Pushing the Prius

No, not even under his breath. The lawyer swore openly, freely, and gave the Prius another shove. Yep. Dead. Not just dead. Very dead. The kind of dead that came from leaving the dome lights on for too long or playing the radio too loudly or, in the case of this particular Silver Fang, doing both at the same time. Even if he had lived alone, was responsible, and handled his own affairs, the man still made the mistakes of a teenager.

Let it be said that the young(ish) man deigned himself to be indestructable. That was neither here nor there.

The fact was, however, that William’s car decided to die about two blocks back and, up until he found himself at a stoplight, he seemed more than content to try and coast most of the way home. He lived somewhere on the north side. Presumably, somewhere a little nicer than this. That, however, was also information that wasn’t important.

What was important, however, was this: at roughly twenty-two minutes to midnight, a young man with impeccable breeding and dead blackberry was pushing his car somewhere to park.

And it was starting to rain.

You gotta be fucking kidding me.

She moves with the gate of one trying to escape notice. Beat to hell hiking boots make barely a sound, the dark denim of her jeans blends into the night, as does the dingy gray hoodie sweatshirt that’s several sizes too big. Her hands are shoved deep into the ‘roo pocket, the hood pulled low over her face, and shoulders hunch under the weight of her pack as she skips between the lights of the dingy lamps. She’s a street urchin, plain and simple.

Though when it starts to rain, there is a muttered curse, much softer than the man who is having car problems.

She glances upwards at the man, the car, and there’s a slight hesitation in her step. She’s not the type to stop and help everyone – especially when he looks to be rich (though everyone is in comparison) and capable of handling himself. However, this time – she hesitates. Question is, does he even notice?

It matched his eyes, it couldn’t have been coincidence.

A figure glanced his way, and he offered something of a smile. Well, it was close to a smile, halfway between a grin and a smile. It should have been a look of self-pity; that was the appropriate reaction for those who were born with a sense of entitlement. When faced with hardship, they were supposed to break down into a pile of misery and not crawl out of it.

“Great day to be a pedestrian, eh?” he said. The man’s voice was distinctly southern. Something with a drawl, not a twang. Something that wasn’t beating someone over the head. Louisiana without making someone choke on it, without being a caricature. It had faded, over time, but was as much a part of him as the blood [and betrayal, couldn’t forget that] that ran through his veins.

With that, he got back to pushing.

But there’s a question that begs asked, first. “Ain’tcha call a tow?” cuz that’s what normal folks’d do, she figures. Her voice is a conglomeration of everywhere and no where – she’s been around, clearly. THe voice is soft, yet it carries well enough. Not like she looks to have much power to put behind it anyway. She’s thin – painfully so. At 5’6″ if she weighs 110, she has a brick in all her pockets. Which makes the next statement almost laughable.

“Wanna hand?”

Guess she ain’t gonna keep walking on past him. This time.

Another shove for good measure, and then he stopped again.

The next statement was, in fact, almost laughable. What was even funnier, however, was his reaction.

“Sure, couldn’t hurt. Thanks.”

So, instead, feet go into motion, until she’s taking up a spot next to him at the back of the car. She places her hands on the trunk – there is no meat to speak of on her fingers, the bones of her wrist are painfully visible as well. But she doesn’t say another word, instead, she just… pushes with a grunt of effort.

They got halfway down the block before he spoke again. And he didn’t reference her thin wrists, her bony fingers, her lack of body weight. Instead, he went on with pleasantries.

“I’m Will.”

And he got back to pushing.

He offers his, and there’s a movement that looks to be a nod. He’s been marked, and he’s offered his name freely. It may seem for an eternity of moments as if she’s not going to answer in kind. And then she does.

“Maija.”

Mi-yah, she says, and it flows from her tongue easily enough that it is a name she is comfortable with, and has had for some time. This is not to say that it is the name she was born too, not at all. But there is no way Will could know that, hm?

He could go through a thousand different names and he couldn’t change who and what he was. Couldn’t ignore his heritage or connections or former loyalties. He understood, it didn’t mean that he accepted it by any means.

That was neither here nor there.

Maija, she said. Mi-yah. He continued on pushing, exhaling and looking at her briefly. Then, it was back to pushing. Focusing and continuing on down the road. “You know,” he started “-you don’t…”

bump. The road wasn’t too even here.

“You don’t have to do this.”

The hoodie, dark gray to begin with, is darkening, heaver with the rain that still falls slow but sure. She lifts a hand and rubs it against her chin, then it falls to the trunk as she keeps on pushing.

“I know.”

A pause, as if that’s obvious. It seems like she won’t continue, and then she does. “If it’d been me, ain’t want no one to walk on by neither. So.”

Exactly.

but she didn’t fall. She didn’t fall at all; Maija was on-balance. She wasn’t shakeable. The attorney turned back to the car and continued on with his moving of it. The young(ish) woman said that she wouldn’t have wanted someone to walk by her, either. He could nod at that, continue on with his endeavor. William inhaled slowly, then stopped for a moment. He gave a nod, as if it was already to stop pushing for a minute.

