The twig snapped against his leg another time, sharper if it was possible to extract anything more from the thin piece of wood. He didn't react to it at all - it was as if he hadn't even felt it. His back was turned on Corinne; the world was eerily silent, to him as if it was waiting for something to happen. For her to yell at him, or strike him - worst of all just stalk off and leave him. Just stalk off? Since when did he consider that the worst possible thing she could do? If she left, he'd not have to worry about her. He could just... be himself. And what was that, exactly? As if afraid of that mental path, his mind diverted itself.

Words had no power to hurt, especially if they fell upon a deaf ear. A deaf ear - he humored himself into believing he could ignore what she said, like all the people in the market. And pain - what more could he suffer? After that beast mauled him, it was even a surprise he felt physical pain at all. A slap in the face would pale compared to talons shredding through flesh. Cruor shivered involuntarily. Talons.
It was strange then to fear the lesser of all three options. If she wasn't there, well... there was nothing that she could do to him.

Her silence disturbed the man. It must have been minutes since he had said something. Why didn't she answer? For a brief moment, alarm flared within him at the thought that she had already left. Yet, he defied himself and didn't look. No - he couldn't care less, he told himself - there was nothing he needed that she had to offer. Why on earth did he seem drawn to her? It disturbed him. He'd never even felt himself be really... attracted... to a woman before. He'd run with the "tougher" crowd. Of course he flirted and called after the good-looking ones with the rest of the gang when they invariably passed in front of them. He'd even cornered a few, made them feel uncomfortable, threatened perhaps. But he'd never felt anything towards them - it was just amusement. He was at a loss to explain the way he kept gravitating back towards Corinne. She was ordinary, there were plenty more like her out there - half hte population, in fact. They were all the same.
Then why had she comforted him? She had touched him, held him. No one had ever done that. No one had ever bothered about him. It was deeply personal, and a sudden change. He couldn't begin to fathom why. As far as he knew, it was just amusing for her. Hadn't she, afterall, appeared as a siren?

Why didn't she respond? Why? Impatience gnawed at him, and his resolve not to turn around and make sure she was still there was sorely tested, but it held. He couldn't admit that it mattered so much to hear a friendly voice for a change.

A sudden, low cry echoed in his mind, not really registering in the brief interval between it and the low thud as something heavy hit the ground, sending a few stray leaves rustling off into the air. All instincts told him to turn around - his previous suspicions of attack re awoke, and he envisioned a fearsome, massive grizzly behind him, reared up and ready to send him flying. Or an eagle, about to take flight, about to tear his heart out and leave him dying.
A small voice told him it was stupid - that was Valea, not Corinne. Another answered back that he had no idea what she was like. But Cruor didn't turn around. It wouldn't matter, would it? She'd take him whether he was facing her or not. Call him coward, but he preferred not to face whatever it was. He didn't even feel like fighting it - he was trapped in this world, he'd probably die here without ever getting back to New York again. The only thing keeping him from losing hope was that burning desire to murder the noble brat. But if he'd go now... he saw no reason to do anything except accept. It would be a godsend, even - the sooner to be out of this place.

Moments passed without another sound. Cruor slowly relaxed again, though his neck still prickled. If he was going to be attacked... something would have happened by now. Slowly, cautiously, the man turned his head to see.... nothing? No, that couldn't be right - even if she had shifted, he would have heard her leave - even if it was on wings! Suddenly desperate, he wheeled around, his feet stumbling over something on the ground. He jumped back in alarm, staring at the still woman on the ground. "No..." the word slipped before he could think. Had she...? Cruor stared at Corinne, his brow furrowing in disbelief and confusion. What had happened? Why hadn't he noticed?
Belatedly, he remembered the thud, several moments ago. It came rushing back, the realisation that it hadn't been some appirition to torture him hitting him like a wall. How could he have been so stupid?

He staggered, and regained his balance. This was out of his hands. If she meant so little to him, why not just leave her? His body acted on the impulse, turning, and leading him away. But it was in hte opposite direction of the city, and his steps were reluctant, increasingly heavy. After a few yards, he stopped altogether. Anger struck him again. Wasn't he even in control of himself anymore? Come on, take a step! And another! Just walk away! You've got nothing to do with this! Leave her, she'll wake up soon - or die. Cruor clenched his hands to fists at his sides, his eyes burning. He had no responsibility! He didn't care!
But wasn't that just a lie? Wasn't it all just a lie? His hesitation was just proof that he didn't believe it himself. How could he abandon her after what she'd done?

