12:38 am...

God, I'm starving...

Rhiannon had, from some distance away, been drawn to the lights of the diner. Sort of a moth to the flame. A slight expression pulled lightly upward on the corners of her lips as she reached for the handle of the door, the previous image conjured somewhere in the depths of her mind's eye. The wheeze of aged hinges and the soft tinkling of a bell somewhere above her signaled her arrival, not to forget the sigh of the door as it slid closed.

She was not all together surprised by how few people would be in a diner this late. After all, it was a Tuesday night... er rather, Wednesday morning. Most people had jobs and school to go to by eight sharp the next morning. She came further in, beyond the threshold of the building and around a few booths to one that was rather unoccupied and at the very center of the window that stretched along the wall between the door and the far corner.

Her tall figure slid into the booth, almost having to fold somewhat awkwardly, as she was a might tall, especially for a woman, though not overly so. She sat with her back against the whispering faux leather seats that sunk profusely beneath her. Lifting her hands, she laced her fingers in a loose net that supported her chin, her azure gaze chasing light patterns along the plexiglass and into the night abounding the diner.

Waitress... Don't these places still believe in them? She wondered, letting her attention wander back across the rest of the diner, taking in the nostalgia of the place. It was quaint, she concluded, a slight smile tugging on her mouth again, then being acutely reminded of her hunger.

((I hope I didn't just put a face on a diner that was the wrong one...))

Michael yawned slightly, checking his watch. It was just after 12:30 in the morning. How he had come to be here, he didn't really remember. He rode his motor cycle, but that wasn't really the point. He supposed he had been wanting to visit the diner for a few days, old memories wrapped up in it. Thinking about his father had chased him out of the house that night.

They came here a lot when he was well enough to walk. Upon the mountains and mountains of bills they had the waitress had always been kind enough to serve them free food. No matter how hard Michael tried she would never except any money, but Michael always found a way to sneak a few extra dollars into her tip. Beth-Ann, that was her name. He smiled at the thought as he pushed his way through the door of the diner, a bell jingling above his head as he did so.

He loved the sound of the bell, greeting him as he walked into the diner...a blast from the past. He felt important, it signaled his arrival. Not that he needed any signaling. He had bright red hair, a messy mop a top his head. Not to mention that he wasn't all that short either. He was rather tall. At least, taller than the average man these days. But still, when those few heads turned to see him walk in and he was immediately asked what he would like, it made him smile. The people here were friendly. He asked about the young girl, Beth-Ann. She had been a few years younger than he had. She worked the day shift. He nodded and took a seat in a booth almost directly behind a tall, pretty woman. Not many people were here this late at night...well this early in the morning and his gaze remained on her for a moment wondering why she was here so early.

Afraid to stare, he turned away, his eyes going to the darkness that enveloped the diner. It was amazing, the contrast. The bright lights of the building giving off a welcoming sort of sensation, then the dark night sky...foreboding. Still, he loved the sky. He loved it more out here, where he could actually see the stars.

Letting out a sigh, he let his head rest on the palm of his hand, his green eyes staring out into an ocean of blackness, with only a few stars to guide it's path.

Not many people came and went in this little place, so when this man walked in, she couldn't help but look up at him. She watched him a moment, his posture, his gait, his expression. She didn't attempt to divine much from these things, but she did love to watch people. After her curiosity was well satisified, she returned her attention to the placemat she had been reading. It wasn't anything exciting, rather a history of the tiny little diner.

She felt rather amused by the story and, when she looked up again, she found that the man she had been watching was now behind her. She left him alone for quiet some time. He seemed a pleasant character, but sometimes people aren't always what they seem. She lay her chin her palm again, letting her gaze wander along the window, to the sky.

"It's amazing, don't you think?" Her voice fell from her lips in a whisper. Perhaps, she meant for him to hear her. Was she loud enough? She couldn't tell. The only way she would know is if he responded to her at all. If not, she'd go back to waiting for her waitress who seemed to have mysteriously disappeared.

He was sitting for a short moment when the sound of the waitress' voice startled him from his stupor. He picked his head off his chin and looked at her, giving her a tired, but friendly, smile. She smiled in return.

"What can I get you?" She said, with an accent he didn't recognize.

"How about just a cheesebuger, some fries, and..." he took a moment to look at the menu, "A large milk. I love milk."

She smiled and nodded, writing it down. Then after promising she'd be back in a few she walked away. He waved, but she had already started walking back. He shrugged and was about to go back to looking at the window when he heard another woman's voice. He looked over at her, the girl sitting in front of him. She had spoken softly and he wasn't sure if her words were intended for him. He decided they were and stood up, sliding into the booth directly behind her. If he was wrong, he didn't want to intrude too much on her space.

