Oz Delaney

Sabirlle, Mike, Bridget

Wed, 07 May 2008 18:23:35 GMT

Log. May 5, 2008. Oz and Sabrielle's Apartment.

Face, arms, and hands still slightly dirt and grease smudged - Ah, the life of a mechanic. - Oz has been careful to not touch anything clean or white until he takes a shower. Right after he gets this song written down. Sitting in the middle of the floor, guitar in his lap, notebook beside him, Oz for now holds a pen in his mouth, much like a dog would hold a bone, fingers flying over the strings.

Bag still slung over her shoulder, eating the occasional grape, keys jingling in the lock as she opened the door. Flushing even at the sight of Oz, shutting and locking the door behind her. "What, writin' somethin' new, sugar?" Pausing long enough to kiss his forehead before she's wandering into the kitchen to put her produce away.

"Hopefully. If I can get tha damn chords right. Words are always tha easy part." He mumbles in answer around the pen. Guitar setting aside, Oz hops up, following Sabrielle into the kitchen. "Not too dirty ta get an actual greetin', am I?"

The last of the fruit and veggies put away, she's glancing over at him. "Ya get me dirty, Ah'll just have to take a shower an' make ya get me clean, won't Ah?" Sliding arms around him, up on her tiptoes. "Ah just didn't wanna interrupt tha artist at work." Stealing a kiss

"Oh, gee, let me think about that." Oz sarcastically, drawls, putting on a thoughtful expression. "Work... Shower? Work or shower? What ta choose?"

Well, ya only have to shower if ya don't wash your hands first." Chuckling, a finger drawing along his cheek. "Ah was thinkin'...ya wanna try somethin' a little different tonight, Ozzie?"

Eyebrow raising, Oz looks intrigued. "Always up ta tryin' somethin' at least once." He murmurs. "Does this also involve a shower?"

"Ah'm sure ya've done this before, but that's part of my charm, not havin' done a lot of things, right?" Nuzzling her face against his neck. "Could, if ya wanted it to. Was jus' thinkin' about it bein' just you an' me tonight, nothin' between us, ya know?" Her face is turning scarlet. Damn you, Sunset for giving her ideas!

Being so insanely blunt himself, it takes a moment for the metaphor or comparison or whatever you want to call it to decipher in Oz's brain. When it does however, he's silent, expression one of thoughtfulness. Though his eyes seemed to have darkened considerably with many sorts of corrupt emotions. "Tryin' ta think of tha correct way ta say yes ta this."

She can be blunt sometimes. Seems better to ask in advance then to just wait and then try to interuppt things later. Laughing, nuzzling her face against his chest. "Ah think ya just did, Ozzie."

"Think ya got a point." Oz answers huskily before his hands go to her waist, picking her up to hold her to him. "Shower, then?"

Okay, so Sunset was right. He didn't even ask any questions. Arms sliding around his neck, legs around his waist. "Jus' like that, huh? Do we really need a shower?" Nibbling at his ear.

Letting out a slight grown, Oz nips at her neck, teeth scraping over her pulse point. "Know I do. Ya probably do too, dirty girl." He growls in response, already heading for the bathroom, lips and teeth continuing to trail down her neck.

She shivers, rubbing her cheek along his. "Only dirty in mind, sugar." Teasing, hands rubbing at his neck and shoulders. "Sunset's convinced me to make it so ya can not worry about findin' your wallet ot tha box in tha nightstand. That all right by ya?"

Letting out a growl, Oz turns his head to catch her lips in a kiss, hard, passionate, and pretty much meant to make her hush, for now. "No more mentioning my sister." He murmurs, breathing a bit heavier than before. "Since there are currently more important things."

Sabrielle runs the back of her fingers along his cheek, a groan against his kiss, other hand gripping at the back of his neck more tightly. "Ah think it is important. Why didn't ya tell me ya didn't wanna wear 'em, Ozzie?"

"Didn't wanna freak you out any." Oz answers simply, bumping the door to the bathroom open with his hip. "Bit like tellin' somebody ya wanna buy a car but cut tha seatbelts out ain't it? Not 'xactly the safest idea." Setting her on the bathroom counter, the Irishman runs a hand over Sabrielle's cheek. "Ya sure 'bout ti, love? Even with tha risks?"

"Well at first, no, but once we were gonna be livin' together ya coulda said somethin'. Ah didn't think Ah was that unreasonable to live with, that Ah wouldn't talk about it with ya. Jus' didn't know any different. " Head leaning into his touch. "Not as risky as ya think, Ozzie. My empathy makes a lot less risky. Stress levels make it harder for anythin' like that to take, if ya will. Since Ah don't have perfect control yet, not so much to worry about, is it?" Ducking her head to kiss at his throat.-

"Ain't unreasonable, love. Damn near infuriatin' sometimes, but so am I, so I ain't really one ta be complainin' 'bout it, huh?" Oz grins. hand coming up to thread through her hair, Oz leans forward to place a kiss on her forehead, her cheek, her lips, her throat. "But if yer sure... Want me ta start up tha shower?"

She laughs, nipping at the side of his neck. "We're both stubborn as mules, but that's good for makin' it so we have lots of make up sex, isn't it?" Teasing him, hands sliding down to pull any shirt he's wearing up. "Gotta get naked first, Ozzie love. " Chuckling, before she's blurting the question on her mind. "Does it really feel that different?"

Blinking at the sudden question, Oz grins, arms lifting up so the shirt can be pulled off. "Guess you'll have ta wait and find out, huh?" He murmurs before leaning forward to capture her lips again.

Log. May 6, 2008. Bar in Chelsea.

If anyone knows Oz, there is always one place you can find him. A bar. Maybe not always at the same bar, but certainly a bar. Unsurpringly, this is currently where he is, a random bar in Chelsea. Perhaps not a bar of his liking - There's some kind of sports game on TV and far too many frat boys in jerseys around for his liking. - but there is alcohol. Always a plus. Sitting at the bar, Guinness in hand, not paying a damn bit of attention to what's on the TV. No, no, he's far too lost in musician thoughts.

And if anyone knows Rich, if it's evening, a weeknight and he's not at school, he's probably at work. If there's no recording at the time, he may be napping. Which is very much the case as a long haired man in his 20s walks into the bar. Glancing over to Oz, sculpted lips turn into a smile as he moves over, sitting at the stool next to him. "Guinness if ya will." He states to the bartender, putting a blatant accent to the request.

Smirking at the familiar voice, Oz glances over to make sure, bottle raising to his lips before he speaks. "Long time no see, mate. Where tha bloody hell have ya been?"

"Drawback o' tha /timeshare/," Mike replies, grinning as the requested beverage is set before him, "Got ta wait fuckin' forever fer yer turn ta come up."

"Yah, I know how that goes." Oz chuckles. "How's tha timeshare been treatin' ya then?"

Mike shrugs, giving a frown, "Gettin' more time. Tha other one doin' tha sharin's been givin' me more o' his times. 'pparently he don't want ta go out there as much now." He lifts up the open bottle to take a swig, "Family problems."

Frowning himself, Oz looks at Mike in confusion. "Family?"He repeats, obviously thinking in the literal sense.

"Not by blood." Mike explains, setting the bottle down, "Those disowned him years ago. More o' tha surrogate type. He's viewin' Jackson as a lil' brother."

"How's tha kid doin'?" Oz asks, frowning down at his bottle. "Last I heard, he got put in tha loony bin. He out yet?"

"Alive." Mike answers, "Which is better 'n some o' us. An' he's out o' there. Don' know where he's livin' thou'. Didn't show up at tha school 'gain."

"Wouldn't be surprised if Big Sis had him at her place, really." Oz murmurs. "That kid's like a son ta her, or somethin' ta that amount. Don't know how'd she know he was out, but she's got a knack for knowin' things anyway."

Mike snerks, "Knowin' her, how'd you know she didn't do tha pullin' out?"

"That wouldn't surprise me either." Oz grins. "Knowin' her, probably found a way ta sneak him out of there without even dealin' with tha bloody staff."

A slight chuckle emits from Mike as he lifts up his bottle, "Yeah..." Sippity. "Oh, tha other tenant ran in ta tha pop princess 'gain."

"Keepin' them tabloids busy, eh? How'd that go?"

"No 'bloids this time." Mike replies, "She seemed ta be interested in how the music thing was going. Fishin' for somethin' for tha kid to say. Idiot didn't get it though. Ya need ta talk to him 'bout usin' tha obvious steppin' stones ta a record deal."

"...You better be fuckin' kiddin' me with that." Oz growls after a moment. "You sayin' she's basically offerin' a record deal, and he didn't catch onta it?"

"What can I say?" Mike replies, giving a shrug. "Kid don't have a full deck 'cause I got tha other half o' it. If it helps, she didn't flat out say it. Seemed more she was wanting him to ask fer tha help. Oh, ya know he turned down a vacation with her?"

"Do ya want me ta kick him in tha head, or ya think ya can manage that?" Oz dryly remarks. "Ya sure ya ain't got the full bloody deck?"

"Nah, " Mike replies, "He's got some o' my good qualities. Maybe one o' us should tell him it's okay ta take advantage of what publicity ya got from the 'bloids ta secure the deal. Times change. Ain't all 'bout tha' music now."

"I'll tell him next time I see him. Along with a smack ta tha back of tha head." Oz replies, taking another sip of beer. "Think she'll offer again?"

"Bein' that he's tha closest thing she prob'ly has ta help wit' her own, special problems?" Mike asks, "Prob'ly."

"Goody." Oz dryly remarks. "Looks like we won't have to tour as no names this time, huh?"

"No." Mike replies, "Though, be ready fer tha group ta be known as Recalibration. That band Aurora's boyfriend is part of o' ex-boyfriend, dependin' on how they want ta spin it."

"Already got used to tha name change, Drummer Boy. Ain't gonna be no big shock for me, really."

"Ah...right. Already sayin' that." Mike murmurs, "Ya okay wit' him gettin' the press? Las' time I checked it was ya band too."

"Considerin' how it went down last time, think it's fair we got tha trade off. 'Sides, keeps my life simple, for now. Not like I enjoy tha bloody paparazzi waitin' for me everywhere I go, ya know?"

"Black Mariah died when you two did." Mike admits, "Not that I wanted to keep it goin' without ya. Jus' don't go pullin' the same crap on him like ya did on me, gettin' yerself killed fer somethin' stupid."

"Yah, I'll make sure to not get in any cars with drunk drivers again." Oz sarcastically drawls. "Think I learned my lesson last time."

"Jus don't do stupid stuff in general," Mike adds in, "Ya don't make tha' best decisions when drunk. Like, gettin' stabbed and shit. Nothin' worse than goin' out 'cause o yer own stupidity."

"Would be sayin' I wasn't drunk when I got stabbed before, but it ain't tha best argument is it?" Oz smirks. "Ya worry too much. Both of us know I ain't gonna be killed or nothin' anytime soon, so why worry 'bout it?"

"Didn't think my own band mate would murder me and marry my widow but ya know how that turned out." The dead drummer replies softly, glancing towards the bartender to make sure he's out of hearing range, "Not worryin'. Jus' sayin' ya shouldn' cause damn it if history repeats itself, I'm gonna have Rich stayin' tha fuck 'way from Calie."

giving an amused snort, Oz grins. "Yeah, can't say I see Calie being jealous enough ta kill ya, considerin' I ain't ever seen her with any problem gettin' a girl she wants. 'Sides, if he ain't actuallyseein' her, don't see how it could even happen."

"Didn't see it with Frank either."

"Well, since hindsight's 20/20, ya see Calie actin' any kinda suspicious like Frank did?"

"Well ya se-" There is a clunk as the bottle hits the bar as the holder vanishes, leaving Oz with the tab. Guess it's time for Rich's gig.

Log. March 7, 2008. Hell's Kitchen bar.

Oh, what a quiet night, considering the area. The stars are out. The night is quiet. Almost peacef - "Oh, God, someone call 911!" Never mind. A variety of screams and frantic shouts about 'stabbed', 'knife', and 'cops' comes from a bar, the window busted out, a barstool outside in the street. Gee, I wonder what could have happened.

It was indeed a quiet night, which for the Bridget returning from a dinner out, was more than enough reason to be happy with the stroll. The screams coming from the bar disturb her thoughts however as she, being still qualified to do emergency medical help, finds herself running towards the establishment to enter.

Well, when she can fight her way through the crowd, she probably won't be please. Leaning back against the bar for support, Oz seems rather immune to the chaos around him, staring wide eyed down at the knife hilt sticking from his chest. As if wondering what the hell it was and how the hell it go there. And whether or not it would be noticeable with the crowd, he seems to be having trouble breathing, the noticeable sound of air flowing through a hole seeping out from around the edges of the knife, blood slowly seeping into his shirt.

"Clear the way, coming through, off duty medic!" Bridget snaps, shoving her way through the group. Upon seeing the source of the commotion she frowns, growing wide-eyed. "oh no..." She turns to three people standing around. Pointing them out "YOU, YOU AND YOU. Call 9-11, give them the address first and tell them we have a stabbing, likely internal bleeding, off duty paramedic on scene, in need of two units." She turns back towards Oz, rushing over to his side, "Get me some towels!"

The dutiful NPCs snapping to it, Oz looks up at Bridget, eyes perhaps a bit too wide, face pale. However, he still manages a trembling, small grin. "Well, this is already goin' better than the last stabbin' ain't it?" He murmurs, voice not very loud at all and wheezing slightly.

Bridget doesn't smile, instead posing Oz in a manner to reduce the stress on the chest area. Eyes seeming to indicate that it is not the case. "Shhh" She hushes, reaching for some of the cleaner towels that the bartender turned up to wrap around the knife, " talking will hurt you more than help."

"Oh, bloody hell, ya aren't gonna pull that out, are ya?" Following instructions? What?

"Shut up!" Bridget snaps, "Are you trying to die faster?!" She looks to the wound, "If I pull it out, you'll bleed quicker. If you talk, it'll become harder to breathe. I'm /trying/ to make it so you have a chance to get to the hospital in time..."

Giving a shaky smirk, it's one that quickly fades. Even with the changes Bridget has made, there's still the sound of a sucking chest wound, the edges of the wound still bleeding freely. "Don't think it really matters if ya help me any, love." Oz murmurs, before starting to cough, a bit of blood bubbling up from the corners of his lips.

"I've bled worse than this and lived," Bridget seethes, applying pressure to the wound, "I'm not giving up on you until there is nothing left to do and you sure as hell better not too." She glances to the crowd, "Where's the ambulance?!"

"Sunset's dead." Oz brings out of left field, voice strained and choked. It's hard to tell if it's from the injuries or the news. "This morning. Got hit by a car. Baby is too."

The medic's head turns at the news, "What?" The frown deepens even more, "Wait, don't answer that. Just shut up and rest."

A person from the crowd finally answers Bridget's question, "It's on the way."

The medic looks over to Oz, "Ok, hold on.... ambulance will be here soon..."

"She told me what you said." Oz continues, more blood gathering at the corners of his lips, breathing sounding very, very bad at this point. "Didn't have ta say it. Never blamed ya for thinkin' that. None of it's true, but didn't blame ya for thinkin' it." Coughing again, Oz's face contorts into a grimace for a moment. "And I ain't real sure it's gonna be soon enough."

"DAMMIT OZ QUIT TALKING!" Bridget snaps, eyes squinting to hold back tears, "It's not over til the fat lady sings and I sure as hell don't see Aretha Franklin warming up here. So just... PLEASE shut up and try to outlast the odds!"

Complying for once, Oz shuts up, head leaning back against the floor. Breathing becoming mroe and mroe shallow, the Irishman's eyes barely open to look over at Bridget. "Ya know I love ya, right?" He asks, barely audible.

Whether it is because of the delivery or of the sounds of the futileness, Bridget's shoulders slump slightly as she looks to Oz's, a look of grief on her face as she reaches a hand into her pocket, pulling out a scapular, placing it on him. Maybe it's not going with the current idea that goes with it, but with one interpretation, it couldn't hurt. "I... love you too." She whispers, voice quivering.

Doing his best at on last grin, Oz's eyes slipped close, one last breath coming from his lips before he stills completely, face going slack, body relaxing.

Feeling the body grow limp, Bridget's eyes widen once more as her hand moves to check his pulse, head tilting to listen for any signs of breathing as well. Numbness sets in as the sounds of an ambulance approaching just fades to nothing in her mind. The sound of the gathered crowd being pushed away... it falls on deaf ears as her eyes close, tears freely flowing. "Eternal rest..." she murmurs, "grant unto him, O Lord,"

Wed, 30 Apr 2008 11:25:09 GMT

Okay, so not on the roof, but when she'd knocked the first time, she hadn't been sure the place was empty. Hmm. Well it can't hurt to try again, right? Shifting the straps of the bag she was carrying on her shoulder, tugging the leather of the jacket down. Should she try the door? What if he was drunk or something? Hesitating, before she gave in, rapping on his door again, in three loud bursts.

Drunk? No. Sleeping? Yes. In an attempt to not drink himself into the hospital, the cloned Irishman has been lately sleeping. Quite a bit. When you can't play guitar or write music, or find any way to occupy yourself that involves staying in - and Sunset was right, there really is nothing on TV anymore - sleeping is one of the few options you have. Letting out a semi annoyed groan, Oz drags himself from the bed, scratching the back of his neck as he heads for the door, dressed in jeans and not much else. "Yeah, yeah... Quit yer bloody noise and hold on for a moment, would ya?" He grumbles, fooling with the locks before swinging the door open.

Well, she'll feel bad for waking him, but be thankful he's home. Once door parts from jamb, she's holding her breath a second. Slowly going pale, but for a flush along her cheekbones. "Ah didn't mean to wake ya, Ozzie." Quietly, a glance back up towards the stairs leading up and up to the roof. "Ah woulda called first, but Ah didn't feel right." Black bag slung over the shoulder of black leather jacket left open over a sapphire blue and black corset style top like he had picked out for her once. Black skirt, and high heels. "Ah was hopin' to talk to ya. Can Ah come in?"

Glancing over her for a second, Oz shrugs one shoulder. "Woulda woke up eventually anyway. Not like I can't get back ta sleep later." He answers, stepping away from the door. "Want a drink?"

"Ya got some juice or somethin'?" She promised Sunset, after all, stepping in and shutting the door behind her, engaging the locks almost as quick as a native new yorker. "Ozzie.." Bag set down, blue eyes drawn to him like a magnet. "Ah need ta talk to ya, sunshine. About thin's Ah said."

At first not answering, focusing on that whole... gracious host thing, Oz heads into the kitchen. Returning a moment later with a bottle of orange juice, and nothing for himself, the singer flops down into one of the chairs, leg hooked over one of the arms. "So talk." He murmurs, holding the bottle of juice out to here. "Believe it or not, I actually know how ta listen."

Slipping out of her jacket and dropped on her bag, bottle left alone for now, moving so she's standing in front of the chair. "Ah, Ah was hurt, an' mad, an' feelin' guilty an' sorry for myself an' everything. Ah'm sorry, Ozzie. When Ah told ya to go back to Bridget if she'd have you, Ah said it for all tha wrong reasons. If she'd make ya happy, Ah'd go away. But truthwas, Ah'm half scared ya wanna go back ta her, an' Ah thought maybe if Ah told ya to, it wouldn't hurt so bad. Ah thought maybe wantin' ya for me was selfish, because she was here first."

Eyes rolling ever so slightly, Oz tosses the juice bottle onto the couch, free hands reaching out to pull her into his lap. "'Cause she was here first?" He repeats. "Ya know, ya make me sound like a bloody piece of land when ya put it that way, love. Didn't I already tell ya I don't got tha bloody right ta stay with her anymore, anyhow?"

"Ya loved her first, is what Ah mean. She was part of your life first. Ah just happened along by accident." Letting herself be pulled into his lap, snuggling herself to his chest. "She loved ya first. Ah guess Ah jus' was tryin' in mah messed up fashion to respect that. " Daring to look at his face. "Why don't ya have tha right? She said she'd forgive you." A frown, confused, before she's shaking her head. "Ah still feel like hell, but Ah don't /want/ ya ta beg her back. Whether it makes me selfish and wrong, or not. "

"She said she'd forgive me when she thought we'd only been tagether once." Oz corrects, somewhat gruffly. "Doubt that offer still stands. 'Sides, if ya don't want me ta, why ya keep bringin' it up?"

Sabrielle bites at her lower lip, fingers wandering to run along his jaw. "Ah jus' want ya happy, Oz. Ah don't know how to handle any of this. Ah don't know what to say, or do. Ah jus' came to beg ya to forgive me, an' ask ya not to.. well, damnit, Ah want ya with me!" Impatient temper at her own inability to speak makes her blurt it out.

Eyebrow quirking, there's a bare hint of amusement in Oz's eyes. "Oh, really?" He chuckles, grinning devilishly, head turning to lightly nip at her fingers. "Now why ya make it sound like that's so hard ta say, huh?"

"Because it is. Ah'm not good at this stuff, ya know." Shivering when he nips at her fingers, making her whisper. "Especially since Ah tried to hard to mess it all up before."

"Not meanin' ta sound like a jackass 'bout it all, love, but ya are talkin' ta tha guy that knows pretty much every way to make the woman end tha relationship." Oz murmurs. "Hate ta admit it, but it's true. So if ya gonna try that trick again, better try a bit harder."

"Naw, Ah think once is enough. Ah try to learn from it when Ah mess up." Eyes glancing up, before she's leaning up to kiss him. "Forgive me Ozzie, please?"

Kissing her in response to the question - one of his trademark, breathtaking, near bruising kisses - Oz's arms wrap around the empath to hold her close. While he can give out as many pretty words as he wants, this is easier, quicker, especially with Sabrielle's powers. If she wants a positive answer, she's getting it.

He'll feel the way she's been so still, holding herself tense, just stop, arms sliding around his neck. She can't quite stop the sharing of her relief that he's forgiving her, even as she's kissing him back just as hard as he's kissing her. Hand lifting to stroke at his cheekbone.

Chuckling slightly into the kiss, unable to stop a slight grin, Oz pulls back ever so slightly. "Happy 'bout somethin', love?" He asks, lips barely a whisper from hers.

"Call it bein' happy ya aren't gonna kick my ass out for bein' stupid tha other day, hmm?" Nibbling at his bottom lip, leaning into him. "Ah don't mean ta be stupid like that."

"Ya wasn't bein' stupid. Ya were trying ta do what ya thought was the right thing. Just kinda... backfired is all." Oz murmurs, giving a slight growl before kissing her again, quickly. Glancing down at her outfit again, scared eyebrow raising, he runs a finger along the hemline of her shirt. "How long ya had this?"

Sabrielle shivers, fingers rubbing along the back of his neck. "Oh..couple weeks, maybe?" To answer his question, a faint grin. "Ah don't know a lot about a lot of things that come with datin', but Ah know one thing. If somethin' has worked before, why fix it if it ain't broken?"

"Like since we went ta that bloody mall coupla weeks?" Oz questions, smirking. "And I think we got two diff'rent definitions of broken there, love."

"Oh, jus' maybe. Since someone was actin' like if he kept touchin' me, he was gonna get burnt, he must not have seen me buy this one. Why, what's your definition of broken, sugah? Ah was jus' thinkin' if it's been known to work, why tamper with a known formula?" Kissing down the side of his neck, just a glimmer of her power letting that need to have him touch her bleed through to him.

Readily complying with the need, one hand running up her leg, the other slipping her her shirt to trail his fingers up her backbone, Oz gives a slight growl. "Before we get anymore inta this conversation, let me tell ya somethin', love. Ya can either keep feedin' me those feelins of yers, and I can work on those, or we can talk more, but i can't do bloody both and keep concentration on either task."

There's a faint squeak at his fingers along her backbone, nipping harder at his neck. "Well, ya have been a /pretty good/ boy. Ah tol' ya once ya were healed up, an' we told everyone we had to tell, didn't Ah?" Glancing up from under her lashes at him. "Ya have forgiven me, an' we're all right now, aren't we? What else do we need to talk about?"

"Right now?" He growls, moving them to the floor in a quick and almost graceful movement, loosely pinning Sabrielle's arms by the wrist above her head. "Don't really care. Wanna give that make up sex thing a try?"

"Well Ah didn't mean next week." Sassed back, before her breath catches at having her wrists pinned. Blue eyes seeming almost to glow as she stares up at his face. He'll know from that contact that she's surprised by the dominance, yet she isn't. She even seems to like it, all but washing away that ping of nervousness at it. Laughing at him. "Think this was a big enough fight, then?" Winking up at him. "C'mere,Ozzie. Ah missed ya." It would seem that her answer is a yes on all levels.

Log. April 19, 2008. Cheshire Cat.

Another day, another time in the bar. And being that it's Saturday, Bridget gets to have an early start to disprove the 'Happy' in happy hour. Sitting by herself in a booth, she simply sits, nursing her bourbon whiskey her drink of choice recently.Eyes blankly look to the empty booth across from her, mind pretty much blank.

"Room for one more?" The question is hesitant, guilty, but the voice is still familiar. While Bridget may have been avoiding going to her apartment at all, this is the first time in days that Oz has left his home. But avoidance cannot go on forever... especially when an apology is deserved. Dressed as usual, there is one difference about Oz in that his eyes are oddly clear. No alcohol, or no nicotine. Trying to be a better person any way he can.

