“I do not profess to know what love is, likewise what it isn’t. What it means... what it feels like... the passion or pain... however, I can say that it’s going a bit far when cliches like ‘love at first sight’ are taken literally. Love can not be all the wonderful things people say and seem to believe it is and superficial simultaneously. Attraction must be a part of it, but the least part, surely. Hair..eyes..lips... a smile or a sway of hips... it can all draw you in. Infatuation... Lust... at first sight. Nothing else needs to matter if you’re attracted to the person. But love... Love... it’s got to be more. Much more.”

Professor Rain strolled up and down the aisles of her classroom, staring at no face in particular though all eyes were raptly upon her, watching her svelte form–adorned in a black-and-white high-waist pencil skirt with a semi-sheer black sleeveless bodice and black pumps–as she sidled between desks, punctuating her remarks with flourished hand movements. “But let’s not miss the forest for the trees. Love isn’t really the issue either. It’s passion. Passion.” she strode back to her desk and turned to face the classroom of twenty, just barely perching her bottom on top of the metal desk. “Passion.”

“Romeo and Juliet is by far my least favorite Shakespearian tragedy not because it lacks passion but because it insists on masking it as love. Ignoring the fact that Juliet is only thirteen and Romeo far from grown-up himself... where expected to believe that Romeo, still lamenting his break-up with Rosalind, sees Juliet and falls in love and vice versa. Everything progresses from there because of that love and their desire to be together despite the fact that their clans hate each other and... well, they don’t really know jack shit about one another.” she said. “So, because these two virtual strangers and younglings are in ‘love’ they decide to pull off quite possibly the stupidest plan ever, which unsurprisingly goes wrong, and so our young ‘lovers’ kill themselves. The end.”

She paused, noting the reactions of her pupils. “Call me a cynic; I’ll answer. But it’s just so much romantic bullshit. Passion... now passion can explain anything. It’s like a sickness, a disease. If there’s enough passion between two people they’ll go through hell just to enjoy it together. The difference, I know you’re wondering, is that passion waxes and wanes... most times. Passion knows what it is, while love is, as they say; blind. When the passion runs out that’s it, there’s no need to slit your wrists or eat fattening junk food or write bad poetry.” she smiled at their laughter. “You just move on. Love... it never lets you go. At least, it shouldn’t.”

She stood and walked around to take her seat behind the desk, “So, is it better to be in love or in passion? And how far should a person be willing to go for either? If you were a Montague would you risk being with a Capulet? Would you risk exile? Death?” she asked. “Was it passion or love that drove Othello to kill Desdemona? Furthermore, what’s the link between death and suicide and love... passion... romance? Why is it not morbid? Could it be possible that subconsciously we define love by the extremity of the lengths we’re willing to go for it?”

There was no reason for it or in it, but somehow she found herself driving down to the National Forest after her last class. It was just a forest, she wasn’t going to entertain superstition and assume that wolves roamed the area. In any case, it wasn’t so much the person involved in the memories rather the place. The memory was very vivid, as it should have been–it had been less than two weeks since she’d read about the Sweet Tooth murder and confronted the wolf–and she clearly recalled how nice it had been surrounded by the looming trees and plants with the moon curving over head brightly. It was surprising because she’d never really been a fan of nature, she loved cities and couldn’t imagine living away from one, but it was a nice change from the norm.

She parked her Audi at the farthest station and walked deeper into the woods, the actual heels of her shoes were square and flat so it was a steady stroll. As far as she could tell she was alone, it was barely past three in the afternoon and the sun was at its brightest yet it wasn’t as blisteringly hot as usual. She was content to amble through the woods with nothing but her thoughts and memories as companions. She remembered the cool earth beneath her feet... and bottom and back, her nails sinking into the soft soil. The tangy smell of pine and flora, the blue rays of moonlight sifting through the trees. Sleeping on the ground.

She came into a clearing, pleasantly surprised to find herself staring at a large lake surrounded by more of the forest. She remembered a similar lake from her childhood, she’d been something of a mermaid when she was younger. The water was dark and calm, placid, reflecting the open sky and bright sunlight above. She was tempted to just walk right in, clothes and all, instead she sat near the tide and pulled off her shoes, letting the ebbing water immerse her feet. It was cold but she didn’t mind. She didn’t mind at all.

Pretty plastic people fucking. Lloyd's eyes flicked to the bank of lights on his left, giving them a critical glare. He chewed at his lip for a moment, considering. He could get up and adjust everything, but the grips had already given him hell for his last attempt. His fingers itched as he turned back towards the viewfinder and leaned in. He supposed he might be able to adjust the angle of the camera to compensate...doubtful, though. As he adjusted the focus once more, trying to get a better angle on the overstuffed couch and the two people enthusiastically bouncing away on top of it, he found himself clenching his teeth.

"Cut." The voice of the self-proclaimed 'new hotness' of San Fernando Valley came from his right, just as the galliard found an angle that actually made the couple on the couch and the act they were partaking in look attractive. Just a few weeks ago, Darren Torrent had been shooting hardcore content for third-rate porn sites. He and Lloyd had crossed paths at a few of the same parties and the Glass Walker's shotgun approach to business card distribution had semi-paid off. Torrent had picked him up to do the camera work on an upcoming contract, and that cinematography earned the director a shot at the big leagues. Naturally, Torrent had been taking all of the credit and somewhere along the way had convinced even himself that the talent of all involved flowed from his fingertips.

"Fuckdammit," Lloyd snarled. He leaned back in the seat and stopped filming, rubbing a hand over his eyes. It was starting to feel as though he'd been working nonstop, between long days on set and long nights walking the beat. His fingertips danced over his pocket and the remainder of his stash. He craved a bump, wondered if he could get away with sneaking off for a bit to 'freshen up'. So far, Torrent had been trying to run a clean set. Lloyd had been willing to respect that until today, when news of Darren's bragging had reached him.

Grimacing, the Glass Walker stretched his legs and stood, ruffling up his hair absentmindedly. He looked around for the meager little food services table, spying the cooler and the Red Bull peeking out of the top almost immediately. That was a slightly more acceptable jolt of energy. Caffeine would do for now. He could go through a whole pile of blow once he'd gotten out from under Torrent's ego-trip.

"MARTY." The tone of Torrent's voice suggested that he might've missed something during his ruminations on acceptable energy boosting substances. Lloyd gritted his teeth again, straightened out his shoulders and turned about to face the guy. Torrent flinched a little, and Lloyd's mouth turned up a ghost of a smile. Sometimes it sucked that people were scared of him. This was just a little bit gratifying.

"Darren." Lloyd glanced back at the Red Bull, then licked his lips and returned his attention to the director. "Sup."

"Look, Marty, I just took a look at the stuff we just shot." Lloyd watched with vague fascination as Torrent avoided his eyes and tried not to squirm. The Garou knew himself well enough to feel his own Rage-it was high today, but he'd never seen someone so thoroughly discomfited by it. Torrent won his internal battle, straightening up and facing the younger man with only a bit of rigidness in his back. There was a surreal quality to what followed, Torrent clearing his throat, coughing into his hand, then inhaling harshly through his nose. "I've been talking to Tom and Amy about the quality of your work and they both agree with me that I should take over the camera. Plus you creep Amy the fuck out. You're off the project man. Sorry."

It was almost fitting that the one punch that probably shouldn't have connected did.

Darren's good fortune held-the Glass Walker only broke his nose (and possibly a cheekbone, though Lloyd didn't stay to check). Lloyd held back on the remainder of the fury, but only just. Most of it was taken out on his camera bag and the car, feeding in on itself as he hurled the bag hard against the passenger door, cranked the key in the ignition, jammed down the pedal and drove like hell off set. He had to get out of Porn Valley before he really did kill someone and there was only one good place to run off that kind of Rage. He didn't bother double checking the place he was parked, grinding the gears and all but tearing the door off in his hurry to get into the woods. He wasn't doing much by way of thinking by the time he hit the verge-the parts of his clothing that weren't Dedicated shredded away as he shot through to his wolf form and bolted.

For a while he ran, unthinking, giving his Rage a safe vent as he rushed through the forest. He let his animal side rule him and for awhile, all that mattered was the pump of muscle and sinew, the rich tapestry of scent and the flutters and flickers of sound all around him. No thoughts of how he'd just fucked himself over, no consideration over his probably-broken camera, not a moment of speculation over how thoroughly his reputation was going to get trashed by any of the damned stupid humans he'd just left behind. He even left his pack out of it, blocking the two women with no small amount of effort just as he caught a whiff of water downwind. Wolf-form didn't grant wolf-sense-he took no time to inspect his surroundings as he clomped gracelessly out of the treeline and down to the water's edge. He all but shoved his muzzle into the lake, lapping up the water noisily at first. The coolness was calming, his overstuffed Rage almost slaked as he relaxed and drank. His nose worked again, picking up the scent of water birds and plants getting a headstart on growing season...and an intimately familiar touch of someone else.

His ears pricked and he raised his head, sniffing at the wind, sure it was a trick of his imagination. They turned and cupped, finally catching movement in the water that couldn't stem from a paddling duck. Still scenting, he canted his head to one side, his poor eyesight supplemented by a now overeager nose. It was definitely her, smelling like the masses she so clearly stood out from. No one else around her, either.

The thought FUCK the Veil likely wouldn't have occurred to him on any other day but that one. Staying where he was, he concentrated on his birth-shape, slipping through his forms in a blink. His hands took a quick inventory as he stood, though he already knew what was and wasn't Dedicated-tank top and pants, no shoes, no shirt. He swiped a hand through his hair, checking his stash pocket and finding nothing. Awesome. Trying out his best smirk, the galliard sauntered down the beach, attempting nonchalance.

"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine," he commented aloud when he was sure she would hear. The smirk softened a little as a breeze crossed the lake, bringing the scent of her to him. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Snow blindness. Temporary loss of vision and inflammation of the conjunctiva and cornea, caused by exposure of the eyes to bright sunlight and ultraviolet rays reflected from snow or ice. It wasn’t... quite that–as there was no snow or ice around–but she did slip into something like a trance as she watched the water rush in and out, over and off her submerged feet, further out it appeared as if the sun was actually beneath the water, immune to the effects of the chilly lake. Briefly, in some subconscious part of her mind, she was reminded of a scene from Lord of the Rings–probably the third installation, although she couldn’t be sure; movies weren’t really her area of expertise–when one of the little hobbits spotted one of the seeing glasses beneath the murky water. It did indeed look a little like the eye of Sauron. (No one would ever suspect that she’d been such a big fan of Tolkien and science fiction in her youth.)