"It is really amazing. Especially out here," he whispered into her ear, his gaze following hers out into the sky, "It's hard to see the stars in the city."

His Irish accent was heavy, though his voice was quiet. He hoped he hadn't disturbed her by coming to talk to her.

She couldn't help but feel a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "It's been a long time since I've seen the sky like this..." She replied, not looking at him, but knowing he had moved. The waitress, she noticed, had managed to pass her entirely by after getting this man's order. But, what intrigued her most was his accent. She loved accents. Some part of her fantasized his life before now. Perhaps a man daring and adventerous? Or a poet and a traveler? Not to be confused with a naive and romantic woman, Rhiannon rather loved her own imagination and was always fascinated by the ideas she had running through her mind.

"Have you lived around here very long?" She asked, still not looking at him, her gaze fastened on the world beyond her plexiglass box. She was surprised by the words she had just let fall from her lips. She was rather excellent at curbing her own curiosity, but for some reason, she allowed it to pass her by. "Does it always look like this out here?"

She did look away from the window momentarily, hoping to get the waitress's attention. The attempt was to no avail. She continued with putting together this man's meal. A slight edge of frustration bothered her thoughts, but not enough to really distract her from her current, though slight conversation.

Michael didn't move from his position, his head slightly close to hers, his gaze looking out into the swimming blackness and the stars that were trapped inside. He wondered what she was doing here so late. What brought her here, alone, especially at this time of night. Demaitre was not the safest city, but not many were. He supposed out here, it was safer, despite the late hour.

"I suppose," he answered back his voice slightly louder, "Just a few years really. I came here as a child with my father and left in my mid-teens back to Ireland. I guess I just couldn't resist it's charm, I guess."

He let out a slight chuckle. She sure liked to ask a lot of questions. He liked that. She wasn't afraid to speak what was on her mind. Not many girls were like that. Plus, he was rather talkative himself and liked it when he had someone else who was willing to talk...and he supposed to listen as well.

"Out here? Aye, it always looks like this out here, out of the city limits. The stars are usually brighter, but tonight it looks as if clouds cover some of the sky. In the city, the stars are impossible to see."

He noticed that she pulled her gaze from the sky to look around. She must have been looking for the waitress. He frowned as he followed the girl's gaze.

"I'll be right back."

With that he got up and walked away, heading towards the waitress. She smiled and giggled and he winked at her, before walking back to the woman's booth.

"Are you hungry? Because I told her that you'd been waiting. She said she would be right over. Do you mind if I sit here with you?"

Ireland. That's where the accent comes from. She couldn't help but be jealous, though slightly, over such a fact. She'd never been outside North America. She sighed, though really more from a lack of oxygen than anything, and watched him make his way to the waitress. Quirking a brow, she wondered what he was doing. She let her gaze wander back to the world beyond, tracing the few constellations she knew. As she did so, she wondered if perhaps she had said the wrong thing to him, that's why he got up and left. Oh, well.

When he did return, her attention snapped right back to him, somewhat startled. It took her a few moments to recouperate from her own reaction before she let a slight smile tug at the corners of her mouth, somewhat sarcastic in it's origins. "So long's you promise your not some crazy that managed to steal something of mine." So, it was a joke, one that only she understood. A reference to just a few days ago when she arrived in Demaitre, not that she expected him to know. "And I have mace. Otherwise, knock yourself out."

"And yeah. I'm hungry, it's why I came here, though I noticed the waitress seemed more interested in you than me."

((Sweetie, we're in Canada, just to let you know ^.^ You could say she'd never been out of North America though, b/c that would be true.))

Michael smiled at her answer. She was quite an interesting girl, though he had no idea what she was talking about. He played along.

"I'm no crazy, scouts honor."

He held up his fingers, something he had seen in a moving, the boyscout sign.

"And I don't steal. Besides, I wouldn't want to get near that mace of yours. Mace is scary. I couldn't charm that waitress like I did without my pretty green eyes, now could I? You wouldn't want to hurt them, because then you'd never eat. Plus, she knows me really. I used to come here a lot. A friend of hers is a friend of mine, though I heard from a little bird that she has a little crush on me. You are lucky she does though, now aren't you?"

He winked. Or maybe she wasn't lucky. Even though he had managed to get her to say she would come over, without him there, the girl would probably have gotten her food much sooner.

"By the way, may I have a name?"

Just as he asked, the waitress walked over, eyeing him and hiding a giggle, then looking back over to the woman he was with. She set his food in front of him and then turned to Rhiannon to take her order.