The blank expression fades as the question is laid out. Her lips slanting downwards into a slight grimace. The glass is lifted as Bridget downs her drink, perhaps a bit quicker than usually recommended as her throat burns. "Yes," she replies, starting to scootch out of her booth, "I was just leaving."

"Bridget..." Letting out a frustrated sigh, Oz runs a hand through his hair. "Can ya stay? Just for a minute... I just wanted-" Damn, this would be a lot easier with alcohol. "Just wanted ta apologize and explain some things.

The blonde pauses in mid slide, eyes narrowing to Oz. The frown settling back into a neutral expression, "What's more to explain? You got drunk, you screwed another girl, and then thought, I'll go for the newer model." She restarts the sliding out of the booth, apparently having little intent for sticking around, "Your explanation may be lengthier but that's what it boils down to, isn't it? I REALLY don't need you to be rubbing my face in it anymore."

"Except with tha whole rubbin' yer face in it part." Oz mutters, stepping in her way. "That ain't what I'm bloody tryin' ta do, all right? It's just driving up tha fuckin' wall, what I did ta ya. I know it wasn't right and I sure as hell know ya didn't do nothin' ta deserve that, and I'm tryin' to make it right or as best as I can! So will ya just stay put for five bloody minutes?"

Bridget does indeed stop. Mainly because she is still without the MA v2 PE and Oz could easily stop any shoves she could do to him. She frowns, sliding back in, side pressing against the wall, putting as much distance between her and Oz as possible. "You want to know how to make it right?" She murmurs in reply, face turning towards the wall, "There isn't."

Shoulders slumping ever so slightly, Oz gives a slow nod. "Figured that..." He quietly answers. "Figured it was worth tryin' anyway." Turning to leave, hands shoved in his pockets, the Irishman pauses to glance over his shoulder before walking off. "If it's worth anythin'... I still love ya. And words can't tell ya how sorry I am that this happened."

"Don't bother lying," Bridget replies, eyes still set on the wall, " You never did. I was the rebound."

"If ya were tha rebound, I would have fucked ya and thrown you aside within tha week."

"I gave you a new LIFE," Bridget dismisses, one of her fingers tracing the rim of the empty glass, "And your sister too. Nothing more than a temporary obligation... And once I served my purpose, and you found my replacement, there's no point in keeping me around." She sighs, still hiding her face, not bothering to brush back any hair that falls along the side of the face, "My fault really. Should have figured it out early on... With the exception of Alistair, who came from a COMPLETELY different value system, relationships are built upon people's perceived value of others. Just WHAT they can do for others. I should be used to people using me... really."

Turning back around to face her, Oz says nothing for a moment, observing her instead. "Tell me somethin', love. If ya think I did nothin' but use ya all those months... why ya still wearin' tha ring I gave ya?"

Fingers rest on the ring as the head looks towards it now. "Because it reflects the status of my heart... not yours." The table is hit with a drop of water. "Unlike you, I can't really forget at my convenience."

Fingers twitching, Oz's heart is screaming at him. Reach out, comfort her, stop her crying, make it better, make it better, make it better. However, he doesn't move. There's no way to make it right, and he knows that once she's made her mind up about something, there is no use trying to change it. "Wish ya didn't believe that... But I guess I don't blame ya." Giving a heavy sigh, Oz turns again. "I'll just leave ya be, then."

There is no response to Oz verbally, her hands sliding under the table as another drop joins the first. A slight nod is given. No more, no less.

Log. April 20, 2008. West 46th: Oz's Apartment.

Oh, what a beautiful day. The sun is out, the temperatures are up, and winter is officially gone. And inside his apartment, Oz could not care less if he was being paid to do so. Now with two redheads after him to rest, quit drinking, and quit smoking so he can heal faster, why even bother going outside? Lounging on the couch, guitar beside him, the clone for now is busy scribbling things in a worn notebook, crossing lines out and rewriting constantly. What better to write songs about than cheating on a girl and the break up afterwards?

A knock sounds upon the door, interrupting the creative process.

Glancing up at the door, eyes narrowing slightly in annoyance, Oz is tempted to let whoever knocked stay out there. If it wasn't for the fact that the only other person with a key to the apartment is Sunset, he would. Tossing the notebook and pencil aside, he pushes himself from the couch, reaching the door in a few quick steps. "Yeah, yeah, hold on." Undoing the locks - For what is a New Yorker without a locked door? - the door opens easily enough.

"Hello, Oz," says Otto Octavius, all high-collared black coat and sharks-eyes goggles. A silvery tentacle whips out from hiding to shove the clone brusquely backwards, making room for the multi-armed menace to enter.

Oh... Bloody hell. Letting out a grunt of pain as he's shoved back, Oz grimaces slightly. Bit further to the right, and he'd have hit the incision. Lucky Oz. "'Lo, Boss. Long time no see."

"Indeed." Octavius lets himself in, closing the door behind him with another tentacle. The others arch and loom, filling the available space. He gives the apartment a brief survey, then tilts his face toward Oz. "There was a story I heard once about a rich man who goes away on a long sabbatical. Before he leaves, he brings forth his two servants and gives each a gold coin. When he returns, he calls for the servants and asks them what they did with their coin." He pauses a beat. "One servant tells how he used the coin to invest in business. He presented the gold coin, plus a thousand more.. The other servant told of how he'd feared his master's wrath, and had thus hidden the gold coin away. He presented the coin alone." The tentacles slither forward with a quiet rattlesnake sound to surround the clone. "Which servant are you, Oz?"

Quietly listening, warily watching Otto, Oz is silent for a moment after the question. He may not be the smartest person, but he knows that this is a answer that should probably be thought about. "Which servant do ya want me ta be?" He's just the dog on the leash, right? Since when does he get a choice for what to do?

Otto sighs in a long-suffering kind of way. "Precisely." A trio of jointed claws snap closed about a foot away from Oz's head. "Very well, what /have/ you been up to while I was away?"

"'Bout tha same as anyone else in this city." He answers, eyes darting over to look at the claw. "Stay alive. Which I reckon is somethin' that would be a bit easier if tha bloody jellie man ya got in yer hold as well didn't decide to stab me in tha gut and made me a lose a spleen a few weeks back."

"You should be more careful." No, Octavius seems not at all predisposed to punish Zachery on Oz's behalf. "Why did he attack you?"

"We got inta a fight, 'bout tha same as we always do every time we meet." Oz shrugs, moving back to the couch. "I backed off when he brought the scalpel out, 'cause even I ain't that dumb ta try and win in a knife fight with just my fists. He stabbed me anyway." Fuck this. Where the hell are his smokes? Smirking slightly as he lights a cigarette, Oz chuckles. "'Course, he already got his punishment for that and then some."

Otto folds his arms together underneath the shoulder-drape of the big black coat. Flatly: "Elaborate."

"Oh, I didn't do nothin' ta him, if that's what yer thinkin'." Oz grins. "Just heard that someone managed to set his room on fire with him inside it is all. Bit too sophisticated and subtle for my tastes, but it got the job done."

Otto shakes his head and turns his back on Oz. "It would be," he says, as he paces away toward the further end of the apartment, "much more useful to me if you two were to limit your primitive aggressions to those who are /not/ in my employ. Or, ideally, to those who would place obstacles in my path. Yet I cannot blame you for lacking the will to override your baser natures."

Eyes narrowing slightly at that, Oz schools the anger out of his expression after a moment. "It'll be easy enough, long as we ain't ever within five feet of each other. Isn't like I plot about ways to cause him pain." Taking a drag off the cigarette, the clone does his best to calm down and think about what he says for once. "So, whatcha need me for? Can't imagine ya would just pay me a visit ta be social."

Otto turns back around, regarding the clone with a thin frown. "For the moment, I simply wished to confirm your existence, your general state of health, and your inability to evolve. I shall require your skills, such as they are, soon enough. For now, however, you remain free." He starts toward the door.

Free? Surely, you jest. Holding his tongue on that, Oz nods, stubbing out the cigarette. "Ya know where ta find me if ya need me. Nice seein' ya back, Doc. Life was startin' ta get borin'."

"I wish I could say it was pleasant to be back," Octavius says sourly as he pulls his extra limbs back under his coat and opens the door. "But this city would frankly be better reduced to rubble." And on that note, he departs.

Making sure that Otto is gone and gone for good - or at least, temporarily - Oz moves from the couch to look for the phone. There are some people he needs to call.

Log. April 22, 2008. Milburn - Sabrielle's Apartment.

Sabrielle was buzzing around the tiny kitchen. Frying chicken, classic mashed potatoes, biscuits in the oven. She's invited the Irishman to dinner, because cooking helps her think, and thinking is what she needs to do. She needs to puzzle out their whole relationship, and why he hasn't told her all of this. Red hair half pinned up, halter style lilac sundress, with bare feet. Heeled sandals were by the edge of the couch, but it was easier to move around in bare feet. Blues playing from her stereo, giving her something to sing along with thoughtlessly.

Oz isn't dressed any different than he ever is. Black jeans, black shirt, boots, duster. Ta-da. Hand running over his head, sending the spikes into even more disarray, the other hand raises to the door. Knock knock.

"Hang on!" Tearing off the little waist apron, though wouldn't he love to see her in that? Bare feet running across the carpet, sounds of locks being undone before she's jerking up the door. Slightly flushed from the heat of cooking, blue eyes looking up to him. "Heya, sugar, c'mon in."

First thing's first, Oz pulling her to him as soon as he's in the door, kissing her like he'll never see her again. Knowing his luck, and his ability to screw things up without even thinking about it, there's a good chance that this could soon be true. His own damn fault for making a deal with Otto Octavius, really. And second thing's second. "Mind me stayin' here for a few days, love?"

"Mmph!" The kiss was a little unexpected, even as she's rising up on her toes to kiss him back, arms around his neck. Ragged inhale when he lets her go, eyes a little dazed. "What was that for?" Smiling faintly, before she's blinking. "Sure ya can, sugar. Why, somethin' tha matter?" Door shut, before she's hurrying back into the kitchen.

"Need a reason ta kiss ya?" He asks, eyebrow quirking. Following farther into the apartment, he avoids the second question a bit longer. "I'll remember that in the future and start writin' stuff down." Rubbing the back of his neck, Oz grimaces slightly. "And I kinda got evicted."

Sabrielle laughs. "Ya don't normally kiss me quite like /that/. Lucky Ah got mah empathy shut off before Ah opened tha door. " Taking bicuits out of the oven, then shedding pot holders to get plates from the cupboard. "What? Evicted?" Plates still in her hands as she's looking at him. "Whatcha mean kinda? What happened? Was it somethin' with Bridget? "

Taking the plates from her and putting them aside, Oz shakes his head. "Kinda as in, it wasn't tha landlord that evicted me." He answers, before pulling the letter that was left for him, handing it out to Sabrielle. In the gist, get out and don't come back. Love, your friendly neighborhood Daredevil. "Found it stuck on tha window sill with a knife. Window was broke too. Awful nice of 'im, ain't it?" He sarcastically mutters.

Sabrielle looks down to the note, reading it as her color climbs in her cheeks, teeth gritting. "Ah thought he was supposed ta be a /good guy/." Yeah, the empath is a little ticked off. "But you're okay?" Eyes running over him, making sure. She wasn't seeing anything that might be physical pain. "Ya know ya can stay here as long as ya need ta,Ozzie." Handing the note back to him. "As soon as ya tell me what this stuff is about ya bein' a clone an' a slave to some psycho." Moving back to start fixing plates.

"Little pissed. Fine, other than that." Going to put the note back in his pocket, Oz tenses as the last sentence registers. Bw-huh? "What?"

"So ya weren't there when he did this, then?" Potatoes, biscuits buttered, before she's going for the still hot chicken. Stopping long enough to turn and look at him dead on. "Ya heard me. When were ya gonna tell me, Ozzie? You're a clone of tha man ya used ta be? Yer a slave ta some psycho?"

... "Okay, bloody first." Oz grumbles, falling back into a seat, frowning. "How tha /fuck/ do ya know about that?"

"Take a plate, Oz. Might as well eat. Does it matter how Ah know? Ah know now, an' Ah didn't hear it from tha man Ah shoulda. You."

"Last time I checked, wasn't tha law ta tell ya bloody everythin' 'bout me." Oz answers, metaphorical hackles raising. "Tha less ya know 'bout all of that, the safer ya are. Might as well forget 'bout whatever ya already heard." Rising again, his eyes narrow slightly. "Who told ya?"

"Tellin' me yer a clone, that you are a madman's slave? Ah think that ranks up there with stuff that should be disclosed, don't ya? " Calmly ladling gravy over her potatoes. "Don't try ta keep me ignorant, thinkin' it'll protect me. It /won't/. " A slant of a look. "Ah know. Focus on that."

"Well, from what it sounds, ya already know that whole bloody story. What else is there for me ta tell ya?"

"Ah know ya made yerself a slave to get a body. That ya used ta be part of /ANGIE/. When tha hell were ya gonna tell me Ozzie? Didn't ya trust me enough ta tell me?"

"Not a bloody issue of trust." He snaps. "God forbid I don't tell ya tha bad thing's 'bout me, huh? But if ya wanna know 'em, fine. Work for a bloody evil genius. Already helped him rob a bank. Before that, I got Angie put in jail overnight for bar fights. Before I even knew her or Sunset, I went on trail when I was for killin' my da' with a bloody fuckin' shovel but got off in self defense. And somewhere out there, got a daughter who's the same bloody age as I am. What else ya wanna know?"

Ladel slammed down, splattering gravy on the counter. "Ah told ya about tha things in mah life that scared me most. Ah told ya what happened with me an' Justin. Ah tol' ya all tha bad things. What, Ah'm not strong enough ta hear tha truth, Oz? What!" She's mad now, even as he's spouting out all the dark things, pupils widening in her eyes. "Oh, yer gonna say everythin', now? Christ, Ozzie! Fuckin' eat before Ah swear ta gawd Ah put ya to yer knees! Ah need a moment, all right?"

Letting out a frustrated growl, Oz sits back down, lighting a cigarette instead. His appetite seems to have else where.

Sabrielle takes a deep breath. "Okay. So yer his servant, his slave, because he gave ya yer own body away from Angie's. Getting Angie busted don't rank so bad, she's a big girl. An' that trial...that wasn't you now. THat was tha you before, right? " She pauses then. "Ya've got a little girl?"

"Doesn't matter if it was tha me before. Would do tha same thin' all over again, if I got the damn chance." Oz answers. "Bastard killed my baby sister. Beat my mum and me. So I killed him. Simple as that." And Sabrielle would be able to see he's serious and telling the truth as well. Snorting, Oz gives an unamused grin. "Wouldn't call her little. If my math is right, she's either the same age or a year older than me."

"Ya had reason, plain an' simple. Ah was lucky. My parents didn't beat me, or drink, or any of that. But if my daddy or anyone else laid hand on my momma, ya know damn well Ah wouldn't hesitate ta take them down, an' ya know full well Ah wouldn't make it pretty." Teeth gritting a moment. "Sunset has a daughter like that. Ah can handle that."

"Ain't ever gonna have ta handle it. Not like I'm set on trackin' her and Jordan down ta tell 'em everythin'." Oz answers, smoke escaping with his words. "Got a ashtray or ya want me ta use a cup or what? Hate ta light this place on fire."

Sabrielle grabs an old coffee mug, a tiny bit of water into it, before it's being offered out to Oz. "Ah don't have any real ashtrays. Ya might wanna bring yours from your place. Ah only ask ya don't smoke in tha bedroom. How long do ya wanna stay? "

Taking the cup with a nod of thanks, Oz shrugs. "'Til I find another place ta live? Would ask if I could live with ya since everythin' else we already done is bloody insane, but. Don't want ya meetin' Otto. If I ever fuck up, he'll hurt /you/ instead of me. And then I'd really do something stupid."

"Ozzie, after everythin' else, Ah'm not much scared of this Otto guy. Sunset doesn't seem to be. Ah guess ya just need to not fuck up, huh? " Coming over close enough to bend low to give him a kiss. "Scare me, ya do, Ozzie. But Ah still want ya here. "

"Ya should be." He answers, in response to her not being scared. "Sunset may not seem ta be, but she is. So am I." Kissing her back, much in the way he did at the door, Oz frowns slightly. "Want me here how, 'xactly?"

"Here, Ozzie. No reason for ya not to be, is there? Ah don't care who's after ya, who wants ta be tha big bad in yer life. Ah want ya in mah life. Havin' ya here? Well, Ah guess we'll see if ya can really handle me, huh?"

Silent for a moment, Oz finally raises an eyebrow. "Well, if that's tha case, ya gotta know one of my rules 'bout movin' inta a new place."

Sabrielle pauses, brows arching. This should be good. Moving, retrieving the plates, putting one with a fork on it in his lap. "Oh yeah? What's that?"

Setting the plate aside and far away from him as he can reach, Oz grabs Sabrielle by the waist, pulling her down into his lap. "Christianin' every room in this place before I even unpack." He grins devilishly, tongue curling behind his teeth.

Lucky him she hadn't gotten her plate yet! A squeak at being yanked into his lap, face flushing as she squirms. "Oh, ya think so, do ya?" But she can't help laughing.

"S'a rule. Tradition even." He answers. "Can't break it. Pretty sure somethin' bad would happen then."

Sabrielle is beet red, hiding her face against the side of his neck. "Ah've never had sex here. Ya sure it's gotta be done, huh?"

Pulling back to peer at her, Oz raises an eyebrow at her. "Ya just told me ya never had sex in yer own bloody apartment, and yer asking if it /has/ to be done?" He repeats, sarcastically. "What ya think?"

"Well, Justin almost never came here, an' it's not like he an' Ah... alot anyhow." Oh yes, blushing furiously now, biting at her lip. "Just been here for months now, seems a little late." Teasing.

"Well, obviously we'll have to christian every room a few times over just ta make sure."

Sabrielle rolls her eyes, biting the side of his neck with a playful growl. "Yer jus' incorrigible, ya know that Ozzie?"

Letting out a growl of his own that could easily be a purr, Oz chuckles. "Ya expect me ta be anythin' else?"

"Ah'd probably think ya were comin' down with some illness, if ya did." Amuses, nuzzling against his neck. A put upon sigh. "Guess this means no more tank top an' boxers ta bed."

"Oh, ya can wear 'em ta bed." Oz replies, cheekily. "Just ain't gonna keep 'em on for long."

She smacks his arm playfully. "Ozzie, Ah'm serious. Ah gotta think about them kinda things."

"Pray tell, why?"

"Ozzie, Ah don't know what happens with my empathy when Ah'm asleep. Sometimes it might be okay, sometimes not." Head on his shoulder, so she can kiss the side of his neck.

"Ain't like nothin's happened before." He points out, running a hand through her hair. "Nothing might not happen. And if it does happen, then it happens. Dealt with it before and everythin' was fine, wasn't it?"

"not yet. Doesn't mean it /won't/. If ya had a nightmare, it very well could. An' yeah, it worked out okay last time, but if we're sleepin', Ozzie? Ya won't know ta move away. Could make it...really bad. " She can't say it, holding back.

Shrugging slightly, Oz sighs heavily. "If it happens, it happens." He repeats, kissing her lightly on the temple. "Doesn't mean we won't get through it."

Sabrielle grits her teeth, taking a deep breath. She hates saying it, but she has to know he understands. " Ozzie, if Ah go under, an' tha source of emotions doesn't stop touchin' me, it can put me in a coma. Like in tha hospital, on an IV thing."

"Well, what so ya want me ta do, love? Not touch ya in my sleep? If yer near me, I'm gonna find a way ta hold ya, especially while sleepin'."

"Ah didn't say that, Ozzie. Jus' sayin' Ah gotta be careful. A sheet over me, somethin'."

Nodding, Oz is silent for a moment. "Ya know, before this particular conversation started, was thinkin' 'bout carryin' ya over to tha couch and havin' my way with ya."

She bites the tip of her tongue. "Guess havin' me for a girlfriend can be kind of a buzz kill, huh?"

"Well, now that I brought it up, 'm thinkin' 'bout it again." He smirks. "Just wonderin' if ya feel up ta it, is all."

Okay, he had her there. "Why wouldn't Ah? Ah mean, it's not like ya gotta worry 'bout all that right now, huh?"

"Ya tell me. Do I?"

Sabrielle blinks. "No, Ah got it turned off right now. Have since ya walked in tha door. Ya never seemed worried before, Ozzie."

"Didn't know I could send ya inta a bloody coma before."

"You're scared."

"Worried. There's a difference."

"Ya never seemed worried before. An' without turnin' it on, Ah'm still pretty sure yer scared. Ya ain't sent me inta a state like that yet, Oz."

"Yet." He repeats, snorting. "'Xactly." Resting his head on her shoulder, he frowns. "And I /ain't/ bloody scared."

"Liar." Softly. "It's only ever happened twice, Ozzie. Both when Ah was a kid still."

Kissing the side of her neck, her cheek, her temple, Oz shrugs lightly. "Just don't ever wanna be the reason yer hurt."

Sabrielle shivers, drag of nails along the back of his neck. "Ozzie, Ah'd rather it was ya touchin' me than anyone else. Because ya /wouldn't/ ever want ta hurt me, an' that matters."

Not choosing a verbal answer, Oz instead cups his face in her hands, kissing her again, long and passionately. Breathing somewhat heavily when he pulls back, he gives his usual devilish grin. "Couch, kitchen counter, shower, or bed?"

There's a whimper, he just loves to kiss her like that when she's not expecting it. Flushed, eyes searching his face. "Kitchen counter is out until Ah do tha dishes." A grin. "Up to ya."

Bottom lip catching between his teeth for a moment, Oz looks as if he's seriously debating this situation. "Hm..." He finally answers, smirking. "Might as well get all three done just ta be thorough." Standing and holding her in his arms as easily as if she were a doll. "Still yer apartment, though, love. Where to first?"

She squeaks at being just picked up and carried about like that. Still new to her, new enough to make her curl up to his chest. "Hmm" As if it were an important matter. "Couch, bed, then shower, huh?"

"Makes since to me." He murmurs, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest like thunder. Moving them both to the couch, Oz lays Sabrielle down first, gently. Carefully crawling on top of her, hands moving to again pin her wrists above her head, his next words possibly ruin his dominance stance. "Love you."

She pretends to squirm, knowing that strong as he was or not, if she wanted free, it would happen. "Love ya too, Ozzie." Whispered, eyes running over his face.

Oz grins. "Good to know." he answers, before leaning down to again press his lips to hers.

Log. April 29, 2008.

Tagari prowls the streets in the evening dimness. Hunting- decisively looking for something. Occasionally she stops, looks to one side or other and whispers part of a murmured conversation; 'not here', 'but we need it', stuff to that affect. The madling's wings flitter and flap; missing their primary feathers, but showing the delicate nibs where the new ones are growing in. Slung from a shoulder, is a battered army-navy surplus map bag.

The redhead is in a long sleeved black t-shirt, a pair of faded jeans, heeled boots, and carrying a messenger bag slung across her body. "We should get more whiskey for tha apartment, probably, while we're out. Think Ah need ta pick up some other things, too. Ya got enough smokes? " these are the things she's thinking about while walking along the street with the Irishman.

"Bloody hell, woman. Didn't realize I'd be gettin' another mum when I moved in with ya." Oz mutters, reaching into his find a pack of cigarettes. Well, she did bring them up. Why not have one? "Wanna make sure my shoes are tied, while we're out here?"

Tagari stops, perks up as she hears Oz's voice, flares her stubby wings and hollars; "Ozzy-Ozzy-Ozzy!" The bird-girl's voice starts off uncertain, but soon builds to frantic repetition.

"Ah didn't realize makin' sure ya had enough cigarettes was bein' a momma figure. " Slanting a glare his way. "Ah jus' don't want ya havin' a Nic fit at 3 am. Anythin' else I should never ask ya about, tryin' ta be nice? Trip over yer own laces, see if Ah care. " A flinch, pausing at hearing a familiar voice calling Oz's name.

"Buy a few cartons a day, love. Considering I smoke six packs a day, I learned to stock up." Oz remarks, uneffected by the glare. She'd get use to the sarcasm thing, he's sure. Blinking at the familiar nickname, the clone raises an eyebrow Tagari's way. "Tryin' ta make sure ya never forget my name, there, Poppet? Or ya just that damn excited ta see me?"

Tagari trembles, stares at Ozzy. "I can't think straight and you're the only one I can see here. I can't see Jimmy and I'm gonna get lost. Are you dead? I gotta find stuff. It's imporant. Important. He's sick and I gotta fix him," she rattles off briskly.

Glancing at Tag, then at Oz. "Ah didn't know ya knew Tag, Ozzie." Surprised? She really needs to stop being so easily surprised. "Tag? Ya won't get lost, sugar." Looking at the Irishman.

"Oh, yeah... We go way back." Oz smirks, smoke curling out from the edges of his lips. "And no, Poppet. I ain't dead. Come back in a few weeks and see if it's changed, though, yeah? With my luck, ya never know... Who's sick?"

Tagari's wings continue to twitch. "My friend. But I can't find stuff for him if I can't focus and he shouldn't be doing stuff himself because he's sick and..." she shrugs, wings drooping. "I don't want to be a bad friend."