It was hypnotizing and calming, tranquil, peaceful. She was completely oblivious to everything outside her field of vision and the cold pleasure the teasing waters afforded her. But it was perhaps a sign that her sessions with the Verbena were going better than she assumed when something in the back of her mind tugged and suggested that someone was coming, approaching. Her mental response was nonchalance; I don’t care. And she didn’t. Danger wasn’t a part of her everyday life. Aside from having to put a few bold pursuers in their place she rarely had to be on defense, not including her little spats with the oaf. It was unlikely that she would’ve cared either way. She was changing, she felt it with every fiber of her being. And she didn’t care.

That instinct grew stronger but she fought it, fought to hold on to the quiet thoughtlessness of the trance. It didn’t matter, she couldn’t deny what her body and supernatural senses were telling her. Someone was coming... fast. An animal. She came to that conclusion before he broke the clearing and came to lap up the lake. A wolf. She didn’t turn to see him, she didn’t even really think about him, but she sensed him. She knew he was there. It took a moment before she realized that she knew who he was. The Garou. Moonlight. Lingerie. Heat. Lloyd Westen. She was helpless against the smile that finally broke through the barrier and stirred her. He was there. Somehow. Surprisingly, she wasn’t very surprised at all.

She felt him change, she sensed more of the man than the wolf, but she remained as stoic as ever. When he finally made his way over to her and spoke she still didn’t move, nothing except her smile which grew even wider. “Only my thoughts, werewolf. How is it that you always manage to be in the same place at the exact same time as I? I would think it fate if I were that naive.” she said. She finally tilted her head up at him, “Who pissed you off? It’s fading, nearly gone, but I can still feel your Rage. Was it another ice cream vendor?” she smirked, then remembered that the last one had been murdered. Viciously. “I just got out of class and went for drive, I ended up here. I can’t explain why.”

She shrugged. “How are you, anyway?”

The smirk slid to a real smile when hers broke. His pace continued, slow and steady towards her. No need to rush. Witch she may be, but if she was going to vanish, she'd have already done it. Probably. He still wasn't entirely clear on what exactly she was capable of...magically speaking. His chest burned a little as he looked her over, serene and calm. He ignored the tiny ember, enjoying the placid sight. Now he regretted breaking his camera, instead having to rely entirely on memory to preserve this unusual landscape.

"Sometimes, you just need to escape. Not my fault we have the same idea of 'getting the hell out of this place'." He sauntered around her, giving her room, admiring the play of shadow in her hair. The Rage was still easing, the wolf only now tiring and shrinking away. "And it's beautiful out here." He gave the lake a token glance, counted three ducks, then looked back to her. Coming to a halt alongside her (and slightly back, a distinction of submission he hardly noticed anymore), he let his legs fold, sitting just where she could see him and he could watch her back. Tactical lessons paying off, he supposed.

He exhaled slowly at her last questions, tentatively thinking back to the non-fight with Darren. His knuckles were still a little swollen and bruised. He hadn't been imagining the punch after all. "I think I'm in for a career change," he said with a low, humorless laugh. "A director. I guess...once I get back to town I'll know how fucked I am. He's someone's golden boy." The Glass Walker studied his knuckles again, noticing blood on the back of his wrist, but no cuts. "Huh. Must've knocked out some teeth. I...uh...I hit him. Creative differences." Again he tried to laugh it off, but the rumor ate at him.

"He was getting all the credit for the shit I was doing," Lloyd explained, watching her, watching the woods behind her, avoiding her eyes for no real reason. "You uh...you know how I get when people mess with..." he swallowed, trying to find a way to finish the sentence with anything other than 'what's mine'. He hadn't wanted to bring up memories of the ice cream man again, or the things he'd been screaming at the height of his Rage. "Things that are important to me," he said lamely, shoving his fingers through his hair and shaking his head. Reality was starting to sink in, in spite of his efforts to deter it. He really was fucked. "So I hit him," he concluded, tilting his head, watching her rather than the woods. "And then I ran away. Like the big scary werewolf I am." He smiled again, good humor trying its best to rise to the surface.

"How are you?" He couldn't help looking her over, the sting in his chest remaining as he counted fingers and looked for scars. Gaia only knew the kinds of things witches had to deal with doing...whatever it was they did. On anyone else he would have expected ritual tattoos and clashing, dangly jewellery. On her...he looked for bruises at her neck and ears, fingermarks on her arms, signs of rough carnality. He conceded that he may need to branch away from Witchcraft I through XII if he really wanted to figure out more about her and her people, regardless of how easy that particular 'resource' was to come by.

“Escape.” she echoed, snorting quietly and shaking her head. For him, maybe. Definitely. She felt his cooling Rage like a wave of heat, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant but since she was a... Willworker, she supposed that it affected her differently than normal humans. On the other hand, she was almost positive that it wouldn’t have put her off even if she had been merely human. Not with this wolf. She didn’t understand it at all but she couldn’t deny that their bond was different and strong; she didn’t fear the wolf at all and only the man because he made her feel things that she had never felt before.

Escape. He was certainly running from something, his anger trailing behind him like an infinite shadow. He smelled like humans, but not the way she was sure she smelled to him. Sweat and sex and smoke and... locks fell into place, though she wished they hadn’t. She didn’t care that he’d been in Porn Valley, as she understood it he practically lived there, but for the first time she understood something about him that she’d always just passed off as a werewolf trait. Pure weirdness. Heroine or cocaine, she couldn’t tell. In her late teens she had “befriended” entirely the wrong sorts and had witnessed her fair share of nasty habits, but she had never partaken. She rarely even drank. Vanity was part of the reason, but mostly it was because she thought doing drugs was the stupidest fucking thing a person could do to themselves. Almost as worse as suicide.

She was disappointed, but uninterested in voicing her opinion and seeming judgmental. He had come to escape, embracing his wolf half in his retreat to the forest. It made perfect sense and she had no desire to unnecessarily complicate things, except for the fact that she wasn’t a wolf and had never been an outdoorsy kind of girl so her being there was the only real anomaly. Yet it was beautiful, extremely so, and peaceful and calming and quiet. Away from the masses. All the same, she half-wondered if she meant to come out there in the hopes that she’d see him again.

“It is. I’ve never known it could be, but it is.” she nodded, staring back out at the lake as he walked around and stood beside her for a moment before taking a seat beside her, not quite directly, though. She watched the ducks frolic on the water as he told of his battle with a talent stealing porn director, nodding silently. She turned and looked at him, at his hands and bruised knuckles. “I don’t blame you and he’s lucky to have gotten off with just a missing tooth or two. I wouldn’t worry so much about your reputation, though. You’re so much better than that fluff anyway and it’s only a matter of time before someone worth your while notices.” she said. “That being said, you really need to learn how to control your temper. Being a werewolf isn’t an acceptable defense amongst humans.”

She looked away when he ventured into sensitive territory. She finished the sentence in her mind, regardless. ...what’s mine. The substitute ending was no better. She smiled at the thought, that she was important to him. “You did better than most would give you credit for. Don’t beat yourself up, I don’t think it’ll hurt you much.” she counseled, turning his innocent query over in her mind as he looked her over. She almost smirked, imagining that he was checking her for passion marks and bruises. Her arms were bare and her hair was pinned up, her neck exposed and unblemished. Not that she couldn’t have used her magick to get rid of any tell-tale signs, but she hadn’t been with anyone since she’d been with him. Mostly because her course work had gotten heavier, her hours longer, not to mention training with the Verbena and Son of Ether... on the rare occasions when she actually went out to a club she found herself leaving shortly after, tired and indifferent to the pleas of men. Her heart just wasn’t in it.

"Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.”

She smiled and giggled. “We’ve been doing Shakespeare all week. I’m surprisingly enjoying it, though I do abhor most of his plays. His sonnets, though... that was my favorite. The answer to your question is: I’m fine. I’ve just been ridiculously busy. Time is precious to me now, I value my moments alone. And the last guy I was with was some young fellow named Lloyd Westen, in case you were wondering.”

The day had been long, very long. He had difficulties focusing, though when he did manage to do so, his work tasks were completed in short order. Which seemed to by a major part of the problem. His mind would then be dragged off in another direction.

Since waking up, he had been getting glimpses of a place. Water. Near it was a source of Power. Quintessence. The water was a natural body, mainly due to the perceived size of the water. There was also a hint of trees nearby, but he was not sure about that. But what was most annoying was the source of the power was outside his vision. But he felt it. He knew it was there. Every time he saw it, it was the same.

He had just finished his lunch when the vision returned with strength. The sounds of the water lapping the stones was clear. The feel of the cool air laced with water was refreshing. He could even smell the trees on the breeze. And he could once more feel the power near by. But it was muted. The last time he felt something like that was when he was near a node that had inactive.

The vision was broken as the thought raced through his mind. A lost Node! The potential there was enormous. He started to think through the possibilities when he remembered his 3PM appointment. There was a momentary flash of irritation at the delay. But his mortal business needed to come first, until it was more established.

His phone buzzed. Exasperated, he punched the intercom button. "Yes, Sandra?"
"Sorry to disturb you, Johnathon, but I just got a call from Mister Alsworth. He's had to cancel his appointment. He offered his apologies, but there had been an accident involving his wife."
"My goodness, I hope that she's all right. That's fine, thank you, Sandra. Sandra, I'm going to take the rest of the afternoon off. Keep an eye on the kids, will you?"
"Yes, I can do that," Sandra laughed.

Johnathon studied some maps, and found the likely place he had been seeing, and within 30 minutes was on his way to Elizabeth Lake. He had no guarantees that he was going to the right place, but he had to start somewhere. After a relaxing drive, he parked his car next to an Audi. He grabbed a water bottle he brought specifically for the trip and started walking. The area was peaceful, with the low sounds of insects and other wildlife going about their lives.

When he started hearing the water lapping against the rocks, he stopped. He opened the water bottle, pooling a little water in his palm. He then dampened his eyes, opening them to allow him to see the flow of quintessence. As he expected, the normal background flows generated by change, by life, could be seen.

He reached the edge of the trees and other growth, and he stopped. Ahead of him were two people, a man and a woman, in conversation. He didn't want to interrupt them in what appeared to be a private moment, but what he also saw changed those thoughts in an instant.

The woman. She radiated quintessence from her very body. Quintessence that had been drawn into her. More correctly, into her avatar. The woman was a Mage.

The Garou continued his perusal of her, settling his palms against his knees. His smile became a little more real as she bolstered his spirits with talk of the brighter side coming soon. She could be right-Torrent might be the next big thing, or, more likely, he'd be a flash in the pan. Lloyd had outlasted talent and fad alike. It wasn't much of a stretch that he could get past this, so long as Torrent didn't have any studio heads in his pocket (doubtful; gossip that big didn't stay undercover very long). He was used to eating humble pie anyway. A few more healthy slices wouldn't hurt.