She was quick to make her order, slightly irritated with the waitress that she could so quickly be forgotten. Sure, to have a crush on someone was one thing, but to forget everyone else while you were on the job was quite another. After the woman had left, she decided she should probably explain herself. "When I first came to Demaitre, some creep cornered me and tried to mug me." She replied rather idly.

She, then, let a slight smile cross her face, less sarcastic than the ones before. "Glad to hear your a good kid. I appreciate that in people every once in awhile." She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to give him her name, considering the already unpleasant welcome she had recieved upon stepping off the train. "And I'd say she was the lucky one. I tend to get rather frustrating when I'm not fed. Kind of like a Gremlin with less water." She said with a slight chuckle.

"You said you used to come here often. Why don't you anymore?"

((I couldn't remember what country it was, though I usually make a point to know... Urgh...))

((It's okey day!))

Michael felt a scowl come across his face as she mentioned a man that tried to mug her. He wondered who it was. Michael had known a lot of creeps since he lived in Demaitre, with all the places he had to live when he was trying to pay off the bills. Though, Demaitre was full of creeps so there was a chance he didn't know who it was. Still, if he ever found out...

Michael was extremely protective, having a cousin that was so close to him, and so very pretty he was always worried. Even with a woman he didn't know.

"Are you okay?"

Then he blushed realizing what he just asked. Of course she was okay. At least physically. She was right here, talking to him like everything was fine...though he didn't notice she didn't bother to give him her name. He understood, though it disappointed him slightly. He wanted to have a name to put to her pretty face.

He laughed when she said that the waitress was lucky, "Then I would consider her very lucky."

He winked, but the smile fell from his face when she asked why he didn't come to the diner anymore.

Shrugging, he looked away from her, his gaze going outside, his eyebrows creasing in thoughtfulness.

"I stopped coming when my father died," he answered her softly.

She couldn't help but be amused by his response to her being mugged. She humored him and nodded after his question, also taking note of the blush that crept across his face. She opened her mouth to speak in time enough for the waitress to bring her her order, setting it in front of her. She glanced at it momentarily, picking up her fork as she did so. "Hey, sorry. Didn't mean to bring that up. The names Rhiannon, by the way. Anything I can call you other than 'that guy I met at the diner that night'?" She asked, attempting to distract his attention from his current train of thought.

She speared a french fry with her fork. Yeah, her fork. It was a little quirk she had picked up as a child, refusing to touch almost any food with her fingers. It was rare that she didn't eat anything with a utensil. She brought it her mouth, bit down on one end and swallowed it. Noticing that he hadn't done much about his own plate, she gestured toward it. "Y'gonna eat that?" She teased, pretending to be more interested in his food than in hers.

Michael's attention went back to her. He liked her. She made him smile, even when he was busy thinking about things that didn't.

"It's okay, you didn't know. My name is Michael by the way."

He was silent for a moment, studying her. Rhiannon. It was a pretty name and fit her perfectly. He wondered where it came from, because in all his life he had never heard a name like that. Still, it was beautiful. Her parents must have been created.

He watched her as she picked up her fork and smile grew on his face, bringing out dimples in his cheeks. She ate fries with a fork? How cute. He shook his head, his green eyes bright with amusement.

"Well, I was going to eat. I was just waiting for you to get your food. I thought it would be rude to eat in front of you. Since then, I thought about eating, but you caught my attention."

He laughed again, before finishing.

"...By spearing your fry with your fork. You are only the second person I have ever met that eats finger foods with a fork. The other, well he hates to get dirty or greasy...an OCD thing. I guess I forgot about my food when you did that. I don't mean to poke fun. I think it's cute, but it's such a funny habit."

He picked up one of his own fries...with his fingers...and dipped it in his ketchup then stuck the whole thing in his mouth, shaking his head.

Michael. It was a good, common name. One she wouldn't easily forget. Besides, he was only the second person she'd met in the entire city of Demaitre. Upon his comments about her using her fork, she just shrugged. "My parents were very hoity toity. All about not using your fingers and such. There were some habits I never outgrew." She replied simply. "And I'm too old to be cute these days." She said to him with a slight smirk.

She then ate the rest of her fry, silent a moment while she disposed of it. "They also had a thing against ketchup. Something about vegetable rights and how it was just rude to ingest tomatoe blood without asking the poor things permission first." She teased, managing to stab another fry and pop the whole thing in her mouth.

"I had a friend who was OCD back in Vegas. I think that might have been the drugs though." She managed that around her fry. "So, uhm, Ireland. You mentioned it earlier. What's it like? From what I read and the pictures I've seen, it's absolutely gorgeous."

Michael chuckled slighty.

"You're never too old to be cute. Besides, I'm sure you aren't really that old. You are only as old as you let yourself be."

He didn't care if she was fifty, which he knew she most certainly wasn't. He thought she was cute anyway.