Reluctantly, as if by returning Cruor was in some way breaking some law, he trudged back to her lifeless form. Standing above her, he sucked air through his teeth. Now what? He was here. She was unconcious. He had no idea how to cure anything like this - of course, if it was just a faint, there was always the solution of dowsing her in a bucket of ice water... not that there was any of that in the near vicinity. ANd this wasn't exactly the movie cliche, either. He was no handsome gentleman, and she wasn't some fragile beauty who'd fallen into his arms in a swoon because of some pitiful occurance. Somehow, though, he wished it was.

Not knowing what else to do, he kneeled down beside her, keeping his distance. She'd fallen forwards, also not in coherence with the movies, where the damsel always fell backwards.
Hesitantly, he stretched out a hand and gingerly lifted a lock of hair from her face. He marveled at how cool and smooth it was before the moment was over and it had fallen by her ear. The hand moved towards her face, but was checked and brought down to her neck - to check her pulse, he insisted; but the small throbs in her artery was largely igorned, and after a short time he withdrew his hand, ashamed if that was even a possible emotion for him. He was disgusted with himself for even thinking about caressing her. It was wrong, it was weak, and it was something reserved for the Romeos and Juliettes. But he had to do something - he'd come too far to turn and leave her lying here. He'd probably not be able to, anyway. Still, another moment passed before he could gather enough resolve to carefully take hold of her shoulder and turn her on her back.
"Corinne?" His voice was surprisingly quiet and soft, even his eyes showed it, despite the hardness of his face as he looked at her. He couldn't think of what to do - he didn't even know what had happened. It could be just a faint, or something much worse. He had no way of telling, much less helping. He just hoped she'd wake up. And find him above her? Cruor frowned, but dismissed the narrow-minded thought. He was the only person there, it was natural for him to help. If only it was natural for him to do that. If only.


|words: 1472
|comments: Well, here it is. How was Mexico?

Corinne moved feebly, her head turning from side to side. Cruor drew himself up, not sure whether it would be considered acceptable, if she did wake up. He tried to make it plain that it was just being "nice", but his face couldn't help but relax in relief. She'd come around, be alright.
Then Cruor noticed how tense and drawn the woman's limbs were and how her breath came in short and shorter gasps as she began to twist as if she was in pain. His breath caught, his eyes fixed on her. What was this? Was she mental or something? Or was she having some sort of fit? Despite his desire to back off, he couldn't - his hand was glued to her shoulder. Then her eyes flashed open.

Cruor cursed to himself, trying to avert his gaze or pull away before he could be drawn in, without success. It was those eyes that always seemed to catch him and freeze him - and, he remembered, showed her emotions. The man blinked, once, twice, before he could believe the look in them. The green was tainted with a stormy purple, and was so much darker than he remembered. His heart beat faster as he realized it wasn't anger - it was fear. She stared at him for a moment - a second - then she uttered a heart-stopping scream. Cruor jumped away, too shocked to be spell-bound any longer. What was up with her - what had he done? The thought that it was some supressed memory didn't even occur to him. There was only one factor here, and he was it. Had he gone too far by turning her over and calling her? His mind gravitated back to his 'accidental' touching of her face, and he blushed. He should have left while she was unconscious. This would never have happened if he had. He cursed himself for whatever he had done, completely forgetting to accuse himself of caring that he'd hurt her in some way.

Tears streamed down Corinne's face, her terror now obvious in every spasmatic and weak motion she made. To Cruor's mind, it was pathetic the way she scrambled in the leaves and needles, unable to haul herself more than a foot or two because she couldn't control herself. A subconcious smirk ran across his face, glee barely concealed. This was amusing, very much so. Realising what he was thinking, Cruor blanched, and looked away, scowling and mentally slapping himself. What was he, some animal? A moment ago he'd been concerned for her wellfare, and now he was amused by her pain? His old self's iron grip was loosening perceptibly, at least on a mental scale, if not shown in his motions.