Tag always has a soft spot in the empath's heart, even when she's making the redhead want to scream. "Which friend, sugar? What his name? Ah'm sure you're not a bad friend, honey, we'll help ya, if ya tell us what ya need ta get him, an' who he is."

Brow furrowing, Oz frowns thoughtfully. "How's he sick, Poppet?" He asks. "'Member that sister I told ya I had? She's good with helpin' people, s'pecially sick people, and she don't ever want anythin' for it, if yer in a bit of a hurry."

Tagari slumps to sit on the ground. "No doctors, no doctors. Doctors are ever so bad and he'd never forgive me. I tried tea. He liked that. And soup. And he's got a fever and what if I'm just messing everything up and we don't know it? I don't think I'm supposed to tell.'"

Sabrielle looks at Oz. "Take me to him, Tagari. Ah'll take care of him while Ozzie gets his sister, okay? Ah can help take care of your friend until she gets there, okay? Ah can help him if he needs ta be. No doctors, okay?"

"Nah, Poppet, ya got it wrong. She ain't a doctor. She can't stand doctors." Oz shakes his head, kneeling down to Tagari's level, arms resting on his knees. "She's a bit of a... voodoo lady, if ya need a term. All in the magical ways of tha world. she'll help ya friend, and help him right. Trust her more than anybody with people that need help."

Tagari looks to Sabrielle, finally aknowledging her. "Too many people." Turning her head towards Oz, she hisses, "I'll tell you but it's a secret and if you tell anyone else I'll kill you."

"Tag, it's just me. Sabrielle. Ah ain't gonna tell anyone. " Looking over at Ozzie, conused. "Jus' wanna help your friend, honey."

Glancing over at Sabrielle, Oz holds a finger up to his lips. "Just between you and me, kiddo." He answers. "Promise."

Tagari tilts her head this way and that, staring at Oz firmly, before she walks up to him, standing up on her toes to whisper in his ear.

Tagari whispers, "It's my friend Julien. He's coming clean and it makes him sick-sick-sick. Do you understand? I was there once but I fell. I can't have him fail." to you.

Sabrielle watches the exchange curiously. She's already been moody lately, and this isn't helping much. Blue eyes fixed on Oz for the moment.

Eyes narrowing slightly, Oz taps a finger against his lips, thoughtfully. "Ah... Now, if Sister Dearest already knew this bloke, and already knew 'bout his... hobbies, would it still be considered breaking a secret to tell her he needs help?"

Tagari draws back from Oz. "I don't know." she replies. "But I need him better. And I don't have the magic. I can't lie to him." She gives her head a shake.

"Tag, Ozzie's sister could help make him better. "Still watching Oz. "An' no one would call a doctor."

"Whatcha think, Poppet? Wouldn't take us two shakes ta get ta her house." The Irishman asks, holding a hand out to Tagari to take. "If ya can resist poppin' away until then."

Tagari shrugs again. "I'm tired. Tired tired. Can't telewhatsit no more."

"We'll get your friend help, then we'll make sure you can rest, okay, Tag? Maybe get you some soup, for tryin' so hard to help your friend."
You will now be notified when it's your turn to pose.

"That a yes, there, girlie?" Oz asks, smirk flitting over his lips. "Ain't no use in me startin' ta lead tha way if ya ain't gonna follow."

Tagari rocks on her feet, and nods her head. "I can follow. I can follow," she says softly. "If it's safe?" she adds, but there's something about how she says safe that's just a twitch skewed, tonally, doesn't match the rest of her wordage.

"Well, jus' relax, tag, it'll be okay. It'll be safe. Won't let anythin' happen to ya or yer friend, okay?"

"Probably one of tha safest places in New York City." Oz nods. "Knowin' her, I'm surprised anyone else can even get inta tha place, with all tha protectin spells she got everywhere."

Tagari whimpers. "The magic won't hurt me will it?" She looks from Sabrielle to Oz. "I don't have magic," she informs them, wings twitching.

"Ah don't have magic either, honey. It won't hurt you. Ozzie's sister is really nice. She's my friend, too. She wouldn't do anything to hurt you."

"Nah, Poppet. It won't hurt ya." Oz answers. "Big Sis is a lot like me. Probably be able to see her, too."

Tagari looks to Oz. "Lets go then. He needs it. I don't want to hurt him by doing the wrong thing, Ozzy. He's my best friend. You know?"

"She won't hurt him, Tagari. She's not like that, okay? We'll make sure your friend gets the help he needs to get better. Promise." Not something she should promise, but she is.

Nodding, Oz jerks a head in the direction of Beacon. "Follow me, then. Won't take long ta get there at all."

Tagari skips after Oz playfully, wings flittering about. Like a kid going on a walk.

Sabrielle slides her hands in her pockets, head down, walking along with Oz, trying to keep pace with his longer legs.

It's only a few moments before they arrive at an apartment building that should be familiar to all three occupants of the group. Beacon does, after all, tie most of the game's characters together, one way or another. "You'll bring her up?" Oz asks, pushing the up button on the elevator. "Hate ta run off, but I got that gig. Considerin' I'm tha singer, I'm kinda needed."

Tagari glares at Oz as he mentions leaving, but doesn't vanish, though her wings twitch and beat fairly solidly a moment. She doesn't say a thing.
"Yeah, Ah'll take her up to Sunset's sugar. Be careful, ya hear me? Don't need ta have ya missin' any more organs. " Tugging him close for a moment, just to kiss him quick. "See ya later." The elevator doors open, and the empath steps in. "Come on, Tag honey. We'll go on up and get that help, okay?"

Tagari looks to Sabrielle. "It's getting loud here," she says dazedly, but follows Sabrielle into the elevator.

The redhead tilts her head. "Loud how, honey?" Pushing the button for Sunset's floor.

April 20, 2008. Oz and Sabrielle's Apartment.

Well, 'mum' like or not, the empath had gone to the liquor store, after the grocery store, having left Tag in Sunset's capable hands. So the cupboard and fridge were full, and so was the liquor cabinet. Or it should have been, except she was tinkering in the kitchen, an array of bottles and mixers spread over the counter. The stereo is on rather loudly, a shuffled set on her ipod, heavy on Disturbed and Nine Inch nails.

Arms wrapping around the empath's waist from behind, Oz gives a low chuckle. "Ya do realize tha possible risks that playin' 'Closer' anywhere in my hearin' range can cause, yeah?" He asks, chin resting on her shoulder, glancing over the counter. "So let's get in all conversation possible before that song comes on. What tha bloody hell are ya makin' all these drinks for?"

Sabrielle jerks, stiffening for a second before she relaxes against the Irishman somewhat. "Not sure Ah've got it on there, ta be honest." Smirking, a shrug. "Not exactly romantic, that song, eh?" Tipping her head to glance at his face. "Ah'm tryin' new recipes, with tha bonus of gettin' drunk from tha experimentin'. " Why she wants to be drunk, she's not saying. "So what are ya up to, Ozzie?"

"Not a song that's s'pose ta be romantic, last time I checked." Oz smirks. "Think it gets it's point across just fine though, considerin'." Head tilting curiously, the clone raises an eyebrow. "Well, I was thinkin' 'but some stuff, but tha topic of alcohol has changed the subjects in my brain. What have exactly have ya made so far?"

"An' gawd knows ya agree with tha song." Drawled with sarcasm. Finger pointing to various shot glasses. "Magnolia maid, Rusty Nail, Scottish Guard, Irish Buck, and plain' ol' bourbon an' lime. Ya wanna get drunk, make yer own." Bumping back at him with her rear, snickering.

"Ya know, when most people say new recipes, they mean stuff that ain't been done before." Oz reminds her, not denying her first statement. Why bother with lying? "So, I got a different question for ya. Ya know how ta dance?"

"Well Ah ain't measurin' nothin' out, so that's changin' tha recipe some, isn't it?" Being a smart ass. "Was thinkin' Ah'd learn a bunch of new drinks, get a job as a bartender." Snickering, before she's laughing outright. "Ah took dance classes for more than ten years, Ozzie."

"Oh, really?" Spinning her around, and lowering her into a perfect dip, Oz grins. "Care ta see who's better, then?" Yes, he can dance. Don't tell anyone.

"This isn't exactly dancin' music unless ya want me practicin' ta be a stripper, Oz. An' Ah doubt ya dance in a classical ballet style, darlin'." Giggling. "What's gotten inta ya? Ya were all cranky with me before."

Grin widening, Oz pulls her back up to him. "Sure ya want me answerin' that first sentence?" He asks, before shrugging. "Wasn't bein' cranky, love. Ya'd know if I was. Just had a lot on my mind. Get sarcastic when that happens."

"Despite how ya act sometimes, Ah don't think ya'd be a very big fan of me dancin' an' getting mostly naked in a room fulla drunk strangers, Oz. " Stealing a kiss. "Lot on yer mind like what, honey?" Blue eyes watching his face. Careful Oz, she'll know if you're lying!

"Strangers? Nah, not really. I'd be in jail. Now, if we got a stripper pole installed the bedroom... That'd be a different story." But certianly not a home decor accessory to show off to Mom. "And just band stuff, really. Wonderin' if we should tour a bit after this summer when we get back. Try and get a bigger fanbase since the one here in New York is already pretty good."

"What, get jealous of men oglin' yer woman, would ya Ozzie?" Teasing him, yes indeed "We are not puttin' a stripper pole in tha bedroom. Heck, like Ah even know how to pretend to be sexy, much less do it in a roomful of people. " Scoffing, mocking herself. "When ya get..oh ya mean when we get back from jus' wanderin' this summer? We haven't talked about that much since we got back."

"Oglin', touchin', talkin' ta, and just 'bout anythin' else." His tone is joking, but the truth is still there, for most of those listed options. "And yer a ballet dancer. Sure it'll be easy for ya ta learn. ain't like I'mma bein booing ya if ya don't do good." Please? "And well. We never said we weren't. Figured the plans were still on."

"Correct me if Ah'm wrong, but aren't most of tha girls that are dancers like that tan, an' like wearin' skimpy clothin'? Not to mention tha silicon. Though with mah empathy Ah could probably make a killin', ya know. " Kissing his chin. "Ballet is nothin' like shakin' yer ass and slippin' yer clothes off, Ozzie. " Giggling. "No, no, Ah still wanna go, jus' we ain't been talking about plans much lately."

Chuckling, Oz leans down to steal a kiss, taking his time before pulling away. "Didn't think we really needed a plan. Wingin' it seems like it would work just fine. Pack up what we need, get on tha bike... Just ride ta where ever."

Stop the presses. "Ya want me ta go 'round tha country on yer motorcycle? Ozzie, Ah do have a car, ya know. It's down home, but we can fly down there, ya can meet my Momma an' we can drive. Jus' Ah wouldn't ever be able to spell ya, we take tha bike."

"Woman, ya really think I'd be caught alive or dead ridin' bitch on my own damn bike?" Oz sarcastically asks, scarred eyebrow raising. "Ya ain't gonna need ta spell me. Can lift a ton and a half, and got tha stamina ta match it. I'll be fine."

First time she's ever heard that charming term. "Oh, so /Ah/ can ride 'bitch', is that what you're sayin'? Ozzie, Ah've never been on a motorcycle, even. Ya want me ta go cross country on it?" Scared, her? Oh no, never that.

"S'the only term I ever heard for it, love. Don't mean anythin' by it, and ya know that." Oz frowns. "And it's a while until summer. Can always ride 'round tha City until then, see how ya like it. Ya know I wouldn't sugest it if I thought ya'd be in danger with it, Sabs."

"An' what 'bout when it rains? Ah jus', Ah'm tryin' ta be practical. Not any fun, am Ah." Quietly tapering off, resting her forehead against his chest. "Ah don't have super strength or anythin' like that, Ozzie."

Giving a quiet sigh, Oz wraps his arms around her, leaning his cheek against the top of her head. "Don't gotta take tha bike, love. Just ain't much for flyin', is all. Not as fun." He murmurs. "Still got that Mustang. Somehow."

"No, we can take it, Ah can tell how much ya wanna. Jus' a little scary for me to think 'bout, is all. " Biting at her lower lip, snuggling against him. "Whatcha mean somehow? Isn't tha Mustang yours?"

"Nnnnot... really." He answers, hesitantly. "Kinda found it abandoned with the keys still in it back when all the alien crap was goin' on." Yeah. Whoops. "Turns out tha original owner is kinda dead, so I just kept it."

Hands push at his chest, trying to take a step back to tip her head back to look at him. "Ya found it. It's still stealin', Ozzie!"

"Not really like anyone is around to report it stolen, is there?" Oz retorts, before shrugging. "Doesn't matter. Already found someone to fudge the papers sayin' I bought it before the whole alien fiasco. Ain't near the most illegal thing I done when it comes ta fraud. I'm a bleedin' clone and I still exist to tha government, love. Pretty sure that's a lot worse than fakin' buyin' a car."

"It's still stealin'! What if they had family, or a will or somethin', Ozzie? An' then forgin' fake sale papers an' pink slips? Ya expect me ta be okay with that? Bein' a clone is one thing, you're still a person, ya need tha papers, but theft and fraud?"

"Still ain't tha worst I done." Oz reminds her. "And if ya wanna know, yah, I checked all that. Guy didn't have a family, didn't have a will. Bloody hell, love, might not be a pure hearted person, but I ain't heartless."

"What is then? Are ya gonna tell me, or spring it on me later? " Stepping back, hands behind her on the edge of the counter. "Because he doesn't have a family..." A shake of her head. "Christ, Ozzie, Ah could buy ya a car like that, ya wanted one. Jus' what if he hadn't been dead? What then?"

Forget the murder thing already, love?" Oz frowns, leaning back against the wall, arms crossed. "And then tha bank robbin' thing for Boss. Not sure if I told ya 'bout that." After a moment, he shrugs again. "Woulda gave it back." And Sabrielle should easily be able to tell he's telling the truth. "And I wouldn't want ya buin' me somethin' like that. More important things ta spend it on, ain't there?"

"That wasn't murder, ya said so yourself! If he was beatin' on.." Blinking. "For that mad scientist guy..ya robbed a bank? Hell, Ah'm datin' a fuckin' felon. Fanfriggintastic. And like what, Oz? What do Ah ever need, that would be more important than gettin' ya somethin' ya want without it bein' illegal?" Turning around, leaning on the counter. She felt like the world had been jerked out from under her.

"If they knew it was me, yeah. Felon. Video tapes had a bit of a problem with 'em all bein' destroyed and what not. And didn't do it alone. Was helpin' him. If ya forgot, either I do what he says, or I die. Not had ta decide what ta do, yeah?"

And all that liquor, just sitting there. Screw it, she's going to start drinking. "Great. Ah'm datin' an evil henchman. " Muttering, before she's downing one of those shots. A shudder, shot glass thrown in the sink, before she's rubbing her hands over her face. Turning to look at him again, blue eyes overbright. "Nothin' else, ya hear me? Damnit Ozzie, ya know Ah'm crazy about ya, but no more. No more forgin', no more fraud, no more stealin'. We'll... think of somethin', for dealin' with crazy scientist."

Oz nods, not even daring to think of whatever loophole could be in that. For now. Otto Octavius is not a man you say no to, when he tells you to jump. "Alright."

"Ah know ya got no choice with him, Ozzie, but tha rest of it, Ah mean it. Please? No more of tha stuff ya can't get out of."

"Alright, love. Promise." Moving away from the wall, Oz hesitates a moment before slowly wrapping his arms around her again, unsure to if she'd push him away or not. And there's a feeling of an unasked question, along with the knowledge that it's a very stupid question.

She goes still, before she's burying her face against his neck. "Ah mean it, Ozzie. Ya can't change what's been done, an' stuff with what's his butt is complicated, Ah know, but Ah can't have it, sugar. My daddy was a cop fer cryin' out loud. Ah've never so much as stiffed a parkin' meter." Muttering.

"Bloody hell, you have got to be tha first completely innocent person I've ever dated." Oz mutters. "Don't know whether ta feel obscene or make some sorta lewd comment."

"Why does everyone say that? Ah'm not innocent, Ah'm not naive, damnit!" He gets a sharp slap from her hand on his shoulder then. "Ah jus' believe in right an' wrong! Ah was raised like that! "

"Learn ta take a joke, love." Oz answers, the slap not even phasing him. "And tha world ain't easy enough to be put inta right and wrong, black and white. Shades of gray are everywhere."

"Yeah, but stealin' a car ain't a shade of gray, Ozzie! It's hard for me ta think ya'd do that. Not knowin' how ya are with me." A little hiccuping sound now. Here's hoping Oz knows how to handle a crying woman.

In his defense... Finder's keepers. Or something like that. Something that makes sense. "Shhh..." One hand running up and down her back, Oz lifts her face to his, kissing her forehead, her cheek, tongue darting out to lick away a tear. "Don't cry 'bout it love. Ain't gonna willingly be doin' none of it anymore, alright? Promised ya I wouldn't, and I stick ta my promises."

Good thing he didn't say it, or she'd do more than slap at him. Eyes shutting, taking in a deep breath, shutting her emotions off, even if it would be bad later. "Ah jus' don't know how Ah feel about tha fact yer only doin' it 'cause ya promised. Ah feel like askin' ya is wrong, but jus' ignorin' ya doin' it would be worse."

"Not 'xactly a good person, love. Got a sense of morals, and honor, but they're a bit skewed. Ain't tha worst person, no, but I ain't really tha best, either." Oz quietly speaks. "Had ta find out 'bout it one day. Still, ain't like it's a constant thing. Don't do it for a livin'. Fix cars. Try tha whole rock star thing. Don't kill people, or deal drugs. Could be a lot worse."

"But ya are good, ta me. Took care of me when Ah blacked out, when Ah was all tore up over tha things Justin said." Things she still has dreams about, but that's a subject she never brings up. "Jus'..nothin' illegal, all right? Ya don't have ta anymore, except for mister crazyman, an' Ah'll think of somethin', Ah promise."

"Already promised ya I wouldn't, love." Pause. "What 'bout smokin' in public areas?"

Sabrielle gives a snort, pinching him. "Ya know damn well Ah think that's a stupid law."

Giving a small growl, Oz pinches her back. Though it is doubtful that Sabrielle pinched him in the same place she is currently getting pinched. "eye for an eye, love."

She gives a squeak, rising up on her toes, poking him. "Ah didn't pinch ya like that, Ozzie!" Hugging him again.

Grinning down at her, Oz chuckles, arms wrapping around her waist. "How /else/ would I pinch ya, huh?"

Rolling her eyes at him, before she's leaning against him. "Ozzie,..are ya happy? Ah mean not puttin' on a front ta fool me, because ya know Ah won't look past tha surface, but Ah mean.. Ah know this isn't how either of us planned things. Ah jus' wanna make ya happy."

Taking a deep breath, Oz lets it out in a sigh, cheek resting against the top of Sabrielle's head. "As happy as I can be." He answers. "With tha world like it is, don't know if anyone can be truly happy. Course, it could just be my bad luck, but. Ain't really tha type of person ta be really happy all tha time. Got moments that make me realize I am, but it ain't something I constantly think 'bout."

"Ain't many people happy all tha time, Ozzie. Trust me on that one. Tha people we pity are normally tha happiest people there are. But life ain't that simple. Ah jus' don't want ya getting bullheaded an' bein' here with me if it makes ya unhappy, is all." Squeezing him a bit tighter.

"Yer tha person that makes me happy." Oz murmurs, placing a kiss on top of Sabrielle's forehead. "You and everythin' 'bout ya."

"Even bein' all innocent and good two shoes an' all that?" Quietly, just standing there with him. "Drivin' ya nuts because Ah ask ya if ya need anythin' from tha store?"

"That ain't drivin' me nuts, love. Was just bein' sarcastic with that, really." Oz remarks. "And maybe I like the innocent thing. More for me to corrupt."

Another snort, playful shoving at him though she knows it won't move him anywhere. "Well that's good, Ah guess. Since this is who Ah am, huh?"

Smirking, Oz answers her by stealing a kiss. "Already workin'. Gettin' violent already."

"Bah. Ain't bein' violent, tryin' ta put ya in yer place. Gotta be a tough woman." Smirking. Run of fingers along his jawline. "Ah'm gonna go ta bed, Ozzie. Finish up them shots for me?"

"Can I take them off of ya, and then go ta bed with ya? It'll be just like we're two random people at a bar." Oz grins. "'Cept with less chance of catchin' anythin' or an awkward mornin' after."

That makes her giggle, shaking her head. "Ah'm not sure Ah got enough ta do shots off of, do Ah? Ah mean, if it'll make ya happy Ozzie, whatever, ya know me. Ah'll try anythin' once."

Grin widening, Oz picks Sabrielle up, setting her on the counter, careful to not knock over the drinks. "Ya ain't near as flat chested as ya think, love." He rumbles picking up one of the shots at random, and balancing it in between the top of her shirt and skin. Leaning forward to nip at her neck, Oz's tongue darts out to trace a trail down to the glass, pulling it out to stand, head throwing back to drink the shot down. "Just once?"

Sabrielle squeaks at being picked up, only to look at him slightly wide-eyed. "Well, for a gymnast an' a dancer, an' someone my size, Ah'm pretty all right. But Ah'd never make it as an exotic dancer, like Ah said earlier." A grin before she's shivering, biting her lip to hold still and not spill the alcohol. "Twice if Ah like it?" Arching a brow at him.

Giving a smile - the same smile the snake must have given Eve before she ate the apple - Oz gives a low laugh, reaching for another shot glass. "Three if ya love it." Placing the glass in the same place as before, Oz pulls the same move again. The difference this time is there is more biting involved.

A full body shudder, giving him a mock glare. A whimper at the biting, leaning in to steal a kiss before he can set up another one. "Ah meant one night, silly. Ya can do all tha shots ya want." Winking at him.

"Again with me askin' just one." Oz lowly answers, leaning closer to her. "Considerin' we live together, don't really think I could handle havin' just one night. But if ya want me treatin' this like a one night stand... Don't be expectin' ta walk tomorrow, yah?"

Sabrielle goes rather scarlet with that explanation, a moment of stunned silence before she's giggling. "Well Ah more than like spendin' tha night with ya, silly. Crave that. " Feet out to hook behind his legs to pull him in. "Though ya wanna pretend like it's some crazy night at a bar, we can."

"Did I ever tell ya I love when ya turn that color?" He asks, again picking her up to where she's more supported by him than the counter. "'Specially since it makes me wonder 'xactly how widespread that blush gets..."

"Think ya mighta mentioned it, a time or two. " Smirking. "But it still makes me feel better when ya say it. " Wrapping legs around him. arms over his shoulders. "Ya makin' lewd suggestions there, Ozzie?"

Holding her closer, Oz smirks. "Do I ever make any other kind?"

"Ah try not ta make assumptions. Ya might make a clean one someday." Stealing a kiss. "Think we should turn tha stereo down a little?"

"Hell no." Oz growls, kissing her again, turning to bring them both towards the bedroom. "What if 'Closer' comes on?"

"Ah run away an' change the song?" A giggling grin, another kiss, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Ya really jus' wanna be rough an' wild tonight, huh Ozzie?"

"Tha hell ya will." Oz growls again, kissing her as he kicks the door to the bedroom shut. No more talking.

Sat, 12 Apr 2008 18:23:56 GMT

This is just so fucked up.

I love them both. I want them both.

Can't have them both.

Fuck. Sabrielle keeps tellin' me ta go back ta Bridget. Don't even know if she'd take me back, no matter what Sabs keeps sayin'. And I would. I would go beg her ta take me back. But...

Where tha hell does that leave Sabs? She ain't got no one to go back too, causea me. Already hurtin' cause the one guy she loved left her. What tha hell would it do ta her if I shoved her off too?

There is not enough fuckin' whsikey in tha world right now.

Wish there was two of me. Might make this a bit easier.

Log. April 11, 2008. Oz's Apartment.

She wasn't sure why she was there, Ozzie was a big boy he didn't need her help with anything. She'd spent the last day or so home alone in her apartment, drunk and letting herself cry without an audience. She just needed to unwind, really. So maybe that was why she was at the door, big bag of chinese food balanced on her hip as she knocks. She wasn't sure of his preferences, so there was a little bit of lots of things in the bag. "Oz?" Called into the door. The last thing she wanted was to run into Justin in the hallway.

If it were possible for Oz to answer the door, he would. However, at the moment, he seems stuck on the couch, two bottles of whiskey on the table the obvious source why. One bottle is empty, the other barely a fourth full. As such, he answer, slurred, takes a moment to ring out. "S'open!"

She's actually made herself sober up, since she was going to be walking through the Kitchen. A sigh as she opens the door, stepping in. "Oh, Ozzie." Quietly, kicking the door shut behind her, bag of food set on the counter, forgotten even as she goes over to him, blue eyes running over him. "What tha hell happened?"

"Told her." The slurred answer comes, Oz's brow furrowing as if his own words confuse him. Eye red rimmed, possibly from crying as well as alcohol, the Irishman gives a pained breath. "She finally said she loved me and I told her I had ta leave her. Told her I was trash. Don't think she believed me. Wish she did. Wish she /hated/ me. Would make it easier."