"Trust me, being a werewolf's not much a defense among werewolves either. I'm...working on my temper. I just have sore points." A brush of shadow along her neck distracted him, briefly appearing to be a bruise. The sting became a spike for a heavy moment, the expected questions popping to mind. Who is he? Where do I find him? How thoroughly do I have to kick his ass? What do I have to do to prove I'm better? Then she moved and the 'mark' vanished, taking with it most of that territorial urge. "Maybe a few more than most people," he added, his smile recovering. He would have expanded further, made a joke about the illusion the light had made on her throat, but poetry occurred just then.

The grin faltered in awe of the recitation, the young galliard's general indifference to the written word (scripts and screenplays aside) leaving him with the brief impression that she'd made the sonnet up on the spot. Learning that her skills didn't quite extend as far as spontaneous rhyming couplets did little to mitigate his fascination. Though a few of the women he worked alongside were studying english, he'd never known anyone to quote The Bard so easily. He hesitated a moment, trying to decide on a worthy reply.

"'I was born when you kissed me. I died when you left me. I lived a few weeks while you loved me,'" he quoted in response, watching her eyes as he said it. He was half-trying to get that trademark Bogart sound to his voice, half-trying to ignore the start of red in his cheeks. "In a Lonely Place. Sorry...you have Shakespeare, I've got Bogey. The poem just reminded me." He reached up to scratch at the back of his neck, inexplicably struck by nerves. He wasn't used to this quiet during their conversations or really during any conversations with women. He was far too used to relying on distractions for most of his 'game'. The calm invited him to stick his foot in his mouth in all sorts of ways, from using the dreaded 'L' word so casually to adopting a variation on his dopier smiles when she assured him he was her last. He wiped the grin away, managing a slightly uncomfortable chuckle.

"If you don't mind some company in your solitude, I promise not to..." He paused as one of the waterfowl burst out of hiding, flapping away over the water. With a frown, he looked for the source of the bird's panic, glancing first to the water's edge, then to the forest. "Huh...anyway...I forgot what I was going to say." He continued to peer into the woods, remembering the hunting howl he'd heard during their tryst not so far off. Was this the direction it had come from? "There's someone in there," he murmured, reaching to touch Peyton's arm. At the head of the trail, he could see a human figure, facing them. "I know I wasn't expecting any other company. Were you?"

For a moment she allowed herself to entertain thoughts about what his world was like; the life of a werewolf. Curiosity had always been one of her better vices but she knew enough to know that the Garou were like the government; they only shared information with each other and their kin and had zero qualms with disposing of any interlopers with forbidden information. Being a werewolf might not have been a good enough excuse for senseless violence against each other, but she seriously doubted any of his kind would’ve taken objection with him getting rid of her. Permanently.

“You could have a few more, I think.” she added with a soft smile, looking down into her lap. His sore points. She wasn’t even entirely sure what she meant by that, but he knew that she was a Mage and still chose to be around her, to trust her despite the fact that she wasn’t even remotely similar to any of his kind or kin. He could have chosen to believe all the hype about Willworkers stealing and raping Caverns or whatever, but for some inexplicable reason he had decided to have a little faith in her. Part of her wanted to chide him for being so easily convinced–heaven forbid she actually was one of those evil raping Mages–but mostly she was just flattered and a little moved. It was odd to fall for someone just because they were willing to risk your company.

She felt a sudden chill that had nothing to do with the water. Fall? A Freudian slip, surely. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, the edge of the water just barely rising far enough to brush her pedicured toes. Her feet were already paler than the rest of her, colder, too, but she ignored that. She had to admit that for all her arguments about her assumed the Bard was, some of his lesser known works were brilliant. Romantic, even, and it was so rare that she enjoyed romance. So, when he replied with a verse of his own–one that she vaguely recalled enough to know it wasn’t Shakespeare–she couldn’t help smiling. She stared at him with innocent amused etched on her face, wondering if there was also a secret romantic in him as well. She thought nothing of the dreaded ‘L’ word; they weren’t his words and she wasn’t so smitten as to believe they were his thoughts either. Neither were they hers, for that matter. She nodded, “I’m not sure I’ve seen the movie, but I think I’ve heard that once. Not Shakespeare, but still lovely.” She turned back to face the lake, as much to conceal her sudden smile as to ignore his unease and lopsided grin. Typical man.

She felt the presence of the other one approaching then. Her body didn’t show it, but she closed her eyes for a moment, drowning out his voice only a little bit as she listened to everything else. Someone else was in the forest, approaching. Purposely. Intuitiveness, the Verbena had explained, was the first thing to heighten. It was a little bit more than that, she thought, but not outright foresight. In a moment she knew the male was following a trail, her own, and that he wasn’t human. Another Mage. Good or bad? She shook her head softly as the Garou became distracted by a lakebird and finally seemed to pick it up. She wondered briefly if it was possible to transfer her thoughts to him, though she didn’t have any Mind magick that she knew of.

His touch, though light, sent chills up her arm. It was ridiculous to enjoy someone's touch so much, even in so simple terms. The expected craving didn't come, nor the lust, it was just.... nice. She nodded her head, “A man. Another like me, looking for me... and no, I wasn’t expecting him.” she said, turning her head to lock eyes with the Mage even across the distance. Would he know what Lloyd was? She didn’t know. She didn’t know why he was there, what he expected to find. “I don’t sense any... darkness. Mind your temper, nonetheless. He wants me.” she said. “I haven’t the faintest idea why...”

He had come to the place looking for a lost node. That's what his visions had implied to him. He had made assumptions based off what he had seen. Incorrect assumptions. He would chastise himself over that later. While the effect was up, he looked at the man beside the Mage. He showed no signs of quintessence stored within him as she had. A sleeper. That would make matters a little more challenging.

He then looked around the lake and the adjoining land. Nowhere else was there a single concentrated source of power like the Mage. Even under the quintessence revealing effect, he could see that the lay of the land matched his vision. He had been prompted to find this woman. His next thought almost made him sick.

As he dropped the original effect, he remembered back to his first few years of training. He understood the concepts. The need. The reason. But he could not bring himself to take another life. Every attempt, he could not do it. It was then he took the guiding principles and applied them earlier. To stave off giving someone the Good Death by changing their path early enough, or by leveling a less harsh punishment earlier. Had Fate nudged him this way to kill her?

He grabbed the die in his jacket pocket, and removed them. He rolled them in his hands like worry balls as he opened his perception to the flux of the world. He almost collapsed with the relief. Both the people in front of him were no where near ready to be given the Good Death. But it still left him with the question - why was he prompted to come here? Was it the woman? That was the obvious choice, but then he had guessed wrong once already.

He noticed they were both looking at him, and how out of place he must look. He had come straight from work, so he was still in his suit. But then again, the woman's attire was not suited for a trip into the forest either. The man was rather casually dressed compared to the woman. There was something unusual here, but there was a Mage involved. Of course there was something unusual. Since he couldn't really just leave, he had one option remaining. He walked out from the tree line a little, so he wasn't shouting too much.

"So, so sorry. I wasn't expecting to find anyone else here. Ummm... I'll... I'll just leave you both in peace."

Lloyd's fingers spread over Peyton's upper arm, changing from a wary touch to keep tabs on where she was to a light grip. The connection was more practical than anything-the combination of Rage and running had somewhat eased his libido, and so there was no sudden surge of desire. As he'd learned during their previous encounter in the forest, touching her kept him grounded. In particular, that temper they'd just been discussing was well-leashed when she was close-he tried harder to restrain it, to avoid the risk of harming her.

He may not have been a hopeless romantic but if there was such a thing, he might claim to be a practical one. He nodded to her statements, watching the approaching man with wariness commonly associated with wild animals. Rubbing his thumb against her arm, he lowered his head closer to hers. "Just tell me when it's time to stop minding," he murmured, feeling that supernatural fury as it started to build again. Paradoxically, it was fuelled by nervousness and anxiety born of the potential for being found out. For the Garou, it seemed all roads lead to Rage.

He was serious in his desire to protect her, though the man was no overt threat. The idea of ending up in the middle of an inter-witch conflict didn't exactly appeal to the Garou, but he'd already cast his lot. He was her wolf, bound to her side by honor and the deep-and-dark of him in moments like these. Fortunately, from the look of the guy, the smart money would be on Peyton with or without werewolf intervention. As they watched, the man came further out of the trees. Lloyd's attention shifted entirely to him, aside from that grounding warmth under his hand. The Glass Walker paid close attention to the other man's posture and clothing, as well as the small gestures he made as he watched them. For once he wasn't looking for dominance cues-this was a burgeoning territory dispute, plain and simple.

"What were you looking for, friendo?" he called out to the man, trying to figure out what arcane significance that strange little twist of the newcomer's wrist had. He glanced sideways at Peyton, then continued. "What brings you out here?" He didn't sound aggressive, per se, though there was an undertone of 'you're interrupting, buddy' to his voice. That was echoed by his body language as he turned more towards the interloper, his knee set against the ground to brace him in preparation to act. Try as he might, it was difficult not to anticipate a fight.

Johnathon managed to split his focus evenly between the Mage and the Sleeper. She just sat there passively, sharing a few quiet words with the man, but not looking frightened, upset, or anything really. She was projecting calm, and he found that both reassuring and concerning.

But the man was making clear signals that he was ready to fight. His focus was almost completely on Johnathon, except for a single hand resting on the woman's arm. He had also changed to a stance that would allow him to get up quickly, and probably straight into a run. Even at a distance, he would sense the anger coming off the man.

"I was trying to find a rather special spot that I had been told about, and I thought that this place was it. But, I was wrong, it isn't. Again, I'm sorry for interrupting. I was kind of lost in thought and not paying as much attention as I should have. But, as I said, I'll leave you both in peace now."

Johnathon looked directly at Peyton, and wove a small Mind effect aimed at her. Once contact was made, he turned and continued to walk away, going back down the trail he originally followed.

<My apologies for this intrusion, but I would like to talk to you soon about what you are. More importantly, what we are. But it is not conversation to be had this way, nor in front of your friend. I'll be at the car park if you're interested. Thank you.>

Her life had changed in ways she had never known was remotely possible, not just her Awakening and becoming a Mage or her interaction with other supernaturals–least of all an obsessed demon–but her professional life had also taken a surprising turn for the better, solidifying her stance as an independent woman capable of supporting herself and attaining the material things she wanted without the aid of a man. She loved working at the University and interacting with people in her age group and learning more about her magick and enjoying the company of talented men and women, but the combination of everything in her life was exhausting at times.

So, she fully intended to take advantage of this rare instance when the world didn’t seem as if it sat on her shoulders and all her pressures were gone. She was determined to not think of anything particularly complicated or stressful. Her feelings for him aside, she wasn’t even going to let the presence of a werewolf disturb her calm, so she was still perfectly calm and collected when the male Mage made his presence known. It was enough to know that he wasn’t giving off any negative vibes, she didn’t really feel like getting up or moving at all, despite how rude it might’ve seen to the well-dressed man.