“See that diner over there-” he said with a point. At this point, his shirt was sticking to him, his tie staying plastered to his chest. “We’re almost there. That’s good.”

He said it with a degree of relief, and then? Then he looked at her for a minute. She was sopping wet; they both were, really, but he… he seemed concerned. Maybe the fact that she was so thin was starting to sink in. “Mind steering the rest of the way? We’ll need to get it into a parking place.”

She nods though, and slips her pack off her shoulders, as she turns o move along the side of the car. “Yeah, ok.”

She glances at him once, as if to make sure he’ll make it the rest of the way, before she opens the driver’s side door, tosses her pack into the passanger seat, then follows it inside, folding her skinny frame easily. She pulls the door shut behind her, and gives him a thumbs up.

She’s ready.

As far as he knew, she was an average woman. An average woman who was sitting in the front seat of his car, steering and, hopefully, drying out a little.

The (presumably) younger woman gave the thumbs up and Will tapped twice on the hood, as if to give some sort of indication that, yes, he was there and ready to start going. If she robbed him blind, he wouldn’t have been able to pick her out of a lineup. There were lots of things that he wouldn’t have been able to tell her about, but… well, let it be said that William D’Aubigne was not known for his good judgment.

Or, conversely, let it be known that he did not seem to note that appearances were deceiving. He went ahead and continued to push the Prius towards the resturaunt, and continued to get soggy.

She notes the interior – it looks perfect, scrubbed. So much so that she’s almost sorry to have sat down and marred the carefully protected perfection. But there was little choice, and one thing any woman knows – even as young as she- is when a guy gets that concerned look – it’s easier to just give in, rather than fight.

There’s not much conversation available at this point, as he pushes, gets soggier, and she starts to dry a little as she steers. It stands to reason, however, that not long after she is able to ease the car to a stop with a tap on he breaks, pulled into a parking space in front of the diner.

They’d made it. In one – soggy – piece. She doesn’t stay in the car much longer, hooking a finger around the strap of her backpack, before opening the door and standing again, slinging the pack over her shoulder as she does so and straightening her hoodie.

There wasn’t much conversation to be had; she was inside the vehicle, he was outside, and eventually they were in park. William had since rolled his sleeves up again; when they were on the streets again, he was starting to take his tie off. The man loosened it some more, but it seemed that it wasn’t cooperating so he just held the corporate noose in one hand idly and looked at her.

The man ran a hand through his hair, slicking some of it back and keeping it from being plastered to his head. He couldn’t see her details, but William’s were plain as day. he was a fairly handsome man; something about him was downright regal. His smile came too easily. His eyes were a pale green, somewhere between peridot and poison. He looked at the ground for a minute before looking back at Maija.

“Hey,” he started. As if he was looking for words; it was unusual for him. William usually knew exactly what he wanted to say. “Want to grab something to eat with me? Should give us both a chance to dry out.”

No commitment. No strings. No implications. Just a need to keep dry and get food.

She don’t like to take charity. She hates it more than anything. But she ain’t had nothing in a couple days but a bowl of soup.

Finally, she nods, slightly. “Yeah. Ok.”

And a turn on her heel and she starts toward the diner door – hopefully he won’t change his mind before they get there.

He even held the door for her. Something about the gesture was instinctive though. Bred into him from generations of social niceties. Beaten into his head by years of the masculine equivalent of charm school and being shoved into dinner parties. It made too much sense for him. He was regal, despite the situation.

He did, however, seem to make looking like a drowned cat look dignified.

“Been in town long?” There were those social niceties again. Small talk.

The please seat yourself sign is noted, and a quick glance has her choosing the most shadowed, out of the way booth. It’s habit, something she relies on. She she dodges chairs and moves with an easy grace and silence of one used to hiding as she makes her way there, before sliding onto the bench, hiding her pack between her hip and the wall.

Only when he sits and is comfortable too does she answer. “Not long. Week or so.” Niceties, and small talk. She’s not much good at it, but she’s giving this guy a break for now, and making an attempt

But she had a black eye, a line of bruises on her cheek, and had only been in town for a week. William wasn’t dumb by any means, and he could make his own assumptions about this. But the question was now something simple: was she running away from something, or did she run into a situation that she did not want to be a part of?

He settled into his seat, looking over the menu briefly before closing it to talk to her. She hadn’t been in town long, maybe a week or so. “You get used to it,” he said. “Or at least I’m getting used to it. I’ve been here for roughly a month and a half now and I’m still getting used to it. At heart, I suppose I’m not a city boy.”

“Ain’t bad. Been in worse. Been in better. City’s easier.”

Easier for what, exactly, she doesn’t say.

She didn’t say what it was easier for, and in those pale green eyes she could see budding interest. The young(ish) man seemed to be listening, looking for clarification. Though, luckily, it seemed that he did not skip happily off towards litigator mode. Did not push too hard, did not seek clarification.

Though, everything in his being said that he should ask. That he should push. That he shouldn’t be asking about the city, he should be asking where the bruises came from. And it took every ounce of willpower he had to bite his tongue. William looked at the menu instead.