There's a sharp breath in, and the empathy she'd shut off for a quiet walk here comes crashing back on. "Oh, Oz.." quietly, shutting her eyes as a hand slid over his hair. "Ah know she hadn't said it.. sugar Ah'm so sorry."

Face contorting, eyes squeezing shut, Oz turns as much as he can, face burying into the couch cushions. A hand blindly reaching out for the yet to be empty bottle of alcohol. "Not yer fault." He answers, words muffled, choked. "All mine, ain't it?"

Sabrielle bends to kiss the top of his head, hand deflecting his from the whiskey. "Not all your fault. Ah was there too, remember? An' ya aren't trash, sugar. We got drunk an' made dumb assumptions an' acted on 'em. That's all." Sitting on the edge of the couch.

Fingers wrapping around the deflecting hand, his skin hotter than normal, Oz's next words are slurred, muttered, inaudible. However, the feeling of desperation is still easily recognizable.

"Easy, Oz. It'll be okay. Ain't that what ya told me?" Skin prickling at the feel of his emotions battering at hers. "Jus' relax an' take it easy, honey."

"Make it stop." His words this time are easily recognizable. "Ya can. Ya have. Everythin'. Just make it all stop. Please, love."

She hesitates. "Ozzie..that's lettin' me in awful far, ya sure ya wanna do that? " She's not sure she wants to know. Kissing his temple hands sliding along his shoulders. "Talk ta me, Ozzie."

Turning to face her, his first response is not a verbal one. Pulling her to him, kissing her, his kisses are desperate, needy, possibly hysterical. "Just make it quit hurtin'." He murmurs, voice raspy. "Please. Please. Just make it quit hurtin'."

She swallows audibly, letting him pull her in. "Oz.." It's dangerous, hell, she knows better. A shudder down her spine, fear and sorrow both, even as she kisses him back. "Gotta calm down, baby. Okay? For me?" Murmuring, hand stroking along his cheek temple to chin. Lashes fluttering before she squeezes her eyes shut tight. Too much to take in and hold off, flooding his system in a harsh rush, calm and comfort to try and take away his pain, even as everything starts pulling her under.

His reaction is obvious, immediate. Ragged breaths evening out, calming, eyes focusing, becoming a bit less glazed. Kisses calming as well, becoming more intent, less sporatic and spastic. "M'sorry. Sorry. So sorry."

"Shh.. Just relax. Ain't nothin' ta be..." A pause, so much to take in, most of it stuff she doesn't want to know. " Nothin' ta be sorry ta me for. Jus' take it easy."

Pulling away, hands raising to run through his hair, Oz shakes his head slightly, slowly. "Not sure if I can relax right now." He mutters. "Couldn't even calm down without help."

She keeps her eyes closed, hands slipping away from him to curl into fists. "Happens when ya drink whiskey an' get worked up. " Murmured, before she's rising, slowly taking a half step away. "Brought some food. Ya should probably eat."

"Food?" He parrots, curling up slightly as his stomach protests. However, he knows she's right. "What kinda food?" Oz slowly uncurls, sitting up to lean back against the couch, eyes closing until the dizziness dissipates. "Ain't no... hippie health crap is it?"

"Thought ya might be hungry. " Shaking her head. "Chinese food. Since when do Ah eat hippie health crap?" Her voice is quiet, almost hushed. "General Tso's, some sweet an' sour pork, mixed veggies..find what ya like."

Drunk, yes, but not drunk enough to be ignorant of the empath's changes. "Love... What's wrong?"

Brushing her hair back out of her face. "Nothin' honey, Ah'm fine. Eat now. Don't make me nag at ya. " Hands sliding into her pockets, moving to lean against the wall.

"May not be all that great at tellin' lies like sis is, pigeon, but I can tell when somethin's wrong." Oz answers, slowly rising from the couch. "Please, love... If I did it, I'm sorry."

"Will ya stop fuckin' apologizin'? What have ya done ta tell me yer sorry for it? " Snapped, head throbbing like there were a dozen bass beats pounding away. "Christ. " Griding her teeth.

"Figure whatever it was that made ya switch moods so quickly." He answers, a bit more of his normal tone entering his voice. "Either that or I'm already rubbin' off on ya in all the wrong bloody ways."

So, it is his fault, basically. However, Oz does not apologize this time, instead moving to the kitchen, passing the food up for now, and retrieving a bottle of water and some aspirin. "Here. This stuff is about tha strongest stuff ya can buy over tha counter." He tells her, before smirking slightly. 'Unless ya want me ta break one of those pain pills in half for ya."

"They won't do me any good. Don't worry 'bout it. Just dish me out some veggies an' rice, will ya?" Fingers working at the back of her neck. "What happened, Ozzie."

Setting the bottles down near her just in case, anyway, Oz moves to the kitchen, steps stumbling and weaving ever so slightly. Unpacking the bag, peeking into each container, Oz divides the containers as he does. Things he likes, things that look like they might be good, and things he can certianly say hell no to. Moving to get eth bowls next, the Irishman prepares SAbrielle's food first, the gentleman that he is. "Ya want anythin' else? think ya might have confused me with Angie when ya were orderin'. Don't think I can finish this all by myself."

"Ya eat jus' as much as she does. Ah'm not real hungry at tha moment. Ah won't be until ya stop fuckin' avoidin' tha question. Ya can tell me, Ozzie, or Ah can finish findin' out myself." Blue eyes watch the irishman from under her hair. "Ah was right, wasn't Ah. She didn't kick ya in tha jewels an' tell ya ta get gone. She woulda stayed." A shudder. "Ah tol' ya what happens when Ah touch, Ozzie. Ah don't know who said what, or how. But that's tha impression Ah get. Now fuckin' tell me."

Avoiding her eyes and the question for a moment longer, Oz distracts himself by fixing his own plate. Sweet and sour chicken, lo mien, chicken fried rice, etc. "Started off... by tellin' her I just got drunk. Cheated. Figured she'd get pissed and yell and - She ended up sayin' it was just a mistake, and no one's perfect, and I learned from it. No use breakin' up over it."

It was like someone punched her, bare knuckles against the heart. "That's tha truth. Wasn't like we meant anythin' ta happen. Why didn't ya let her stay? Ya love her, Ah know ya do. "

"Love ya too. Don't think she'd be tha type ta share." Oz mutters, stirring around his food. "'Sides, I just - can't be with her. Not after - It just ain't right, alright? Can we drop it?"

"Ya can. Ya jus' don't wanna go back ta bein' not physical. " That dark side the empath tries to ignore is rearing up. "Ya love her, Ozzie. An' she's got first claim, not me. Ya should go ta her, tell her yer sorry. It's not like we've been together since we got back. "

"Maybe not in tha technical sense, no." The singer grumbles. "but I consider that little trick ya can do with yer powers ta count as cheatin'."

"Not somethin' anyone can prove though, now is it. Not like if we'd actually been doin' anythin'. She was willin' ta forgive ya, Ozzie. Ya love her, obviously she loves ya. Ah'm not gonna stay, just because Ah will an' she won't."

"Don't make it sound like I'm stayin' with ya just for tha sex." Oz snaps, eyes brighter for a short moment. "Ya know damn well that ain't right! And yeah, I love her, but I love ya too! What tha hell ya want me ta do? Flip a fuckin' coin?"

"Ya don't even fuckin' know me!" Snarled, glaring at him. "So what can it be besides tha sex? Yeah, Ah can get ya off an' make ya feel good anytime ya want, like your own personal fuckin' drug, huh, Ozzie? Ya /love/ her. There's a thing called first claim, Oz. She's got it, Ah don't. Ah'm jus' some girl ya got drunk with." Face flushed, her breathing coming faster. "Ah told ya she'd wanna stay with ya. Now ya know why Ah don't count chicken before they hatch. An' ya called me a pessimist."

Letting out a snarl of his own, Oz stalks over to her, hands slamming down on the wall on either side of her, pinning her in. "Fine then." He growls lowly. "Look me right in tha fuckin' eye and say ya don't wanna be with me. Tell me that and mean it, and I'll go beg her back now."

"Don't you fuckin' corner me, Oz Delaney. Ah won't have it, ya hear me?" growled out, before her hands push at his chest. "Ya know damn well Ah can't tell ya that. But she loves ya, she could make ya happy! Now back the hell up before Ah do somethin' we both regret." Oh no, cornering the empath only freaked her out, hands against his chest shaking.

Stepping back as she requests, Oz grabs her hands as he does, pulling her to him. Fine. If she wants to be a bitch about it. Lips pressing to hers, fiercely, bruisingly, Oz pushes back most of his emotions, sending one surging to the front, into the kiss. Love. Love for this amazingly, infuriatingly stubborn woman, though behind it there are other emotions. Anger, stubbornness, frustration.

"Oz.." It's all she can get out before he's kissing her. This is a bad idea, bad, bad, bad. She was already not in control, head aching like it had been inside a church bell being rung. Nails digging at his hands, a weak shove at him that might budge a week old kitten, but not a stubborn Irishman. Even now, with him trying so hard to be sweet and amazing and everything else, she can't handle it. Knees are the first to give out, before she's simply melting towards the floor, eyelids fluttering.

Arms already wrapped around her, it's next to nothing for Oz to catch her as she falls unconcious, the Irishman unfortunately realizing his mistake too late. Letting out a loud and sharp curse, he carefully picks her up, one hand supporting her back, the other under her knees, cautiously moving for the bedroom as if he's carrying stained glass. Damn it.

She's lost in a swirl of emotions and fragments of thoughts and memories, like what she imagines a bad acid trip would be like. A bad one because it hurts, in a way she has yet to ever figure out how to put words to. Curling against Oz as he carries her, whimpering when he puts her on the bed.

Covering her with one of the sheets on the bed, before he's crawling up beside her, arms wrapping around her to hold her close, making sure to make no skin to skin contact. Thinking of nothing else to do at this point, Oz does one of the few things he's good at. He starts to sing, softly.

The whimpering actually falls silent when he starts singing, the smaller redhead shivering under those sheets, as her body tries to equalize things with her mind and what it's taken in, in that rush. After a handful of minutes or so, she shifts again, snuggling closer, trying to get more of his warmth.

Taking notice of this, holding her closer, Oz continues to sing. Black Mariah songs. Recalibration songs. His own versions of various popular rock songs. Whatever pops into his mind, the playlist sporadic, with not much of a connection between songs.

The empath has had an underlying tension in her body since he lay her on the bed. Who knows how long it takes, she has no real sense of time when she's blacked out. Slowly though, there's a soft sigh, head turning to burrow into the pillow, like she's sleeping. Going as lax as a slumbering infant in his arms.

A small bit of tension easing from him, Oz still does not let down his guard for now. Softly laying a kiss on her hair, after he lets his singing trail off, Oz gives a long suffering sigh, letting his own head rest on one of the pillows. What a week.

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 14:32:05 GMT

Fuck. Fuck.

I didn't - I wish - I need -

Alcohol. Fuck doctor's orders.

M'sorry, Bridget... Fuck. I'm so, so sorry.

Just go ahead and hate me. Hate me. Please.

Log. April 10, 2008. Oz's Apartment.

What a week. Getting stabbed. Sabrielle breaking up with Justin and the argument that somehow happened after that. Bridget is still nowhere to be found. And on top of it all, Oz can't drink to ease the guilt or pain or whatever emotions are easily shoved back with alcohol. Fucking Zachery. Freshly changed bandages cutting across his chest and side, Oz winces slightly as he raises from the couch too fast, reaching for a bottle of pain killers on a nearby table. Well, if he can't drink, he might as well be under the influence of /something./

Oh lord what a couple of weeks this has been. Having seen her apartment all of what, three times this past week. She is more than happy to be back home in her building. And if the one working the desk in the lobby is correct, Oz has been home for awhile. She's got a lot of explaining to do about her disappearance it would seem. After a brief stop in her apartment to change and make a phone call, she is now decked in her old paramedic uniform once more, Hair pulled up and a tired expression to match. Making her way towards the third floor, she approaches Oz's apartment and gives a knock. Shave and a hair cut. She needs a new knocking routine. This is getting old.

Dry swallowing one of the prescribed pills, Oz tenses slightly at the familiar knock, glancing over at the door. And here the week is quite possibly about to get worse, for both of them. Setting the bottle back down on the table, the singer moves towards the door, flipping the few locks he has in place before opening it. "'Bout time ya got back, love."

Not noting the bandages to start off with, Bridget steps into the apartment, arms wrapping around Oz's neck as she hugs him. Not tightly but very much lingering. "God I missed you. They just wouldn't let me go home with all the craziness g-..." The feel of the bandages against her shirt distracts her as she pulls away, Eyes looking to the guaze, she frowns. "What happened to you?"

Tensing even more, hoping it can be passed off as pain from the embrace, it doesn't stop Oz from wrapping his own arms around Bridget before she pulls back. Enjoying what he can, before it ends. Glancing down at the bandages as he steps back, allowing her room to enter, his explanation is short. And perhaps a bit understated. "Got stabbed. Had ta take out my spleen. 'Bout the usual in this neighborhood ain't it?"

"Do they know who did it?" Bridget asks, closing the door for Oz before resting a hand to Oz's back apparently guiding him back to the couch.

"I'll let ya take a guess." Oz mutters, a slight smirk flitting over his features before it fades. "Who ya know that wouldn't mind stabbing me ta make me lose a spleen and nearly die?"

There's a pause in Bridget's guiding as she looks to Oz. "You mean...?" She scowls, "Oh that's it." She starts moving towards the door, " I'm killing him!"

Reaching out to catch her by the wrist, Oz gives a grin that is more of a grimace than anything. "Might wanna be savin' all that murderin' fer me, love. Think I'm tha one that deserves it more."

"Oh but vengeance is supposed to be swift, hon." Bridget replies, her voice a forced sweetness to the tone considering the topic "It won't be hard, really. I just learned how to work a sniper rifle... all I have to do is wait for him to use some scum for a host and... two birds with one stone..."

"Bridget... love..." Grimacing again as he sits, rubbing a hand over his face, Oz lets out a sigh. "Ya really might wanna wait fer that. Need ta tell ya somethin'..."

"After you get right back on that couch, mister." Bridget scolds, "If you're injured you should have said for me to come in instead of making yourself walk over.. I have a key you know!"

"Bloody hell, woman, lost a spleen, not a leg." Oz grumbles, before attempting to get back on the subject he's been dreading for days now. "...Don't think ya should see me anymore." There. Blunt. To the point. Quiet. Now avoiding Bridget's eyes, guilty look flitting over his face, Oz really wishes he had a beer. Or some vodka.

Eyes widen at Oz's response. "...what?" Her frown deepens. "But... " A nervous laugh slowly comes out of her mouth. "You're kidding, right? Getting me back for the keep away games?"

"Wish I was." He mutters, hanging his head. "When I evacuated, I... Ended up in Pennsylvania. Got drunk. Too damn bloody drunk." Oz continues, trying to explain. "I just... fucked up, Bridget. Fucked up bad. And ya don't deserve that, ya don't deserve a bastard like me..."

Bridget shakes her head, "No... I'm not taking that reason. What happened? It can't be that bad, can it? I took you as is even with the thing with Otto... how can it be so bad that you want to throw me away?" She gives a weak smile as she continues rambling, "I.. We can work this out, right? Don't need to overreact... I'm sure..." The smile dies as she looks to Oz's face, "You didn't kill anyone, did you?"

Breathing an unamused laugh, Oz shakes his head. "I wish. Already know how ta deal with that." Hands running through his hair, leaning his forehead against a knee, the singer takes a moment in answering any further. When he does, it's quiet, guilty, full of regret. "Cheated on ya."

Bridget's jaw drops slightly, inner eyebrows tilting up as her eyes widen. "A..." Her glance turns towards the floor, "well...you were honest about it at least, and you said it was a mistake, and no one is perfect... "

Shaking his head again, a bit more frantically this time. "No! Ya can't - /I/ can't. Can't be with ya after that. Ain't right, and it ain't fair ta ya and-" Cutting himself off with a slight growl, Oz rubs both hands over his face, head shaking again. "Fuck. M'sorry, love. fer everythin'."

"What isn't right is that you won't even consider my view of things." Bridget murmurs, looking to Oz, lower lids starting to shimmer slightly, "Yes... you /fucked/ up. But if you think that throwing me away for a one time thing is the way to go. You're the one being stupid." She bites her lip for a moment before putting up another small assuring smile, failing at the assuring part. "Now that it's happened, you'd be more careful not to let it happen again, wouldn't you? You learn from mistakes... you don't run from them."

Standing, Oz turns away from her, acting like he's just going to the kitchen to find something to drink. He does not want to see her cry. He feels enough like a complete and utter bastard already. "Not throwin' ya away. Please don't make it sound like that." He murmurs. "It's /not./ Ya deserve someone better than me, someone that ain't complete /trash./" Fingers gripping the edge of the countertops, he gives a rather unamused chuckle. "And I am trash. Ain't no use in denyin' it... 'Cause I couldn't bloody stop. Wasn't a one time thing."

The smile goes away once more, Water pooling on the ledges of her lower lids, "But...are you still doing it?"

Oz's only response is a slow nod, still not meeting her eyes. Please, don't cry. Get angry. Yell. Hit him. Hell, /stab/ him so he can lose another organ. Just don't /cry./

The nod is sufficient enough. "Ah." Her eyes close, disturbing the water that was lingering. "I guess I was mistaken." She glances to the floor, giving a forced laugh, "Silly, selfish me... And here I thought you were doing this for my sake." She doesn't look to Oz... instead moving back to the door.

Glancing over his shoulder at the blonde, his own eyes oddly damp, Oz's voice is slightly choked. "Bridget..." Think of something to say. /Anything/ to say. "I am sorry 'bout all this. Whether ya believe me or not." Useless. What good is an apology at this point? But better than nothing.

Bridget pauses, opening the door. Glancing over to the now 'ex'. "And I'm sorry too. I guess love is not enough." With that, she steps out of the apartment to head to her own. Guess she'll be calling in sick for work after all...

And Oz will finally be telling those doctor's orders of his to just fuck right off. Reaching into the cabinet, grabbing a random bottle, Oz twists the cap off. Wasting away again in Whiskeyville... And it is his own damn fault.

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 14:31:38 GMT

Well... That went a bit better than I expected it woulda. Probably only cause he was already side tracked with that Jax stuff...

Bloody hell. I'll never get why that little imp is in tha nut house.

Damn it. Wish I knew were Bridget was. Longer she's away, longer this break up...

Fuck. I don't wanna do this. But I gotta. Even if it was just a one time thing, I couldn't stay with her after that. Wouldn't trust myself.

Damn it.

Ah, home. A place that would probably be much better if Oz had the ability to play guitar, drink, or find something to watch on TV. Even still, it's better than the hospital. But what place isn't? Currently, the cloned Irishman is on the couch, attempting a nap. Something that would probably be easier if it wasn't daytime and there wasn't a very noticeable pain snaking over his ribs and stomach.

It would likely be easier to take the nap if it wasn't for the knocking a rather halfhazardly dressed Rich soon inflicts upon the door. Knockity Knock Knock.

His nap attempt would probably go much, much smoother, if there wasn't a redhead drawing up the hallway behind Rich. Nerves already stretched, guilt on high. Justin had yet again not been home, and it would have been silly to go all the way home to call Oz, when she was right there and could check on him. Eyeing the man at Oz's door curiously.

"Fuck me." Apparently, he cannot get a break. Pushing himself up from the couch with a grimace, Oz makes the short trip to the door, unlocking the locks, and swinging it open. "I swear, mate, if yer here for somethin' like ya need to borrow a cup of bloody sugar, then-" Oz starts grumpily, leaning against the doorframe before he catches sight of Sabrielle. Oh, bloody hell. "'Lo, love."

"Ya think I'd bus out here for fuckin' sugar?" Rich replies, the expression on his face pretty much unhappy, pausing as he starts to glance over his shoulder, "Brid-" Eyes settle on Sabrielle. "..."

She feels her jaw clenching, at sight of Oz, aware of the pain in her particular way. "Was in tha neighborhood, figured Ah might as well come up an' check on ya, see how you're doin' an' all. " Fidgeting with the zipper on her hoodie, a small gesture most would miss, but Oz likely wouldn't. Her tells are small, but consistent. "Sunset been out yet?" A glance at Rich. "Hi. Sabrielle."

"To give me tha usual lecture of checkin' out tha hospital early, ya. She's been here." He answers, stepping away from the door to let both of them in. He can already tell that this'll be a fun time. /sarcasm. "And I dunno. Wouldn't be surprised if ya bussed out here for liquor. Sugar can't be too far."

"Nah. More o' lookin' fer a place ta crash fer tha weekend. Lil' brother' in tha hospital an' tha school's out o range." Rich clarifies, giving Sabrielle a nod in greeting. "Ain' seen ya 'round 'fore..." He glances over to Oz arching an eyebrow, "So, how's tha girlfriend?"

There's a smile at mention of Sunset coming to lecture him, eyes darting up to his. "Well then, since she has, Ah don't have ta." Following Rich inside, fingers tightening on that zipper pull. "Should Ah go?" Softly to Oz. "Ah jus' wanted ta see if ya were okay an' all. Don't wanna be interupptin' company or anythin'." Face flushing then going pale at mention of 'girlfriend'.

"Wouldn't know. Haven't been able to get in contact with her since I got back." Yet another thing Sabrielle and Oz seem to have in common. Shaking his head lightly at Sabrielle, and jerking it towards the apartment as a sign that she should come in - This was going to happen eventually, anyway. - Oz nods towards the couch. "And ya know where the couch is if ya need a place ta crash."

With the approval of Rich's request he steps into the apartment. "Thanks." Once near the couch he spins around, resting his rear against the side of the furniture piece. Arms fold as his eyes settle back on Sabrielle and Oz's interaction with each other.

Sabrielle hunches her shoulder, a glance back towards the stairwell. She tried to find Justin, only to fail again. It was getting harder and harder to not let her empathy erupt with the strain of not being able to just deal with everything. She wasn't good with holding things in. "Ya haven't been takin' anythin' for tha pain, either, have ya." Reproving tone, sighing at him. "Be easier ta rest an' get better if ya did, ya know."

Eyes rolling, smirking, Oz reaches out to grab the edge of Sabrielle's sleeve. "Ya gotta quit hangin' out with Sis. Already gettin' that naggin' thing from her." He teases, pulling her inside, shutting the door. "Since he ain't sayin' it, that's Rich. My drummer/best mate/whatever ya wanna call him."

Rich snerks, "Sab, he's Oz. He ain' gonna be takin' pills an' shit when there's a good bottle of alcohol nearby. That's his meds. Thou it can backfire. He gets inta a lot o' stupid shit when alcohol's used. Drivin', fightin'..." He pauses, lifting up a hand to give a wave, frown fading slightly, "'lo 'gain. So, yer Sunset's friend then?"

"Ya do realize when ya hurt like this, Ah can /see/ it." Murmured, completely letting the implication that it bothers or hurt her lay there. She can't lie to save her butt, but she can let him make assumptions off what she says, if it might benefit her goal. Flash of blue eyes to Rich. "Yeah, but he can't /be/ drinkin' right now. Not good after tha surgery an' stuff. " Not straying too far from Oz. " Mhmm. Met Angie first, though."

"I ain't been drinkin'." Oz mutters, frowning. "Ain't that stupid. Been through worse than this though. Can deal with it." As long as he doesn't move his upper body too much, at least. "And Sabs is... a bit more complicated than that." He answers, to Rich's question, glancing over at the redhead.

Rich's frown regains full strength as he looks to Oz and then to Sabrielle. "...Oh fuckin' / hell /. You didn't."

"Ah didn't say ya had. Ah don't think you're stupid, especially not with me an' Sunny droppin' in. " beware the redheaded wrath! Fingers reach out to touch the back of Oz's hand, just a short few seconds, and yes, it's on purpose. Draining that nagging pain out and away. Eyes shutting for a second as she concentrates on dealing with it. Only to look up at Oz, eyes still a little dazed when he's saying she's more complicated than that. Then her gaze snaps to Rich, cringing inwardly. "What?"

Oz's first response is a slight nod, guiltily glancing away from Rich for a moment. "Bit of a drunk accident." He explains, after a moment. "At first."

"At FIRST?!" Rich repeats, eyes narrowing, "If yer doin' it more 'n once ya don't get ta fit under tha accident excuse. And yer still wit' Bridget while doin' this? Ya dumb fuck! Ain' nothin' scarrier than a woman who finds she's bein' cheated on repeatedly when she's not doin' it herself!"

You know, she should be offended, would totally be in her right to be offended at Oz's classification. Drunk, yes. Accident? Man knew what he was doing, better than she did! Fingers drift away from him, hand curling into a loose fist in order to not touch anymore. Face going hot, even as guilt surges. She's really not cut out for this sort of stuff. A flinch and wince as Rich erupts, keeping her quiet for the moment.

"Only reason I'm still with her is 'cause I can't find her ta break it off!" Oz snaps, scowling, stepping in front of Sabrielle like he can block her from the drummer's emotions . "Not like I got any way ta reach her, where ever tha hell she is!"

