There's a time in a man's life when things just can't get any worse. This is not one of those times. In fact, that's the danger of it - being too comfortable with life. And so, there is Stevenson. 9-5, white with a little blue around the collar, heading back from the office. What's he do? Well, desk work mostly. Number punching. And what's his home? Some dingy apartment downtown. One's gotta wonder what he's doing walking. Well, it's not really safe to park a car out here anymore.

Dingy apartments are just rife with trouble, these days. As for parking...well, it's getting to the point where if you cruise slow enough on the streets, you'll get your tyres stolen. Questionable people of all kinds are out and about in small numbers, druggies and thugs wandering aimlessly, looking for the next hit, while others - like Mr Blue Collar over there - are just trying to get home. Likewise, a young and well-dressed man stepping out of Charlie's Tavern looks like he's on his way home, falling into the casual walking pace of someone who's not in a hurry, his path coincidently similar to the other guy's.

Isn't it just the way? When you think you've got a reliable ride, it turns out you haven't. K.C.'s just off work, too, leaving one of those dingy apartments where she's been talking with a client of the firm. Oh my, is she out of place. She wasn't, mind you, planning on walking home. Her ride announced, as he dropped her off -- since he was headed that direction when the appointment came up -- that he had a family emergency and couldn't stick around. So here she is, briefcase in hand, hoofing it back toward the office so she can go home.

Stevenson has his own briefcase, a brown one with wear around the corners, and one of the protective metal brackets missing on one side. Strangely, as his route is opposite K.C.'s and a little intersecting, the man steps off to one side and offers her a nod of greeting. "Evening," he says, and if he had a hat he'd probably tip it as well.

The well-dressed follower continues to casually echo Stevenson's path, not making it /obvious/, but neither doing much to hide the fact from outside watchers. Still, as his time comes to pass KC, he likewise offers a nod.

K. C. summons up a smile, and echoes, "Evening," back to Stevenson. His follower gets a nod as well, though her smile's dialed down a bit. She glances back over her shoulder at both of them, and shakes her head. Who's ever heard of anyone stepping off to the side anymore? It's charming. No, it's cute.

But for a cute personality, Stevenson isn't exactly cute himself. He's an average joe. Too average. And hence, no one's taken a pity on him. And that's what he's come to expect. The guy is Mr. Invisible Man, when stuck in a crowd. And the guy continues on his way, eyes returning to the pavement ahead of his feet like a good lemming.

Catching up to Stevenson a little, Mr Invisible's follower hails softly, "Hey buddy, y'got the time?" A fairly harmless request, isn't it?

He almost doesn't hear it. That's how oblivious Stevenson can be. At least, some part of him is paying attention to what's going on around him though. And that is how he knows he's being addressed. Stevenson turns around, brow raised as his addressor. "Huh? Oh, it's ah..." The man glances at his watch. "Almost half past 6." He glances up again naturally, as to make sure his answer was understood.

K.C. stops to stare, in a sort of fascinated horror, at the picture in a grimy tattoo parlor window. An example of extreme body piercings. This man's got barbells through the skin above his hip bones. On both sides! The sort of angle downward toward his groin which, for public display, has been covered in a white towel, but it doesn't leave much to the imagination, does it? So she lingers a minute or two on the street.

Their eyes met across a crowded room.......or a not so crowded street, as it happens, the follower's pale green eyes locking with Stevenson's own for just a moment as he murmurs, "Thanks....hey, don't I know you from somewhere, buddy? Sorry if it looks like I bin' /follow/in' you, but you look real familiar."

As he begins to shake his head, Stevenson pauses in hesitation. "I, uh..." The guy's briefcase slips a little in his hand, and he tightens the grip after a quick realization. "I guess." Eyes looking at the other's, Stevenson makes his way a little closer to the man. "Maybe from high school?" Nice guy, Mr. Invisible. And perhaps surprised he's been noticed.

K. C. shakes her head at the picture, glances down the street toward where the two men talk, like she might ask a question, then shakes her head again. No use pointing it out to horrify someone else. She tightens her grip on her briefcase and turns the other way again.

Just as the wandering KC begins to turn away, she might catch something unnusual out of the corner of her eye.

The follower - who, for conveniance's sake we'll call Orion - nods slightly to Mr Stevenson, before heading for a nearby alleyway, seeming to expect the other guy to follow him into the shadows.

And like a puppy, Stevenson adjusts his collar and tie before walking after Orion. Nope, nothing wrong here. Just two men going to go have a chat. In a stinky back alley, and all.