"Oh, vegetable rights?" he asked, winking, "Is that so? So what about carrots? Do they find eating carrots offensive too?"

He teased her back, enjoying her company. Picking up his burger, he took a huge bite, so it was a moment before he was able to answer her next question.

"Ireland is gorgeous, or should I say some of it is gorgeous. It depends on where you lived and who your parents were. Depression runs deep there, though it's much better now than it was during the potato famine. I wasn't alive during that. But I lived in the poorer part of Ireland. Had a huge family. Still, I did live out in the country once. Rolling grass lands as far as the eye can see. It is really quite beautiful. Where are you from?"

She shrugged. "Meh, nowhere exciting. Just a little town called Quincy back in the US." Then, upon answering that question, she quoted, rather than sung, a song that she thought rather described her parents well. "Carrot juice constitutes murder. A greenhouse is a prison for slaves. Composts are graves. It's time to stop all this gardening. Let's call a spade, a spade." As she spoke, she wondered if he had ever heard the song, so she figured she's elaborate. "It's a song I heard a few years back that I've never quite chased away. It's basically about a man who's all about vegetable rights. Rather humorous, though I can't remember who the songs by..."

She munched on a few more fries before continuing to address the other topics of conversation. "I've always wanted to go to Europe. Travel, really. I'd love to see what the other half of the world looks like. Hell, I'd just be glad to make it to South America, unless I have to walk."

Finally, she considered this topic of cuteness and her age. How old did he think she was? Probably not as old as she felt, though probably not near old enough either. She decided she'd find out. "How old do you think I am, anyway?"

He laughed as she quoted a song about carrots. He couldn't remember the last time he had been kept smiling so long. He didn't think she would seriously have an answer for that.

"You know, I have never heard that song before, but that is really quite funny. Honestly though, vegetables don't have feelings...who thinks up these things?"

He shook his head, amazed. Back in Ireland, his family always listened to simple music. The music he had heard since he had been here, quite frankly, surprised him. He knew that when he was a teenager, he had a run in with the rock and heavy metal frenzy of the time...but now he didn't really care for it, except for a few favorites.

"Europe isn't really all that great. It's much like here or the like the United States. Drugs and teen sex are just as popular, as well as murder and other things like that. Sure, you can site see, but you can do that almost anywhere. Really, it just gets boring and repetitive after a while, though if you ever went you'd have to take me with you because who else would be able to show you around?"

He winked. Despite what he said about it, he really loved it back there. Germany was one of his favorite places to go. The castles there intrigued him, and the few that weren't landmarked were always fun to explore when no one was around. He imagined it would have been nice to have lived in a castle. When he was a kid, he always vowed to buy one and fix it up and live in it, but now that he thought about it...that would be way to much room for one person to live alone.

"South America, now there is a place you don't want to go without vaccines and medication. Diseases run more widly there than any other place, but if you have the right things...it can be a fun place to go. I am going to Guatemala in a few months, mission trip of sorts."

He wasn't really all that religious, but he heard about the trip from a friend of his that went to a church outside of Demaitre and figured volunteering to go wouldn't be so bad.

"As for your age, well you can't be much older than 30, I'd say. You look younger, but your eyes tell my differently. I'd say 31."

He smiled and winked at her. She was at least five years older than he was, he could see that much and he hoped he wasn't too far off the mark. He didn't want to offend her if she was younger than that, so silently he prayed that she wasn't.

((Just a guess at the age, but I went back and checked it on your description and I was right. Haha...))

She liked that he found her song entertaining. Not a lot of people did. "Arrogant Worms. That's who did the song." She told him, sounding somewhat surprised that she remembered. "How do you know vegetables don't have feelings? Ever been one? Previous life perhaps?" She teased, waving her fork about in a grand though entirely dramatic gesture.

"Of course I'd want to go site seeing. I didn't say I'd want to live there. I'm plenty fine with this part of the world for living." She tilted her head to one side, enough to shift the hair about her face, causing the instant reaction to brush it away with her fingers. "Considering I know no one else who's been to Europe, you'd have to come with me. I have no other choices." She explained with a wink to match his own.

"And I don't honestly think I could handle South America. All jungles and bugs." She feigned a shiver. "Besides, Mother Nature's a bitch. She'll get back at us, each and everyone, one way or another. I don't want to subject myself to her tortures." She nodded for emphasis, as if that would drive her point across.

"I'm surprised that you guess how old I am. A lot of people I met, especially men, pretend I'm younger. I guess it makes them feel better later." She said with a shrug and minute laugh as she took another fry to her fork and set about chewing it. "I'm gonna guess though that you're 24, 25 ish." She, despite his worries, did not mind guessing wrong with his age. Most men didn't have the whole 'old' complex that most women had.