Corinne hadn't moved farther, she sat hunched over. Cruor winced and stared at the ground when he saw how much she was shaking. It couldn't all be from tears - she was shaking with terror. Because of him. If knowing he'd hurt her wasn't enough to make him run, then it was enough to fix him to the spot to be tortured by whatever it was he'd done. Slowly, her tremors lessened, though her breathing was still ragged. She moved, her head turning just enough to see him. As if caught by some realisation, a sob caught in her throat. Cruor's mask had slipped away. He just couldn't hold it. It would be easy to see how stricken he was, confused, and scared. She pursed her lips to keep from breaking down again, and slowly raised a trembling hand to roughly wipe away her tears. I... I'm so sorry." She murmered.
Cruor couldn't move - he barely even heard her words they were so quiet and shaky. His eyes were drawn by the simple, ironic beauty of the moment. It was almost like a painting - her pale skin against the golden brown hues on the ground, and her auburn hair flowing wildly about her face and shoulders; and at the center of it all, her dark, stormy green eyes. So much pain, fear and doubt, even if it were a painting it would really grab at a person's heart. Cruor felt it, and feared the power her eyes held over him, but couldn't look away. She was so pitiful like this, so easy to take advantage of. At one time, he probably would have done something to amuse himself, but after that night... He scowled, remembering what he had been like, though wether it was in disgust at his previous behavior or disappointment that it had changed wasn't apparent. Without his protective covering he felt vulnerable. He wondered whether it was just her he was like this with, or whether it would affect his 'public relations'. He hoped not - he didn't think he could live through it.

He realized she had reformed her own mask, even her eyes seemed less volitile than before. "I don't know what got into me." Corinne's voice was definetly stronger now, though she herself wasn't sure of her condition. As she raised her hands to examine them, Cruor bowed his head, his face blank, though his bearing was tense. What the hell had just happened with her? She'd fainted - that was obvious. But had it been a fit, or had it been a reaction to him? And if it was him, why was she pretending it wasn't anything at all? If it made her faint and spaz, then it was definetly something important, maybe even dangerous. There was a grain of doubt in his mind, but it was easily buried beneath the new guilt, even if he couldn't admit it to himself.

The man narrowed his eyes, wishing none of this had happened. He couldn't admit it, but he cared enough to be guilty for whatever it was he'd done without meaning to do. Actually, admitting he cared would be base treachery to his so-called philosophy. His hand flexed at his side, more an outlet for his tension than anything else. And in the pit of his stomach, he was beginning to feel hunger pangs.
Corinne, he saw, had moved to the base of a broad tree, her body folded with her eyes around her knees. So like a child, a helpless child trying to hide from something. This was odd, certainly. She hadn't struck him as the type to openly show her insecurity - but then, he hadn't expected her to let him live, either.
His shock at her fainting and terror was beginning to wear off, but he was still wary of her. He couldn't trust himself after what had happened. In response to this conclusion, he drew back, himself against a tree not more than twelve feet away, though he refrained from the position. After a moment of sizing her up, he spoke. "You fainted." His voice was emotionless, just stating the fact. There was no way he could admit he was at fault - that was one thing he wouldn't do yet. "Corinne, why? Why're you so afraid?" Cruor trailed off, his voice dwindling to barely a whisper before extinguishing. Why did he even stay? There had been so many chances to escape unscathed, why hadn't he taken them? She changed him in so short a time so that he wasn't who he was before - at least not on the inside. His hate for Valea still burned, and he still loathed this world. He still had very little purpose. But at least he had made something that counted, atleast in a vague sense, as someone he wasn't angry at.

|words: 1307
|comments: ^^ Yeah... It shows.

Corinne stayed motionless, staring into space - or at him? Cruor couldn't tell what she was thinking. He never could. Even with her enchanting eyes, it was impossible. Those green pits of ever-changing emotion. One moment they were bright grass-green, the next, dark, stormy-sea colored; and again light, pale foam. Comparing them to the ocean was no accident. Somehow, they reminded Cruor of one. Ever changing, even when they weren't storming, there was high tide, and low tide. Beautiful, haunting, powerful and dangerous.

Cruor turned his gaze away before he could become trapped again. Whenever he gazed into her eyes, he felt like he was becoming lost. Trailing off, one might say - a feeling he deeply disliked. He trusted her - but then, he wasn't quite sure. Could he ever be sure of anyone? It was human nature to stab you in the back, and shifters had no reason to be any better or different. The way she had held him before.... it had felt so wrong, but he had wanted it so badly. But then.... What had he done to get her into this state? He couldn't remember, he couldn't think of it. All the more reason to believe it had been him. Of course he would do things to frighten people without realizing - what does one live on the streets of New York for? Not for the fine upbringing. Go to Paris for that.