Lloyd Westen, however, was clearly not in the same frame of mind. She couldn’t blame him; he may have trusted her despite her little magick issue, but it would’ve gone completely against his ‘upbringing’ to let his guard down around another Willworker. Of course, she was well aware that there may have been other more human incentives behind his change in mood, even if it was completely unfounded. Normally she would’ve minded the way his touch changed as well, but it was still light enough to not be so possessive. Besides that, she felt his growing Rage, he was almost skittish. She only hoped that the Mage wouldn’t say or do anything stupid, although she wasn’t sure what that might qualify as.

She tilted her head to look at him questioningly as the Garou addressed the man first, his tone surprisingly more even than she thought he was capable of at that moment. Her gaze went back to the interloper as he stepped out further and answered, however cryptically. “What does he think he’s interrupting? It’s a free lake.” she said, speaking more to herself than either present company. She met his gaze without any real intention, but his stare reaffirmed the notion that he’d wandered out there looking for her.

Hearing him speak inside her head jolted her so strongly that it seemed as if she’d just received a shock or sudden chill, but the water wasn’t even touching her feet anymore. Her mental response was immediate and strong: <STAY OUT OF MY FUCKING HEAD, WHOEVER YOU ARE. I know what I am, Mage. If you want to converse with me do it like a civilized PERSON.> She lowered her head and rubbed her eyes, the only other being she’d had a mental conversation with was a goddamn demon and it always gave her profound headaches. “Some people are so rude.” she said aloud for the benefit of Lloyd. “Where are you parked?”

"No problem," Lloyd called as the other man turned and started off the way he came. He considered following that with some snide remark, the verbal equivalent of thumping his chest and hooting his monkey-dominance, but decided to pass. Grabbing Peyton's arm was already really pushing his luck, no matter how much he (and the other guy) needed him to maintain his self control. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, watching the man's back a few seconds more before getting his feet under himself.

He let her go, first relaxing his grip, then drawing away his hand, already bracing himself for a whack on the ear or across the jaw. He hadn't hesitated this time, not that it seemed to matter. Everyone was still being nice and civilized, making it easier for him to play along. That growing Rage had stabilized and was back under his control. He hadn't even had to deck anyone, or show throat. He turned back towards her, halfway to smiling when he noticed her downturned face.

Though he wouldn't admit it, not being able to see her eyes bothered him. Part of it was his witch-fear, well-earned in his opinion. He strongly suspected she had powers far beyond what he was capable of and so it made sense to know where she was looking, who she might have chosen as a target. The other part was simpler still. Eyes were the window to the soul and while he wasn't about to delude himself into thinking he could understand all of her from those crystalline depths, he could still catch glimpses now and again.

"Yeah, people can be real assholes, babe," he murmured, the smile turning to a mild frown of concern. He reached for her again, touching her shoulder with just his fingertips. Just because she didn't seem to be looking at him didn't mean she wasn't aware of his proximity. He wanted to offer a little bit of comfort against whatever had changed her mood so severely. "I'm in a lot near the trailhead," he told her, glancing back up at the path before returning to her. "I didn't see any other cars, but I wasn't looking."

His eyebrows knitted abruptly and his head came back up again. She'd said the other guy was a Warper...had he done something to her? His back stiffened and his Rage spiked. It took some extra effort not to claw at her shoulder and though he attempted to ask if the other man had attacked her or cast a spell, all that came out was a harsh snort through his nostrils. The guttural sound was still better than launching himself off down the trail in a fury of retribution for something that may or may not have occurred...though he didn't quite discard the idea just yet. A woman scorned might outdo hell's fury, but he was fairly confident that this woman wasn't above calling down the wrath of the heavens were she wronged. Best be prepared to do his part.

While the intent of the effect was to project, rather than read, Johnathon caught the full fury of the Mage's response. The strength that she put behind the thoughts was enough to act like a piece of taut string. The sounds, or in this case thoughts, would simply carry on the connection. Understandably, she was irate at the intrusion, as she had every right to be. But Johnathon felt it was important enough to make the first contact in that manner, rather than try for some other more clumsy way.

Still, the question remained on how the woman would react to his botched invitation. He was fast coming to realise that he was not a good candidate for first contacts outside a chantry. Still, he would see if he could salvage anything from this encounter, and if not, he would contact Ca'hir or Professor Fractal and get one of them to look in on her. The prospect of either of them dealing with her made him shiver a little, though who would fare worse was something too early to tell.

Johnathon got back to the car before he was ready. He stood there for a minute or two, grasping at his thoughts like confetti in a strong wind. With a small shake of his head, he opened the driver's door and just sat down. All he could do was wait and see what happened next.

She tried to channel her Life magick to ease the ripple of [ache that was spreading throughout her head and to get back to the state of calm she’d maintained since before either of their arrival. It wasn’t the Mage; she was certain that he’d done the most that he could do concerning making contact with her mind, and only because she’d been so open to everything. She hadn’t seen the need to put up mental blocks, which was a lesson she’d learned from Caleb, surprisingly, and not the Verbena–and the only reason he agreed to teach her was because he knew that he’d still be able to reach her no matter how many walls she put up in her mind. She hadn’t heard from the demon since she’d Awakened, but she wasn’t naive enough to assume he wasn’t still out there watching and waiting.

Everything that had happened with Caleb made her reaction perfectly justified. They might’ve been werewolves and Mages and demon, but they were all just men in the end, completely oblivious to the female experience. He’d said it himself; it was an ]intrusion, an invasion. Whether it was her body or her mind, if it wasn’t with her permission it was rape. A woman would’ve never done it, she would’ve never done it, even if she knew how. Not even to the werewolf beside her, even though she had invaded his body just as often as he had hers. He’d have gotten a hearty smack across the face if he’d have tried it.

Despite all that, she wasn’t as upset as she projected herself to be, to the Mage. He was gone now, presumably heading back to his car to wait for her. She still didn’t know what for. It reminded her of the first time she’d met Ca’hir, how brazenly he’d stepped up to offer his services. He’d gotten lashed at as well. She certainly might’ve seemed helpless and lost then, trying to cope with everything the demon had revealed to her, but she didn’t have a clue why this one seemed to be under the impression that she needed his help or instruction.

She inhaled deeply as his hand slid off her arm, she felt his concern and his waxing and waning Rage. Werewolves were such complicated creatures. It was weird that she sometimes found herself wishing Caleb would appear so she could question him more about them, especially since Ca’hir seemed to guard them and their secrets like treasure and Lloyd had already made it abundantly clear that he had no desire to let her get that close. He touched her again and she realized that no matter how much time they spent together, doing things together, she’d never be allowed past that barrier. And he would always be a little distrustful, a little fearful of what she could possibly do though he’d never outright ask. They would never truly know each other.

“I’m on the opposite side.” she said, raising her head towards the direction the Mage had come from. Ironic. She stared at him, feeling the intensity of his Rage. It was difficult to discern if it was because of the bond they shared or simply his supernatural instincts that he suspected the man had done something to her. “I’m not your kin, Lloyd. It’s not your job to defend me.” she said, slipping away from him as she stood and put on her shoes. “He spoke to me... inside my head. I wasn’t expecting it, so I wasn’t prepared, but he didn’t hurt me. He wants... to talk.” she sighed.

“He doesn’t know what you are.” She looked at him. “The things about you I keep hidden... even from myself, so don’t worry about me telling him your secret and conspiring to rape your Canes or whatever...” He probably wouldn’t have found it very funny, but she still found the whole idea of Mages raping anything to be a little ridiculous.

There were always people talking inside of Lloyd's head now, even if it couldn't always be precisely defined as talking. He knew more about nutmeg, labryses, swordfighting, third wave feminism, blue cheese souffles and menstruation symbolism than anyone of his usual inclination should. It may have seemed that he would be unable to sympathize with the invasion Peyton had experienced, but he understood more than most would have. Though he couldn't quite grasp the entirety of the female experience and mindset, he very clearly remembered those first few weeks after the pack had formed, when he'd been even worse at hiding his thoughts than he was now. They didn't need to rummage-the majority of him had been open to perusal, and he still wasn't certain how much they knew.

He didn't try to catch her as she slid out from under his fingertips. They weren't a snare, just a touch. She stood before he did and he shook his head to her comment, rising to his feet as well. A few breaths of head-clearing air and he started to find equilibrium again, vaguely wondering if she ever questioned his outrageous temper. He realized how ludicrous it was to assume that she didn't. Even if she wasn't afraid of him, he'd given her several pretty clear demonstrations of why it was that werewolves had been hated and feared throughout the ages. Any sane person would have at least made a note of it.

"Doesn't matter if you are or aren't my kin," he said, rolling out his shoulders and failing to release the lingering tension there. "Or whether it's my job to defend you," he added matter-of-factly. "You're a..." He got hung up on trying to find the right word, letting a few seconds pass, covering badly for himself by tousling his hair. "You're an ally...a friend." His smile flicked on for a second. "You're a classy dame. So...I've got your back, if you want the help."

He glanced away from her, off down the trail. He had to admit that he was curious about the other Warper, wanted to know what the guy could do and what he was like, all territorial urges aside. His experience with Warpers thus far could be called limited at best, though he'd done a lot better than his packmates, at least managing not to earn a wrench to the face as they had. That was likely because he cared less about the magick than he did about the person wielding it. It made him a fool indeed, distracting him from the honor and duty he was supposed to hold most dear as a good little soldier for Gaia.

"Caerns," he corrected automatically. Alright, so he was a passable soldier for Gaia. Operational security just wasn't his strong point. He sighed, then shrugged off his mistake. Providing the proper word was a considerably smaller sin than her knowing what he was anyway. He stepped around her again, circling around her back. "I trust you," he added after a short pause, nothing sharper than sincerity in his tone. "I know you're not gonna give me up to get dissected," he joked mildly with another roll of his shoulders, this one finally relaxing him again.

"If you want to talk to him, I can wait, in case...or I can go." The latter was definitely added as an afterthought-despite her dismissal of his protection, he wasn't comfortable leaving her to deal with the other Willworker when the guy had already made one fairly big faux pas. "Up to you, Pey." He shut himself up before he stumbled over his words, unsure what he'd even follow that with, shrugging again as he watched her for her answer.

While sitting in his car, a whole range of thoughts ran through his head. Why did he think she was unknowing of what she was? Why didn't the thought cross his mind that she might be a trained mage? She could even be of equal enlightenment or greater. It must of been the taking on a cabal that made him think he was encountering those with lesser... talents than his. Not all the powerful Mages in Los Angeles were known to him. He had heard rumour of a third Adept level Mage in the city, but he had no idea who that person was. What if she was...? He shivered at that possibility.

So, without thinking, Johnathon had managed to make a number of substantial errors and breaches in protocol, as well as one preplanned breach of good manners. If the woman turned up, he would apologize for his affront.

But this led to another interesting line of thought. What will he do now? Simple, he would try and rectify matters, and find out what he could about her, while returning the favour in kind. Regardless of what powers she had, and what tradition of Magic she followed, it was always a good thing to have support. And he was not just referring to her having support.

