Draw the Curtains

[ELIJAH HENRY MERRILL]

Sometimes he wondered if he should be bored. After all, the novelty of staking out nightclubs and streets and staying up for weeks on end had faded after the first five years (what could he say? It took a lot to dissuade him sometimes), yet he had continued to do it.
For another two-hundred or so.
Frickin' score!
Still, either way, he was definitely bored right now - and hey, after what he thought a considerable amount of time living (especially since he had predicted his own lifespan to end at the age of twenty-four at the hands of a wild bear he would have decided to grapple to prove to a lady friend how strong he was - she'd mourn him), he figured he had a right. Besides, his life had ended rather ironically at the age of twenty-one, thanks, at the hands of some pretty thing who had suddenly decided he'd make the perfect "eternal companion" or something. Of course, that had been before said companion had suddenly disappeared, and immediately afterwards his very confused past self had been pulled into a discussion he didn't intend to forget soon.
In short, the number one rule was to not draw negative attention to himself. And, naturally, Elijah was proud enough to say he failed at it. At least in small terms. He wasn't quite as dim as people believed, thanks.
Standing to his full height, Elijah ran a hand through his hair, not even trying to stop the grin that spread across his face as he observed the other people mingling in the streets - mostly members of his own division (and by that he meant the distinguished Downworlders, of which he was happily and irrevocably a part of), which made him feel slightly more at home, if that was even possible (and it totally was - he freaking loved it here).
Humming to himself, Elijah began to walk, mentally running through a list of songs - folk and not - that came to his mind.
Right step, an old folk song from the prairies.
Left step, a ballad from an old television show about castaways on an island.
Fifth step, a song from a Finnish band about soldiers.
Fifteenth step, a Russian song about brothers he had heard someone singing offhandedly at a cafe table. Naturally, he had only heard one word, but hey, when you were this amazing, that's all you needed.
Winking at a random passerby (and sadly, she was too prudish to return it), Elijah turned into an alley, familiarizing himself with it even though he had seen a million other identical ones in the span of his city life. You've seen one, you've seen them all - stop being so utterly fascinated by such juvenile things, Elijah! said the voice in his head, accented as per usual. Elijah snickered.
But ignoring things takes the fun out of life! After all, if one was fated to life forever, why not to the best of one's capabilities?

[LOCHLIN BRONTË]

for a dreamer night's the only time of day.

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Lochlin didn't make a habit of strolling along dark streets at such an hour. That is, she didn't do it.. habitually. It just seemed to happen a lot, you see. No particular reason.. Anyways, yes, she was out at a reasonably late hour in search of her skin, again. That was habitual. Looking for her skin. Not strolling dark street alone. You see the pattern.

Well, of course, looking for one's skin for so long can lead to an empty belly, and since she was close to shore, she hopped into a local store for a bite of fried fish and took it to go. This was also a common occurrence. She liked this fried fish. You can't fry fish in the ocean, now can you? So the pattern continues, accidentally and again walking a lonely street, searching for her seal skin, and eating fried fish. Scene set.

Lochlin was one of those people who didn't fancy making habits out of things, but they sort of formed into that. She was a little too risky for a Downworlder, most would say. Destined for trouble, up to no good, etc. But that wasn't technically the plan. She just wasn't a very good hider and certainly didn't feel the need to prefect the art. Lochlin was a kid at heart, after all, why let the fun stop? there was always something fishy about her. Pun intended.

So it was to no real surprise now that Lochlin was destined to run into someone as, well, questionable as Elijah. He seemed a little dazed, she was a bit preoccupied with her fish, it made sense, did it not?

Well now I very much feel as if I'm talking in circles. Now I will backtrack! Lochlin was tired of swimming, so she got out of the water at her usual spot and buried her seal skin in the sand. Luckily for her, technology was advanced, so she was nice and clothed and needed not bother with clothing hunting like her ancestors once had. Well not so long ago, long after the sun set, Lochlin had gone back to her spot to get her skin and go home. Only.. well, now she couldn't find it. She asked a local fishman-type-bloke to help her find it. He gave her a rude and typical New Yorker gruff male reply. You know, the type that would seem to have a hideous underlying message of something naughty when really that's just how he talked? That kind of reply, which she didn't like very much, so she stormed back off into the city. Which was when she got hungry.. Which was when she was about to run into this dark figure in the night.

Caught up now? Good.

Lochlin, being the sharp girl she was, looked up at just the right moment to dodge this stranger. However ((apologies for the godmode, but, I figured, we talked about it so cooooel)) he didn't respond in the same way. Instead of dodging her in return, he sort of fell into her. You know, like people do in crowds when they're about to turn around when 'oh hello, stranger, didn't see you there.' Of course, Lochlin shrunk her way out of this hardly embarrassing and completely normal New York happening. "Well sorry about that, dear!" she laughed, even though it was entirely not really her fault at all.

Words: 585
Notes: I wrote EXTREMELY weird tonight, but it was fun so, yeah.
Outfit: ta-da