"If yer switchin' girls, then do it right!" Rich snaps back, "If ya go through tha trouble o' startin' tha relationship ya should have tha fuckin' respect of tha other ta break tha relationship off 'fore ya go screwin' tha next piece!" He glances over to Sabrielle, managing a small smile for her benfit, "no offense." The expression contorts once more as he looks back to Oz, "Put it on pause or somethin'. Or do ya hate her that much ta be tryin' ta give her issues?"

"Ozzie." Softly. Sure, he could keep her from seeing Rich's emotions exploding, but he was getting angry himself, and he was a whole lot closer to the already stressed out empath, in more than just physical distance. "It's all right." Taking a half step back from Oz, eyes on Rich. " Too bad, offense already taken. Gawd, ya think it's somethin' he's jus' all right with? He's not, ya know. He's not feelin' like everythin' is fine an' dandy with things like this." Snapping. "An' when it happened, we were drinkin', and thought tha damned world was endin'! Ain't nothin' happened since we got back ta tha city, since yer so hot on tha subject."

Growling slightly and rubbing a hand over his face, Oz steps away from them both. "What tha lady said. Ya actin' like I don't feel guilty 'bout it! If that was the case, wouldn't be lookin' ta break it off with Bridget tha next time I saw her, would I?"

Rich's frown fades slightly as he points towards Oz, "Well, That ain't tha way he made it sound." He glances back to Oz, "An' considerin' tha track record durin' tha Mariah days, can ya blame me fer thinkin' that?"

Eyes are drawn back to Oz, she can't help it. Thinking back to the hospital, and sleepy Oz. A shiver, arms up to cross over and hug herself, as if she's cold. "Yeah well, he ain't always tha best with words, now is he? Ah'm tellin' ya how it was. An' he knows Ah wouldn't be stickin' 'round if he wasn't wantin' ta break up with Bridget. We both mighta screwed up, but it doesn't mean tha other people we were involved with should get treated bad."

Looking over at Rich once he says the Mariah thing, Oz shakes his head, sending a glance Sabrielle's way, silently trying to tell him that she doesn't know about the whole 80's rock star thing. For once in your life, Rich, think before you speak.

Rich glances over to Sabrielle, "Other... People? Did ya at least break it off wit' yer guy or is he missin' too?" Sorry Oz.

She just arches a brow. "Lots of people that Ozzie an' Ah both know. Things are complicated." A grind of teeth briefly. "Ah've been tryin'. No answer at his house or his phone. Don't know where he is."

Oi. Brow furrowing, Oz pinches the brow of his nose, really wishing he had a drink right now. He doubts a cigarette will help him deal with this conversation. "Seems to be a common thing, really."

"Apparently." Rich mutters. He shakes his head. "Fuckin' hate thin's like this." He glances over to Oz's kichen area, "Fridge stocked or did ya drink it all when ya heard bout tha fuckin' aliens?"

"Ain't exactly mah favorite chapter in tha story of mah life." Muttered, a glance at Oz. Hint of a laugh, hand covering her mouth, thinking about the whiskey, and that's how she got in this mess to begin with. She should only get drunk with Julien. He doesn't have any interest other than drinking.

"Ya ain't drinkin' in front of me when I can't." Oz snorts. "'Sides, brought all the good stuff with me when I left. Ain't much of anythin' left."

"Then close yer eyes," Rich replies moving to the kitchen, "'Cause after listenin' ta this. I'm gonna need some alcohol in me ta deal with ya."

"Why?" Trust the empath to ask. "It's not your mess, it's Ozzie's. Ah don't see why ya need ta get drunk ta deal with his life. Even if ya are his best friend." A shrug, looking at Oz, fiddling with her zipper again. "Not that Ah don't understand tha way a good slug of alcohol makes everythin' seem easier. Ah do."

"Irish. Pretty sure tha only thing he's doin' is findin' an excuse ta drink." Oz mutters, arms crossing lightly as he leans against the wall. Glancing over at Sabrielle, and the zipper, Oz quirks an eyebrow. "Know it's a bit of a stupid question, but what's botherin' ya?"

"Ah'm Irish, hell. Don't see me drinkin', an' if Ah may say so, got more right that ya do about now, boyo." To Rich, before looking at Oz. One shoulder shrugging, eyes lowering to the floor. "Lots of stuff. Can't find Justin, called tha hospitals lookin' for him even, jus'.. everythin's all messed up. " No, she won't cry, she won't. She hasn't yet, so why start now, in front of some stranger? Just ignore her hiding behind her hair please. "Jus' tired."

Anger draining, Oz steps behind Sabrielle, arms wrapping around her shoulders, and waist. "Prob'ly just hasn't made it back yet, love." He murmurs quietly, comfortingly. "He'll show up." This, for him, is new. Can't say he's ever comforted the woman he's seeing about another guy before. "Prob'ly 'round the same time Bridget does, with our luck."

"Ya have no clue what my day was like," Rich mutters, opening the fridge to withdrawl a beer, "Leas' yer problem has a visible end ta it." He moves over to where the bottle opener is kept, "An what tha fuck is wit' all tha people I'm meetin' up wit' today an hospitals?"

Sabrielle swallows hard, shaking her head. Oz isn't making it easy for her not to cry. A shiver running through her. "Ah don' think he ever left, Ozzie. It's why Ah'm so scared. " Quietly admitted, before blue eyes, brighter for the emotion and wetness in them, latch onto Rich with a less than friendly glance. "Does it?" Voice odd, for the empath, flat in tone, almost as if it's a challenge. "Well ya got any other bright ideas where ta go lookin' for someone gone missin'?"

The morgue would be one of them, but hopefully Rich has the decency to /not/ say that. If so, he's going to be finding a new couch to sleep on, in a different apartment. Not moving away from the empath, chin resting on the top of her head, Oz sighs. "Nica ta know you two are makin' friendly like." He grumbles. "Well, since ya brought it up, what's been wrong with /your/ day so far, Little Drummer Boy?"

"Well tha mental hospital worked fer me when lookin' fer my lil' brother." Rich mutters, popping the lid off of the bottle. "How 'bout that? Two questions wit' one answer."

She'd /know/ if Justin was dead, she truly believed that. She might not have the faintest idea where he was, or if her empathy could even possibly work that way, but if he was dead, she'd know. She has to believe that. He's just busy, or he's somewhere he can't make calls, or on a bounty hunt, something. "Justin wouldn't be there." He's not prone to being nuts, either. Leaning into Oz, another of those shivers sliding through her, as if she's cold and he's warm. Another of those things she can't explain. "Is he all right?"

Eyes narrowing slightly, Oz's head tilts. "Jax?" He asks. "Bloody hell. What's he doin' in the bloody nut house? Is bein' too cheerful considered mentaller now?"

"Is anyone who gets put in one all right?" Rich replies, lifting up the bottle to take a sip before continuing, "Yeah. Jax. He seemed ok las' week but' I guess he ain't."

Sabrielle lays one hand over one of Oz's, fingers pressing between his. Unaware, really, of the fact she's touching him to try and find comfort, when it's usually the last thing she'd do. Eyes on Rich still. "Meant is he alive, he okay, he knows where he is, who he is, what day it is. Ah hate ta point out tha obvious, boys, but havin' aliens invade has probably upped tha number of people bein' put in such places by a lot. Hell, they put /me/ in a psych ward in tha hospital when Ah was a kid, an' Ah sure as hell wasn't crazy."

Hand turning over, almost on instinct, to lace his fingers through hers, Oz frowns in response to Rich's news. "What's he in there for?" He asks after a moment. "Piss somebody off by smilin' too much?"

"The smilin' wasn' real smilin'." Rich moves over to one of the chairs, sitting down in one, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his upper legs, beer dangling by the neck, "Ya know. Jax is... a bit o' a master o' illusion. Didn' even see it comin'. I thought he was gone ta see his fiance since they sometimes live tagether."

What she really wants to do is turn around and just hide herself against his chest. But his surgery makes that a bad idea, so she settles for this. At least this is better than nothing, and he controls what he does and how much it might hurt. Watching Rich, blue eyes darkening a shade or two. "Oh.." barely breathed. She knows what it is to smile, with nothing inside to make it true, and to make people /believe/ it. Eyes shut, biting at her bottom lip. Dear god. "They think he's gonna be okay?"

Frown deepening, Oz's heart seems to skip a beat. He only met the boy once or twice, but it was enough to make an impression. "Yeah... He did this thing with a Care Bear over at the parlor in Queens..." Oz mutters. "How bad is it?"

Don't know. Hope so. But it's one o' those time will tell thin's..." Rich replies, bottle swaying back and forth, "Got 'im ta say he won't hurt himself 'gain but wit' tha way he's been lyin' ta us 'fore... I don't know how long he can keep that promise."

Her head moves out from under Oz's chin, looking up at him. A tremble through her, before she looks at Rich. "Listen, Ah know we ain't got off real well, but Ah..if ya need someone ta talk ta him. Ah could tell if he's lyin', or if he's hidin' bein' depressed, or any of that, if ya want."

Arms tightening around her, squeezing her hand in comfort, Oz shakes his head. "Pretty sure that's where Sunny's been goin'... She mentioned somethin' 'bout visitin' someone in tha hospital earlier. Musta been Jax, since she knows him better than I do. If there's anyone other than ya that can tell if he is or not, it's her."

"Thanks but... this ain' somethin' ya can jus' check once, Sabs. If he's feelin' good now, that ain't gonna mean he's gonna be feelin' good later. An' everyone gets depressed. It's just ta what level he went ta. Then 'gain he's already died, come back ta life, got disowned by his whole fuckin' town, then sees a ship full o' dead alien babies in tha matter o' a couple months. That's gotta fuck with ya." He glances over to Oz, "On a related note, bein' that I was over at tha mentaller place I can tell ya that yer ex was NOT there so ya don't have ta stop by there ta look fer her."

Her hand tightens on Oz's in response, watching Rich. "Didn't suggest jus' once. It..it's what Ah do. " Lashes lowered, trying to keep everyone else's feelings out. "Ah know what it is ta see things ya should never see, an' ta make tha world think everythin' is jus' fine with ya, when inside all ya wanna do is hope it ends." Her voice is quiet, steady, but the tone is almost metallic, cold. It's not the tone Sabrielle had even two minutes ago. "There's a reason Ah'm goin' ta become a head shrink, huh?"

"Wouldn't stop ta find her there anyway. She may be crazy, but she ain't insane." Oz answers, before looking down at Sabrielle. Head ducking to place a kiss on her temple, his next question is soft. "Not anymore, huh?"

"Yeah. Sure." Rich murmurs, "Willin' ta try anythin'. He's tha closest ta a lil' brother I got." The bottle finally leave's it's limbo as it joins Rich in a lingering kiss. Sweet alcohol take it away!

It's not something she cops to easily, or often. Just one of the darker sides to being what she is, and how she is. Before she /knew/, or had any sort of control at all, it was hard to think, or even try to stop what would happen. "Not anytime too recent, if that's what you're askin'. " In reply. It's been what, a good month or so since she had to pretend with any real effort?

Not the best answer, but good enough. Pressing another kiss to her temple - Probably the closest he can get to actually kissing her with Rich here. - the said drummer gets a somewhat envious look once the cloned musician straightens. "Well, m'sure there's gotta be some doctor there that can help him when we can't, or somethin'. Kid'll probably be back to his obnoxiously cheerful self in no time."

Not talking. Letting alky-hol do it's work.

Not the best answer someone might want to hear, but it's the truth. She's not going to lie about it, because she hates lying. Which Rich might find funny, but is it lying when you want to tell the truth, and just can't find the person you have to tell? Slipping away from Oz to go sit on the couch, watching Rich with the beer bottle.

Well, if everyone else is sitting down... Flopping down into the free spot on the couch, a leg thrown over the arm, Oz again rubs a hand over his face, sighing. "Well, ain't this just a great bloody day?"

"Fuckin' hilarious," Rich mutters, turning back to the bottle. Read the emotions. It is NOT fucking hilarious.

Sabrielle puts a hand on Oz's shoulder, rubbing lightly, stealing the pain again, to replace it more comfortable feelings. A glance at Rich, fingers twitching. She doesn't know him well enough to dare. "Ah love you boys an' tha Sarcasm." And she gets the distinct impression Rich wants to be left alone. "Ozzie, can Ah talk ta ya in private a minute?"

Glancing over at the redhead, Oz nods. "Yah. Kitchen ain't 'xactly private, so if ya feel comfortable talkin' in tha bedroom?" He asks, pushing himself up from the couch again. Hiding a smirk, holding back a teasing remark about actually wanting to 'talk', what with Rich being there and all, Oz motions a hand towards the aforementioned room. "After you."

Drinky.

She glances at Rich, wondering for the first time in a while if she's reading someone wrong. And she /knows/ what Oz wants to say, she's not stupid. "Yeah, keep dreamin', Irishman. Not in tha shape you're in." Muttered, before she's smiling at Rich. "be right back."

Closing the bedroom door behind them, Oz's hand flits over the lock for a moment, before pulling away. Don't want to give the wrong message, or anything. "Before you say anythin', there's just one thing I wanna do." He speaks up, cupping Sabrielle's face in his hands. Lips meeting hers, the kiss is long and tender before he pulls away. "Okay. Now. What did ya want to talk about?"

"Huh?" It's about all she gets out, before he's kissing her, hands sliding up over the back of his. A faint smile when he lets go, flushing. "Nothin' really. Ah jus' got tha feelin' from Rich he wanted ta be alone for a lil' bit, was all. Ah thought he needed it. He can think what he wants, or whatever. An' ya should be layin' down an' restin' anyhow."

Smirking, Oz complies, hands resting under his head. "Sure. 'Talk.' Seemin' more and more lika ya just wanted ta get me in here ta get me in bed."

Sabrielle steps out of her shoes, and the musician gets a glare. "Don't know why yer smirkin'. Not like Ah'm gonna let ya do anythin' that interestin' until you're better, mister." But she's crawling up on the bed. Just wants to be close.

"Well, if yer worried 'bout me overexertin' myself, /you/ could always be on top." Oz dryly remarks, one arm wrapping around Sabrielle's shoulders. "Then ya just gotta watch where ya put yer hands. Problem solved."

Oh lord, watch the empath go a rather sudden shade of scarlet. "Ozzie.." Sighing. "Ya know Ah won't. Ya can't be that eager, anyhow, all considered. " Face nuzzling into his shoulder, letting herself relax.

Grinning at her blush, Oz snorts in amusement. "Love, ya forgettin' somethin'. This is me. If I can be 'eager' durin' an alien invasion, think I can be 'eager' with a spleen missing as well."

"A what missin'? Oh, yer spleen. Yer jus' lucky ya don't need it, ya smartass." A kiss to his shoulder. "An' Ah don't think ya really want ta with Rich in tha next room all but radiatin' his disappointment and discomfort with tha whole thin'."

Giving an over exxagerated sigh, Oz rolls his eyes, turning on his uninjured side to hold Sabrielle closer to him. "Fine. We'll just lay here. With clothes on. Talkin'." He answers, sounding like a two year old whose dessert just got taken away. "That better?"

Sabrielle laughs, snuggling into him contendly, kisses to his shoulder and neck. "Ya gonna tell me ya really wanna maybe injure yourself worse, an' have Rich hear us an' all that?"

"Yes." Oz answers simply. "Got a lock on tha door for a reason. 'Sides, we already figured out tha whole best way ta do it and not have me get hurt anymore. Now we just gotta work on tha quiet thing. And, we shared an apartment before. Pretty sure it ain't gonna be nothin' new to him."

She can't stop blushing, even as she gives him a glare from under lashes. "Might not be new ta him, but it's pretty obvious he doesn't approve. At least not until we end it with Justin an' Bridget. An' it might not be anythin' new ta tha two of ya, but did it occur ta ya Ah'm not used ta an audience in tha next room?" He gets a kiss to soften that. "Ah mean, ya wanna feel good that bad, sugar, Ah can do that for ya."

Chuckling, Oz shakes his head, kissing her again before explaining. "Nah. Ain't really fair... I mean, don't like leavin' my women unsatisfied, ya know?"

Sabrielle can't get much more red, seriously. "It's totally fair. Ah mean, if Ah wanted ta go down on ya, is that any different?" Stealing more kisses. "An' if it was tha other way around, ya would. Don't ya get it, Ozzie? Ah'd get a buzz from it, silly."

Oz grins, though it's filled with things a bit darker and less innocent than plain amusement. "If ya were gonna do that, it'd only be right for me to return tha favor." He lowly counters. "And I don't really count a 'buzz' as fair."

She's hiding her face against his shoulder now, he'd be able to feel the heat of her blush radiating against his own skin. "Ah like it, Ozzie. It's even better for me, don't ya see? It's your pleasure an' mine, both. "

Letting out a laugh, Oz raises a hand. finger catching under her chin to lift her face up, he chuckles again at the tone of her skin. "Still don't get why ya wanna talk 'bout this stuff when it makes ya go that color, love." He murmurs, head ducking down to kiss her again, long and passionate. "But if it would make you feel better to... 'distract' me..."

"How am Ah ever gonna be able ta talk about it an' /not/ blush, if Ah don't ever talk about it?" Countered. "Besides, aren't we supposed ta talk about this stuff?" Kissing him back, hand skimming along his shoulder. "Ah might." Teasin him, before she's stealing another kiss. Palm pressed against his chest, near where the heart beats, before she's pushing that heat into him. Slowly, to tease.

If she can, she'd feel his heartbeat speed up under her hand, Oz again wrapping his arms around her to pull her close, giving her a dizzying kiss. "If this buzz of yers that you get from this ain't up to my level of satisfaction, I'm making sure the playin' field is even." He growls.

"Ozzie, think about how good ya feel, an' about double it. Don't ya think that's good enough?" Teasing. "If ya were doin' somethin' ta make me feel good, ya'd enjoy that, right? Same goes for me, but Ah get ta feel how good ya feel, too. " Kissing him harder, slowly increasing how hard and fast she was pushing that heat into him.

Breathing starting to get heavy, Oz lets his head lean back against on of the pillows on the bed, eyes slipping closed. "Bloody hell. You are the perfect woman."

Sabrielle laughs. "Not tall enough for that, Ozzie. Ya know full well Ah'm not perfect." Kissing down the side of his neck, nails pressing against his skin, increasing the pressure, her hand getting warmer, concentrating harder on the effort.

Letting out a soft moan then, Oz's jaw clenches slightly before he shakes his head. "Perfect." He repeats, voice slightly strained by this point.

There's a wicked smile, giving one last hard push, her hand flattening against his skin as she nuzzles his ear. "If ya wanna think so, sugar." Whispered, relaxing and snuggling her head to his shoulder again.

Bloody hell. Think our individual fuck ups and problems might actually even each other out.

Whoda thunk it.

You'd think after a few days close proximity to the Irishman, she'd be used to waking up with someone right there. It's not the case, though. The redhead wakes up with a jerk, rolling to the side of the bed to get away before she's awake enough to realize it's Oz. No one to be afraid of, no reason to scream or run. A deep breath, hands through her hair. Shrugging off her hoodie, having fallen asleep in her clothes. That was good though. No accidents happened that way.

Frowning in his sleep, instictively reaching out for the disappeared source of warmth and comfort, Oz makes a petulant noise - One he would more likely than not, /never/ make while awake. - when his hand falls short. Well, /fine/ then. He'll just curl up and be alone.

Sabrielle glances over her shoulder at the noise, faint stirring of her mouth into almost a smile. Poor Oz. He had no idea how afraid she was when she woke up surrounded by him, or even next to him. It wasn't something she could admit to, after all. She had no desire to sleep on the couch like she had more often than not at Justin's. Hands rubbing together, pushing away the vague feelings of bad dreams, before she scoots back over. Kissing his forehead, hand stroking over his hair.

Stirring again, coming farther into the waking world this time at the contact, Oz tilts his head to press into the hand, like a puppy wanting to be petted more, lips perhaps seeking out a kiss from the lips felt on his forehead, though a name falls from them before he can, the words as barely awake as their owner. "Sabrielle..." Even mostly asleep, barely in the world of the waking, he knows her.

Thumb running along his cheekbone. "Go back ta sleep, sugah, it's jus' me." Laying close again, nothing to be afraid of when she's awake, a quick kiss, hand sliding down to caress over his shoulder and his arm. Watching his face, the relaxed look to his features.

Lips twitching into something of a smile, Oz's eyes slide open, the dark brown darkened nearly to black from sleep. "Why?" He mutters, arm wrapping around her waist, face burying into the crook of her neck. "So much more interstin' bein' awake with you."

A lazy smile of her own, cheek pressing to his hair. "Because ya need rest, darlin', do Ah need ta give ya more reasons than that? Don't want me naggin' ya, then ya shouldn't give me a reason ta. " kissing his ear, arm wrapping around his shoulder.

"Think restin' can count as layin' in bed." Oz counters, in a mumble. "There. Mission accomplished." Holding her closer, sleep taking most of the edge off the slight pain it causes, the singer nuzzles against her neck. "Got any idea for how long this'll take ta heal?"

"Sleepin' is best. " muttering against his hair, fingers stroking along his skin. "Well, if ya'd stayed in tha hospital, ya coulda asked tha doctors." Making a point, even before she picks up her head to kiss his temple. "No idea, Ozzie. Ah'm no doctor."

Frowning against her skin, he gives a long suffering sigh. "Miss bein' with you." He softly speaks. "And ya said ya wouldn't 'til I was healed. Dunno if I can wait that bloody long."

That gives her pause, hand lifting to stroke over his hair. "Ozzie, it's a scientific fact that a little abstinence won't kill ya. Trust me. Ah was celibate for years, remember?" A flicker of a smile. "Ah shouldn't until it's over, anyhow. Mine an' yours."

Oz gives a small snort. "Haven't been celibate since I was /fifteen./" He grumbles, lying, knowing that his time with Bridget could be considered that. (Along with the first eight years or so in Angelika's body.) "Or close to it, at least." As for the last point, he has no answer.

"Yeah, well Ah /was/ celibate from about fifteen. Ah didn't have a choice. So Ah know it won't kill ya. Besides, ya didn't seem ta be so pissy about it last night. Was that so bad ya jus' can't stand that for a few days instead?" Teasing him.

Smiling now, Oz chuckles, placing a kiss against her pulse point, fingers snaking under her shirt to trace random designs along her back. "Not any more, ya ain't." He growls slightly. "Never leave my girl unsatisfied and wantin'." Yawning slightly, his next words are a bit sleepier than the last. "And substitutes are fine for a while, love. But then ya just want the original even more."

She laughs. "Oh yeah? An' what ya gonna do if Ah decide Ah need ta practice abstinence a while, Ozzie? Hmm?" A shiver up her spine from his fingers, biting the tip of her tongue. "Oh yeah? Gonna tell me that not havin' ta do all tha work makes ya jus' want ta?"

Chuckling agian, this one lower, huskier. "Oh, I dunno..." He murmurs, head shifting to let his lips rest near her ear, brushing against it's edge. "If ya wanna consider' it work... I think all the noises you make, the way you move around, the way you look when I'm 'workin'... Perfect payoff."

And there it went, heat burning through her skin as she blushed that lovely shade of crimson. Hand swatting at his shoulders. "Ozzie!" Hissed in a whisper as if she's truly mortified. She's not, only a little bit. "Ah was kinda bein' serious. Mah empathy, this is all still new ta me. If somethin' happens..."

Grinning at her, amused at the blush, and feeling a sort of pride at the fact that he can so easily make her do that, it fades as she traisl off, Oz sobering. A hand reaching up to cup the side of her face, thumb running over her cheek, fingers threading through her hair. "If somethin' happens, we'll deal with it when it does."

"Ozzie.." just his name whispered. Eyes moving over his face, as if she's not sure what to say. Kissing him instead of saying anything, a sweet, innocent sort of kiss. Just her lips against his, before she breaks it off, pressing her forehead to his instead. "Ah'm jus' scared of when it will." It wasn't a question of 'if' to her.

"When it does..." He starts, almost repeating her, trusting her. She, after all, knows her powers better than he does. "what happens?"

"Ya won't be able ta touch me. An' Ah know it'll be hard for ya. Because you're gonna know Ah'm hurt, an ya can't do anythin' about it. It's tha hardest thin' in tha world. Ah don't know how bad it'll be, or anythin'. " A shrug.

"But it'll stop eventually?" He asks, softly, arms tightening around her, hand flattenting against the skin of her back, free hand running up her arm. As if he's preparing himself for this to happen, like it will any second, storing up as much touch as he can for a dry spell. "How do I know?"

"Ah've always gotten better, yeah." A frown between her brows. "Well, if it's not that bad, sometime Ah can stop it before it gets too bad, you know? Stop touchin' an' get mahself some distance. Times like that, Ah'll be able ta tell ya. But if Ah suddenly seem ta jus'... go silent an' pass out, chances are good that ya shouldn't touch me. An' definitely not touch me skin on skin. If Ah'm covered up in somethin', it'd be okay if ya had ta move me, but nothin' direct."

"If ya pass out, it'll be instinct." Oz murmurs. "To touch ya. Make sure yer okay." Pausing, moving his head to again rest it in the crook of her neck. "I'll try ta remember. Find a blanket or somethin' ta wrap ya in... Hold ya, then. Won't feel safe if I'm not. Can't just lay you on the couch or bed and just watch ya nd wait for ya to wake up."