((Yeah, well, I'm a total cheater. :-p ))

"Never heard of them, though it could be something I'd look into."

He shook his head softly, amusement lacing his voice. She looked silly, waving her fork around talking about vegetables having feels and he thought, maybe to someone on the outside, it might be strange. To him, she was cute, and thoroughly entertaining.

"Really, though, I don't know if I can take a complete stranger to Europe, especially one such as yourself. You know, they eat a lot of vegetables there," he chuckled softly, "Plus, how do I know you won't try something? I know how you lady's get..."

He voice was teasing and he added, throwing his hands in the air and shaking his head, "No no, I'm not sure if I could trust you...sorry but I think you're on your own for this one. Unless..."

He raised one eyebrow and looked as if he was about to same something when he stopped and lowered his hands.

"I can't think of an unless...." He shrugged, "I don't really think South America would be all that bad, if you could keep yourself from contracting malaria. As for my age, 25 is right, not too young for you am I?"

He winked at her, then raised both eyebrows, as if waiting for an answer...he was only half-joking.

She looked mock thoughtful at his comments about not trusting her. "You're a smarter cookie than I gave you for. You probably shouldn't trust me. I'm most likely a serial killer or something." She teased, though remained completely expressionless, part of the joke. "But, you've already committed. You're going with me. 'Sides, you've a few years to get to know me better before I actually go."

She let some silence spread, while they continued to chow down, sneaking in an "Mmm, malaria" sometime during it, hoping to get a laugh from him. He was a sweetheart. A little too soft for her likings, but he would make for an excellent friend. Besides, he was also a redhead, which she generally avoided when it came to men.

"Y'know, you're not too young for me, honey, but I might be too old for you." A slight smile pulled at her lips as she spoke. Though, at this point her entire train of thought had derailed (or really mine did ~_^) and she wondered if perhaps he had a day job or somewhere to be the next day. So, she voiced it. "I'm not keeping you up, am I? You don't have a job or anything you have to go to tomorrow, do you?"

Mock surprise lit his green eyes, "Jeez, a serial killer, aye? I would have picked you out for something else, a vegetable killer maybe...but a serial killer. No way."

He shook his head as if he were disappointed with her. "Anyways, I'm not the type to commit. No one woman has ever made me. If you did, well you'd be the first."

He smiled at her, unable to be even slightly serious. He was tired, which made him slightly goofy. They were silent for a while, just eating. The look on her face said that she was lost in thought and that was okay. He could handle silence, for the most part.

Then she broke it with a comment about malaria. He laughed, shaking his head, before silence fell again. He definately liked her. She made him laugh and, surprisingly, she didn't hate him for interrupting her dinner. He wasn't really interested romantically in her. He had too much going on his life at the moment to take on a relationship that was more than friendly, but she was pretty, her age making her all the more beautiful. He hoped this night would not be the last time they talked.

"No, you aren't keeping me up. I have the next few days off and I don't have class until the day after. The question is, am I keeping you up? I wouldn't want to make you cranky after all, Ms. Serial Killer. You might come after me in my sleep."

((Grr... I've been sick. Sorry I've been slow to respond. And if the post is unusually short, I'll apologize in advance.))

She quirked a brow, pausing in her eating. "Well, you know, being that I am a serial killer and all, I'd be afraid to say no to me, honestly. 'Sides, you've made the suggestion, I took you up on it, so now it's all set. You owe me a tour of Europe." She told him with a decisive nod.

"Class, huh? So, there is a source of higher education somewhere around here. What kind of stuff are you taking?"

Michael raised his eyebrows, and amused look in his eyes.

"Well, as long as we have separate rooms and mind is bolted shut..." He shrugged, looking defeated, "You win. I suppose. In a few years, I guess I'll be off to Europe. It won't be so bad. You're pretty face and sense of humor makes up for that nasty bit...you know the thing about you being a serial killer."

He smiled and shook his head, then took his last bite of his burger. He didn't respond for a moment as he chewed, but busied himself with wiping his hands on a napkin before being able to swallow and respond.

"Umm...you know, the usual. Art...medicine." He laughed, "They don't really mix, but the art part is just for fun. Really I'm studying for a biology major, so then I can go to a medical school somewhere."

Ever since his father died of cancer, he had his mind set on being able to cure that cancer...and help keep others that had cancer alive longer. He didn't want other people to suffer as he had suffered.

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Oh, sure, fine. You take all the fun out of everything, you know? What's the point of dragging someone around Europe with you if you can't have access to their room while their sleeping and it's dark and they won't see you as you try to smother them with their own pillow? I mean, really." She pretended to pout for a split second before jumping to the other half of their conversation.