K. C.'s eyebrows lift a little, and she stops to watch the two men disappear into the alley. Then she struggles with herself for a moment before she gives in with a little sigh and goes back the way she came, toward that alley, mumbling to herself.

Once into the alleyway, Orion allows himself a little smile. Nudging Stevenson somewhat, he murmurs in soft, reasonable-sounding tones, "Turn around a sec, mate? Think you've got hair on your jacket." He's stood quite close to the other man, whilst at the same time making sure he's rather well-covered by shadow, lest he need to hide.

Stevenson's other brow raises itself, vague concern for hair on his jacket there. "Where at?" he makes a brief reach of his hand for the back of his jacket collar. After all that's where hair would be right? He does turn around. Friendly guy, this... uh... whatever his name was.

K. C. steps over a puddle of -- something -- gingerly. And calls out before she gets to the mouth of the alleyway, "I know this is really silly, and weird, but I just wanted to make sure that everything's okay..."

Just as KC's voice carries into the alleyway, Orion makes his move. Taking advantage of the fact that Stevenson's back is to him, and enacting his performance in a rather cliche manner, the young man tilts his head, leaning in and gently biting Stevenson on the side of the neck, fangs having appeared from...somewhere....to aid with the business of bloodletting. To the victem, it feels like a sudden rush of pleasure, not the kind of thing you'd want to get away from.....to any observers, it looks exactly like what it is. Preditor meets prey.

Ow what the... oh. That's different. From the feeling of a prick to his back, to that euphoria that can't be escaped, Stevenson and the rest of him just stand there. His eyes glaze a bit, and the briefcase he holds slips from loosening fingers. It spluts onto the dirty asphalt. The poor joe is at the mercy of his attacker.

No answer, eh? Well, she's at the alley now. Might as well go ahead and butt in. She'll apologize if she's interrupting some lover's tryst. Deep breath, and she rounds the alley corner ... and freezes, just for a second. Then she drops -her- briefcase, shouts, "No!" and charges into the alley.

A heartbeat - well, it would be if Orion /had/ a heart - and the vampire has pulled away from his victem, looking....displeased. A somewhat hasty shove pushes Stevenson towards the closest wall, out of the way, while the vampire adopts a martial-looking stance.

Crashing against the wall limply, Stevenson's mind doesn't even register what's happening now.

K. C. skids to a halt and sinks into a sort of crouch of her own, shoulders hunched. "What *is* it with you? You can't even wait until the nice, normal people of the city have had dinner before you get the munchies?" She glances, only briefly, at Stevenson, then looks back at the vampire. "Are you okay?" That's not for the vampire's sake. Really.

"Some of us like to dine at sociable hours," Orion responds softly to the jibe, eyeing this potential challenger warily. "If you don't mind, I'd like to continue my meal in peace....terribly rude of you."

K. C. smirks right back. "I never did really like all those manners anyway. And really, I think you've had enough to eat. So why don't you just wipe your chin and shove off?"

"You're being very rude, for a potential next-meal," Orion cautions, one hand dipping into his coat. "I think it's probably best that you turn around and walk away now, young lady.."

"Like I said. No manners." She actually toes out of her expensive shoes, and manages to only make a little bit of a face as she steps down onto soiled concrete. "Hey, mister?" The guy against the wall. "You should go home. Now."

Stevenson's collar is now stained dark, beyond sweat and blood, aside from the dirt and grime of the alley. "What... what's going on?" The meal interrupted, the prey is still a little stunned from getting drained some and then thrown into a wall.

Orion's hand emerges from his coat, a small six-shooter clasped within it, pointed so that it could hit either Stevenson or KC with little adjustment. Not overly flashy, more of the easy-to-hide type that's so common amongst the gun-toting youth of today. "Please. Turn around, and go home," he insists, attempting to meet the woman's eyes.

Perfect. Or not perfect. Guns would come in to play here, wouldn't they? K.C. just barely avoids closing her eyes. She doesn't, however. Nor does she take her eyes off Orion. "What's happening," she says, sounding rather strained, "is that you're going to run like hell. That's what. Run home, Jack. Go." She, in the meantime, takes a step toward the vampire, and starts unbuckling her watch.

"But," Stevenson starts to protest, until his mind registers there's a gun. "Holy mother of..." The man's eyes are big and round. Instinct, if not mindful thought, takes over. With Garou and gun-toting assailant around, he scoots up against the wall, trying to get to his feet again. Scrambling, were it not for the weakness in his limbs. The man whimpers. This isn't happening! Finally he starts to sidle along, trying to make his way towards the alley in a swift manner.

