Thanks for the reviews, y'all, here's the next installment. Sadly, this story won't be coming very fast, as I'm trying to improve my style by actually editing and planning. Otherwise I've found that I tend to write myself into corners that I can't get out of. So, enjoy and review! No need to sugarcoat, just tell me how you think I'm doing.

Mandatory BS: I obviously don't own Riddick, but everything else is actually mine.

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The boy was kind of brooding, but Carrie didn't mind so much. It was nothing she wasn't used to, and something she found easy to see through. She peeked up at his profile, he had and animalistic but honest face, dark expressive eyes, and his head was covered in light stubble. His worried scowl probably had something to do with her, because it hadn't been there before. She bet herself that he was trying to figure out what had come over him to make him interrupt his plans of going 'home'. When he had it figured out, he'd probably try to explain it to her, then trip all over himself when he figured out that she wasn't some dumb little kid. She may be spontaneous, and maybe she didn't have a normal idea of what kind of people were trustworthy, but that's not age, size, or mental capacity, is it?

After the moment passed and Riddick found himself walking down the street with some girl, sense immediately returned to him and he wondered what in nine hells he was supposed to do now. Fresh out of his latest run in prison—just assault this time, he'd had a kick-ass appointed lawyer—he had tracked down an acquaintance to crash with until he could get off-planet. He wasn't sure where he'd be going, as long as it wasn't here. It was the closest planet to the prison, and it was overrun with gangs of bastards too lazy to move from where the transport dropped off. He had decided when they paroled him; he had to find a way out of this life. He was eighteen now, an adult, and it was time for a fresh start.

He glanced down at her from the corner of his eye. She wasn't short by anyone's standards, but anyone would look that way next to him. She was delicate, though, and it made her seem smaller than she was. He wondered vaguely if she would be less carefree if she realized that she was with an armed felon. Less vaguely, though, he wondered what it was about him that called up this reaction in him, and how much of a problem Wayne would make if he kept her.

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Carolyn was the product of one of those lazy bastard criminals. Her mother was a wonderful woman, but she died not too long ago in an accident, and Carrie had been shunted here to her father's 'care'. She didn't see why the care people thought she belonged there. He was a drunk, and never seemed to notice when his daughter fell victim to one of his friends' inebriated hands. And all she could think about was home, about the peace she and her mother had for so long and the people there that she always imagined a father would be like. Although her mom never remarried, her social life was always in the biker community, and it was there that Carrie found basis for her idea of what men should be. This was a pure roughneck planet, but despite her minority on this planet as a female, she found that there was a particular sort of men whose eyes filled with honest wrath rather than appreciation at the sight of a bruised young woman, and despite anything else about them, she would never be in danger in the company of that kind of person. You could tell by the way they moved. It's not quite explainable in words, but the signs are evident nonetheless. She called it clean violence, the sound of electric guitars tuned low and played harsh but beautiful.

And she was just like that. She looked for beauty in everything she saw, and felt it was her right and responsibility to give them the beautiful names they deserve. It wasn't long before she would have poetic expressions for every facet of the creature beside her. She was trying to pinpoint what it was right now, something about the set of his shoulders, his eyes, the knives…

Whatever, it'll come to her.

Meanwhile the silence was becoming uncomfortable. Carrie kept up what conversation she could; he sure was a man of few words. He seemed vaguely disturbed about something, and although it was clear that he cared and was actually listening, the only real reaction she got was when she asked him about himself. She wondered what it was that he didn't want her to know, but immediately chided herself. What does it really matter, anyway? If he wants to leave you out of it, let him. It's nothing you need to know.

The girl seemed willing to talk herself, so Riddick avoided having to actually string words together where He could. It turned out she was a runaway, some fuck-up father she didn't want to talk about. He steered the conversation away from his own past, until eventually she ran out of things to say and just fell silent beside him. She kept looking at him, though, like she was studying his face. Fuck, she's gonna figure it out eventually, why draw it out? It's only a matter of time before she figures out I'm a killer, the only question is how bad she'll react. He avoided her eye contact. Jesus, the great Riddick, two days out of the slam and getting intimidated by a teenage girl! What is wrong with me?

It's not intimidation, he assured himself, it's… I don't know, I just don't want to-

An excited little gasp escaped the girl, and Riddick turned to find her suddenly glowing face looking up at him fervently. "Why, you're a mastiff!" She exclaimed, apparently extremely pleased with herself. He looked blankly at her as she preformed some kind of private little excitement-dance. After a moment she finally seemed to register that Riddick had no idea what was going on with her, and self-consciousness returned enough for her to restrain herself some.

"In Earth History," she explained eagerly as she fell back into step, "The Roman army tried to attack this little kingdom. It was a harder fight than they thought, 'cause once they got there, they found these people had spent generations breeding these absolutely massive dogs that fought viciously right alongside their masters. But that wasn't what they were meant for, really: they were bred to be the perfect guardians of children. And they were, and until gene splicing and genetic acceleration they were the biggest breed of—h-hey, where are we going?"

She had been lost in her own mind so long that she hadn't noticed that they had walked all the way across town and into the northern slums. She had never really had a problem with her own home district, but that was home, that was familiar. She was comfortable there in the same way that someone can listen to music for no reason other than the fact that they've listened to it all their lives, or can live contently with a relative even though he is obviously a bad person: almost anything can really be okay once you learn its rhythms and have a niche in it. But not here… North Quadrant was where the young gangs ruled, the switchblade killers and teenage drug lords. She looked from the buildings back at Riddick, doubt showing plainly on her face and begging not to be turned into distrust. He just couldn't be, the honesty was so strong in his voice, in his walk.

"D'you expect to go north without passing through here?" he asked her with as much reasonable 'duh' as he could muster. She wanted so bad to believe him, and he found himself casting for the right words (she's gonna find out anyway, her eyes will turn mistrusting, her peaceful scent to fear, she backs away, and oh, the betrayal in her face), but thankfully she interrupted him.

"Yeah, I guess I wasn't thinking ahead like that." A self-scorning smile crossed her face. "Again." A few steps passed, and some small realization flashed in her, flagged by her already familiar 'oh, I get it!' face. He watched, fascinated, her swift open play of emotions, as almost immediately after the connection was made, she flickered through mistrust, self-reprimanding, utter acceptance, and finally compromised with another question. He knew what she wanted to know; she had just made the connection between her direction and his own, had finally linked Notrh Quadrant with his curt mention of 'home', and despite his first impression of her, she was quick as hell to catch the line between threat and actual danger. However she would word the question itself, what Carolyn wanted to know exactly how dangerous he was. But as quick as he was with analysis, he still didn't really understand her.

"Where are you going?" He caught for a second, like a foot coming down in the dark and finding no step where one was expected. He had been bracing himself for something, something way more than she had actually said, and she almost considered wondering what it was. Was he embarrassed that he had been to prison, that he lived here? Didn't he realize how obvious it was by now? Carolyn was an uncanny judge of character, but it always took a lot to get her to think in terms of events rather than people. She was no simpleton, she just didn't have a curious bone in her body. If it wasn't here and now, how much could it really matter? But meanwhile he had recovered from his relief and was digging into his pocket. His hand emerged with a small scrap of paper, and he handed it to her silently in answer. She smiled at the untidy boy-scrawl, barely visible in the gathering dusk.

North

Higuera st

850, apt 512

"Okay," she said brightly, handing the paper back. Riddick didn't know if that meant what he thought it did, but he supposed he'd figure it out when they got there. He looked down at her, the carefree bounce in her step as she searched the sky for the first star of the evening, and he smiled. Incredible.