"Art and medicine. You'll be a creative doctor then, huh?" She teased, setting her fork down as she realized her fries were gone, a little disappointed. She had rather enjoyed waving them around like some sort of holy object. But, she wasn't hungry anymore. "I've always been interested in linguistics and politics. Know anything about that department and how good it is?"

Michael laughed at her little act. She certainly didn't seem 31. He thought women were supposed to be more mature then men, not that she wasn't mature, but she was definately more playful than most women he met...especially at this late of an hour. He was glad for the slight comic relief. It had been a while since he had laughed so much and it took his mind of his worries about the bills he had to pay.

"Well, perhaps I'll be an artist on the side...you know in case the money I make isn't enough to cover all the bills I'll need to pay after I get sued a million times by people's who surgeries didn't go their way...or mine."

He smiled, rolling his eyes. What was up with people these days? Suing the people that were there only to help them. A doctor can't do everything on their own...it depends on the person. His father died, not the doctor's fault. Soon there were going to be no doctors left to help anybody, the way things were going today.

"Politics, no. Were never my thing," he shook his head, "Don't like all the drama and such. Maybe you can stop by later this week and ask about it on campus. As far as linguistics go, I could probably teach you a few things about that."

"You really should get into politics. Definately a thing to know about in the future. Languages too. I've always had this theory that if the Chinese don't buy, the Spanish speaking population will entirely take over the world, so those were the two languages I picked up on." She shrugged, as if that would entirely explain itself. She knew it didn't, but she didn't mind so much.

She was rather pleased with the fact that he found her so amusing. Well, hell, he even laughed on occassion. It was good to make people laugh again and not just because she wasn't wearing anything. She sighed at that thought, wondering what else she could talk about without getting entirely too personal. She was sure he wasn't any sort of stalker by now, but still it was rude to get so deep into someone on their first meeting.

"So, where's a good cheap place to live around here?" She asked, figuring a college kid would know. They're always poor.

((*hates being a poor college kid*))

Michael smiled, not entirely sure what she was talking about. It wasn't that he wasn't smart enough to figure it out, but he supposed he wasn't sure exactly as to why she had decided on those two languages. Spanish he could definately understand, but Chinese? If anything, he would choose French, especially since the majority of people...or at least a lot of people...in Canada spoke that language. He shrugged, she probably had a reason behind her logic.

"Sounds like a plan...I think. As far as places to live go," he shrugged, "I live way downtown, not in the best place of the city. I wouldn't recommend it to you. Near the hospital is a good place, about a block away they have a few good apartments and such, cheap enough and pretty nice. Not my style though."

He grimaced playfully and smiled. He already had enough trouble keeping up with bills. Even a few more dollars would kill him.

"When I need a place to stay I usually stay with my cousin. She lives in a pretty nice area, but she has inherited herself quite a fortune. I'm not really sure how much it costs her to live there. It's a small apartment though, I think she likes cozy, so it may not be as expensive as it would be possible for her."

He looked away for a moment, not entirely sure why he was talking about where Aspen lived. Probably because it was a nice area, pretty safe, but he was sure not really cheap.

His train of thought now derailed.

"She has a baby coming along and I don't really understand why she doesn't move into another place. Probably cause of that roommate of hers. I guess she feels like she'd be ditching him..."

He stopped short, suddenly realizing how he sounded. She probably had no idea what he was talking about and now he was only talking to get rid of the frustration building up about the entire situation.

"Anyway. What kind of place are you looking for?"

She listened to him talk, a slight smile pulling on the corner of her mouth. It seemed there was quite a bit of frustration underneath those words, but she wasn't going to press him. Someday, if she kept up with this guy, she knew she'd figure it out. So, she decided to swing the conversation back to this 'downtown'.

"Why wouldn't you recommend downtown? What's out there?" She asked, leaning slightly to one side to curl her leg beneat her. "If it's cheaper than the places by the hospital, it'd probably do me better. I haven't a job around here yet and the money supply is quite limited... Oh, and where is the hospital? I haven't seen one since I arrived."

Her expression shifted to carry a mischevious tone to it. "And this wealthy cousin, does she need a sitter for this new baby? I'd be glad to help." She fluttered her lashes and let an all too sweet smile cross her face. "I just love children." And, as if it were an afterthought, she added in a rather quiet voice, "in soup..."

She seemed to notice that he didn't want to talk about it anymore. He supposed he was jealous. Now that Cole lived with Aspen, well, he felt like he was invading her space if he went to stay with her. Not that he needed to anymore, he just always liked to. They had been best friends for a long time and he felt as if Cole was replacing him.