"We'll finish this later," Orion murmurs, presumably to the scrambling Stevenson, his eyes now fixed on KC - the gun, too. "I'm going to count to three, then I'm going to leave," he informs the Walker, cooly.

The bracelet comes off too, and gets dropped into a pocket. She continues forward toward the vampire and his gun. "It's way too late to walk away, Fang. Besides, that just wouldn't be any fun, would it?" She starts to tug the tail of her blouse out of her trousers as well.

Stevenson looks back fearfully, a rather reflexive thing when it comes to most people running away from something. That alley mouth seems so far away suddenly. And then he's at the entrance. "Help!" Oh yes, just what both of them needed.

*BANG* A shot is fired off at Stevenson, distracting Orion for a moment. Well, if he /will/ be uncivilised and ask for help, there's nothing for it, really. Though the vampire's attention dosen't move entirely away from KC, he does watch Stevenson carefully as the bullet hits just below his right shoulder-blade, most likely piercing a lung.

K. C. curses in entirely unladylike fashion, and throws herself at Orion. She's aiming for a full-out body tackle. At the very least, if another shot's fired, it's not likely to hit the same target.

Regardless of where the bullet pierces, the mere shock of being shot is enough to drop the poor, rather helpless man. Stevenson goes down like a sack of bricks, and bleeds right onto the grimy asphalt. Most assuredly though, his cries for help are silenced by overwhelming pain.

*oof* Orion is tackled relatively easily, since while tall, he's not a particularly muscular man. The gun is knocked flying from his hand, landing some feet behind him in the alleyway, and his attention is brought back rather painfully to the woman that just bodychecked him. "Madam!" he curses, pushing hard against her. Harder than one might think him capable of, from visual.

The human's down and at least marginally out. The vampire's down too, which wasn't at all how K.C. expected things to go. She hesitates for a moment, nearly shoved off. Then she curses again and shifts upward. Added bodyweight ought to go far toward holding the leech down. Well, farther anyway. At the expense of clothing, unfortunately; seams stretch and tear and buttons pop. "Don't," she threatens the vampire. "Do us both a favor and stay down."

Muttering something that sounds distinctly uncomplimentary, though incomprehensable unless you're good with defunct languages, Orion stills, pale blue eyes staring up unblinking at the glabro who's pinning him down.

All Stevenson does is concentrate on breathing. Painfully. And drowning in his blood. "H-help..." The man's still alive after all. Survival must be had, and he tries to uncurl himself, and crawl out to somewhere where people might be gracious enough to help a dying man.

K. C. bends an arm and puts her elbow on the vampires windpipe. Not that he needs to breathe, but it's a convenient way to keep him from bucking should he choose. She fumbles at her waist with the other hand for the cellphone she had with her. 911 is not a difficult number to dial, even with thick fingers.

Nope. Vampires don't breath. And hey, this is actually a handy way of shutting him up. His hands move slowly, trying to slip unnoticed into his pockets if they can.

With K.C. all stretched out atop him? Not very likely. Matter of fact, she all but snarls, "Don't," half a second before a dispatcher picks up. "I want to report a shooting." She'll relay the address carefully, so as not to let the odd way her mouth works garble addresses. She's not going to stay on the phone longer than necessary, and when she hangs up, she talks to the leech again. "You and I are going for a walk. Do you understand me?"

Orion simply nods, falling still again as he's caught in the act. Not much else he can do at the moment, pinned down as he is.

And Stevenson continues to slip away. At least, until he finally is exhausted from shock and blood loss. He'd be lucky if the paramedics could arrive in time.

There is the matter of time here. So K.C. edges backward until she can stand, or stoop at least. She keeps one hand on the vampire at all times, fingers curled in his shirt as she pulls him to his feet too. A brief detour to get her shoes, and she tugs Orion over to Stevenson. "His wallet," she demands. "Get his wallet. Take his money. Poor man's just been mugged. Finish the job."

"No," Stevenson pleads, "Please." Up close he looks horribly pale, either from fear or from injury.

Oy. How demeaning to be pulled around by a woman, and yet Orion offers little resistance. The prey's pleads seem to do nothing to sway him, either, since he reaches down and ruffles through the man's coat until he picks out the wallet, wordlessly offering it to KC.