There was also the chance to learn from this woman. Her experience and outlook would be different from his, and there might be insights that she might be able to share that would aid him in his enlightenment. That was all conditional on her even talking to him.

Outward appearances could be very misleading. Usually the wisdom “Don’t judge a book by its cover” was in relation to a single person or entity, but Peyton knew that she was most often judged when she was with someone else. God forbid she chose to walk down the street with a male colleague, she was either romantically involved or simply fucking them. It was more amusing than anything, she honestly didn’t care that most people automatically assumed that she was some sort of seductress. She was, but by no stretch of the imagination was she interested in every man she came across. If that was the case she would’ve been fucking all of LA, instead she was just fucking a werewolf.

At a glance it might have seemed as if their relationship was very basic, no more than two individuals with an extreme physical attraction to each other, in which case any encounter would undoubtedly end up evolving into a sexual tryst. But the encounter with the ice cream vendor had, at the very least, proven that there was more linking them together than just lust. He made his living in the Valley of the Dolls, but he had proven himself right away to be more than just another pretty face expecting every able-bodied woman to fall into his lap–even if that was his usual shtick. It was the fact that he was able to hold his own in a conversation with her and she actually enjoyed listening to him speak, that he had a sense of humor and could make her laugh. And that he was honest and humble enough to admit that he wasn’t particularly the best warrior among his kind. The fact that he didn’t care that she was a Mage was pretty much just the icing on an already delicious cake.

Appearances being what they were, she wasn’t entirely sure how to act after admitting that, at the very least, she liked him a little bit more than she should have. If all she did was sit beside him in front of a lake and strangers assumed that they were together... it was hard to argue that it was just a friendship with benefits. She stared at him as he got to his feet, noting the tension in his body and the effort to let some of it go. She didn’t think for a second that he didn’t feel exactly the way she felt about him. They were too much alike. She arched her brow waiting for him to do what she couldn’t and define what she was to him. She almost laughed at his answers. Ally? Friend? Classy dame? “Yes, well, I can’t object to that one.” she responded with a half smile. She watched him staring at the path she’d take, then giggled at his slip up. Just like that she wanted to take him and kiss him and remind him how lucky he was that she was really one of the “good” Willworkers.

She turned as he crossed behind her, still grinning at what an adorable little runt he was. She would never tell his Alpha how many mistakes he’d made. He needed to make more, she wanted to know more, not because she particularly cared about Garou but because the more he told her about his kind the more she’d know that he truly trusted her. But mostly because she’d never really know him until she knew all the things that made him who he was. So, not Garou history... just Lloyd history.

“I’m pretty sure I know what he wants to talk about, but I do... it won’t take long, though. I promise” she smiled. “I want you to come with me. You can sit in my car... and not snoop, while I talk to him. I want to take you somewhere nice.” she said, grabbing his hand. “Come on. It’s a bit of a drive and I want to make it before sundown.”

Ronnie had told him once that Garou were not dogs. Never wear a collar. Never wear a chain. Never look like someone's pet. Peyton slid her hand into his as the wind touched her just right, and it occurred to him that he probably would let her clip a leash on him. Privately, of course. Nowhere with cameras. He smirked at the thought, squeezing her hand lightly and walking towards the path. "Dame's the only way to go. Kid and girl are right out. You're too smart for babe or cookie. Too...you for kitten. So...dame," he said, back to his usual flirtatious intonation.

The slow build of his craving for her was surprising. If he remembered correctly, by this point in their previous meetings he'd been imagining her nude and sprawled over whatever flat surface was close at hand. As inviting as that imagery was, he found himself more interested in watching the curve of that smile he'd somehow earned. His fingers clasped hers and gave a short tug, bringing them briefly into contact at the hip and shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll be good. I don't poke around in other people's stuff."

Also surprising was his lack of craving for something else. He hadn't thought about his lost stash since he'd seen her and Changed, and that was unusual. Hadn't he called her the best drug he'd ever needed? Had he really meant it so literally? He could feel that vague itch at the back of his brain, but it wasn't quite so intense. There was no accompanying need to go running off into the woods to find that missing baggie. He dismissed those thoughts and wants easily enough, letting them get swept away in a glance to the way her hips swayed as she walked. In his opinion, he couldn't be blamed for that little indulgence.

"What kind of 'somewhere nice' do you have in mind, that I fit the dress code?" he asked, plucking at the hip of his jeans. His grin grew a little silly again as he looked at his bare feet. The feeling of the ground underfoot didn't bother him-their last experience in the forest had inspired him to go without shoes and socks more often. "Or do I get to know?" He glanced ahead as he caught the first glints off of the vehicles in the lot.

One corner of her smile rose higher than the other transforming it into a smirk as she thought on his words, nodding slowly. “That’s good deduction because any of those other terms would mean ignoring you and leaving you to your own devices, and then neither of us would get any satisfaction.” she said. “Dame fits, but I must confess to liking Doll as well. But only from you.” There was no sense in denying that she didn’t tolerate the use of any “pet” names, at the very least she’d answer to Pey–and only a select few were allowed to call her Professor outside of the classroom. Anything else was too cliche or cheesy and normally she’d laugh at anyone foolish enough to call her their doll, but when he made it sound sweet, not like she was a toy to be played with and then left upon the shelf.

She smiled again as he lightly yanked on her arm and pulled her into him very shortly, she had to consciously resist the urge to wrap her arm around his waist and keep him against. Just like that, just to have him close. Instead she rolled her eyes and shook her head, “‘Being good’ is not in your repertoire, Mr. Westen. But that wasn’t what I meant. I was talking about my conversation with the Willworker.” she said, staring more at him than the path in front of her as she walked. She realized that he was rubbing off on her in ways she hadn’t noticed, using his terms in his presence. Always Willworkers or Warpers, Luna instead of the moon. She was his witch, Ca’hir would’ve flipped his shit had he known.

She smiled at the thought, looking down at the ground as the car lot became visible through the trees. There weren’t many on that side of the forest either, five cars total. She drove an Audi S8 in night blue with faintly tinted windows, a brand new model. She was the farthest thing from a car person, she’d gotten it simply because she thought it was cute. There was one car parked beside hers on the passenger’s side. The Mage sat inside, waiting. For disappointment, unfortunately.

“Nice, but private. Don’t worry, no one will judge you.” she said with a grin as she looked him over, giggling at his appearance. It was so wild, especially in comparison to her neatness. “You don’t. It’s a surprise. You’ll like it.” She released his hand as they stepped on the asphalt, retrieving her keys from an almost invisible pocket on her skirt. “You get to drive, hun.” she tossed him the keys with the car remote attached. “I’ll just be a sec.” She gave him a reassuring smile as she headed for the Mage’s car, tapping on the passenger’s side window before climbing in. She looked past him outside his window, she could see inside her car. He could see her.

“I don’t even know your name. You entered my mind and I don’t even know your name. Before you say anything else, tell me that.” she said, meeting his gaze.

Johnathon watched as the couple from the lakeside entered the carpark. They made their way over the Audi he had parked beside. Johnathon slumped a little when the lights flash signaling the car was being unlocked. He saw the man get into the driver's seat, and the Mage walk around to the passenger's side of his car. She briefly tapped the window and climbed in. Her first words carried her displeasure at their earlier contact, which didn't surprise him in the least.

"Johnathon Prescott. And I have the pleasure of talking to?" He met her gaze, keeping his demeanor neutral while they conversed. The enclosed space of the beetle made it hard for Johnathon not to feel her presence within the vehicle. he wondered is she felt the same.

"Again, I apologise for the manner in which I made first contact with you. I came out here expecting to find something, instead of someone. Added to that, you were in the company of a sleeper, so I couldn't take any chances using my natural voice. Which resulted in me making a bad judgment call. Now, I only made sufficient contact to allow my words to pass to you. I have not read you mind in anyway. That would have been grossly impolite.

"By your reaction to my intrusion, you know what your are, as well as what I am. To be formally correct, I am Johnathon Prescott, Disciple Chakravanti of the Euthanatos Tradition. I am deeply sorry that we did not get off to a better start."

She had to have known she was setting him up with her remark about 'being good'. He had his choice of a veritable array of innuendos, ranging from merely blushworthy to racy as hell. Instead of immediately selecting a verbal reply, his gaze lingered on her as his grin slowly turned that touch luciferian. "What is or isn't in my repetoire aside, I promise I won't snoop or interrupt you. Just...whistle if you need me." That devil-grin tipped into a bit of a smirk. "You know how to whistle, don't you? You just put your lips together...and blow," he paraphrased, thinking that maybe sometimes he could be Bacall. She could be Bogart.

Right up until the moment his feet touched pavement, he considered slinging an arm around her waist and dragging her back for a kiss or a touch or anything more substantial than a hand in his and a brief brush of bodies. He didn't think she'd protest much, if at all. Feelings refined lust, they didn't preclude it. 'The purity of love' was a joke, a panacea for teenagers looking for a way to ease daddy's mind about letting their boyfriend come up to their bedroom, not a functional concept for reality. Unfortunately, by the time Lloyd had formed his plan of action, they had already reached the parking lot and sweeping her away was no longer an option.

He let her hand go easily, the grin returning at her reassurances that she wasn't taking him anywhere that looking like a tousled wandering hippie would get him kicked out of. He caught the keys with a minimum of fumbling, chuckling at his moment of ineptitude. "I promise I won't reprogram your stereo," he answered her, turning away towards her vehicle. As he peered at the buttons on the remote, he took a glance at the other Warper's car, memorizing the license number and as much as he could about the make and model. Not being a car junkie himself, this was limited to recognizing the hood ornament and approximating the color. Finally figuring out how to gain access to the vehicle, he pressed the right buttons and walked around to the drivers side door.

He flashed her a last grin as she slipped into the Willworker's car, taking his own seat and looking over the dashboard and console. It took an effort of will not to immediately start turning knobs and pushing buttons-some aspects of Glass Walkerdom were just too easy to succumb to. Instead, he adjusted the seat and the steering wheel, closed the door, slipped the key into the ignition...and then began turning knobs and pushing buttons. Some instincts just couldn't be ignored for very long. He glanced across to the other vehicle as he adjusted the car's internal environment, looking for signs of distress or explosive decompression. With witches, anything could happen.

Read my mind, was the first among many smart-assed retorts that immediately sprung to mind when he asked her name. She stared back at him silently as if she could read his, daring him to try his magick again while she was close enough to reciprocate. But despite that earlier misstep he seemed the embodiment of good manners and grace, not to mention intelligence. He was shorter than Lloyd by approximately two inches, but weighed much more, though he appeared to be mostly muscle. Yet not in a meathead kind of way. Dark hair, dark eyes, tanned skin... she decided that he was attractive enough to earn the label ‘handsome’. He was wearing a nice suit, which was further–albeit unnecessary–proof that he hadn’t planned to go strolling in the middle of the forest. She deducted that he must have been driving by when he somehow felt her presence–she quite clearly felt his–and decided to check it out. It made perfect sense except for the fact that she wasn’t that powerful as of yet.