Shrugging off thoughts of Aspen and Cole, he turned his attention back to the question she had asked.

"Well, it's not really the safest place in the world. A lot of people wander around an night, fishy people I suppose. And there has been quite a few murders not far from where I live. Mysterious killers. It seems there is more than one, some conspiracy. I don't know if I believe the rumors. Some say it's vampires. I say, it's just some serial killer who gets off on slitting people's throats after he's raped them. Then again, though, there have been males found dead as well."

His eyes went wide and he gulped, forcing himself to keep a straight face.

"It's not you, is it?" He whispered, "If you tell me, I promise I'll keep your identity secret."

Then he leaned forward, trying not to smile as she batted her eyes at him.
"Well, six more months and I'll let you know, but I can't have my nephew being boiled in soup. The McKarthy family doesn't taste too good that way. Maybe if you fried him...stir fry or something..."

She balked at him, putting a hand to her chest. "Me? How ever could you suspect it were me?" She froze, blinking, having confused herself somewhat. ((Or rather that I've confused myself...)) She sighed with a chuckle, letting her hand fall back to her lap. "Nah, wasn't me. Rape's not my style, though slitting throats..." The actual idea of serial killings was causing a slight quesy feeling to well up in her stomach, but she was pretty good and quelling that.

"Mm, I try to avoid fried foods. I didn't get to look like this eating stuff like that." She vaguely gestured at her body, as if it were no big deal. "Stir fry though, I could probably handle. Some olive oil and a light seasoning." She let a thoughtful expression cross her face, as if she were really considering it. She let a short silence fall before continuing back to the 'downtown' discussion.

"So, Vampires, huh? That's insane, I thought they killed all those crazy guys back in the Dark Ages." She remarked, as if it were a comment about the weather. "How did they come up with scenarios like that anyway?"

A grimace crossed over Michael's face. He wasn't sure he wanted to talk about eating his nephew. Good thing he had already finished his food. He took a sip of his soda, a long one, then twisted his face in pain.

"Oh, brain freeze...brain freeze," he said, he eyes all squinted in pain. He hated ice in his drinks, and he forgot to ask for it without ice. He was extremely sensitive to the cold, especially when it came to eating ice cream and drinking frozen drinks.

He cleared his throat and massaged his temples as the pain disappeared. Then he smiled sheepishly, feeling silly at his reaction to the cold soda.

"Drank it too fast."

That's when he realized she had said something. He wondered the same thing about the stories of vampires. Where did people get those crazy ideas.

"Aspen writes stories about vampires, she has a trilogy out...well now it's four. She just published a new book. It's probably people like her that get the imaginations of people like us going, that's where the stories of vampires in Demaitre come from."

She bit at her lip, giving him a pained expression. She had experienced plenty of brain freezes herself and wasn't very fond of them. Once he seemed to settle down, she latched onto his final choice of information for her. "An author? Wow. There's something I always wanted to do but never had the attention span for."

"So, she writes about vampires, huh? I'm actually pretty fond of those kind of books. Can her stuff be picked up around here? I'd love to read it. I'm always in support of local artists. Them and all their torments, the way they angst about everything. It's so cute." She said with a sarcastic laugh.

Michael nodded, "Not many people do. She's talented, though she's been acting strange lately about her stories." He shook his head, "Part of me thinks she's starting to believe them. Her newest one was much more believable than her others and she's working on a 'top secret' novel. One to come out sometime next year. But anyway, you can find her books most anywhere."

Thinking about Aspen's torments made him smile. She had a lot more problems then failed writings. Her books had always been a hit, plus she didn't need the money. Though she was right, Aspen did agnst about everything, though that could have been due to the child she carried.

"Look, I should probably get going. Can I take you home or do you have a ride?"

She was disappointed to have him want to leave so soon. She was rather enjoying their discussions. She laughed, running her fingers through her hair. "I thought we already covered this. I'm not living anywhere. But, go ahead and go. I'll probably hang out here awhile longer before I head on down the road. Where's the nearest hotel, by the way?" She questioned.

He slid out of the booth, staring at her, slightly sad that he could not take her home...mostly because she didn't have a home. It was getting late though, and despite how much he was enjoying their conversation, well he couldn't drive half asleep home on a motorcycle.

"Are you sure? I have a motorcycle," he winked at her and then shrugged, "I can take you to the nearest hotel if you'd like. Directions from here are a bit complicated, especially since it's the middle of nowhere. If you drove, you can follow me."

He didn't mean to seem so insistent, but he saw her as a new friend and Demaitre was almost never safe. He was sure, though, she could take care of herself if she needed to.

"So?" he cocked his head sideways, red hair falling in his eyes. He looked dorky, cute, but dorky.