"No." Wry, unpleasant smile from the woman in question. "*You* take the money. Put it in your pocket. You may have a dead man's prints, but they're all yours."

Demeaning? What's more demeaning than being chattered over by two robbers, while one is bleeding to death without a person in the world stopping to help? Cold, cruel world! Indeed, cold. Stevenson gives a shiver as his body continues to shut down.

From afar, Snaik-GM okies. Small effect taking place. The Vampire has activated Awe, which subtly shifts the way her words and actions are recieved. People tend to look more favorably on the vampire, regardless of what's being said and done. If you want to resist, you can spend willpower points, one per turn that you wish to remain unaffected, until you reach the number of successes rolled (3). Then, you're unaffected.

Orion shrugs, pocketing the wallet and smiling charmingly at the Garou. He's actually quite cute, if you ignore the extremely pale skin. "Now where are we walking, my lady?" he inquires, as if for all the world the two were just friends.

That's much nicer than having to fight, even if Orion didn't do exactly what she said. "Home." She keeps a hand on the vampire, but she shifts down again so she can step into her shoes. "We're going home. And you're going to be all right." That to poor Stevenson, whether he hears it or not.

"I could save him, you know. He's lost a lot of blood..." and who but a Vampire would know best about that? "...and he won't last more than a few minutes now, I don't think," Orion's words are coaxing as he glances down to the prone man.

Save? Yes, yes that's a good thing. Being alive is good. "Please, help me," Stevenson pleas again. This time, it's more towards Orion than K.C.. Why the man would want to ask help from his attacker, well, it's better than anyone who's currently on the street and really ignoring the shooting. Bridge Street is unpleasant like that.

K. C. gathers her clothes around her as best she can, tucking the buttonless blouse into pants that don't fit as well as they once did. She looks down again at Stevenson, and squints at him, then the vampire. "Save him? You shot him. And tried to eat him. The paramedics will make it." But she doesn't sound completely confident of that. She shakes her head like she's making a decision. "Forget it. We're going."

"I did not try to /eat/ him," Orion protests, sounding injured. "I was just snacking. He'd have been fine if we'd been able to continue uninterrupted!"

Regardless of what sort of hors duevre he was meant for, Stevenson adds his say by a small whimper. Those paramedics sure take their jolly time.

"The snack bar's closed, Fang. Spare me. Start walking. They'll be here," she tells Stevenson again. And if the leech will just get moving, she'll stoop to grab her briefcase, too.

"I have a /name/, my lady," Orion points out, to KC. "And it's not Fang." Looking down to Stevenson, he shakes his head, murmuring, "I'm sorry about this, kine. I didn't intend for you to die." Then, turning towards the Garou, he seems prepared to move on.

Goodbye, cold, cruel world! Or not. Yet, anyway. "D-don't leave, please." Cough, splutter, gasp, cough again. Mr. Invisible's going to be invisible, up to his death. And the sirens of the police cars seems so far away.

But there are sirens. That's a good sign. K.C. keeps the briefcase in one hand, and threads the other arm through Orion's. "Fine." Crisp word. "You tell me all about yourself on our little walk. Do that for me, -Fang-, and I won't remove your head." Isn't she sweet? Butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. She's going to steer tall, pale and hungry right back out of the alley and down the street. Just like she does this sort of thing every day.

Orion walks out onto the street with KC, affecting an air of nonchalence, as if he were just escorting a friend home. What a gentleman.

And so it will be. Five, ten minutes maybe? Paramedics must be like angels to the poor man when they arrive, as he is on death's door.

K.C.'s Apartment -- Somewhere in St. Claire(#3633RFJ)
Simply decorated, sort of like the occupant doesn't intend to stick around for long. That, or like she doesn't own much to furnish an apartment with. What there -is- is on the nice side of things -- a real mahogany table and chairs, a matching coffee table. The sofa's expertly upholstered in a sturdy ivory fabric, accented with teal flecks. The throw rug beneath the coffee table matches. The television and stereo equipment appear to be new. The laptop currently on the end table is not top of the line, but not a dinosaur either. All in all, a tidy place, but not very personal.
Contents:
Orion, K. C.

K. C. fumbles the door to the apartment open, leans in enough to drop her briefcase inside the door, then slides her arm out of his, and crosses the threshold. "Come on, Fa -- sorry. Orion." That name tastes bad, apparently. "Come inside."

Orion steps in quietly, absently chewing on his lower lip. He looks a touch apprehensive now.

