Flynn jerked awake at the sound of a crash downstairs, sighing as he got out of bed and slipped on his house shoes. The last time he'd heard the sound it had been because a stray cat had snuck in and decided to amuse itself by walking along tables and ledges and knocking vases off high places. He didn't bother turning on the lights as he went; he knew his own place like the back of his hand and there was no point in startling the feline into breaking something else until he got it. He wasn't looking forward to another sleepless night of cat-tag with a saucer of milk while crawling around on his knees making kissing noises and 'here, kitty' endearments.
The shadows of the shop below all seemed to be in the right place, and now that he thought of it, the crash had a more wooden tone to it. Maybe it was an old shield and he wouldn't be out the money of a broken object. Trying to spot a feline silhouette, Flynn was completely unprepared when he was tackled to the floor and the air knocked from his lungs. He'd have moved to throw his attacker off of him, if it hadn't been for the threatening press of a blade against his throat. Extensive knowledge told him that the cutting edge against his jugular was very nice; well cared-for, too. Flynn firmly told that analytical part of his mind to shut up.
His eyes were pretty well adjusted to the dark, well enough for him to make out that his attacker had long, dark hair, and equally dark eyes; their expression of cold hatred fading to one of profound confusion, brow furrowing as they stared at him as if expecting him to change into someone else if they just looked hard enough.
"You... aren't Alexei."
No, he most certainly was not the congressman, "Uh... no?"
Well at least he now knew his attacker was a male. He tilted his head cautiously, "Do you know where he is?"
"...Tolbyccia? Sorry, I don't really keep up with politics." And he thought that bit of info might have been about two months out of date, snagged from a few seconds of television he'd caught before running out the door to school with a piece of toast for breakfast in his mouth.
There was another thoughtful silence, "You don't know the senator?"
Ah, damn, he'd been wrong about what political position the man held, too. "Uh, no. Just a student; sorry."
His attacker stared at him hard, trying to discern if he was telling the truth, he suspected, before cursing virulently, "What the fuck was that idiot thinking?! Does he even check his information?" dark eyes glared down at him, "Do you have any idea how close I came to killing you?"
Flynn blinked, "...Do I really want to answer that question?"
His would-be assassin paused in his quick perusal of the shop around them to give him a glare before it smoothed away and he sat a little further back on his knees– still not taking the knife away, though, Flynn noted, "So then who are you?"
Of all the questions...! "It's rude to demand someone's name without giving your own. Who are you?"
His attacker stared at him in surprise, "Right... far be it for me be rude while holding you at knife-point." he muttered wryly, "If it's all the same to you, I'd rather not give out my name for when you call the cops; wouldn't want things to be too easy for them, right?"
Wait, if he was going to be able to call the cops, "So, just to be absolutely clear: you aren't going to kill me, then?" Flynn mentally face-palmed. Why the hell had he asked that? The last thing he needed to be doing was giving the would-be murderer ideas.
"Nope. Well, not unless you do something really stupid in the next two minutes. So here's how this is going to play out: I'm going to remove my knife, stand up, and leave; and you're not going to move until I'm out the door. After that– well, it's not I could stop you after that, anyway, so that's moot. Do we have an understanding?"
Absolutely, Flynn was very keen on living to see the sunrise, thank you very much. "Yes."
Cautiously, the blade was removed from his throat, though the stranger's intense gaze didn't leave him for an instant as he got up from straddling him and slowly backed towards the door, groping behind him for the handle– which Flynn noticed was bent at an odd angle.
He really didn't know what the hell was wrong with him when he opened his mouth again seconds from living through the frightening encounter, "You broke my door."
The other man tensed, and Flynn thought for sure he was about to die– (He could see the headlines for the morning paper now: 'Student murdered in his own home, cause of death: Stupidity.') before relaxing again and pulling the –broken– door open and stepping half-way out into the night. He paused and looked back at Flynn with something like consternation on his face, "Sorry about the door." before turning and running out into the night.
Flynn listened to the jangle of the little bell above the door as it swung closed –sort of– and let his head fall to thump back against the floor. "Well, that was... interesting." He was so not complaining the next time a stray got into the shop.