“Peyton Rain. Professor Peyton Rain, to be exact. California State University.” she said after scanning him from top to bottom before meeting his dark gaze again. “You’re either a lawyer or a CEO... blue collar, definitely.” She didn’t sound judgmental so much as... indifferent. He was exactly like the men she used to ‘entertain’ herself with; mild-mannered, wealthy, and completely one-trick pony in the bedroom. Been there, done that. “Don’t worry about it, I’m a big girl. And if you had read my mind you likely wouldn’t have known what to make of it anyway.” she said. She knew he wouldn’t invade her mind again, gross impoliteness aside, but she still put up the walls in her mind. He thought Lloyd was a Sleeper and that was the way she liked it, even though all her thoughts of the werewolf in her car didn’t involve what he was so much as what he meant.

She nodded, “Mages. Details don’t really appeal to me, but if you must know I’m an Initiate, Hollow One... or so my mentor seems to think. I was a Sleeper myself not too long ago. He found me when I was in trouble... that same night I Awakened. The Verbena might be a moron, but he’s a surprisingly good teacher as well.” she said. “So, sorry to disappoint you if you thought I was lost or something. I’m not exactly a cooperating member of the Mage community at large, but I have my contacts. My life is more than just magick.”

She shrugged, “So, if that’s all you wanted... you’re about a few months too late. Sorry.”

Peyton's use and emphasis of her title, Professor, told him a lot. She didn't want to be judged solely on her appearance. It was obviously something that happened to her all too frequently, and from his own observations, he could clearly understand why. She was a rather attractive woman, and she was also very comfortable with you she was. Up to a point.

"A most astute observation, Peyton. I am a lawyer. I'm in the private sector, rather than working for any of the Justice Departments. And regarding reading your mind, I guess I'll never know, unless you grant me permission to establish such a contact again in future."

He listened to her disdain of the formalities of the Traditions, and the need to be categorized. And when she mentioned her mentor, a smile crossed his face.

"An accurate, but rather unflattering description of Ca'hir. He is a rather... unique individual, even within our community. I am not disappointed, far from it. I am quite relieved to know that you are aware of your talents, and are receiving further education on how to better, and more safely, use them.

"I was given clues that something was here for me to find, and I thought from all the indicators that I would find a lost node, rather than a Mage of considerable potential. I am now a tad confused as to why I was meant to find you, as you seem to be well established, so to speak.

"I am glad to hear that you have a life outside the Mage Community, but do not underestimate the value of knowing more than just your mentor. Even the more powerful members of our community can disappear, never to be seen again. If I might say so, I think it would be a good idea for you to establish some other contacts within the community."

“Unflattering is Ca’hir Murphy. As well as uncouth, unsavory, and unintelligible. Not to mention unbelievably fucking huge. I know what he says he is, but I’m still sticking with my theory that he’s part troll or giant.” she said, purposely vague about whatever it was the Verbena actually claimed to be, aside from a rather advanced Mage. Or Man-witch as she was fond of addressing him whenever the desire to piss him off arose--which was quite frequently. “I suppose he is… unique, as well. And fairly talented, I give credit where it’s due and I wouldn’t be under his wings if I thought he was inept.. At least as far as magic is concerned.”

She knew all about nodes, enough to know that if it had been her she likely would’ve kept going about her business and left it for someone else. She wasn’t after power, per se, her lessons with the Verbena were more about accepting what she was and understanding what it meant and what she was capable of. It was just a bonus that the more she learned and honed her skills the better they got. It was like sex in a lot of ways, though most things were somehow like sex to her.

“Maybe it wasn’t meant to be, I don’t exactly believe in fate, but even if there is such a thing that doesn’t entirely rule out coincidence either. Or sheer luck.” she said, looking around distractedly for a moment. “Do you have a pen or something to write with?” she asked, deciding it would be rude to go rifling through his compartments--even though the werewolf was almost certainly putting his paws all over her things--especially in his presence. “I’m not underestimating anything, I’ve just never been the ‘group’ type and I’ve never really had a need for friends, so I wouldn’t really fit in with… whatever it is that you ‘Mages’ do when you’re together. But I do know more than just the Verbena. Henry Stevenson is a friend of his and mine, he makes me nifty little gadgets. Wonders, I believe. In any event, if either of them ever vanished I’m certain my life would go on somehow.”

Cold, perhaps, but true. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but my… friend… well, he can’t keep his hands to himself, so I’d better get going.” she said. “I’ll give you one of my numbers and you can call me to discuss… Mage… things. If its one thing I’ve learned so far its that you guys love to talk about what you can do…”

"Ca'hir has used his talents to change himself. He wasn't always that big. I fully agree that the man does lack some of the better social graces which makes him not so pleasant company.

"But his knowledge of the Arts is very good. You have fallen in with good company, from the point of view of gaining a better understanding of what can be done. Though I find his style to be somewhat primitive, even barbaric at times."

Johnathon wondered what a Hollow One would be able to get from a Verbena. But she seemed to be accepting, if not happy, about the mentoring she was receiving. That was all that was important to him. That this woman was receiving instruction that would help her survive with her new mystical talents.

"At times, yes, luck or coincidence would explain such an encounter. But my Tradition works closely with Fate. To us, it is real. The clues I got to send me here had the feel of Fate's guiding influences. Why, I do not yet know, and maybe never will. But I do know that I have done what I needed to do. I know, it sounds corny, but it's true."

At her request, he reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a small notepad and pen. He handed both to Peyton while he took out one of his business cards to give her.

"There are all types of Mages, Peyton. You are not the only one that prefers to keep to one's self. There are others who are social butterflies. Personally, I like to have a wide selection of contacts. It works both ways. I have been given much information from my contacts, as well as sharing information with them that has saved lives of everyone involved.

"Ca'hir Murphy and Henry Stevenson are your friends and mentors? Peyton, you would have to be one of the most envied Mages in Los Angeles. You have two of the top four mages in the city on your rolodex." He laughed.

"In any event, if either of them ever vanished I’m certain my life would go on somehow."

And with those words, he knew why he was there. It sent a shiver down his spine at what that implied.

"Thank you, that would be nice. Here, you can take this as well." He handed Peyton one of his business cards. It was ivory in colour with black, cursive print.

Johnathon Prescott & Associates
Attorneys at Law

Johnathon Prescott
Senior Partner

1875 Century Park East, Suite 777
Century City
(W) XXX-XXX-XXXX
(M) YYYY YYY YYY
(E) Johnathon.Prescott@PrescottLegal.com
(W) www.PrescottLegal.com

"Yes, I have taken up too much of your time as is. Please pass on my apologies to your friend for my interruption of your time together. I would be very interested in talking to you again, Peyton. Though I would be more interested in knowing what you can do than telling you about what I can do.

"It has been a pleasure to meet you, Peyton Rain. May Fate guide you well and wisely."

It hadn't taken too much adjustment to make the interior of the vehicle cool enough to fend off the sun's heat. Lloyd had located some random top 40 station, keeping the volume low as some white guy rapped about how black he was, unlike all of those other rapping white guys. The music was a brief distraction while he partially reclined the seat and turned his head just enough to see movement in the other vehicle. Staring directly at them might make him seem a little more stalkerish than he probably should.

He breathed through his nose and folded his hands behind his head, absently noting how subdued the scent of her in the vehicle was. Quite the opposite of his car, that portable den of iniquity. Turning a little further, he inhaled again, subconsciously remixing the smell of her with the remembered richness of evening and earth. "On and on and on," he hummed to himself, atonal to the music on the radio as memory took him back. She'd told him that fondly remembered evening that she didn't like to drive-he'd had to escort her home, in that strange semi-silence that had risen between them. It hadn't been the usual uncomfortable, 'I can't believe I just did that' quiet of the morning after. There was an odd weight to their non-conversation along that drive, the reason they weren't speaking having nothing to do with shame and everything to do with the inadequacy of using words to express themselves. For all of the english language's linguistic thuggery, it hadn't yet managed to steal a word for...whatever they were.

He sucked in a breath through his teeth. 'Whatever they were', indeed. He glanced into the other vehicle, watching her very unimpressed expression for a moment, then continuing the turn to look into the back seat, immediately spotting a bland-covered volume of one of Shakespeare's better known works. Romeo and Juliet? He chuckled and shook his head. Maybe not quite that bad. Not that he didn't love the story, but the O.G. of teen movies definitely didn't apply to he and she. Judging by the nearly pristine condition of the cover, it didn't look like it was one of her favorites, either.

He looked again, saw the Warper hand over his card. He turned to face mostly forward again, pondering over where she was taking him and the places he needed to avoid. He hadn't been quite so chaste as she had since their previous encounter, though damned if he could remember anyone's name. If it came to it, he could just avoid any obvious boob job he saw. That would take care of the usual suspects-Darren's reputation-trashing would probably get rid of the rest. He'd cop to it if she asked, but he doubted she would. She knew him well enough. The faint smile he'd worn through most of his ponderings faded a little at the unfamiliar twist of guilt in his gut.

He snorted and shook his head, trying to get rid of the lingering feeling that he'd betrayed her somehow. It was a ridiculous thought, but one that wouldn't completely go away. Turning up the music (now yet another pop song sampling The Eurythmics 'Sweet Dreams', one more example of the music industry's 'progressiveness'), he reminded himself that while she was entitled (and welcome) to him, no one was beholden just yet. He set his foot against the brake and put one hand on the steering wheel, leaning over to unlock the passenger door as the 'meeting' in the Warper's car wrapped up.

She might’ve been a bitch, but she wasn’t a nag--at least where everyone but the Verbena was concerned. She was a woman and a professor and she certainly had a way with words, but she wasn’t really one for idle chatter. If anything, teaching taught her that listening was even more important when it came to learning. Which is just to say that she let him ramble on about the Verbena and his Tradition and Fate without a murmur, occasionally cutting her eyes towards the window and the other car--resisting the urge to do something silly or girlish, like smile.

She took the notepad and pen and scribbled down her name and a single telephone number in impressive script, tearing the page off and handing it back to him as she took his business card and stuffed it in her shirt. “I’m an English Professor over at Cal State, so if you’re ever interested in another face-to-face you can probably catch me there, but that’s my current cellular number. I say ‘current’ because I have a habit of breaking them and changing numbers…” she shrugged. “I’m not that hard to get in touch with, especially if you know the Verbena.”