K. C. gestures toward the couch. "Have a seat. Want a drink? Ooh, sorry," she says again, wrinkling her nose a little bit. "Bet I don't have anything that appeals."

Orion sits as indicated. "You probably /do/, but I woulden't be such a bounder as to suggest it," he murmurs, his manners flawless. "So why, exactly, am I here, my lady?"

"Ooh, I got a gentleman. It's my lucky night." She shoves her door closed and latches it, then leans against the inside. "I thought we could have a little chat for a while. I'm sure your schedule's open. Now that you're topped off, I mean."

"Until an hour before sunrise, I am at your disposal, my lady," Orion agrees. "What is it you wish to discuss?"

K. C. takes one of those elegant chairs, and uses it inelegantly, straddling it backward, fabric of her trousers swinging loose at the seams, and blouse gapping open carelessly. "Let's start with how long you've been a bloodsucker."

"That's an incredibly rude question, my lady," Orion replies. "Perhaps you were right in noting that you lack manners."

K. C. smiles prettily. "I save my manners for those who don't think people are entrees. Do you want prettier words? How long since you were sired?"

"Do you eat meat, my lady?" Orion inquires, looking over to the Garou woman. "Do you? Think of it as no different, save that we do not need to kill our prey to take sustinance."

"Meat," K.C. answers, "is a cow or a chicken, or the occasional roast duck. People aren't meat. Sir." Pretty smile again. "Answer the question. Please."

"Why do I alays get the humanitarian ones?" Orion laments dryly. "Very well, my lady. It has been fourty seven years, two months and five days since I was cursed." Precise!

K. C.'s eyebrows lift. "Do you tick those days off on a calendar or something, then?" She shakes her head a little. "Sired here in St. Claire, or are you an import?"

"An import," Orion replies smoothly. "From Philadelphia." He dosen't seem proud of the fact, either.

K. C. nods. "Nice city, if you go to the right neighborhoods. How long ago did you come here?"

Orion considers this for a moment. "Including tonight, I have been here three weeks and two days."

Now we're getting somewhere. K.C.'s eyes narrow a little bit. "And what prompted the cross-country move." Little smile. "You don't strike me as an 'on a whim' kind of guy."

Shrugging a touch, Orion muses, "There is only so much space in a city, for people like myself. Sometimes, one just needs to pick up and move on, lest we disturb the populace too much."

"Mmmn. Overpopulation of the leeches." She wrinkles her nose again. "I hate it when that happens. So who's the big boss in St. Claire now?"

A decadent shrug, as Orion murmurs, "I have not met one, yet. Nobody has come forth and mentioned that there is a leader of any kind here."

K. C. frowns faintly. "So someone new blows into town, and it's just a free for all? Nobody to answer to?"

"These things take time, my lady," Orion replies. "A month, maybe two or three."

"Really. How come it takes so long? Too many of you holding up the queue?"

The vampire looks amused. "No, my lady. But you cannot rush these things, else someone will end up truly dead. It's not as if we don't have the time to take."

K. C. actually grins. "Cute." She leans back on her chair. "So, who do -you- talk to, to make an appointment, to get in line, to talk to the secretary who sets you up with the head honcho?"

"If I knew that, my lady, I'd have some idea of the chain of command here. Alas, I must wait for them to contact /me/. All very secretive. Cloak and dagger, and all," Orion remarks dryly.

"So you're just wandering around, snacking on the boss's appetizers, without being invited to the party? You're not worried that you're going to eat someone's favorite?"

Orion spreads his hands absently. "It's only food, my lady. I tend not to kill those I feed from, thus lessening such a chance.."

K. C. shakes her head again. "I have to admit, I've always sort of admired your ability to shrug off a conscience. Really. It must come in handy." She climbs to her feet and wanders into the kitchen, pulling open a drawer once she gets there. "It's a pity you don't have more information." She rummages.

"The need for conscience rather dies when you die, my lady," Orion replies soberly. "Once you've been cursed..."

K. C. glances over sidelong, summons a lopsided smile, and goes back to rummaging. "Like I said. Handy. Ah, there it is." She lifts a bullet from what appears to be a junk drawer.

Eyeing the bullet dubiously, Orion inquires, "What, exactly, are you planning to do with that, my lady?"

K. C. turns and walks catty-corner across the kitchen to open another drawer. She draws a .38 from this one, and comes back to the edge of the counter. Her eyebrows lift again. "I can hardly let you go back out there to pick someone else for your next snack, can I?"