"Ozzie, Ah know. Ah know it's tha hardest thin'. But ya have..if ya wanna be with me, this is part of me. Ah don't always like it, an' sometimes Ah hate it till Ah wanna scream, but it is what it is. Put your head against mah chest, where mah shirt'll be, instead of takin' mah pulse. Gloves, even, jus' ta keep ya from actually touchin' mah skin. After there's somethin' between us,..Ah don't think ya holdin' me would hurt nothin'. Might even help, Ah dunno. "

Placing another kiss against her neck, and then another and another, Oz shakes his head. "Love, I don't care if ya turn into Godzilla on Tuesdays with full moons." He replies, giving a small smile. "Ya ain't gettin' rid of me that easily."

Sabrielle is silent a moment. "Ah care. Ah don't always like this part of who Ah am. But Ah don't want ya seein' me that way, ya know? It scares me, an' Ah don't ever want ya thinkin' Ah'm a cowards."

Oz shakes his head lightly. "Never, love." He murmurs, before sighing, arms again tightening around her, though not loosening, holding her to him in a sort of hug. "Now that we got yer deep dark secret outta tha way, guess I should tell mine, huh?"

"Don't know how that was mah deep dark secret, when ya kinda knew already." trying to make light of it, to smile. Letting him tug her closer, eyes closing. He's finally figured out why it is she's always savoring even the littlest gestures. "If ya wanna tell me sugar. Or think ya should. "
"If ya ever see me... go blank. Black eyes, blank face, whatever... Run. Alright? Don't stick around. Just get tha hell outta Dodge." He starts after a long pause. "Sis, she calls 'em blackouts. Guess it's 'bout a good 'nough term as any. Don't remember anythin' when they happen. Don't remember anythin' I /do/... Last time it happened, destroyed Sunny's apartment. Ripped tha cabinets down. Put holes in tha walls. Destoyed all tha furniture. Threw the TV out tha window. Fucked up tha shower. Only rooms I didn't touch where tha main bedroom and kitchen. Everything else... Wasn't much left. Didn't remember doin' any of it. Did know I was doin' it when it happened." Pausing, licking dry lips. "Just get away from me if I ever blackout again, all right? If I hurt ya, I don't think... Don't think I could /live/ with it."

She frowns, at first wondering.."Ya remember anythin' right before? Anythin' that might set it off? An' Ozzie..Ah know ya'd want me ta run, Ah know. Jus' like Ah wouldn't want ya ta touch me. But ya know Ah won't run right off. Ah mean, Ah might be able ta snap ya out of it. Ya ever think of that? " Fingers stroking through his hair, watcing his eyes.

After a long moment, he nods. "Anger. Tha first time, it was anger." He answers, voice only half there, lost in memories. He can almost feel the rain - Cold. It always was, in Ireland. - the stinging pain in his eyebrow, blood dripping down into his eye... Before it's a blank, a blur, and he's holding a shovel, and his father is on the ground and whatever is missing from his father's head, it's on the shovel blade. "And then after that... Anger again. Sadness. Rejection." She was leaving him, leaving him, choosing that /thing/ over him, running away with him, /screwing him over/... "Think there was a time after that, but not sure if anythin' actually happened. Nothing was destroyed when I woke up. Sunset didn't tell me anythin'." 'I'm engaged.' Engaged to him. Him. /It./ He lost to /a thing./ He was screwed over and sold and /bought/ for /her/ and it doesn't /matter/ because he lost to /it./

"Ozzie..." Hand stroking along his face, a shiver. "Anger Ah can stop. Runnin' away from ya..would ya ever run from me, jus' because Ah could hurt ya?" Arching a brow at him. kissing between his eyebrows. "Ah can make ya not be angry, at least long enough for ya ta be Ozzie an' not blacked out. Ah can maybe keep ya /here/. " Blue eyes serious, intent on what she's saying.

Shivering slightly, Oz buries his face into the crook between her shoulder and neck. "Just don't want ya ta see me like that... It ain't me. It's... A monster. Ain't me."

Holding him as tight as she dares, not wanting to hurt him more. "Don't be scared, Ozzie. Ah'm not gonna run from ya. It'll be all right, sugah. Ah'll know it's not you in charge, jus' like it's not me, when mah empathy takes over. Sometimes after Ah blackout Ah say horrible thin's in mah sleep."

"Things like what?" He asks softly, hand on her back pressing more firmly against her skin.

"Ah dunno, for sure. Ah've been told sometimes Ah jus' scream like someone's tryin' ta kill me. Been told sometimes Ah'm beggin' someone not ta hurt me, or somethin' like that. " Shrugging, stealing a kiss. "We'll manage, right?"

Inhaling sharply, not really liking the sound of that - Her blacking out, he can deal with, but that... - Oz answers with a nod. "Manage. That tha word fro it?"

"Ozzie, if Ah black out, an' ya don't wanna stay, that's all right. When Ah scream..it's just like bad dreams, is all. Things in mah head, but Ah can't wake up. Ah won't take it bad ya don't wanna deal with that."

Shaking his head once, a short back and forth motion, Oz scowls. "No. /Hell/ no. Ain't leavin' ya ta wake up alone." He answers, perhaps a bit more passionately than he should. "Only way that would happen is if I wasn't ehre in tha first place. Ya black out 'round me, ain't nobody makin' me leave ya."

"Ozzie, if Ah'm doin' somethin' an' ya can't handle it,...Jesus christ!" Man is so frustrating. "Who do ya think Ah wake up with now? No one! Ah somehow get mahself alone, get home, before Ah black out. Ah'm used ta it!"

"Last time I checked, seems ya been wakin' up with me more than not lately." He mutters. "And there's no way of knowin' if I can handle it or not until it happens. And if I can't, I'll bloody well /learn/ to."

She growls, much like he does when /she's/ being stubborn. "Ah meant when Ah black out, ya big lunkhead." Kissing him hard, a quick one. "Go back ta sleep. Ah gotta go take care of some stuff. See ya later?" Brush of fingers over his cheek.

Anger draining at the idea of her leaving, Oz lets out a small whine, more of a keening noise than anything, arms around her not loosening. However, he's not fully acting like a two year old just yet, what maturity he has eventually taking hold, grip loosening letting her go. "/Fine./" He mutters, before glancing up at her questioningly. "Will you come back when yer finished?"

She laughs at him, stealing another kiss. "Ah'll be back soon as Ah can. Gotta get some otha clothes, for one. Check on stuff at mah place, Momma usually calls on Sundays. Be back before ya know, all right?"

Tears, and most of a bottle of bourbon down later, she's back in the building that was the scene of the crime, if you will. Avoiding the door of a certain gunslinger, walking in a meandering pattern down the hall to knock on the Irishman's door, before she's leaning and slumping up against the doorframe, almost limp. For a girl who doesn't like people seeing her cry, Oz is getting a lot of chances to see just that lately.

Injury or doctor's orders be damned, Oz is seriously considering at least breaking open a case of Guinness to fight off an impending alcohol withdrawal that he's suprised hasn't already started. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, Sabrielle's knock saves him from indulging his Irish side the guilty pleasure. Making his way from the kitchen, and away from temptation, to the front door, Oz catches the slight scent of bourbon before the door is completley opened. Whatever joke or quip that would have fallen from his lips, however, stops short at the sight of the now familiar empath. "What happened?"

The redhead drags a hand through her hair, a sniffling sound. " Hi, Ozzie." Mumbling. "Ah tol' him. " Heck of a week, really. Oz gets stabbed, Rich finds out, she gets attacked in the park, and she went right out and told Justin. "Ah didn't mean ta, but it hurt so bad, an he said awful things."
"Jesus..." Running a hand through his hair, sending into into even more disarray, Oz reaches out to gently lead Sabrielle into the apartment, closing the door behind her. Arms wrapping around her, an action that Oz thinks would happen instinctively from how much it has lately, the Irishman rests his cheek against the top of her head. "Great week for us, ain't it?"

"Ah mean Ah know Ah wanted ta tell him as soon as Ah could. Ah did, Ah wanted ta get it out there, an' be honest, and not feel like Ah was guilty an' lyin' anymore. Ah thought maybe, ya know Ah knew he'd be hurt, be mad. But Ah thought maybe he'd think about forgivin' me someday. But he, he called me a whore, an' a liar, an' all these things. It was like it wasn't tha man Ah fell in love with at all." Blurting it all out, burying her face against Oz's chest, trying to not get all teary eyed all over again.

Leading them over to the couch, sitting down, Oz's eyes narrow, and he can't help the anger that simmers up inside him at Sabrielle's story. Certainly not at her, of course, but he's not going to sit back and let a woman be called names, much less /his/ woman. However, that for now, gets tucked away. More important things to focus on at the moment. One hand rubbing up and down her spine, placing a kiss to the top of her head, Oz's voice is soft when he answers. "Shh, love. S'all gonna be alright. Important thing is that he knows... And if it makes ya feel bette, I can pop him upside the head next time I see him." The last sentence comes out as a joke, an attempt to cheer her up, no matter how serious he is about it on the inside.

She's curling up in his lap, feelin like a lost little girl. "Ah jus', Ah mean Ah expected him ta be angry, but Ah never thought Justin would call me a whore, say Ah couldn't keep my legs crossed, that Ah couldn't be trusted. Never. Not Justin. Ah didn't think he would say Ah was damned, accuse me of havin' a lover jus' waiting for when he wasn't there."

Eyes narrowing a bit more, Oz unable to stop a growl from emerging, he glances down at Sabrielle, arms tightening around her protectively. "Bit of a jackass, then, ain't he? Either that, or he just don't know ya near as well as ya thought. Yer bout the most innocent person when it comes ta anythin' havin' ta do with a relationship I ever met, so he /must/ be thinkin' 'bout someone else."

"Ah wanna think he said part of it out of jus' wantin' ta hurt me. He was hurt by it, Ah know he was. Ah could feel it before he pulled away. Ah know some of it /had/ ta be because he was hurt. Had ta be. Ah won't think he .." A gulp, hiding her face against Oz's neck. "Not that innocent, if Ah'm with ya, now am Ah? Sure, Ah didn't go plannin' nothin', sure as hell didn't see it comin', but here Ah am, right? Maybe Ah shouldn't be trusted."

"Bollocks." Oz firmly replies. "If ya wanna go about persecutin' everyone for one mistake, love, you'll be lucky ta find anyone left. Maybe if we had kept on with this, with no intention of tellin' 'em, and keeping tha relationships goin'... Then we couldn't be trusted. But ya told him, and ya did the right thing ta try and make up for it, and if he can't see that, that's his own damn problem, isn't it?"

"Ah still love him, Ozzie. He's tha first guy Ah ever fell for, did anythin' with, all of it. Ah need him ta forgive me, because Ah admit Ah shouldn't have done what Ah did. If Ah was gonna, shoulda waited, but we wouldn't be here now, right? It's jus' all messed up, an' he kept harpin' on gawd, an' how only god can forgive me an' stuff. Ah jus' wish he.. Ah don't want him thinkin' bad of me. Ah knew he would be done with me, tha moment he knew, but Ah never thought he'd be so ugly 'bout it."

"Just give it time, love." Oz murmurs. "Fer all we know, it was just a first reaction. Like ya said, he was mad, hurt. Probably wasn't thinkin' 'bout much anythin' else than makin' ya hurt as well. Just human nature, that."

Sabrielle clings to the Irishman, sniffling still. "Jus'.. Ah never thought Ah'd hear those things from him, not at me. He's got his right, an' he's got his points, but hearin' it from someone ya love jus' hurts so much. " Murmured, a hiccup. "So maybe Ah'm a whore for sleepin' with someone else, but that doesn't make me Lilith, doesn't mean Ah'm a sinner goin' ta hell."

Shaking his head, Oz pulls away from her momentarily, lifting the empath's face up to look at him. "Don't ever let me hear ya say anythin' like that again, ya hear? Last time I checked, a whore was someone who slept 'round with just 'bout everyone they met or took money for doin' it. Ya ain't done neither of those, and bein' with two guys don't make ya a whore, love, no matter if one coulda been considered an affair."

She tries to tug her face away, blue eyes barely meeting his. "Doesn't that make me an adulterous whore in a way, then? We weren't married or nothin', but he..he trusted me ta not be with anyone but him. Ah cheated, Ozzie, even if we thought it was all gonna be over an' we were drunk. Ah'd be stoned in a lot of places, ya know. "

"Then be happy ya live in America and not any of those other places." Oz answers sharply, not letting her pull away. "And, no, it doesn't. It doesn't make ya a whore at all. Love, if ya wanna be callin' anybody in this relationship a whore or slut or whatever ya wanna say, might as well be aimin' tha words at me."

"Ah was scared ta tell him. If he'd yelled, but he didn't. He got so cold on me, Oz. " Shaking her head. "here's no different than anywhere else. Ya can sleep with any number of women an' that's fine. No one gonna call ya a whore. Me, men would call me a slut now, an' think this is how Ah am." Moving to slide out of his lap.

"Think ya should hang 'round Sis more when she's pissed at me if ya think no one would call me out on promiscuity." Oz snorts, arms wrapping around her to keep her from leaving. He is not giving up on this that easily. "And as a member of men, I can promise ya that I'll never think of ya like that, or call ya anythin' close. And if anyone ever /does/, I'll beat some bloody sense into 'em." Oz growls. "But don't ya /dare/ think that 'bout yerself. I ain't gonna let ya walk outta here lyin' ta yerself, hear me?"

"Majority of men don't get called whores." Her tone is flat, even as she's being wrapped up in his arms. "Ya might not, but that's you. What do ya call me, with what Ah did, Ozzie, if it doesn't make me a slut, or a whore? Sure, Ah didn't take any money for it, but that's jus' tha literal definition. Ah cheated. Makes me a cheater, a liar, what have ya. Why ya wanna be with someone like that? If Ah did that ta him, who's ta say Ah won't again?" Apparently forgetting that he's in the same exact boat.

"Love, last time I checked, thought we decided that this was one of those fated ta happen things." Oz softly replies. "And we /both/ had ta cheat for it ta happen. Makes us both cheaters and liars don't it? So how do ya know that /I/ won't be doin' it again later on down tha road, huh?"

"Men don't get called whores, so does it matter? And Ah /know/ what ya've been goin' through with this, remember? Ah know how bad ya fell, heck sill do when ya think of Briget. Shrugging, giving up and putting her head on his shoulder, letting him keep his arms around her and not cause a fuss. "Ya didn't wanna hurt anyone, but it's still tha double standard. " Shaking her head a fraction. "Need sometin' ta drink."

"And if ya were a goddamn whore for cheatin', it'd mean ya didn't feel bad or guilty or nothin' over it. Ya do. Means ya got tha bloody decency to know that we /both/ did somethin' wrong, just like I do, and ya tried ya best to make up for it by tellin' tha truth and not hidin' it. Just like I'm gonna do. Sure as hell ain't yer fault that he couldn't see ya were tryin' ta make everythin' right. Sure as hell don't got no damn right ta believe anythin' he said ta ya, either."

Sabrielle wants to argue further, that Justin /is/ right, in some ways. She'd betrayed the other man's trust, among other things. But she just was going to keep her mouth shut, because Ozzie just wasn't going to let the arguement lay otherwise. "Still need a drink." Murmuring, going to slide out of lap. "Ya got any soda or Juice, Oz?" Because want to be wasted or not, can't drink in front of Oz, that would be mean, since he couldn't have any.

Oz says one more thing before finally letting her up. "Ya asked why I wanna be with ya, a minute ago. Ain't ya curious about the answer?"

Finding her feet, turning to look at him, blue eyes only made more vibrant from the crying. "Ah figured ya weren't gonna answer me."

Standing himself, Oz presses a gentle kiss to her forehead, walking into the kitchen. His reply does take a moment, but he does eventually answer, finding a glass for the requested juice. "Yer beautiful, smart, funny. A fuck all good kisser. Ya good at calmin' me down when I need it. Tha fact that ya stayed in tha hospital with me when ya hate it more than I do won ya points." He lists off softly, pressing the glass of apple juice into her hands. "Tha fact that I've seem ta have fallen head over heels for ya helps too."

"But Ah'm not. Ozzie.." She doesn't see herself as beautiful, though she'd pride herself on being smart, at least booksmart, any day of the week. Heat rising into her pale face, giving it a hint of a life. "Ah'll take your word on tha kissin', but tha calmin' thing, Ozzie that's mah empathy, anyone could do that. " Falling silent at the mention of the hospital. "Ya didn't know Ah hated it. Ah.. Ah couldn't jus' leave ya there alone. Not knowin' how Ah felt, when Ah was alone in tha one back home." Eyes widening, looking up at his face. "Oz, ya shouldn't say those things. Not until after we can say those things. " He doesn't remember, she's sure of that now even if she's not sure how she feels about him not remembering. Eyes drop, searching anywhere around him, but not looking /at/ him. "Doesn't feel right ta say those things ta ya when you're not free for me ta say them ta ya."

"Not 'xactly sayin' it with any hope of response here, love." Oz states as he sits back down on the couch. "Considerin' ya just spent however long cryin' 'bout another guy, wouldn't be expectin' a truthful response anyhow. Just figured I /should/ say it, since... Well. Ta prove that someone does love ya, even if it ain't him."

She flinches. "Yeah, that makes me feel better, Ozzie. ' Oh, didn't say it expectin' ta hear anythin', jus' said it ta make ya feel better, since ya were cryin' over someone else.' Smooth, Oz, real smooth. How Ah feel about Justin has got nothin' ta do with how Ah feel about ya. An' Ah wouldn't say anythin' /but/ tha truth, jackass. An' tha truth is, Ah /can't/ say it. Because ya ain't mine ta say it ta, ya get it?" Oz might want to note the swift changes of mood.

Having become somewhat immune to the wrath of women over the years, Oz simply blinks, relaxing against the back of the couch. "Think yer takin' my words outta context there, darlin'. Or completely just takin' 'em tha wrong way." He replies, reachin' over for his pack of cigarettes. Lighting one before continuing. "Didn't say it ta 'make ya feel better'. Not solely, at least. Ya asked why I wanted ta be with ya, I answered. And no, I don't really expect a reply to that. Call it a bit of a habit, but in most of my relationships, I'm the one that ends up fallin' first, if ya must know." He mutters, smoke accompanying his words.

"Oh yeah, doesn't sound like yer humoring me at all." Drawled sarcastically before she was gulping at juice. "Ya said it so Ah'd think someone loves me, even if it's not mah first lover. Make poor Sabs feel better because she had ta face tha harsh truth from a man she loves. " Blue eyes were like fire "Ah told ya why Ah can't say anythin' ta what ya said. Ah'm not them, Ozzie. Ah'm not Bridget, or any of them, an' ya might wanna remember that, because Ah won't be actin' like them. But until ya aren't some other girl's beau, Ah /can't/ say it. Not right ta say it ta another girl's guy."

"There ya go again, takin' my words tha wrong damn way." Oz growls. "So you'd think someone loves ya. Like I ain't tellin' tha bloody truth. Funny, thought ya could tell those things." Standing, stubbing out his cigarette on the way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge. "Lotta trust there, love." Taking out a bottle of Guinness, doctor's orders be damned.

Glass slammed down on the counter hard enough to make a noise like a shot. "Ya said it for tha wrong reasons, so why shouldn't Ah take it tha wrong way? Ya didn't say it because ya wanted ta, because ya were moved ta. Ya said it ta try an' make me feel better. What Ah can tell or not isn't ta fuckin' point, Oz! Ya shouldn't say it, because Ah'm afraid ya say those things, somethin's gonna happen! Somethin' will happen, an' you'll stay with Bridget, or somethin' else like that, an' Ah won't get ta have that!" Pushing at his arm to try and steal the 'steak in a bottle' "Damnit Ozzie!"

Being tall has it's advantages, Oz simply holding the bottle up out of arm's reach. Looking down at her, eyes dark and smoldering with a mix of emotions, his voice is quiet, perhaps a bit too calm. "Ya think I'm that big of a bastard, then? Promise ya things, make plans, tell ya I love ya and then go back ta a bird that ain't gonna want me anyhow?"

Flate glare of blue eyes. "Dontcha drink that, Ozzie. Not for a couple more days, at least. " She'll cheat if she has to! Then his words have her shaking her head. "Jesus, Ozzie, Ah thought all Irish believed in Murphy's law! If it can go wrong, it will, an' tha more ya want it, tha more likely it is ta go wrong! Ah jus' don't wanna count chickens before they're hatched, is all. That so bad?"

"Not wantin' ta count yer chickens and bein' pessimistic are two diff'rent things." Oz mutters, walking past her, twisting open the beer. "And I don't think one beer is gonna kill me, so it's either this or me bein' in a pissy mood tha rest of the day. So, I'm going with tha fuckin' beer, alright?"

"Ozzie, if Ah didn't think it might work out, Ah wouldn't be here. Ah'd be hidin' in mah apartment, waitin' ta get mahself hurt again." Following him. "no, it's not alright. Ozzie.." Hand on his arm. "Please don't." Sure, she'd had some bourbon, but she hadn't just had surgery and lost an organ, either!

Jaw clenching slightly, Oz lets out a tense sigh, putting the beer down next to her glass, perhaps a bit harder than he should. "Alrigh'. fine. What do /you/ suggest to cheer me up then?"

There's a hint of less tension in her face, when he puts the bottle down. "Now Ozzie, honey, isn't that a silly question ta ask me, of all people?" Arching a brow at him, even as she's moving to put her head against his chest, carefully wrapping arms around him.

Giving a huff that could either be laughter or exasperation or both, Oz doesn't stop himself from again holding her close, cheek resting on the top of her head. "So, which one of is more stubborn, ya think?"

She gives a snort of laughter. "That one is easy. Me, of course. Jus' because Ah can beat ya ovah tha head, if Ah have ta." Remarked, even as she was being careful, just a light push of pleasant emotions at him, doing her best to keep her own true emotions submerged and away from him.

"If ya can /reach/ my head, ya mean." Oz chuckles, teasing her, before momentarily bending down to scoop her into his arms, spinning her around for a short moment. "Ya mad at me?"

"Don't ya start with tha short jokes!" Shot back, before she's shrieking. "Ozzie, ya should be more careful!" Even as she's clinging to him, a blink of blue eyes. Afraid for a moment she's slipped and let some of her own personal emotional maelstrom through. "Mad at ya? Why would Ah be?"

"Pfft. Act like I'm fightin' a bloody lion or somethin'." Oz shoots back, not putting the redhead down, nor really feeling the 'strain' of holding her. "Well, fer bein' a stubborn jackass. Among other things."

"Hey, Ah can be pretty fierce, ya know." Poking him in the chest with a grin. "Oh, that. Well, somethin' Ah'm gonna have ta get used ta, right? " Leaning up to steal a kiss. "But Ah'm tired, Ozzie. Can we jus' sit together awhile?" Crying always tired her out.

"If ya tired, love, wouldn't layin' down help more?" He questions, heading closer to the bedroom than the living room.

She laughs at him, head on his shoulder. "Well, Ah didn't wanna suggest tha bedroom. Wouldn't do ta have ya get ideas." Teasing him. "Layin' down Ah'd probably fall asleep."

"Me? Get ideas?" He asks, nudging the bedroom door shut behind them. "Crazy talk."

Sabrielle giggles, a kiss to the side of his neck. "Ya gonna tell me if Ah had asked ya ta carry me ta bed, ya wouldn't have gotten ideas? " Head lifting to look up at his face.

"Gotten implies that they weren't there /before/, love."

"Somehow Ah don't think ya were thinkin' that sorta thin' when Ah showed up at your door."

Laying her gently down on the bed, and collapsing beside her, Oz takes a moment in answers. "Well, no. But durin' tha argument." He shrugs. "Diff'rent story."

Sabrielle smiles, a hand running over his hair, snuggling up to him. "When we were fightin'?" Now she sounds confused.

"Never heard of angry sex, pigeon?" He asks, smirking, an arm wrapping around her waist. "Or make up sex, even?"

"Angry sex? No.. heard of make up sex, in movies an' stuff." Shrugging, a sigh. "Now Ah sound like an idiot."

Chuckling, Oz catches a finger under her chin, lifting her face up to his. "Well, if we're goin' by yer schedule, give me a few more days healin' time, and ya can more than hear 'bout it."

Blue eyes glance at his face, watching him in silence a moment. "Until ya ain't gonna hurt yourself anymore, Ozzie. It's jus' smart. And then...only after. Ah can't, otherwise Ozzie. " A hint of a smile. "And wouldn't we have ta fight first?" A kiss, before she's snuggling up to his chest.

"Stubborn jackass here. Shouldn't be too hard ta pull that off."

"We ain't really fought though yet, have we?"

"What da ya call what just happened, then?" Oz asks. "If not a fight."

"An argument. I didn't even get all that upset. Ya ain't seen me real mad, yet."

"Can't decide if that should scare me or intrigue me."

Sabrielle snickers. "Since when would lil' ol' me scare ya?"

"I've instinctively learned to fear all redheaded females, love." He murmurs, turning his head to rest his cheek on the top of her head. "And you fall under that category."

Another laugh, before she's yawning, snuggled in against him. "Ain't been real mad in a while. Ah wouldn't worry."

"Well, how tha hell are we gonna have angry sex or make up sex if we don't fight?"

