Promise

Alair walks past the food stands on the busy street. Wasn't New York supposed to be a wondrous city? Sure there were tall buildings, but that was a security issue, wasn't it? Replacing their lack of size in their-

"Alair!" Chal calls out, running ahead of the pack, sniffing and staring at everything excitingly, as if he expects to forget it all in a moment. Annoyingly, he keeps calling out to Alair. Why didn't he ask Calhoun to see every new little thing? Alair knows the answer, even before completing the question in his head.

Chal was afraid that Calhoun would blow him off, or dismiss him entirely. Chal is clingy, and takes rejection especially hard. And so Alair trots after the younger one languidly. "What is it this time?"

"Look at this!" He points to the ripped bright orange flags that are hanging from the trees in the little bit of nature there is inside this metal jungle. Alair finds that his interest peaks at the sight of this entirely man-made item in the middle of the natural world. That seems just like this city. This is—was—the city of control. They control nature to the point there are only restricted little patches of nature in the whole place—not counting the carefully planned park in the center.

Even at the end of the world, people still crowd around the streets, perhaps in a sad attempt to give meaning to meaningless lives. Things are falling apart around them, and they walk around like robots.

There's one that catches his eye. She's wearing a large bulky sweater and some jeans. She's not really much too look at but . . . she smells odd. Alair leaves Chal lingering on the edge of the park, and follows her carefully. He doesn't want her to think he's following her—even if he is.

"Alair?" Like always, Keane has managed to sneak up on Alair without him noticing. He jumps in surprise, abruptly losing concentration about the girl with the queer scent in his irritation.

"Damn it, Keane, don't do that!" He brushes some hair back from his forehead—shit, the girl. He spins around and—

"Keane, you giant piece of crap!" He turns only momentarily to glare at Keane, before running off in the direction she'd gone in to see if he can find her again. Her scent was analogous enough to blend in with that of the other humans quite easily. But, yes, he was convinced. There it was, that tangy smell that tickled his nostrils deliciously.

Keane shakes his head despairingly. Alair never learns. Once again he's going to get shot down by some girl. In a way, he's as needy as Chal. But he can solve his own issues all by himself. Padding back to where Calhoun has joined up with Chal in the park, he decides to meet up with Alair later.

She sits down on the sidewalk, looking both ways before opening her bag. She rifles through her things, making sure nothing was slipped out as she walked. Finally, satisfied all is in order, she takes out an apple and takes a bite. Oh, what a taste these things have, she thinks, pleased. She hasn't treated herself with an apple in months.

"Hey." She spins around, nearly dropping her precious apple as she does so. She hadn't heard this guy approach. In fact, she had been certain she was alone.

"Who are you?" She moves her empty hand towards her back pocket, where she keeps her pocketknife. Maybe he needs directions, or the time. She almost laughs at her own reasoning. She really just wants to believe things haven't changed, doesn't she? No one has asked her for the time or direction in years.

He looks tall, which isn't a surprise, seeing as how she's sitting down. He looks down at her with soft brown eyes and auburn tresses falling gently over those eyes. Damn it, and her soft spot for nice eyes. He tries to look casual, and near succeeds. But she's not stupid. No one's casual anymore. Not casual enough to come up to a complete strange on an empty street to make friends. Damn, that didn't happen even when she was young.

"Me? I'm Alair. And you are—?" Why is he acting like this? She takes an angry bite at her apple before stuffing it in her bag once again, regretfully. It's going to taste funny, and that pisses her off. Do these things happen on purpose, just to ruin every little pleasure she earns? Good green apples are expensive. Brown green apples taste soft. Disgusting. She pushes the bag's strap over her shoulder, and stands up.

Make yourself tall, Liam. Make yourself tall. But he's still taller, and this annoys her. "I'm asking you to leave," she hisses at him, her fingers now wrapped eagerly around the knife. Just try, she thinks to herself, just try.

"Look," he says, his voice light and casual, "I'm not doing any harm, right?" He takes a step closer, and she moves into action. Springing the knife from her back pocket, she launches upon him, the knife out. She's not scared of hurting this man, and he doesn't look so tough.

He grips her hands inches away from his chest, and he stares at her in surprise. How does such a little woman do such a thing? She might have killed him, if he had been human. What gave her that sort of desperation? He hadn't acted like some perv, out to rape her, had he?

She drops the knife in her surprise, and jumps back, trying to pull her hand away from his savagely. No! He's been too fast, and now he had a grip on her. She takes her other hand, and runs her long nails down his face. "Let, go of me!"

He winces at he new scratches on his face, but he doesn't let go. "Calm down!" He takes her other hand, and pulls her close, so that he can whisper to her. "Stop it, right now! I'm not going to hurt you!" She doesn't seem to pay him any mind at all, and struggles all the harder.