What he doesn’t see, not yet, is just how long she’s been on the run, though perhaps there are clues to it – how she walked before, moving through the shadows, almost silent, doing everything in her power to disappear from the gaze and thought of others almost as fast as she stepped into their line of site. She hides easily, it’s second nature. It doesn’t always work, but she hides well, and has for some time.

She’s not sure how she’ll answer until the words actually come out of her mouth. A skinny, damp, fleece covered shoulder lifts and falls in a shrug. “than hiding in the country. More places to slip into.”

“Bigger towns, less people to know your name,” he said. The statement was one that was downright empathetic. More importantly, cities were large. Less people to care- Kitty Genovese principal. It was both a blessing and a curse; in a city, something could happen to you and you could have dozens of witnesses-

But no one would interfere.

It was a similar principle about the bruises on her cheek. About her black eye. People saw them, but they didn’t do anything about them. Not openly. Not their problem. “Makes sense.”

He might be one who would never ask, never interfere, never be a witness because it’s not their place, not their problem. Somehow, she doesn’t think so. “May as well ask…”

There’s a sound that might be amusement, as she reaches for her water glass and takes a swallow or two. Her belly grumbles audibly, the scents of the diner awakening the hunger she largely ignores. Instead, she finishes her comment. “…ya ain’t gettin any younger waitin’ for me t’spill it.”

A beat passed, and then he did the unexpected.

“And do you want to press charges?”

Oh, yeah. He had to ask that; William wasn’t getting any younger. Not by any means. The menu was stowed away, and the Silver Fang had determined that he had no clue what he was going to get, so he was going to have to rely on the old default of What’s good? Okay, I want that.

a pause.

“You don’t have to answer. We aren’t exactly on familiar terms, and you’re not obligated by any means,” as if he had to say it.

The second part of his question gets a look up at him – direct. Her eyes are as dark as the night sky outside, glittering with intelligence and a knowledge that someone so young shouldn’t have. And she is young – 16. Maybe 17. It’s a beat, maybe two, before she drops her gaze again.

“You a cop?” because that would be just her luck, wouldn’t it?

As for what happened… “Sides, ain’t so bad. Had worse. Should see th’other guy. Fucker thought ‘e could take what ain’t his, s’all. He learned different.”

And its very likely she answered because she wasn’t obligated. She’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide, Maija.

As for what happened? He should see the other guy, and Maija taught him differently. Oddly enough, this was the second person he’d run into that looked a little too feral, a little under fed, and apparently just tough enough to hold her own. She seemed bright. She seemed older than she was; Maija had lived. It wasn’t exactly a good thing.

“You staying somewhere safe?” because, again, he had to cover his bases. She had to go to sleep sometime, and she didn’t see the type who had too many to watch her back.

Stab in the dark. Sorta like..

Anyway. The waitress. She glances at him again, and because she is who she is… “Jus’ a burger, maybe some fries?” She phrases it like a question, as he had done the offering, and she ain’t like to take freebies anyway. She refuses to take advantage of the guy – of anyone, really, but this guy seems nice enough.

Only when he completes the order and they’re left alone again does she answer his question. “Yeah. Gotta place to sleep that’s safe ’nuff.” If one counts sleeping in close quarters with a random group of unknown garou and kin as safe. She don’t like to go there though, be there for long. It’s long enough to sleep a couple hours before she’s on the move again – sun-up till after midnight most days. “don’t like takin advantage, so only sleep there.”

Realistically, he was a little more than an ambulance chaser. The man had a degree from an Ivy League college… well, technically he had two degrees from Ivy League colleges, but that wasn’t important. It was expected of him. It was something that would not have gone over well if he didn’t go somewhere prestigious. The image was everything. The shoes, the suit, the job- it was all a package.

Realistically, it made him just another piece of meat. Another commodity to be traded; William D’Aubigne was damaged goods, though. A volatile investment. Because the breeding, the job, the prestige all worked to offset the risks.

Anyways. Burger and some fries? “If that’s what you want,” he replied with a shrug.

She said she didn’t like taking advantage. It said a lot about Maija, really. That she didn’t want to be a burden, that she was self reliant… or maybe it was just testament to how stubborn she was or the potential she had to be stubborn. It was necessary for survival. You have strength of character, or you pay for it in the longrun.

He ordered. He wasn’t sure what he ordered, but he put his faith in the waitress, which meant that he ended up with a burger and fries as well.

“So, what do you do the rest of the time?”

When he doesn’t object, she asks for a coke too, before the waitress makes her retreat. She goes back to her doodling as he asks his next question, the lines coming together to create a parking lot scene – the street lamps, the glittering pavement, and yes – his car. Just a simple drawing, she’s no Picasso or anything, but she is good. There’s a bit of talent there. More then would be expected, most likely.

“Walk mostly. Do what work I can.”

Because, realistically, despite his current occupation, it was where his passions lay. He might have been a lawyer, and a damned good one at that, but the man had priorities. They could muse over packaging, and wonder about the unexpected details later.

Like her drawing.

She walked, mostly. Did whatever work she could; he nodded to that. Like William would understand having to really work for much of anything. He would likely have no clue what it was like to work a dead end job. She did what work she could though, and to that he nodded.