"Don't want me real mad. Then Ah lose it." Murmured. "Guess you'll have ta do with me jus' kinda angry."

Chuckling lowly, kissing the top of her head, Oz holds her a bit closer. "Doesn't sound like a bad deal."

"Mmm. Anythin' past kinda, an' ya'd be takin' risks." whispered, drowsy. "Ozzie?"

"Yeah, love?""

"Ah start screamin' in mah sleep, jus' move 'way from me, okay?"

"...Alrigh'."

"Can't always control it,..when Ah sleep. Been upset, gets harder."

"I'll move away, love." He murmurs. "Sure ya wouldn't rather me wake ya up?"

"More important ta give me space. Ah'll wake up on mah own, promise."

"Alrigh'." He repeats, quietly.

"Jus' don't let go unless ya hafta?" Another yawn, already half asleep.

"Promise."

"mmm.. night ozzie."

"Night, love."

Wed, 02 Apr 2008 07:52:04 GMT

First log is backdated a few days.

Don't understand this. Really don't. Not sure if I'm even s'pose ta or not. Still, what's wrong with me? If it's even a wrong thing...

Don't wanna go back. Back means problems. Back means other people. Back means life and all tha complications that comes with it.

Meant ta be. Was it? Is this stuff planned out before we're even tykes? Hurts my head ta think on it too much...

Plannin' on things. Things I hope happen. America. Europe. Just us.

Fuck. There's something definitely wrong with me.

Well, that had been an interesting experience. Sitting against the bed, facing the bathroom door, Oz has one leg drawn to his chest, the other stretching out in front of him. Shirtless and barefoot, the Irishman taps one finger on the cellphone beside him, the other hands flipping a quarter through his fingers, elbow resting on his knee. Thoughtful expression as he stares at the bathroom door, head cocked slightly to the side to better hear what he can of the one sided conversation from inside.

The door opens, letting one redheaded empath into the room. Oversized green t-shirt claiming everyone's after her lucky charms hanging almost to her knees. One glance at Oz, face that had finally lost some of the color, was flushing all over again. "Eavesdroppin', sugar?" Her cell set on the top of the dresser. "Sunset says she's not really mad at ya, if ya wanted ta know."

Not being able to stop a grin from spreading across his lips, Oz gives a small shrug. "Thin walls. Thin doors. Hard ta not here, really."

Sabrielle smirks. "Isn't that just handy? Hear anythin' interestin', did ya?" Oh, she was gonna strangle him. Dropping to sit near him,t-shirt tugged over her bent knees like a little kid.

One hand still flipping the quarter, his hand on the cell phone comes up to thoughtfully tap his lips, obviously trying to find the highlight of the overheard responses. After a moment, the grin turns into a wicked smirk as he turns to face Sabrielle. "Lightin' storm." It's amazing how he can make two very simple words sound so very, very... dirty.

She turns scarlet, glaring at him a moment. "Sunset's words. Ah can't come up with any ta explain anythin'. Can ya do better, Ozzie?" Arching an eyebrow at him, torn between wanting to walk away from him, swat him, and kiss him, all at the same time.

It's perhaps not the best idea to challenge him to things such as this. But the offer was already extended, and Oz was never one to back down. Flashes of silver stilling as he holds the quarter still, letting it fall into his palm. Staring at Sabrielle with a curious and thoughtful look, he eventually nods. "Alrigh', then. How's this?" Not giving her much time to respond, the quarter drops to the floor as he cups her face in both hands, leaning forward to press hip lips to hers, giving a long and slow kiss. Eventually pulling back when breathing is required. "Close enough?"

She refuses to just back down and slink off when her pride is involved...which will probably get her killed someday. "How's .." Before she can even finish that question, before he's kissing her. A stifled sound in her throat, hands coming up to wrap around his forearms. Kissing him back, thinking of Sunset's question, not yet turning empathy off, instead using it to press that heat of the kiss back through into him. Tongue touching her bottom lip. "Close enough ta what, Oz? Ya didn't tell me how /ya/ feel. Jus' showed me again that ya like kissin'. " Smirking at him, hand moving to run a finger down his cheek. Pressing to kiss him again.

This kiss is a short one, Oz chuckling into it before his lips have moved closer to her ear. "Thought I'd see if I could beat that lightin' storm feelin'. Maybe get it up to a thunderstorm, right about." He murmurs, before pulling her lobe into his mouth, very lightly scraping his teeth along it, moving to her neck afterwards. Kissing and nipping his way down to her collarbone, pausing in a few places that he knows are sensitive to again lightly scrape his teeth against them, ending by barely biting where her shoulder and neck meet. Hands having moved, one down to wrap an arm around her waist, the other cradling the back of her neck.

"Oh, so you're subscribin' ta Sunset's lightnin' storm thinkin' now, are ya? " Words have murmured, half whispered. Hand sliding along his jaw, thumb along his cheekbone, stroking over the skin there. Passing thought to Sunset's questions, even as the shiver sliding through her makes her arms get goosebumps. "Ozzie..did Sunset or Angie evah really tell ya anythin' 'bout me?" She's got to make sure he knows.

"Can feel what other people feel." Oz answers her, gently pulling her closer, lips moving against her skin as he speaks. "See it too. Damn good cook. Few other things."

Sabrielle pushes one arm away, if only so she can face him while deciding to sit in his lap. "Few otha things? Yeah, but Ah mean tha empathy, sugah. Ah realized Ah nevah warned ya. It goes beyond jus' seein' stuff. When someone touches me, if Ah don't block it out Ah feel what they feel. Even sometimes get an idea of what they're thinkin', ya know? Jus' wanted ta make sure ya were okay with all that." Nuzzling her nose along his temple, one hand up to pet through his hair.

Hands running over her legs, barely pushing her shirt any higher, for now. Lips moving to meet hers for a long and heated moment. "Seem like I mind any?"

Another of those shivers, eyes opening after that kiss breaks off, to study his face. "Ah jus' didn't want ya gettin' mad later, or freakin' out of Ah lost control an' somethin' happened. Can't blame me for not wantin' ta scare ya, can ya?" Forehead pressing to his a moment, before she's kissing him again, down along the side of his neck.

Shivering himself now, Oz continues running one hand over a leg, fingers tracing design on the underside, the other coming up to thread slightly through her hair. "Many thinga ya can do ta me, love. Makin' me mad or scarin' me, or freakin' me out ain't none of 'em." He mutters, Irish accent a bit thicker than normal.

Sabrielle nips lightly, just where the pulse beats under the skin. "Oh, ya don't know me so well, ya think Ah can't make ya mad. Ah can be downright infuriatin', Ah'm told." Whispering against his skin in amusement, before a kiss to his shoulder. "Many things Ah can do to ya, huh?" Stealing a glance at him from under lashes. "Sounds like you're challegin' me, Ozzie." A light bite against his neck again, using the contact of his skin on hers, to flood his system with the fire and pleasure she got from him touching her.

Making a sound low in his throat, Oz chuckles. "Redhead. 'Course ya are." Breaking off whatever else he was going to say with a growl that soons turn into a moan, deep from his chest. Hand clenching slightly around her thigh. "Minx."

Kissing up the side of his throat, nibbling at his earlobe. "Ya tryin' ta say ya don't like it when Ah take ya up on your challenges, Ozzie? Still so sure Ah can't freak ya out, even a little?" A laugh, finger tracing over his chest, before she's pressing her lips to his again, fierce this time, opening that connection more, letting the rush, the wanting and the enjoyment hit him full force without warning.

Letting out another growl that's lower and seeming to come from more primal urges than before, Oz kisses her back with a bruising force. Somehow managing to flip them over, keeping his full weight off of her by propping himself up with an arm. Free hand pushing her shirt up. "Takin' up a challange and teasin' me are two dif'rent things."

Sabrielle feels her eyes widen as she's looking up at him, rather than just over at him. A shudder under his hand, back arching. "Oh sugah, teasin? Nevah." A nibble to his lower lip, barely brushing fingers along his skin. "Teasin' would be a whole otha tactic." That flood of feeling cut off suddenly, before it's just a trickle over his skin, almost as if he'd walked into a sauna from the cold.

Sabrielle feels her eyes widen as she's looking up at him, rather than just over at him. A shudder under his hand, back arching. "Oh sugah, teasin? Nevah." A nibble to his lower lip, barely brushing fingers along his skin. "Teasin' would be a whole otha tactic." That flood of feeling cut off suddenly, before it's just a trickle over his skin, almost as if he'd walked into a sauna from the cold.

Letting out a gasp, breathing heavily, Oz lets his forehead rest against her shoulder, a shudder going through him. "If ya had done this before, I'd be sayin' this is what it is 'bout ya that drives me mental. Still don't know, though."

She can't help a laugh, feeling a little light headed. "Ah've nevah done it. Was scared ta, but ya nevah seem scared of anythin'. Must be yer influence, huh?" Hand rubbing the back of his neck, feeling the heat of his skin against her palm. "Ah dunno what it is, eitha. Ah'm used ta not bein' touched, ta bein' so damned careful..but Ah don't wanna be so careful. Dunno what it is that makes me wanna touch ya so much."

"Mah good looks and natural charisma." Oz automatically answers, nuzzling against her neck. "Accent prob'ly helps too."

Sabrielle giggles, squirming as his nuzzling tickles. "Well, maybe for most girls. Looks an' charm aren't tha things Ah see, though. Charm is sorta useless on a girl like me, dontcha think, Oz? The accent.. well, yeah, maybe." Conceding that with another laugh, sliding arms around him, fingers stroking along his spine, slowly increasing the feel of heat flowing into him.

Shudder again running down his spine, the Irishman lets out a small moan, placing frantic kisses on her neck and shoulder, muttering between them. "Love, if ya keep this up, can't promise I won't hurt ya when things finally happen. Wouldn't mean ta - never would. But, don't know if I could control myself."

"What's wrong, Oz, 'fraid Ah might jus' make ya lose control? " Amused tone. "Ah'm not scared, sugah. Hurtin' me would take an awful lot, ya know, physically. But jus' think, Ah keep this up long enough, an' don't let ya touch me, ya might jus' lose control all by yerself." Snickering, waiting for a glare or snappy retort.

Oz shakes his head, not offering either. "Don't know what I can do, do ya?" He asks, pushing himself off of her to grab for the telephone on a nearby nightstand. "What my powers are?"

Sabrielle shrugs. "Ah think Angie told me ya got super strength or somethin' like that, but otha than that, no. Why, sugah?" A glance at the phone. Flushing a rather deep red. "Ah thought ya meant control.. ya know. Not like mutation stuff"

Shaking his head again, Oz picks up the cordless telephone. With a simple movement of his fingers, it cracks and crumbles to bits in his hand, more like he was squeezing something like a piece of paper in his hand instead of a telephone. "Like I said. Dun wanna hurt ya."

Sabrielle stares for a moment, watching the phone. "Ah don't think ya'd break me, Oz. Ah'm sturdier than a bit of plastic and wires. Ah jus' look breakable, is all. " She knows she does, she's always been small. Sitting up, to edge over to him, hand on his side. "Ah'm pretty sure if it hurt, ya'd know before ya could hurt me too bad, after all. " Kissing at his shoulder, before a nip.

Letting what's left of the phone drop to the floor, Oz turns towards her, hands again moving to cup her face, kissing her softly. "Always gotta keep it in check." He murmurs, kissing her again. "Don't wanna hurt you. Never purposely would." Another kiss, this one longer. "Never."

"Ozzie, not gonna break me. Don't gotta be scared. Ya hurt me, you'll know. Ah can tell ya faster than Ah could even speak, don't ya get that?" Hand rubbing along his cheek, fingers brushing against his temple. "Ah know, sugar. Ah know ya wouldn't, bettah than ya can evah express it in words. Upside of tha otha stuff, Ah guess. Gotta have some pros for tha cons of a mutation, right?" Before she's indulging in those kisses wholeheartedly, sharing the sweetness as well as the more lusty feelings.

Hands running through her hair, Oz makes a sound low in his throat, before his arms wrap around the redhead. It's nearly nothing for him to pick her up, moving them to the bed, lips soon moving against hers in the same bruising fierceness they were earlier.

She's being a little more careful, keeping it from being a full on flood into his system. A squeak as he picks her up, snuggling closer to him when she can. Break of lips from his. "Ah could hurt ya too, Ozzie. Ah don't think eitha of us would evah do it on purpose. Don't fret ovah it, all right?" fingers trailing down his chest, breath warm against his skin. "Oz, Ah dunno what it is that makes me wanna touch ya so much, jus' makes me /want/. But is it wrong Ah jus' don't care, that Ah wanna enjoy it?"

Taking a moment to think on that, Oz eventually just shrugs. "If it wrong... not sure I wanna be right."

Half of a laugh, smiling at him. "Don't think Ah wanna be, either. But what happens when we go back?" Stealing another kiss, before she's more interested in kissing the side of his neck and his chest.

Letting out a sound that could easily be a purr, Oz tenses slightly at her last question. "...Let's focus on that when it happens." He answers after a moment, one hand caressing the back of her hand and neck.

Sabrielle pauses, lips pressed to his skin, easing away that tension easily enough. "Ozzie..Ah know ya probably think Ah'm all kinds of dumb an' naive an' stuff. Ah can't blame ya, Ah probably seem it in a lot of ways. But ya can tell me anythin', jus' no lyin'. Okay?" glancing up. "Sunset asked me, ya know. What Ah thought this was. Ah told her tha truth, Ah dunno. Because it's not jus' me. " Burying her face against the side of his neck. "If it's jus' this, Ozzie, it's okay."

Arms wrapping around her to hold her close, Oz lets out a sigh, head leaning back against the bed. "I dunno. Don't want this to stop, whatever it is. Know it ain't just sex, but - And Bridget - I just... I don't know."

Arms wrap around him, hand rubbing at his back. No empathic tricks, just plain ol' human comforting. "Ah don't want it ta stop eitha, sugah. Ah ..it's why Ah couldn't tell sunset anything. If ya thought it was jus' sex, Ah'd know an' have known what ta say. An' Bridget an' Justin, ah know. It's not likely ta not be complicated. He's gonna dump me, so Ah mean... won't be all that complicated for me, even if it hurts."

Giving a sardonic chuckle, Oz nods. "Ayuh. Don't really see Bridget wanting to stay with me either. Might shoot me, but she win't gonna stay with me."

Turning her head, cheek resting against his chest, just snuggled up to him for a moment. It felt like it was all right to do, another new thing to her. "Justin wouldn't shoot me, but Ah'm sure he'll have some choice words." Quiet hush to her words, another kiss. "He's been tha only guy, ya know, well, ya make two, but ya get mah point. Ah jus' dunno what ta think."

"He ain't gonna kill me, is he?" Oz asks, somewhat jokingly. He sobers after a moment though. "Me and Bridget... We ain't got this far. She's the slow type, and I ain't the type to push."

She flushes hotly enough he'd feel it against his chest. "Doubt it. He keeps himself locked down, emotionally. Think that's part of what drew me ta him in tha first place, ironic huh? " Swallowing back her other thoughts about things with Justin, head coming up to look at him. "Justin an' Ah couldn't, until Ah learned ta turn mah empathy off. But it always seemed like Ah wanted more than he did. Dunno if that's normal or not. " Biting at her lip. "Ya think that's why we ended up like this?" Meaning because Bridget was cautious. "if someone had asked me hypothetically, Ah nevah woulda seen any of this happenin'. " Sunset would say it happened for a reason, though.

"Think it coulda helped a lot. Along with tha alcohol, and tha fact I was near convinced everything was seriously 'bout ta be like War of tha bloody Worlds." Oz murmurs.

"Ah think maybe thinkin' life as we knew it was over, led ta tha drinkin' an' some of tha urgency maybe. But Oz.." A hard swallow. "Once ya kissed me, Ah didn't want ya ta stop."

Looking down at her, Oz shifts, propping his head up on his hand. Peering at her curiously, his next question is a simple one. "Why?"

Sabrielle lays back a bit, looking up at him. "Isn't that tha question we can't seem ta answer? Ah mean sure, kissin' ya was fun an' all, but Ah coulda stopped. Jus' didn't wanna."

Giving a grin, Oz leans closer to her, forehead resting against hers. "Maybe it's one of those questions that don't have a logical answer."

Blue eyes give up trying to stay focusd on his face, stealing another kiss with eyes closed instead. "Maybe. Maybe this is some of Sunset's philosophies. Things happen because they're supposed ta. " Hand settling at his waist. "Ya can't figure it out eitha, can ya Oz. Can't figure out what it is, that makes me wanna keep touchin' ya, and ya ta keep lettin' me."

"Make it sound like I'm doin' ya a favor, love." He murmurs, teasing. "Not like I'm lettin' ya just 'cause ya want to. I ain't objectin' ya doin' anythin' ta me." Slipping a hand under her shirt to lightly trace designs on her stomach.

Sabrielle laughs, head tipping back just enough to give him a grin. "Well, it wouldn't be lady like ta make it sound like ya wanna touch me, when ya don't actually say so. Sound a bit arrogant of me, wouldn't it?" Squirming a bit under his hand. "An' ya are, ya know. Ya aren't hidin' things, even when Ah touch ya. "

Smirking, Oz lays back down, arms wrapping around Sabrielle to pull her close, cheek leaning agianst the top of her head. "Love, even if there was anythin' ta hide from ya, wouldn't be any use it in. Ya can basically see if I am anyway, right?"

"There are ways ta keep it from me, even when Ah touch ya. Ah'm not strong enough ta go lookin' if someone's keepin' somethin' secret. Ah'm not that skilled. Ah don't have that much control ovah what Ah do." sadness to the admission, even as she snuggles in tight.

"Just takes practice. Took forever for me ta be able to touch anything without it breakin' or somethin' of tha sort." Oz answers, kissing the top of her head. "Considerin' I had ta even watch when I went ta touch myself, it was pretty damn bad. Tapped myself in tha temple once, and gave myself a bloody concussion."

"Well, at least there was that. Ah didn't have ta worry about hurtin' mahself with jus' me." Smiling, a kiss to his chest. "Ah can have it on or off now, but those are mah only choices. Controllin' it beyond that is still more than Ah can do." Whispering, arm sliding around his waist to squeeze him closer. "Oz? Do ya think Sunset's right, maybe this was s'posed ta happen?"

Brow furrowing, he's quiet for a moment, seriously thinking on that. "If it was, guess it all makes sense. Me findin' ya and bringin' ya along." He finally answers. "Can't say I woulda done it if it was any other person that I barely knew."

Sabrielle lifts her hand, thumb stroking along his cheekbone. "Gawd knows Ah wouldn't have gone with most anyone else Ah hardly know. Not unless like Sunset was there with them, or somethin'. " Shifting to kiss him lightly. "An' woulda turned aroun' an' marched off ta find anotha room, seein' only one bed, probably. It hadn't really concerned me, seein' it, an' that's weird, because well..asleep Ah can't keep mah empathy off, so Ah would generally think of that."

Turning his head to kiss her palm, Oz shrugs lightly. "Well, if it was supposed to happen, it was supposed to happen. We may not really know why, yet, but I'm sure it'll eventually be figured out." He murmurs, arms tightening around her slightly as he shifts, throwing a leg over hers. "Don't think there's much used tryin' ta figure it out right now, though. Too tired for it, really."

There's a smile at that kiss to her palm, fingers wriggling before her fingers slip down his cheek and away. "Maybe, if we're supposed ta figure it out." A snicker then, kissing his shoulder. "Ya sayin' Ah'm borin' ya ta sleep, Oz, or have Ah jus' tired ya out?"

"Long day, love. Was drug around a mall, made ta carry everythin'." He teases lightly. "Then we get back, ya take a bath without invitin' me ta join ya, I get chewed out by Big Sis while waitin' for ya ta get out. Then when ya do, ya get me all riled up with those powers of yers, and we end up just talkin' and cuddlin'." Oz chuckles, kissing her neck to show there's no hard feelings.

A sound. "Ah did not make ya carry everythin'! Yer fibbin'! " Face going scarlet in a rush. "A girl needs some time alone, especially if she's wantin' ta feel her prettiest around ya, Ozzie. Ah couldn't help yer sister, Ah'm sorry. " A nip to his collarbone. "Ah could have finished what Ah started, but ya pulled away from me, afraid of hurtin' me, remember?" Arching a brow.

"That's what ya get for getting me too worked up, love." Oz chuckles, tapping one of her red cheeks. "Love when ya turn that color. Definitely gotta remember what it is I say ta make ya do that for future reference."

Sabrielle turns her head, nipping at his fingers he'd been tapping her with. "Watch it, buddy, or Ah'll get devious an' make ya lose control in yer jeans." Oh, dire threat!

"That a threat or a promise?" He remarks, scarred eyebrow raising, tongue curling behind his teeth.

"Both?" Grinning before she's kissing him, hands pressed against his bare skin, sending that flood of heat over his skin.

Letting out a growl, Oz rolls them over, again ending up on top. Nipping at Sabrielle's bottom lip, hands moving to pull her shirt up. "If I were you love, wouldn't give what ya can't take." He warns, voice husky, before kissing her roughly.

Sabrielle gives a low laugh,grinning and letting fingers stroke over his skin, teasing more. "Who says Ah can't take, Ozzie?" Arching a brow, a whimper into that kiss, arms around his neck.

Kill him. Kill him. Kill him. Son of a bitch. Kill him.

Flashes of silver probably stand out more than Oz does at the moment. After all, his 'typre' aren't really a big surprise in the Kitchen. Quarter twirling between the fingers of his right hand, the Irishman is currenlty perched on the steps on his apartment building, back pressed against the brick. Judging from his facial expression and body language, he is not a happy Irishman.

A pebble shoots across the atreet of the apartment building, bounce-rolling to a stop somewhere a few feet in front of Oz. Following it is Zachery plus his latest host. Seventeen years of age, walking with his hands stuck in the pockets of his thick coat and his eyes searching for the pebble that just escaped. Ah, there it is! As he goes to catch up with it, his gaze flits past Oz. "... Well, don't /you/ look like a drowned cat." The bosysnatcher starts, not bothering to mask his accent, smirking and slowing down to stare at Oz. "Not that that's any different than the usual, but it's worth saying either way."

Looking up at Zach with a glare, Oz not having to think about who this little punk could be, the quarter stills. "Just beggin' to get that eye popped, huh?"

Zachery might /look/ like a little punk, but-- well. Okay, he does kind of /act/ the part, as well. "Oh, you and I both know you wouldn't want to get your hands dirty. Literally." He turns his attention to the pebble to give it another kick, sending it flying further with a few -tks-.

Squeezing the quarter between two fingers, Oz gives a grin that is far from amused or comforting. "Who sis anythin' 'bout me touchin' ya?" He spits back, hopping up from his perch. "Could put this coin through yer head before ya moved."

Zachery briefly shrinks back from Oz, only now realizing a seventeen year old is probably not to most intimidating of hosts to go up against someone like Oz. But he stands 'tall' again soon enough, cracking a strangely happy grin for how hopeless the situation might seem. "Oh really, now? Kill a child? Tough man, you are."

Quarter dropping into his palm, fingers curling around it, Oz gives a growl. "Pity that. The only thing savin' ya is the fact that I ain't worthless enough ta kill a kid. Guess that's tha difference 'tween you and me, huh? If I'm gonna kill someone, gonna be for a damned good reason... 'Cause they deserve it." He answers. "Not a bloody sociopath like ya. 'Magine ya don't give a damn who ya kill long as ya get yer jollies, huh?"
Zachery's hand slip back in his pockets, the left one around something inside of them. His grin grows slightly wider, and he takes a calm step closer to Oz, head tilting upward (more than it already has to be to look directly at Oz, anyway). "Oh, I have my reasons. Though I can't deny the 'jollies' are a nice bonus. And don't act like you can't relate, either. Might not know you well, but I know you well enough."

"Ya don't know me at all, ya bloody gobshite." Oz snaps in return. "Know 'nough 'bout ya from Big Sis, though. How ya kill every host ya use, and how ya run that little underground group or whatever. Tell me somethin'... Did ya have to show them your big pile of bodies to scare them into givin' ya that poisition, or did ya have ta kill a few of 'em yerself?"

"I set the Tunnels up to /help/ people, Oz." Zachery responds, in a most patronizing tone. "And I don't nearly kill all of my hosts. Only the ones I deem interesting enough to pick apart. Bit..." He beams happily as though already looking forward to doing the same thing with /this/ host, and takes another step toward Oz, "by bit."

"Because yer /such/ a helpful person." Oz snarks, smirking as Zachery gets closer. Reaching out to grab the teenage bodied body snatcher by the shirt collar, he raises the quarter, now crushed into a cylindrical shape, holding one point over 'Zachery's' eye. "I've had a really bad day. Tell me why I shouldn't."

Erk! Zachery flinches, amusement having left his expression. Without thinking, he draws his left hand out of his pocket to poke the end of a scalpel against Oz's side. In a breath of utter loathing, he mutters, "Ruptured appendix. Good enough reason, I'd say." Poking it a /smidge/ harder, he adds, "Just take the thing off of the kid's eye. I'll /go/, yeah?"

Hand twitching slightly at the feel of the scalpel against his flesh, blood already starting to run, Oz snarls. Quarter again curling in between his fingers, it's all he can do to not at least give Zachery a good concussion, letting go of his shirt as well. Son of a bitch.