“Yeah, they are. Lucky me, I guess.” she said with an obvious lack of enthusiasm. She adored Henry and secretly liked the Verbena more than anyone would ever guess, but she didn’t see their companionship as such a big deal, at least not for the reasons other Mages might have. She nodded her head as he wrapped it up and gave her his farewell. “You didn’t interrupt anything, just another accidental meeting, but I’ll pass it on. And you have a good day as well and… you know, good luck with your Mage-ness and nodes and all that jazz.”

She opened the door and stepped out, giving him a parting wave before closing the door and walking around to get in the passenger side of her car, smirking as he unlocked the door for her. Which mafia flick was that? A Bronx Tale? She shook off the thought of him being one of the ‘Great Ones’ as she climbed inside and immediately noticed everything was different from the way she’d left it. She laughed and began undoing his work, “You’re like a little kid, I swear. The moon isn’t made of cheese, Lloyd.” she shook her head, adjusting her seat to recline as she pulled off her shoes and tossed them in the backseat then began rifling through her glove compartment. She pulled out a portable GPS device and started tinkering with it.

“Start driving. Towards… the highway. “ she said, looking out her window briefly before she went back to putting in the destination and hooking the device up to the car panel. “There. We should get there in less than an hour. I’m working on getting my guy to modify the entire car so it drives itself. If anyone can pimp this shit out it’s him.” she said, referring to Henry, of course. She reclined in her seat and rested her arms above her head, staring at him with a grin on her face. “You should just become my fulltime chauffeur, you know. You’d enjoy the benefits.”

Peyton walked out of Johnathon's car, and got into the Audi. He sat there, and watched the car depart. He spent a few more minutes sitting there, politely allowing them to depart without think he was tailing them. For her abrasiveness, he liked her. She was rather well grounded, and didn't get too caught up in being a Mage. If anything, she might not be engaging enough. But that was Ca'hir's problem.

But still, he had her contact details, and he would keep in touch from time to time. He would even contact Ca'hir to let him know that he made contact with his 'apprentice', and he had no plans on stealing her.

But the thoughts of something happening to Henry and Ca'hir that took them out of the loop was slightly disturbing. There still were issues with the Technocratic Union. He heard rumours of a Marauder at work in L.A. And he wouldn't be surprised if there wasn't at least one of the Fallen operating around the place.

No, he had the terrible decision to make. Did he tell Ca'hir and Henry about what he saw, or should he accept their fate and prepare. This was going to be something he would spend days thinking over. He started his car, and headed home.

(* OOC: Exit Scene *)

Lloyd started the engine as she slipped into the passenger seat, grinning to her laugh. He shook his head as he put the vehicle in reverse, pulling out of the spot. He was feeling jovial, and so the parting look he shot at the Willworker's car was a last ditch at memorization rather than an intense glare. Then he shifted the vehicle to drive and pressed the accelerator, gladly leaving the Warper behind. "I know the moon isn't made of cheese," he answered, glancing at her as that slanted grin took its place across his mouth. "She's a woman, a little taller than you, with skin that looks like yours does in moonlight. Long, dark hair, silver eyes, carries a bow, likes to turn men into deer." He chuckled. "Or so I've heard."

A look at the GPS gave him a better idea of where he was going, though it still offered no clues as to what the final destination was. Glass Walker he might be, but he wasn't in tune with every gadget. This particular breed of electronic critter had thus far evaded his interest, so he just followed the arrow as indicated. "So...you know Batman, is what you're saying," he joked as she mentioned someone capable of making her car able to drive itself. Oh, the amount of time and aggravation that sort of miracle could have saved him. He imagined it was a witch-only deal, half-wondering what her half of the trade was going to be. Or maybe Warpers didn't barter that way...maybe they were more communists than capitalists... He shrugged off the question-let his brainiac packmates worry about the sociology of the Willworker community. His specialty was making connections.

"Don't tempt me, Peyton, do not tempt me. If this thing with Darren blows up in my face, I might have to start singing for my supper and I am not a good singer," he said, grinning and shaking his head. "So don't be surprised if I show up on your doorstep with a resume and one of those little chauffer's hats. I've also been told I'd make a pretty awesome poolboy, though the person in question didn't have a pool. I am definitely star material at lounging around all day and looking good, though," he grinned, adjusting his own seat back so he could relax a little as well. "Your mileage may vary." This glance lingered a little longer than strictly necessary, catching on her smile in particular. There was a funny curve to his lips for a moment, a glimpse past the bouyant exterior, then the smirk smoothed it away. He turned his attention back to the road, driving on with that good natured grin on display.

Her grin was easy and half-cocked as he started the car and began to pull out of the parking lot, her gaze shifting back to the Mage’s vehicle at exactly the same moment, though she didn’t make any attempt to memorize his plates or car model. Instead she pondered, briefly, why he was still sitting there and whether or not he was going to actually attempt to follow them. Briefly, because she was sure that he’d gotten whatever it was that he thought he’d been led there for and it just also didn’t seem to be his style, especially since he seemed convinced that she and the ‘Sleeper’ were some sort of item. He seemed genuinely apologetic for having ‘interrupted’ them, after such a hasty retreat it wouldn’t have made sense to tail them. Not to mention the fact that it would’ve been brilliantly stupid and blatantly obvious, and even more likely to incur her wrath than his earlier mind invasion had.

Her grinned slipped effortlessly into a smile–the Mage’s vehicle gone from sight and with it all thoughts of the driver–as he drove away and responded to her quip about the moon. “Really? She sounds like a Goddess. Coincidentally, if that’s what the moon looks like then I must be the sun. At least when I step into the Um…bra.” she stared out the window for a quick moment, wondering why she felt as if she’d just tattled on herself. She shrugged it off–if he wanted to know, he‘d ask–as her thoughts returned to that place. She couldn‘t get there on her own, Henry was working on something to do it for her, which was one of the major reasons why she accepted Ca‘hir‘s tutelage in the first place. She couldn‘t forget that trip, it was like was like walking into another plane of existence–actually, it was exactly like that–where she was a bronzed Goddess with hair similar to spun gold and eyes a whirlpool of blues and violet. With humble breasts and hips that could birth the world. Even the Verbena had been in awe. She wanted him to see her that way, the spirit of her in the flesh, the way she saw him when she channeled her magic.

“Not Batman. Bruce Wayne, maybe. Yeah.” she said, her thoughts shifting to Henry as she willfully chose to ignore any change in his posture or demeanor. Though she half wondered if she was setting herself up for failure on this little trip. “He certainly has the gadgets and capacity to pull it off, but he’s… more the man than the superhero. Not that he’s a normal man at all…” She started to tell him that it was the same guy who’d made her the Truth Wonder, but then that might remind him of her accusing him of murder and causing him pain, which was not the idea she was going for. And why was she talking about Henry, of all people, at all? She didn’t even have to look his way to know that he was probably wondering if she’d fucked him. Part of her wanted to smack him for it, but the greater part wasn’t that much of a hypocrite.

She chuckled, thankful for the foray back into light territory…not that him beating up a director and possibly ruining his career was light at all. “I don’t think it’ll resort to that. If he’s half the jackass you say he is then there’s also a good chance that someone will commend you for knocking him on his ass. Sometimes all it takes is a little initiative, some balls–even to do the wrong thing–and suddenly all the pieces start falling into place… regardless, no one knows talent better than those who don’t have it. He’s convinced himself that he’s good without you, he’ll wake up from that dream real quick. Missing teeth or not.” she said with a smirk, amused at the thought. “And besides, you’re not exactly working in Hollywood. No one gives a shit if some two-bit smut director gets fucked up as long as the shots are good. And I know yours are.”

Still, she couldn’t help a chuckle at the thought of him struggling for cash, taking on ‘odd’ jobs. “Oh God, you’d get passed around like a plaything with the rich cougars. Pool boy, my ass. They’d just as soon fuck you the moment their husbands turned their backs. You know what they say about older women.” she said with a smirk. Indeed. “No, it’s better when you work for your own lifestyle. I couldn’t believe it myself, but it turned out to be true. I was under the delusion that being a ‘kept’ woman was the best thing I could be… all that I could be. I’m still amazed at how much time I wasted being happy doing nothing. Aside from fucking. And shopping.” She shook her head and stared out the window, watching everything go by. She knew she probably wasn’t painting the best picture of herself, he probably didn’t give a fuck or want to hear it even if he did, but she held no shame. Why should she feel ashamed of something she was no longer a part of?

She didn’t fuck or shop any less, of course, but her reasons were her own. She was kept by herself.

His composure was only slightly flawed. When she used the word 'Umbra', he did not whip his head around, gasp, twitch or jump in his seat. His breath caught a little as he tried to sort out which question to ask first. His concern about the Veil was fast becoming a secondary worry-he'd only heard of a handful of human shamans capable of reaching the spirit world and they'd all been distant kin to the Uktena...or so the Uktena said. His brow knitted as he tried to puzzle that out. Were shamans the same as witches? Were witches actually the same was Warpers? If she was a shaman, not a witch... He let that thought trail away, taking a more objective look at her at the next opportunity. Though there could be any number of ethnicities that contributed to those cheekbones and that skin tone, he had to wonder.

He noted the information on the other willworker with a nod, the smile reincarnated as a smirk. She hadn't fucked the warper. If she had, she'd have teased. She probably enjoyed his jealousy as much as he enjoyed hers. He recognized the tone in her voice when he talked about one girl or another, and it did amuse him, just a little. He'd told her straight that she was different, that he wanted her around. That she killed him for other women. The smirk curved with mirth, his thoughts returning briefly to pondering her Umbral self. Was it the same as Garou? Did witches' 'inner soul' come to light in the spirit world? He wondered on that, trying to picture her, getting as far as eyes of diamond before deciding he'd rather see than imagine.

He laughed again as she commented on his little hissy fit with Darren. As usual, she was absolutely spot on. "Should I ask how you know my shots are any good? Cause it's either Laguna Beach: Uncut or a whole volume of titles a professor shouldn't even know exist," he joked. "Marty Wright's imdb page is a little slanted towards the latter." Though he wasn't normally embarrassed of his alias, saying the horrible pun aloud always made him cringe inwardly. He'd been eighteen, and at the time 'Mr. Wright' had seemed like a hilarious screen name.

The chuckle rose, then died off as she contemplated his alternate career path and extemporized about her past as a kept woman. The former was amusing, the rest oddly unsettling. He couldn't reconcile his present image of her, independant and strong, with the idea of a woman kept like a cat, in the lap of luxury. "I'm glad you turned over a new leaf," he said, trying to push aside unusually infuriating mental images of her, vapid and tarted up for some rich cocksuckers benefit. Lloyd focused on the road, trying not grip the steering wheel too tightly. "You're wasted on anyone who can't get past your body. Not that you're not gorgeous, doll, but anyone who thinks that's more important than quoting Shakespeare verbatim's a goddamn retard." He felt the ridiculous surge of anger coming back under control as red started along his cheeks. He willed that to go away as well, with less success. "Smart is sexy." The pithy, 'expected' statement came with less conviction than his previous words.