((Cute but dorky is good. ^_^))

A small smile tugged at her mouth. He was rather insistent and it made her want to just go with him. He was concerned about her, despite hardly knowing her. It was a good sign. He must not be a psycho after all, she thought. She hesitated, as if she were considering.

"Okay, yeah. I'll let you take me to a hotel." She sounded as though she had won some sort of inner battle, reaching for her bag beneath the table. "Though, I'll warn you. I'm not much of a motorcyclist. In fact, they terrify me. So, if I get squirmy, you'll know why."

Her response made him laugh out loud. It sounded slightly wrong and he tried to push the thought aside, but he was a guy after all. He managed it after a moment and held out his hand for her to take so that she could stand up.

"Don't worry, I'm an expert. Just don't get to squirmy and lean the opposite way I do. That could have some...interesting results, to say the least. The only thing you have to know is, move your hips with mine, then I promise you, you'll be safe and I can gaurantee you will enjoy the ride."

She could trust him. He wouldn't let anything happen to her, especially in his care. He would drop her safely off at the hotel, see she got a room, then be on his way. He hoped, once again, that after the night was over, they would see each other again.

She pouted slightly, though quickly had to hide it. She didn't like that he laughed at her. She really was afraid. Petrified was more the word. She actually hated motorcycles, but she wasn't going to tell him that. She did trust him to an extent, but she wasn't sure it was enough for her to be able to handle the ride very well.

She took his hand. "Well, thanks. I'll keep that in mind. And I'm glad you find my flaws so amusing... Just so we're clear on this, how far is the hotel from here?" She asked him as she lifted from the seat, not really using his offered hand at all.

Michael suddenly became serious and he shook his head, "Oh I wasn't laughing at that. I was laughing at how odd 'okay, I'll let you take me to a hotel' sounded. A lot of people are afraid of motorcycles. It's nothing new. I once was very afraid. I had a friend in highschool who was hit by a car by one, was terrified until my dad finally got me on one."

He chuckled slightly, remembering that day. Then, as she stood up, he placed a couple of bills on the table to pay for their meals, and he moved behind her, placing his hand on the small of her back for a moment to guide her slightly through the non-existant crowd. When they reached the door, he reached around her head, his arm pushing the door open so that she could walk through. It was warmer than usual that night.

"Okay, I've got two helmets, one is black and one is orange...a choice of Aspen's, which would you like to wear? And, to answer your earlier question the hotel is about a twenty minutes ride from here."

She tilted her head to one side. "What do you mean that sounded funny? I was just saying, yeah okay. Sounds good, boss." She said with a laugh as he lead her outside. She welcomed the rush of warm night air when compared to the cool air conditioning as they stepped out of the diner. She rather liked how he just paid for their meal and opened the door for her, without even hesitating. She had to keep from smiling at this realization. It was kind of adorable, really.

She shrugged at his final question, attempting to avoid the car incident he spoke of. She didn't know how fragile a subject that was. "I guess I'll go for the orange one. The black one seems more like it'll work for you than for me... Not that helmets make anybody attractive." She added, thoughtfully, tossing her bag up and over her shoulder.

"Twenty minutes... Yeesh..." She grumbled. Whether he heard or not was of no consequence. She was just being a whiney woman. ~_^

He laughed at her choice, "Neon orange. Good choice. All the cars will be able to see us from a mile away. No worries of an accident tonight."

He walked her over to his bike. It was a Harley green, a racing bike. It was easy to see he had done some work, added a radio, changed the seats to make them more comfortable and painted a few logos on it to make it his own. He used to race for money, until his father got sick. Though slightly illegal, it helped pay the bills.

Walking to the back, he pulled an orange helmet out of a trunk, well as good a trunk as you get on a motorcycle.

"Jeez, I forgot how bright this thing was. Aspen likes orange. You should see her car."

Shaking his head, he walked back towards Rhiannon and placed the helmet on her head, buckling it for her.

"Is that okay? Tight enough? Too tight?"

He took a step back, admiring her in it. She made it look good, though he didn't say so. It might have seemed to forward.

"Okay, when we get on, just flip this thing over your eyes." He flipped the visor down then back up, "It makes things a bit dark, but it will keep your eyes from hurting. Also, you might want this."

He shrugged his shoulders, pulling off the leather jacket he had been wearing.
"I know it's warm out, but it will help keep you from getting scraped up, in case anything were to happen. I'll be okay, got a long sleeved-shirt on."

He didn't mention the kinds of things he had seen in crashes. Those who didn't wear jeans or jackets...well, let's just say he'd seen lots of skin lying on the road.

"Well, you ready? You look like a natural now. Perfectly dressed for a ride, you wanna drive?"