"And here I was hoping you could learn to be civil," Orion laments. "Will you at least do one thing for me, my lady, before you end the existance of a gentleman?"

Orion sits back, straightening a little. "Look into my eyes and acknowledge what you're doing," he requests, his tone deadly serious.

K. C. smiles, then grins, then laughs out loud as she shakes her head. "Gee, Orion. I was hoping for a 'send my love to my pet' or something like that." She loads the bullet into the .38. She doesn't, he will note, look him in the eye.

"Ah, so you /are/ like me..." Orion replies with a slow, sardonic smile. "You would rather cover the act up with humour than acknowledge the way of things. Very well..."

K. C. shakes her head and the amusement fades away. "I don't think killing is funny, actually, O. Not any more than I think eating people is funny. I don't want to kill you because it thrills me. I want to kill you because you're an abomination. Because you're already dead, but you don't know it yet. And frankly," she adds, with a little shrug, "you're not making it worth my while to keep you alive."

"Think about your words, my lady," Orion responds evenly. "I'm already dead. How can you kill something that won't stay dead, like a good corpse?"

K. C. gestures with the gun. "Incendiary. It won't hurt for long. And I've got a great fire extinguisher."

"Ashes to ashes..." Orion replies, standing slowly from his seat. "How noble of you. Picking off the predators of humanity. A shame that you're counted in that number." (re)

K. C. heaves a sigh. "I admire the tactic, Orion, but really, it's not going to work. I don't cruise the streets for midnight snacks."

Orion absently brushes his jacket down, straightening his tie and so on. "Just get it over with," he advises. "Make the job easier. No more nasty vampire to waste your breath on."

K. C. cocks an eyebrow. "Not even going to try to bargain? Are you really that much of a martyr?"

"Bargain? With what?" Orion points out dryly. "No, I'd rather keep some amount of dignity in tact, if you don't mind. /Some/ of us have honour."

K. C. shrugs. "Enjoy it." *BANG* Since Orion's standing up so nice and straight, that bullet's going to go right into the hollow of his throat.Not necessarily a killing blow for a vampire, but one that should, at the very least, give him something of a pause. There's also no instant flame. K.C. says, "Oops. Guess I picked the wrong one."

There's the slightest shudder from Orion as the bullet tears into his throat. Unlike it might with a mortal, however, it dosen't exit the other side, having simply embedded itself in his flesh. He blinks a few times, brows creasing before he lifts a hand and quite impartially picks the bullet out of his gullet, fingertips dripping vitae as they emerge with it. And, sickeningly, it looks like even that wound is healing rapidly, the vampire having developed something of a patient expression.

K. C. sighs and puts the gun on the counter. "You couldn't at least have had the decency to make it -look- like it hurt?" Up she goes into glabro again.

"Oh woe, woe," Orion laments. "I have a sore throat. Now if you're quite done throwing chunks of metal at me, I really must be going." With that, he turns towards the door, even as the Garou shifts up a notch.

"I don't think you understand. I'm not letting you out that door."

"I don't think /you/ understand, my lady," Orion responds, walking over in the direction of the exit. "You don't want to kill me, I don't want to kill you, and I'd hate to ruin your carpet. So let us drop it, mmm?"

K. C. moves toward the door as well. "I'm not going to turn you lose on my city."

Orion reaches for the handle. "Then I move on, and we part ways amicably," the vampire reasons. "I can forgive a bullet, my lady, but precious little more."

K. C. scowls. "Move on. I'm supposed to believe you'll just leave St. Claire?"

Grasping and turning the handle, Orion points out, "I just left Philly, didn't I? The Anarch need never know I was here."

K. C. reaches the door, puts a hand on it, and leans on that hand. "What's his name? Who do you know? Give me *something*."

"He's caitiff. That's all I know," Orion conceeds, rattling the door-handle, though not pulling on it.

"Caitiff and no names. Could you be a little -more- vague, O?" Still, she takes her hand off the door. "You know I'll kill you if I find out you're still in town." It's not a question.

"You know, it amazes me that you seem to know what Caitiff /is/, my lady," Orion replies sardonicly, pulling the door open before minds are changed. "Give me three nights and I'll be gone."

K. C. smirks. "You'd be surprised about the kinds of things I know. Two nights."

Orion smiles, with just the slightest hint of fang. "Two nights," he agrees, slipping out of the door.

K. C. lets him go, then bolts the door behind him, shifts down yet again and skids down the inside of the door to put her head in her hands.