He doesn't want to do this, but—he lets go of her momentarily to punch her, not as hard as he can, but enough to quiet her. Shit, now she definitely won't want anything to do with him.

And he realizes that besides being absolutely silent, she's limp in his hold. Damn it all to hell! He knocked her out. And he has no idea where she lives. And when she wakes up, she's going to think he raped her. He puts her down gentle, and picks up her bag. Maybe she has her address written somewhere?

He peeks into it, sees a book and a notebook. Slipping out the notebook, gently, he sees it's nearly falling apart. Maybe he can get her a newer one to make up for the punch, and this intrusion. He opens it up and realizes it's a sketchbook. Oh. He glances through it, interested. He's never had much of a calling for art. He's never really seen a wolf with a love for human art, really. But even one such as he can see she's rather good. Mostly, she draws animals, most those you would see in a city such as this. But there are one or two that seem out of place in the notebook.

But before Alair can see more of the drawings, he closes it with some finality. He's not going to find her address in there, and he doesn't want to make matters worse. So where could he possibly take her? He slides her bag up his arm and picks her up swiftly. Okay, Keane will know. Or, better yet, he shouldn't. Calhoun will get all up in his face, asking why he would dare mix a human with four wolves.

Rules that out.

There has got to be an abandoned house or apartment somewhere in this town. He can sniff out the worst part of the city, and find somewhere to keep her in the meantime. Onward.

She opens her eyes and—shit, where is she? Where's that asshole that punched her? She glances around to see that she's lying in a rather musty room. It doesn't look very clean. The paint is chipping, and the wooden floor is freezing as she realizes when she steps off the blanket she was lying on. That bastard even took her shoes. He had the decency to not lay her on the cold floor, but he took her shoes. Chivalry is dead.

She pads into the next room, hoping to spot her things, somewhere. Well, she does, but she finds the guy lying next to it.

"You fucking-" she picks up her bag, and kicks him hard in the stomach. His painful oof is music to her ears. "Never-" She swings her bag at him with her all her strength—which isn't much. "-touch me-" She goes to kick him again, but he grabs her foot and pulls it out from under her. She lands on her ass with a loud grunt.

"I only hurt you because you were trying to kill me!" He yells, holding his stomach while glancing at her with an eyebrow carefully raised.

"Only because you were trying to rape me," she responds firmly, still glaring at him as he sits up, still holding his stomach. She feels a cool kind of satisfaction at the sight.

"I was doing no such thing!" he cries, insulted that she would even think such a thing of him. And worse, in truth, he knows he's only partially paying attention to her accusations. Her scent is almost overpowering. What is it about her? She almost smells like a human, but also almost like Keane, but yet something else entirely.

"Fine," she admits, finally, although she still sounds doubtful.

He remembers his 'gift' of sorts. "Oh!" he cries, scrambling towards the plastic bag near the door. She watches him with careful eyes as he slips something out of the bag, and slides it across the floor at her. "To make up for the whole punching thing."

It's a sketchbook. She gazes at it in complete shock. She hasn't had a new sketchbook in ages. But how did he know— "You looked in my bag!" she says accusingly, glancing up at him with a little less irritation than before.

He runs a hand through his hair, and grins sheepishly. "I was looking for your address . . . so I could take you home." Is it just him, or does she not seem as angry anymore?

"Well, then, I can walk myself home now." She stands up, and brushes herself off. "Where are my shoes?" she asks, looking up at him with no emotion at all.

"By the door," he answers offhand. "But, wait!" he moves to grab her arm, but thinks better of it. "I could walk you home," he suggests meekly.

"Right. Because I really want you to know where I live." She strides over to her shoes, slipping them on. "Thank you for the book. It's interesting how you found this in Shop Rite." Alair is absolutely confused by his words, until he realizes she assumes he bought the book in the store labeled on the bag.

Right, like he would ever let money pass from his hand to a human's. "Yeah, well." His hand falls from his hair, and he looks up at her. "Are you sure you don't want me to-"

"I'm fine. I managed to get myself home, every other day before you came into my life; I can walk home every day from now on." It's a sort of subtle—and final—goodbye, isn't it? Without another word she opens the door, and steps out. Turning her head slightly to gaze at him one last time, she pauses. He looks sort of . . . lost. Maybe it won't hurt her that much to let him tag along for a little while.

"Come along. I don't know where I am, anyway. Just take me to where you found me, and we'll part from there." The stranger's eyebrows shoot up, but a grin graces his face anyway. He bounds over to her and steps out the door next to her. He lets out a small chuckle before running down the stairs, leaving the door wide open.

"What about the door?" Liam asks as she hurriedly follows him down.

Another laugh. "It's not my place."