of noise whenever he began to hallucinate. He had only met one of his neighbours, and she was an old lady that couldn't hear the fire alarm when it went off. He knew, because he had been forced to break into her apartment to evacuate her from the building when a small fire had caught on someone's stove. And then he had had the hardest time getting her to stop beating him with her cane long enough to get her out of the building. The room on the other side of him was either empty or housed a similar occupant.

"If that's where you think is safest, that sounds excellent. Lead the way...uh..."

He looked around them, not sure if they should share their names where so many people could hear them. She saved him from having to worry about it, though, when she mentioned that they should save introductions for when they were safe in his apartment.

"Good plan. My place isn't far," he said, turning and heading back toward his apartment complex with the girl of his dreams at his side. After such excitement he was rather craving a cigarette, though now that he had company he would have to wait. He couldn't bring himself to worry too much about it. He was suddenly glad for the artist's block that had driven him out of his apartment. It struck him then that maybe she would let him draw her. She'd be perfect for the character he was being commissioned to create.

They reached his apartment, and he fished his keys out of the pocket of his hoodie, unlocking the door and holding it open for her. Once both of them were inside, he shut and locked the door behind them, hoping that would make her feel uncomfortable. He was sure she'd understand, being an escapee herself. Locks wouldn't keep the LVA out for long, but they'd slow them down.

Stepping into the room, he picked up the discarded clothing he had left on the floor before leaving, tossing it into the hamper in the bathroom before turning to face her. "Well, this is it," he said, tossing his sketchbook, cigarettes, and keys onto the desk that held his computer monitor.

"I'm Lars Eriksson," he told her, a smile on his face as he offered her his hand.

When they reached the door to his apartment, he pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked the door before holding it open for her. She looked at him, almost surprised for a moment, then she walked inside. She didn't think anyone had ever held a door open for her...

Inside, she stood awkwardly in the middle of the room as he locked the door behind them, cleaned up a few articles of discarded clothing and put his things down on his desk while she pulled her hood off and shoved it back in her bag. Shaking out her hair, she dropped the color morph on her eyebrows and looked around. She may have been less anxious now that they weren't standing out in the middle of the street, but that didn't particularly mean she was less socially anxious. Even given the fact that he'd been an LVA the idea of talking to him made her inexplicably nervous.

"I'm Lars Eriksson," he told her, his chores done, and he gave her a huge smile as he offered her his hand. She shifted the hands her coffee cup was in and took his, shaking it gently. His grip was strong and warm, reassuring, and his smile was infectious. She grinned back at him, feeling bad about how nervous she was, but still comforted by his pleasant attitude.

"Ash," she told him, "well, Atonia Seisris, but all my friends call me Ash," she grinned at him shyly, almost reluctantly releasing his hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Lars. I'm so glad to see you're alive and well."

She tugged at the bottom of her sweatshirt slightly, fidgeting a bit. He did look well, immensely so compared to how he looked the last time she saw him, and he certainly looked more healthy than she did right now.

"How have you been since..." she paused, her brow furrowing. Since what? Since they escaped a living hell? Since they all turned their gifts on their 'caretakers', like the weapons they'd been trained to be, and broke out of the compound. Since they'd all spent the last few months running and hiding and constantly looking over their shoulders, terrified they'd be found? She didn't even know how to finish the question.

They shook hands, and she introduced herself as Ash. He repeated the name over and over in his head, wanting to test how the name tasted in his mouth when he spoke it but not wanting to seem weird yet. He couldn't help but to think the name was perfect for her. An image of a phoenix rising from its ashes gave him the sudden inspiration to draw, but he'd save that thought for later. For now, he and Ash had some catching up to do.

"Good to finally meet you, too," he said, though the words hardly did the way he was feeling justice. She had no idea how much she had come to mean to him in the year he had been locked away from everyone else.

"I admit, I didn't expect I'd see you again either. I'm glad to see you got out and avoided being recaptured, too," he continued, sitting in the rolling chair at his desk so that he still faced her and gesturing that she could sit on the edge of his bed.

"How have you been since..."

"Well. I've been well," he said, nodding, a wistful smile on his face. It wasn't a lie, he had down quite well for himself in the small amount of time he had been a free man. He had a well paying job that didn't even require him to leave his home most of the time. He was eating much healthier than he ever had before in his life. He was so medicated that his episodes were few and fare between.

"And you? How have you been?" he asked. He had so many questions for her, and he knew she had plenty for him, too, but he'd like to know that his new friend was having an easier time of it. By the looks of her, though, her nerves still got the best of her, which he understood. He couldn't even use his real name to put on his artwork, which wasn't so bad. A lot of artists had pen names.