The human stared off into the brightened woods, not really taking any of it in. What was he doing here? What was anyone doing here? And what was that fool queen thinking by taking them here? He'd heard the rumors - the facts, as he believed. Why should he support a dying race of freaks? He was human - starkly different as he'd come to know. He shouldn't even know these people existed, much less be forced to live with them. If only he could get out, no matter how much it cost him, he'd do it. Or would he? If he thought about it, there wasn't much in his world either - day in day out stealing, pressuring and fighting for survival. Wasn't it such a bore? Did life have any point at all?
Now he was getting too philosophical. What this world didn't do to the mind. What it did to the body was enough. He hated the knowledge that somewhere inside of him a lion crouched. He hated it. It made him less human, less himself. And yet... why did he need to be able to become it at will? To satisfy his vengeful battle-lust. To kill.

Sighing heavily, Cruor turned his scarred face back towards Corinne again. What had he done to deserve this? She was making him think, and make him question everything he'd ever known. Couldn't she have killed him? Why hadn't she? He must look a wreck; the sort of person that would attack a woman like herself without question; the sort of person you'd meet in an alley who'd kidnap you. Afterall, how much better was he than that? He denied himself. He denied everything unfamiliar and anything he didn't like.
His face, once not bad looking, had seven deep, barely scabbing gashes across it that would soon become grotesque scars. No badges of courage, these. The mark of a battle-hungry fool, and one who would stop at nothing to see himself satisfied. His dark, red-brown hair fell in spiky clumps about his face, stiffened from dried blood and grime. His shirt was virtually non-existent, hanging from his broad frame in tatters, the sleeves gone from the elbows down. His forearms, well muscled, had only served as shredding-practice for those cruel talons; wounds dug deeply into them, criss-crossing and oozing blood whenever he moved in the wrong way.

What did she see in him that kept her here? What had made her cradle him like a child and comfort him? What was he? Maybe he was better off as a lion, as a beast.

By now, he saw that Corinne had recomposed her mask, and even managed control over her eyes. They were still unusually pale, but not terrified as before. She seemed vaguely disgusted, and still fearful and shelled-up. Cruor narrowed his eyes and looked down. It was him, wasn't it?
The rustling noises from the dried leaves caught his attention, but he didn't look up. She was leaving. She must have realized what he was, and what she had just gone through, and wanted nothing more to do with him. Shamed as he was by the admission, he wanted her to stay - he wanted her to hold him again. Yet when the rustling ceased, he still believed her gone. She would have shifted into a bird and disappeared....

Sighing, Cruor turned, his head lifting only slightly; it was enough to see she was still there. The man's body froze, his head turning her way to stare. She was still there? Was she crazy, staying here? She wouldn't stay if she knew how much he would sacrifice to kill the noble girl. No one in their sound mind would have such a strong desire to see someone dead.

Corinne was turned away, her auburn hair drifting gently against her shoulders and face, driven by the slightest breeze. It seemed so serene... He wondered what her eyes were looking like; then he blinked. Was that all he could think about, her eyes? He was blind. If this was serene, than a storm was calm. She was tensed, her hands trembling just enough to be noticeable. What was she thinking - what would she do, or say?


“A…an…incident…from when I was younger. It was very…traumatizing. I suppose it was a sort of flashback.”

Cruor was dumbfounded when she actually spoke. He couldn't believe she was actually telling him something so apparently personal. Why was she telling him instead of leaving? He was even more stunned when she swerved to face him, her hair slowly falling back into place. The windows to her soul and sea were closed, and he knew she had been composing her mask very carefully, more so than before. What did she have to hide?
Another disturbing though entered his mind - what about him had awoken that memory? Cruor curled his lip, looking away. It was wrong for him to feel in any way responsible for this, or worried or concerned that he had hurt her. Why did he feel that way then?

Cruor clenched his teeth together. He felt dirty. He wasn't even worthy of her presence or her attention. How - Why - was she telling him this? And what had he done? As if that wasn't hard to guess - there were a million things about his appearance alone that could invoke bad memories - completely forgetting what he was like on the inside.

"I've had plenty of bad things happen to me. Many things I'd rather forget." he muttered to himself, recalling countless instances in his many years on the harsh city streets. "What about me did it? As if I don't have millions of guesses." he growled, unknowingly letting his anger at himself show. It was barbed with sarcasm.

"And you only see the outside." Cruor whispered bitterly. Why was he so concerned about her? Why did he care in the slightest what she thought of him? Maybe he was trying to scare her off - get her out of his life. She'd added enough complications in the few hours that night. He didn't need more. Not that he'd ever see her again - you saw someone, and that was the first and last time. Sometimes it was welcome other times.... not.


|words: 1328
|comments: ditto that. This shouldn't have taken as long as it did.