He stared through the windshield, avoiding looking at her. "So what happens when you go to the spirit world? The Umbra? Do you really look like Luna's hotter, golder sister?" he asked, throwing caution to the wind in a vain attempt to distract her and him alike from his little spike of Rage. "How do you get there? Do you have to cast a spell?"

She kept her gaze away from him, not wanting to identify his stare or acknowledge… anything. She hated the moments when she realized how different they were, even when it didn’t boil down to him being a Werewolf and she a Witch. He was a struggling errand boy trying to be a serious photographer in the world of flesh-films; she was an English Professor with a degree from a prestigious European University that guaranteed her a position at any teaching institution in the world. He was barely old enough to drink with an addiction to coke and skanks; she barely drank and had never snorted, injected, or smoked anything in her life, she was addicted to diamonds and orgasms. He was a Werewolf; she was a Witch. Okay, so maybe it did always come down to that. But it was just the pinnacle on a shitload of reasons why they should’ve never even met, let alone gotten along beyond fucking. She was just Peyton Rain. And he was Lloyd Westen… and Marty Wright and Jack and a dozen other lies. A part of her still doubted that–Lloyd Westen–was even his birth name.

She didn’t know what she would do if it wasn’t. …no, she’d definitely kill him.

Painfully, she thought with the slightest trace of a smirk as she finally looked at him, wondering what the hell he was smirking about. It was funny how well he thought he knew her. Actually, she had to admit that they were enough alike for him get it right more than most and she had willingly let him in more than she had with anyone else, but she didn’t like the thought of him being so assuming where her thoughts and actions–and feelings–were concerned. Of course, on the other hand, she felt that she had every right to fill in the blanks where his were concerned. He was still a (part) man, young, a little naïve and foolish, and too easily distracted by a hot piece of ass, in other words; she had dealt with his type a million times before. He wasn’t completely cliché and, really, it was the things about him that kept him from being a walking stereotype that made her feel so entitled. She had access to parts of him that others didn’t, so she was allowed to assume where they weren’t.

She grinned and turned to stare out the window again as he questioned the basis for her compliment. “I‘m only a Professor during work hours, Marty, otherwise I‘m just a woman with interests like everyone else. …I may have also done a little research after our last meeting.” she laughed. “But, seriously, fucking isn’t naturally pretty to look at, even when the people involved are pretty and plastic and the make-up and lighting is right… it’s all about the eye behind the lens. And you’ve got a good eye, Mr. Wright.” she smiled, amused by the horrible cliché. She couldn’t fault him, he was still young. It was when they got to be in their thirties and forties and still insisted on using gimmicks that it got to be pathetic.

She almost laughed at the abrupt end to his laughter, but it was unsettling to her as well. If he only knew; she felt exactly the same way. She’d lived it and she still couldn’t believe that that girl had been her. She’d been blonde, for one. She had never dumbed herself down for any man, no matter what he was willing to provide, but she had often held her tongue or feigned interest in things that she cared nothing for. It was always something with wealthy men; their practices, or their children, their cars, most often their wives. Oh, yes, she’d been the mistress of many married men, had smiled in the faces of many naïve and ignorant wives, had done the whole routine of getting caught, always changing her phone number, ignoring the death threats. To be honest, she tended to blame the women anyway for not doing their jobs and sending their men to her so needy. But it was always the same old dance. Seduction, sex in exchange for money and gifts, a condo, a car, a beach house… it wasn’t so bad if you numbed yourself enough to ignore the feeling of worthlessness. And dirt. She was the cleanest woman in the world; always scrubbing herself raw when they were gone.

“Me too,” she said, meaning it more than he could ever know. If she lost everything tomorrow she’d never go back to that world. She always thought she was getting away with so much in return for nothing, just sex, she thought she had everything a girl could want. Until she realized that she had nothing that she needed, she felt like Nothing. She’d heard it often enough, on her way out, once she’d latched onto someone with more to give, but they always took too much. She didn’t understand that; how she could give so little and still be left with nothing. She smiled ruefully at his words and wondered where his father was; a few years ago she might’ve been fucking him instead, assuming he had the proper credentials. “Back then ‘sexy’ wasn’t the point. Sex was.”

God, she hated herself for getting all emotional over her fucking ‘sordid’ past. Shit happens, get over it. Especially when the shit that happened was your fault. She couldn’t place blame and she didn’t, she accepted full responsibility for her gold-digging past. It was hard not to, especially when her present was only slightly different. Now she only fucked who she wanted to, regardless of their income. If they wanted to toss diamonds and jewels at her in exchange she wasn’t above accepting them. It didn’t seem like much of a change at all, but now she knew her worth, she was in control. And she always got more than she gave.

The sole exception to that rule opened his mouth and completely changed her train of thought with a few well-timed questions. She burst out laughing and shook her head. “You’re taking the ‘witch’ thing a little too literal, werewolf. You don’t break up out of your clothes every full moon, do you? Well, we don’t carry around wands and ride brooms, though there may be a few who choose to do so.” she said. I ride a werewolf, she thought, and burst out laughing again. “I don’t know about your people, but we have to take things in stages. I haven’t reached the level where I can enter the Umbra on my own, in which case getting there would be as simple as stepping through a veil, but I can see and commune with spirits. There’s a number of things I can do to it, but getting through isn’t one of them. Yet. My mentor is a fairly advanced Mage, his methods are his own… we each have different ways of channeling the magic we have. Anyway, he helped me cross over.” she answered after she was done laughing. “Don’t play me for stupid, Lloyd. You know exactly what happens when you enter the Umbra. I can see what you’d look like now. In the ice cream shop… it was the first time I… used my magic on you, to see what you were. Your spirit is very bright, pure… perfect.”

She shrugged, “My spirit self has a fat ass.”

Her praise pleased him ridiculously, the grin perking up incrimentally as she complimented his eye for shots. It was better than earning a Woody Award. Lloyd honestly didn't care what of his catalogue she'd chosen to watch; in his not-so humble opinion, it was all good. He was proud of what he'd managed to accomplish, especially with what little he had to work with. "I don't think I can take you calling me Marty," he commented, glancing at her again. "Not after I shared my very public secret shame." His eyes went back to the road as that last touch of anger drifted away on a chuckle.

He couldn't say what specifically had sparked it-just the thought of her in careless hands made his back itch. It was a little ironic that he took such offense to someone treating her that way. He'd been careless with more than a few hearts. That was hard to deny. He'd fucked for money, jobs, drugs and once or twice, for a place to sleep. Like her, he'd infrequently traded that most basic act for whatever he wanted and only occasionally for what he needed. Most often, however, he just did it out of habit-he couldn't not flirt and once he'd started he couldn't very well not follow through. He liked getting laid, getting head, getting whatever they'd give him. Gaia's seductive gifts were meant to be used, right? Call him a hypocrite, but he couldn't make himself care too much about the damage his deceptions and self-pimping caused...except when it came to her.

He thought back over the days since the full moon, counting up in his head. Four? No, five. Missy, new to Vivid as of last month, had plied him with drinks and touches at a post-shoot party until he'd followed her off to a secluded bedroom. Emily, celebrating her return to L.A. after a long stripping tour up the coast, had snapped him up at some dive bar at the end of his night. He'd had to retrieve his underwear from the top of her bookcase, no easy feat when she was asleep at the base of it. Mason, that UCLA girl he'd been recruiting, a quick and dirty fuck in the bar bathroom. She'd texted him five times since then. He'd only answered once. Roya had guaranteed she'd blow his mind, but he'd left half an hour later, the 'blowing' having never made it higher than his waistline. Two days ago, Betty had claimed the same thing. He had to admit she'd done her best, but her efforts barely exceeded mediocrity. You just couldn't go back to fast food cheeseburgers after having filet mignon. It could never be the same again.

He dropped that train of thought short of spilling his guilty guts, choosing instead to grin along with her not-quite explanation of her powers and how her people saw the Umbra. He wasn't a theurge, he couldn't extrapolate any information on anything, really, since spirits and magic weren't a part of his repetoire. Again he thought about the Uktena and again he pondered those cheekbones. The snake-totem's people were curious too, weren't they? Always poking into things they should've left alone, always trying to learn something new and different.

"Alright, so you're not quite Samantha Stevens, and I'm no Scott Howard," he laughed and pressed the gas, checking the GPS to make sure he was still heading in the right direction. "And yes, I can get to the Umbra. Most of us can." He had to stop himself again, holding back on a suggestion that she had only really seen one werewolf and describing him as perfect was a bit of a stretch. He was a runt, a scrawny specimen even compared to his female packmates-it was a little embarrassing that his smaller pack alpha always seemed to outsize him. Still, he didn't want the woman next to him to stop thinking of him as perfect-it was warming to hear her say it, no matter the truth of it. It was also reassuring to hear her admit that she had used magic on him before-in some indefinable way, it eased his mind that all she'd done was look at him. She would have been entirely justified in attacking him at the time, turning his bones to fire or melting his face off. As far as she'd known, she was a target, but she'd had the confidence in herself (and possibly in him) to hold back.

He snorted when she said her umbral self had a fat ass. "You shouldn'tve told me that. Now I really do want to see," he laughed, shooting a sideways glance at her, knowing that he shouldn't elaborate. What could he say? Though he was an 'everything' man, enjoying women from head to toe, instinct edged the hips out ahead. "You probably can't follow me through though..." he suggested with a thoughtful air. He tried not to think on it too hard, just in case one of his packmates was listening in at the moment. Pondering how to bring a Warper into the Umbra might be cause for concern, though he was prepared to argue that it was purely an 'academic exercise'.

He drove on, amused at how easy it was to empathize with all of those good-hearted sons-of-bitches who fell for the dame to kill for by the end of the movie. He'd wondered sometimes why those keen eyed, square jawed bastions of law and order couldn't use their phenomenal detective skills to suss out the reason that their clean living Tess Truehearts and Ellen Dolans were so loyal, or at least realise that those girls weren't going to sell them up the river. With his very own version of Breathless Mahoney...no, no, not Breathless, Eve Kendall next to him, he was cluing in. He finally understood the meaning of the word 'bewitched'. Dames like Breathless and Eve (and the more he thought on it, the more he realised that yes, she was Eve to his Roger) would lure you, make you chase them to the doorstep of the devil himself, lie and cheat and run you ragged and you would still get on your knees and beg for more because they knew one thing that those good girls could never comprehend. They knew about the great lie, that women were weak and simple. They knew they needed no one and nothing but themselves, that women were strength itself wrapped in silk and lace and something in a dame with that kind of control called to something in a weak-jawed, good-hearted (ha), situationally corrupt boy like him.

How does a girl like you get to be a girl like you?
Lucky, I guess.

He smiled to himself, incorporating her past into his image of her and finding it changed her not a bit in his eyes. He was seriously starting to believe that nothing would.