He remarked on his joy that she'd gotten out as well and she almost laughed. Almost. Ash had actually been one of the orchestrators in the escape plan. She'd decided it was time when she'd awoken from her coma in the LVA infirmary. It had been a small group of them planning, but they'd launched a complex-wide overthrow and escape. But that wasn't important, and she didn't think he needed to know that.

He gestured for her to sit on the bed and she looked down at it for a moment before finally and awkwardly managing to sit down, her bag tumbling to her feet. She peeled off her sweatshirt as well, laying it across her lap.

"Well. I've been well," he informed her and she smiled, genuinely glad to hear it. "And you? How have you been?"

Her smile faded slightly and she looked down at her hands. "I've been...surviving," she murmured, which was true. "It's certainly better than the opposing."

Between all of her anxieties and paranoia's and constant running, she couldn't really say she'd done so well for herself. She was a coffee shop barista living over a chinese food restaurant who could barely sleep a whole night through and only just managed to take care of herself.

She'd lost more weight since leaving the LVA, which was the exact opposite of her expectations. Her skin was incredibly pale, she had bags under her eyes, her bones poked against her skin, but despite all her unhealthy appearance she was alive, and for now she was free, and that was good enough.

Absently she fidgeted with her vibrant red locks, wondering where to start. She wanted to know so much about him, who he was, where he came from, why the LVA wanted him; she wanted to know everything, though there was by no means time for that all in one sitting. She opened her mouth a few times, and closed it with a sigh.

"I don't even know where I want to start, I'm still just astounded you survived. I thought for sure when I saw them bring you in that you weren't going to make it...but I guess they did ensure one thing, we knew how to take care of our own, and clearly the Healers did a good job on you."

She couldn't see a trace of the damage he'd sustained. The last time she'd seen him his face had been bloodied and swollen, but there was nothing there. There were no mars or scars or anything. He looked perfect, she thought, and again she blushed, embarrassed by how much further that thought went.

"I've been...surviving. It's certainly better than the opposing."

That wasn't what he had hoped to hear, but he had expected it. She was skin and bones, her skin even paler than his own. Her dark circles made her look as if she suffered from nightmares constantly, and she probably did. At least his monsters left him alone while he slept most of the time.

He watched her fidget with her locks, wishing he could do more to make her comfortable. He would have offered her a drink if she didn't already have a coffee, though he supposed he could still ask her if she needed a glass of water. Coffee was to keep you awake, not hydrate you.

She went on to express her astonishment that he'd survived, and he smiled down into his lap. He didn't remember too much of when he had first arrived at the LVA, and nothing at all of how he had gotten there or the circumstances leading up to his capture. He had woken up in the infirmary with few memories, one of them being Ash's face. The LVA hadn't told him anything, and he hadn't really wanted to question them about it, so he had been kept in the dark. He didn't even know if his family was still alive or not.

"Well, let's start off with basic stuff. How old are you? What do you do?" he asked her, wanting to focus on happy stuff rather than ask her questions that would bring her back to those dark times. They'd get to that in time.

"Well, let's start off with basic stuff. How old are you? What do you do?"

She smiled brightly at him, grateful for the simplicity behind the question. There was no deep prying there, no horrible memories. Simple life, a standard question. It was almost normal. She liked it.

"A good place to start!" she exclaimed, grinning. "I'm eighteen, and I work as a barista in that coffee shop," she raised her coffee cup and took a quick sip. It was cold now and she wasn't normally a fan of coffee, but it was keeping her awake, and she definitely wanted to be awake now. She didn't care that she'd barely slept, and that there was a good chance she wasn't going to sleep much tonight either, this moment was totally worth it.

"I also draw and paint in my spare time for a little extra income, but it's a rare thing that I every actually get any commissions. I don't mind though, it still keeps me occupied," she explained. She could definitely have used the extra income that more commissions would have provided, as anyone who saw her living conditions would agree, but she didn't really care about the money. As was the case this morning, painting gave her something to do on sleepless nights. Painting helped get the demons and nightmares out of her head. Sometimes she thought her art was the only thing keeping her sane.

She looked up at him, tugging at her shirt anxiously a little, more out of habit anxiety than anything in particular. "What about you? I saw you do a bit of artwork yourself," she laughed gently, though inside she was thinking about the beast she'd seen in his sketchbook. Call her daft, but she was almost certain that he had seen the thing that was drawn on that page. She knew that mark. She knew a recording sketch when she saw one. He had seen it, then drawn it, but she wasn't going to ask about that just yet. That was a question for later. Now was a time for happiness and getting to know one another.