Watching Oz twitch, Zachery briefly glances down to notice the blood. "Oh, hell. I'd just cleaned this one." Now look what you did. He draws back, but keeps the small but sharp blade in place. Slowly but surely, a grin returns to his features. A sadistic sort of grin, to match the tone of voice as he continues. "See, I knew you'd do the right thing, in the end. Say no to violence. Me, on the other hand..." The sentence goes unfinished, and the scalpel nearly all the way into Oz's side. Whoops?

Stiffening, letting out a roar at the initial pain, Oz stumbles back from Zachery, quickly falling to his knees. Shaky hand coming up to grip what's left visible of the scalpel, teeth grinding to keep from making any other pained noises, glassy and rapidly unfocused eyes manage a glare at Zachery. "Ya really think I'm the worst of ya problems? Think ya got rid of it?" He slurs. "'Magine what Big Sis is gonna do ta ya when she finds out 'bout this." Jaw clenching again as he pulls the scalpel out, it's still not enough to stop another pained scream, blood now pouring from the wound in torrents, the Irishman falling to his hands and knees, blood falling to the concrete beneath him. There's a burning in his stomach and side - he can't tell if this is normal or not... He can't tell much of... Slumping over to the concrete, unconcious, medical tool falling from his hand, skittering across the ground.

Zachery looks, for a moment, a bit baffled that his little plan worked. But the more Oz talks, the more crazy returns to Zach's borrowed face. A few sickly chuckles escape him after Oz pulls the scalpel out, and it's clear from the shaking of his shoulders that he's trying not to simply laugh. "Oh, poor, helpless little lamb. Running to your sister." /Hee/. Wandering over to the now unconscious Oz, he crouches down to pick up the scalpel. "Sweet dreams, Oz. Sleep tight." After using a bit of his shirt to wipe blood off of the scalpel, he sticks it back in his pocket. "Very tight." Wandering off, he can't possibly help but chuckle again, kicking a pebble out in front of him. Back to the Tunnels.

Sleepy. Tired. In pain.

Wanna drink. Can't drink.

Wanna smoke. Can I smoke?

Want fucking outta here...

Think I said something important. Can't remember what is was. Fucking meds.

It's nighttime in Hell's Kitchen, which means it's mostly deserted anywhere there's light. The entrance to the West 46th Apartment Building is well lit enough, though the flickering light bulbs do nothing to invade the surrounding darkness. However, if anyone bothered to look or notice or care, there would be a pool of blood slowly leaking into the lit area, and growing bigger.

She's on an errand, though Justin's not answering the phone. She'll slip a letter under his door, telling him she needs to talk. She has to get through to him somehow. Oddly, it's not the blood she picks up on, but the source, having felt enough injured people. Then she sees the blood with a start. " 'lo? Someone there? Ya need help?"

If she recognizes an injured person, this injured person should feel very familiar indeed. However, there's no answer to her question, Oz a bit too unconscious to really answer at all.

Sabrielle is hesitant, following the blood trail, only to have /really rude/ reality crash in on a less than chipper mood. "Ozzie!" His name a scream as she's dropping to her knees next to him, hand along his cheek. Other hand already fumbling to flip her phone open, so she can call paramedics. "Sugar, talk ta me."

If she's hoping for him to verbally answer, it's a futile hope. T-shirt darkened and sticky where the blood has soaked into it, torn where the scalpel went in, the wound is an obvious one. However, that for now, is the least of his problems. Chest cavity and lower areas already starting to darken, bruise like, the signs of internal bleeding from a punctured spleen. Ouch.

"Oh sweet jesus, sugar. Let ya be for a few hours, an' this is what happens. " Ripping his t-shirt some more, to have something between her hand and his skin as she's putting pressure down to try and stop the bleeding. Forcing herself to stay calm, giving the address, location, and what she could tell of his injuries to the woman on the line that was sending the ambulence. Then the cell phone is pretty much forgotten, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "C'mon sugar. Tell me ya still hear me." whispering.

It's not really a spoken response, but Oz twitches slightly at the kiss, aura fluctuating slightly. If he could tell it was her in her sleep, a forced sleep shouldn't be any different. However, the fluctuation only stays for a moment, Oz relaxing again - if it can be called relaxing.

Even that little bit of change makes her sigh. Pressing harder now against that wound, other hand groping for the cell phone. Calling first Sunset's, likely leaving a message to explain the best she can. Damnit, she knew she should have asked him to stay when he dropped her off earlier. Another call, Julien, just in case, another message left. She didn't know what else to do.

Twitching away from the pain of stab wound being pressed against, Oz lets out a small grunt, breath hitching. It's really about as close as what he would say if he weren't in blackout land. Damn, woman, not so hard.

She flinches. "Ozzie.." quietly. "Ah dunno what else ta do, sugah. Jus'..damnit, Oz, Ah thought ya were tougher than that. Don't be such a damned wuss! Yer actin' like a Limey!" Fun part about the empath touching. You don't /have/ to be able to speak aloud.

There are several factors in which a stabbing victim's life depends on. One of which is how long til the person gets treated. Another is the location of the wound. And another is the size and shape of the wound. Although two of those factors have already been determined to be less than favorable, there is still that first factor. The time to treat it. And that factor depends on other factors. One of which is where the help is coming from. To that things are favorable to the pair as there is a paramedic substation located in the firehouse just a block down. By the time the ambulance even got to turn on it's siren, it had to be shut off for they were already there. Yay for convenient locations. Ruching out of the ambulance the driver heads over to the 'couple' while the other medic moves to the back of the ambulance to fetch the stretcher and kit.

Am not! Brow furrowing slightly, Oz twitches again, though not as much this time. Oh, look. Help. Yay.

The redhead, understandably, looks terrified, face pale in the sucky lighting of the building entrance way. Blue eyes locking on the paramedic that was approaching. That was fast, though hey, she's thrilled about that. Really. She'll buy the whole substation lunch, if everything comes out okay. "Ah put pressure on it, didn't know what else ta do." But she's not stopping that, not moving until she's told to.

The paramedic kneels next to Oz, pulling on some gloves retrieved from a side pouch before putting his hands on the wound, "Good job. Stick around. The police will be needing statements." The second medic rolls the stretcher up, pausing as he looks to Oz, "Oh FUCK! Mendel's not going to like this."

Bridget? There's a roll of subconcious emotions at the familiar last name. Worry, guilt, sadness, concern.

She blinks, shaking her head. "But Ah didn't see anythin'. Ah jus' found him here. Ah.. Ah can't stay here, not if he's goin'. " She doesn't want to leave him alone. "Ah called his sister, but no one answered yet. Ah jus' don't want him bein' alone." She hates hospitals, god she loathes them. But she wouldn't want to be alone in one, with no one she knew, either. " A start, glancing at Oz again when there's that roll of emotion. Not sure what to make of it.

"Didn't she skip shift?" The driver replies to Stretcher guy before looking to the redhead. "That's still a statement to make." He replies, looking back towards Oz, "Alright Delaney... Hang on there. Don't need her getting angry at us for you dying on our watch." "The past two actually," Stretcher guy replies, lowering the stretcher to allow for easier loading of the victim. "Then again she was just temping."

Confusion. What? No, she's been in Ohio. Shifts? Temping?

Sabrielle shakes her head, trying to disentangle her empathy from Oz for the moment, just enough to ask. "Mendel.. her name's Bridget?" She stops touching Oz, because she doesn't want to know more right now. "Where ya takin' him? Ah.. after tha cops. Don't want him wakin' up alone, if his sister can't be there."

One paramedic glances to Sabrielle before back to Oz as he and his partner start to place the bleeding man onto the stretcher. "Yeah. Emergency service's own trouble magnet. So, are you a friend of his or a good samaritan?" Another siren enters into the picture as a cop car pulls on up.

Body jerking slightly, brow furrowing, Oz makes a pained sound as he's moved. Moving apparently hurts.

Sabrielle shuts her eyes for a moment. Christ. The only thing more messed up was if Bridget had been the one to come to the call. Shaking her head. "His sister is one of mah best friends. " Hey, she's not going to say anything else to possibly give away personal business to co workers of the woman she's never met. Flinching at that sound from Oz, though she doesn't need to hear him to know. Crap.

"Family friend then," the paramedic surmises, all the while getting Oz strapped down, "Alright. As far as medical paper work goes, it'll be Delaney here who will have to fill it out when he wakes up. Or one of his family members or a significant other. We're taking him to the nearest hospital and we'll have to skip over some formalities due to the nature of the wound."

As soon as everything gets sorted at the apartment building, Oz is rushed to the nearest hospital, as the paramedics said. They weren't kidding about skipping over some of the formalities, either, what with the ruptured organ and internal bleeding and what not. The next few hours for Sabrielle and whoever else is waiting are probably slow. Oz going into surgery. Oz coming out of surgery, missing a spleen, and with a few new pints of blood in him. Oz being moved to the Recovery Unit, where he, for now, sleeps.

And waiting for him, lurks a nurse, armed with a clipboard full of paperwork.

The empath would have called anyone she could have, hoping to find Sunset, or even get ahold of Angie. Someone. She doesn't like this being the only one who knows Oz is hurt and where he is. On top of her own hospital phobia, this is no good, making her pace and praying to the god she sometime doubts exists that he'll wake up soon.

Johner had been informed of the incident at the apartment building, but unfortunately the responding officer went off duty before the precinct got word that Oz was out of surgery and recovery. He prowls up to the emergency room desk and flashes his badge, and is soon escorted to where he gets to wait for Oz to wake up. He stalks into view, gaze raking over the girl there, then dismissing her as he heads for a chair.

The beep of the machine following his heart rate speeds up for a short moment, before steadying again, Oz's eyes fluttering open. Eyes unfocused, it takes a few blinks for everything to look right, gaze first landing on Sabrielle. Relaxing at /one/ thing that's familiar, it doesn't take the Irishman long to figure out where he is. White walls, nurse, pain in his side, hospital bed. "Oh, bloody hell." /Cop./

Glancing to the arriving cop, the nurse sighs and plops the paperwork down next to the patient. "Fill these out." she barks before exiting the room. This leads to some quiet but it's not to last long as one of the responding paramedics, now in civvies peers into the room, looking to Oz, and then to Sabrielle. "Hey! Just getting off shift. How's the walking knifeblock dooo..." He finally notices Johner, "...ing? Oh."

Sabrielle took one glance at the cop and sighed. This was not a good thing. She respected cops, liked most of them, even if only out of childhood habits from her father. But he wasn't pestering her for answers she didn't have, so she was going to let him do his thing. But he gets pissy with Oz, the small redhead would be hell on heels. The heart rate monitor speeding up catches the full of her attention, before she's stepping close. "Ozzie." Quietly, just looking at him. Of course, she'd got dried blood on her clothes, but she could give a rat's butt about now. Then the paramedic walking by gets a smile. "He's wakin' up, thanks. " Flushing, hands sliding into her back pockets. Awkward and quiet.

Johner just about smirked at the nurse. Woman after his own heart, that. Then he focused on the man in the bed. "Detective Johner." He growls by way of greeting. "I've been assigned to your case. What happened?" Short, sweet, and to the point.

"I got /stabbed./ What do you think happened?" Oz growls in response, basically saying the first thing that came to mind, without a few choice words. "With a bloody scalpel. In tha bloody side. What else ya need?" Cops. He does not like them.

The paramedic gives an uncomfortable smile at the beginning of the interview... awkward! Before beckoning Sabrielle over to him with the bend of a finger.

The cop gets a sharp look, no, the badge and authority don't cow her, though she's not being bristly and nasty like a disrespectful punk. But she's got that look on her face that should tell him she /does/ expect some civility, even from a NYC cop. Trailing over to the paramedic after a glance and a smile for Oz, a whisper. "Yeah?"

"A coherent account of events from the beginning would be too much to ask for, probably." Johner snarks back. "Unless you'd rather the moron that knifed you get away scott free."

Oz gives a laugh, it only being short because laughing seems to be something that hurts as well. "Oh, trust me. Ya ain't gonna catch him. He's a bloody body switcher. Can tell ya what he looks like by himself. Blue jello, and a skeleton. But when he's /in/ somebody, which is all tha fuckin' time, seems? Ya ain't catchin' him." 'Sides, Oz doesn't really want the cops catching Zach. Leave Zach to Sunset. Hell, leave Zach to him.

The paramedic gives a sheepish grin, working to keep his voice low while the two men had their not so civil conversation. "Um. were you able to contact any of his family or Mendel? Because I only know of Mendel's number and of she's still not answering."

Blue eyes snap to the cop. "A little decency, is ya please. Tha man jus' got stabbed." Then in a completely different tone to the paramedic, softer. "No. Ah've left a lot of messages, an' Ah'm sure one of his sisters will be here in no time. Ah don't know Miss Mendel, so Ah don't have her number." Ignore that hint of a guilty flush, there.

Johner gives a snarl and /just/ manages to keep a nasty epiteth from escaping his lips. Fucking mutie. Goddamn. "Just start from the top, and let me worry about the rest of it. Nailing mutant criminals is my specialty." His voice is a venomous growl. He /completely/ ignores Sabrielle. Does. Not. Exist.

Eyes narrowing slightly, Oz tucks that bit of information away. Oh, /really?/ Eyes sliding away from Johner for a moment, if anything just to piss him off more, he now focuses on SAbrielle and the paramedic for a moment. "Ya know, if ya need them for any questions, ya could just ask /me./"

"So long as someone gets informed. " The paramedic glances up towards Oz, "Oh... it's not that. It's more of a matter of courtousy."

She nods. "Ah'll make sure they know. Thank you." She's the picture of polite manners at the moment, before she's glaring at Johner. A glance at Ozzie. "Jus' makin' sure Ah called your family, Oz. Makin' sure Ah didn't need help, was all. " Unsaid was 'relax'. Then she's turning, walking over in front of Johner, between the cop and Oz. "Hey, a little bedside manner, here. Man lost a lotta blood, it affects tha memory. He's not tha one who did tha stabbin', an' Ah'd thank ya ta remember that."

"Sit. Down." Johner growls at Sabrielle. "Or I'll have you up on charges of obstructing justice. If *he* or the hospital staff bitches, I'll go, but you, little missy, have no say here." And he hasn't even /begun/ to be a sonofabitch to Oz yet.

Oh, hell no. Johner could be a complete asshole to him. Oz could care less about that, since he can give what he takes. But acting that way towards Sabrielle? Oh, /hell/ no. Letting out a sound that's a mix between a growl and snarl, Oz's hands flatten on whatever space left in the bed there is, pushing himself up, ignoring the fact that this motion really does not feel good at /all./ "You talk ta her again like that, and you'll be the one in a hospital bed."

The paramedic shakes his head at Oz's reaction, "Don't be an idiot. Sit back, relax and just answer the questions. Sooner you do, the sooner he leaves, everybody wins."

Oh, now he's just pissed off an already stressed out empath. "Don't ya talk ta me in that disrespectful a manner, or Ah'll have someone from tha staff in here ta make sure ya don't put undue stress on someone jus' outta surgery ta save his life, so fast it'll make yer head spin, officer. Got a card, or anythin' pretty, or should Ah jus' get a pen an' pad now, an' ask for your badge number, precinct, an' the head of your department? " Sweet as pie, and so close to pushing influence at Johner she can almost taste it. Not turning to look at the Irishman, eyes still on Johner. "That's all right. Ah'm sure tha officer is overworked, while bein' underappreciated an' underpaid. Aren't ya, officer. " rhetorical statement there. All that pissiness coming off Johner like heat off the sun, is being pushed back against, nice, calming sort of influence on the cop. The hell with ethics, this man needs to have his ass kicked, even if she couldn't do it the way she liked, she'd get her shots in her own way.

Johner gives Oz a look that is condescending, dismissive, and mightily amused at his threat. Yeahrightsure. A bed-ridden ... boy ... is going to flatten /him/ ? /Please/. Then he eyes the girl. "I said sit the hell down, girl. Sorry to disappoint you if you were expecting some meek, mild, pushover simpering-ass nancy cop. But I /do/ have other shit to do, and if you lot don't want to cooperate, then I am not obliged to do jack shit, and you'll be doing me a favor. Less paperwork. So if neither of you wants to tell me anything, you know, /useful/? I'll just be on my way. And there won't be anyone else coming over here to beg scraps from you, either."

The look does not help Johner at all, and neither does the answer he gives Sabrielle. Raising one hand to rest of the metal sides on the die of the bed, seeming to be using it to push him into a better sitting position, Oz tightens his grip, the metal denting and crumbling, much like a wet piece of tissue paper. "Wouldn't be givin' me too many other reasons, boyo." He growls. "'Specially considerin' there ain't no use in me tellin' ya shit. Ya ain't gonna catch him, no matter how hard ya try. Trust me."

Oh yes, wrong way to go. "Ah have a name. Ya can call me /Miss Harris/. Ah'm not expectin' some ass kisser, but Ah do expect some decency. Ah'm sure ya have lots of things ta do, but bein' nasty ta Oz won't get ya tha answers ya want any faster. Any cop worth his salt knows that sort of thing. You're bein' belligerent to tha victim, an' if ya can't correct that, jus' tell me your badge number, precinct, and supervisor's name now. Ah'm sorry, but Ah'm not in awe of your badge. Ah respect it, because mah Daddy taught me that not all law enforcement officers are jerks. Ah already gave mah statement, ta tha officer that arrived on tha scene. An' since when is it procedure ta badger a witness, much less threaten ta not do your job, while a patient is still recovering from blood loss and coming out of sedation? " She pushes harder at Johner, a glance back at Oz to get him to try and relax.

Johner's temperament is ... proving to be rather difficult to manipulate. This is not some temporary bad mood here. He gets /right/ in Sabrielle's face and fairly /roars/ at her. "SIT DOWN." Then, in a somewhat less loud tone. "I have not badgered /anyone/. I asked for details other than 'I got stabbed with a scalpel by a blue jello skeleton guy'." Abruptly, Johner goes silent, as the description finally has a chance to register. "Waitafuckingsecondhere." Oh, now Sabrielle might as well throw in the towel on the influence, 'cause Johner's fucking /incandescent/ with rage. "I know that fucker. There was a fucking manhunt to take him down because he was a cop killer. FUCK."

"Then ya don't need anythin' else. Good." Oz hisses, eyes fiery with anger. "Now get the fuck out."

"HOLD UP!" The paramedic apparently was not happy with the statement Sabrielle was making, "How CAN he do his job when you people WON'T cooperate?! People like you make our jobs one big pain in the ass. We get you guys on your worst moments usually and we average what, 8, 9 calls a 12 hour shift? So that's 9 people at their worst being part of our daily god damn routine and maybe ONE of those calls consist of a person who will actually listen to the damn professional. Yes it sucks that you got stabbed. I feel for you. But being all bitchy to the cop isn't going to help you one goddamn cent!" He gestures over to Johner, "So WHAT if his bedside manner isn't all that great? Do you want the asshole who gets the job done or Mr. Rogers who is so busy playing singing Kumbaya while SAM is capping another victim with a bad afro?!" He blinks at what Johner says, "Manhunt?" He blinks, "For a blue guy...

Sabrielle just crosses her arms over her chest, clearly not impressed. She all but yawns, but holds it back, deciding more sarcasm would be bad. "Ya've snapped an' snarled, an' been less than pleasant in yer beside manner. " A sigh. "Still want your badge number and supervisor's name, officer sunshine." Yeah, she's not that easy to bowl over. Eyes shift over to the paramedic, cooler headed than any of the men in the room, it seems. "Ah'm jus' askin' him ta be a little more considerate. Hardly obstructin' justice. Ah could be a ravin' bitch, but Ah'm not. Ah'm jus' askin' him ta not be so damned cranky. " Then that calm is pushed at the paramedic, because Johner? He's just giving her a headache. Turning, moving to the side of the bed, a glance at Oz. She doesn't dare touch him in front of other people.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckity fuck. That ... " Johner sputters off into enraged silence. "Goddamn sick-ass bastard. Jumps bodies and kills whoever he jumps into. Took a good cop down that way." He grabs his radio and starts barking into it, most of it cop shorthand, but 'and I want the files on my desk before I get back or else' is said in plain English. "Where was he?" He asks Oz. The only damn thing he wants to know, now.

"Where /was/ he? Or where /is/ he?" The only answer Johner gets to /that/ question is a slow grin that spreads itself over Oz's lips, one that basically says 'Let me dredge up some care from Giveafuck Bay.' Johner can look for his answer, but he isn't getting it from this source.

Of course he's going to be cranky when you guys are pretty much attacking him from the start." The paramedic replies back to Sabrielle, "And he wasn't all that rude to start with. I mean sure he didn't offer you tea or a cookie. But this isn't fantasy land and he's not Mickey Mouse." The paramedic glances over to Johner, "Stabbing victim was outside W 46rd Street Apartments. Being that he's still alive now, he didn't walk from where he was stabbed."

A glance at the paramedic, pushing harder. "Ah don't expect tha Queen's English, but not snarling an snappin' like some sort of rabid animal might have helped. " Okay, so she can't help it, one hand barely brushing fingers of Oz's forearm. "It's not even how he asked tha first time, it was tha way he got snippy when he didn't like tha answer."

Johner's now more or less ignoring Oz and Sabrielle. Bloody civilians. Just because he didn't offer tea and cake and ... this? This is why he deals with vics as little as possible. Because they're fucking annoying. "Got it. There'll be a manhunt out for the creep by dawn." Or heads would roll. "We got the fucker once, we'll get him again. Now if you'll excuse me, I got work to do." And he starts for the door.

Calming slightly at Sabrielle's touch, Oz keeps his narrowed eyes on Johner as he leaves. Good bloody riddance. Muttering a few choice words under his breath, the Irishman for the moment distracts himself with... paperwork. ...Yeah, he'd rather get stabbed again, thanks.

The paramedic quiets, glancing over to Sabrielle and Oz, and then to Sabrielle's hand. "Ah..." He frowns, "I should probably go too. See if I can contact your /girlfriend/, Mr. Delaney."

She watches the officer leave, the look on her face almost remote, lacking in any real definition like a doll's features. She'd get that officer's information, even if it meant begging favors from Justin, when she could find him. That is if she can't get all the information on her own. Shaking her head, forcing herself to brighten. "Hey there, you. Ya need anythin'? Ah called Sunny an' all, but left her a message, she wasn't at home. Ah even called Angie an' left one. Dunno how much good that'll do. " A glance at the paramedic, all stressing the word. One brow arching. She was hardly doing anything inappropriate to trying to comfort a family friend. Wasn't like she'd kissed him. "Thank ya for your help, again." She'd still have to figure out a way to get lunch delivered to that paramedic station.

Glancing up, Oz raises a scarred eyebrow at the paramedic. "Ya do that, then." He answers, before looking back down at the paperwork. Handing silently towards Sabrielle. "Please?" Look, he even said the magic word! "I'll tell ya what to write."

There's a smirk at Oz, taking the paperwork, picking up the pen. "Sure. But jus' this once, ya mind. Ah hate paperwork." Clearly just yanking his chain.

Making sure the paramedic has left, Oz gives a pained groan once Sabrielle takes the clipboard from him, easing himself back onto the bed. Angelika is apparently not the only actor in the 'family.' "Fuck... What tha hell did they do ta me?"

"Ah don't think ya can drink for a while, Oz. An' he stabbed ya, whoever he was. Did ya even have a weapon?" Wasn't a fair fight if he didn't. Hand running over his hair, before she's filling out forms again. "Ah should probably help ya with these, call Sunset again, then get outta here."

"Zach'ry Miller." It's the first time Oz has probably ever said his name, and it wouldn't take an empath to feel the hatred behind his words. "No. Didn't. Shouldn't need one. Hope Sunset gets ta him before I do. Probably tha reason she ain't here yet." Then calming, looking over Sabrielle. "Outta here?" He asks, softly.

Blue eyes widen. "Sunset shouldn't be goin' after him in her condition. How would she even know?" Paperwork filled out, pen set aside. "Who ta go look for, Ah mean. " Flushing, letting her hand slide over one of his. "That guy said he was gonna call Bridget. Ya really wanna have ta explain me ta her here?"

"Don't really question how she knows stuff, but if she knew it already, I wouldn't be surprised." Oz murmurs, voice quieter, whats left of the sedatives in his system starting to take effect. Hand turning over, threading her fingers through his, Oz lightly shrugs. "Deal with that when it happens. If it even happens. Just... please don't go."

"Still, she shouldn't. Somethin' could happen to tha baby. " Melting when he turns his hand over to take hers, damn him. "Ozzie. Ah don't wanna make it harder. Ah mean, she might try ta hurt me, thinkin' Ah had somethin' ta do with ya gettin' stabbed. " Moving the metal rail to sit on the edge of his bed. "But if ya don't want me ta, Ah won't go. At least not until someone else gets here. Then Ah wanna go home an' change."

"Wouldn't hurt ya. Wouldn't think that either. Not like her." Oz mutters, hand tightening around hers for a brief moment. "Just stay. Stay. Bed's big enough. We can both just go ta sleep."

"Ya wouldn't think Ah was tha kind ta cheat either, but Ah did. People do weird things, Ozzie. " Hand squeezing his back, a low laugh. "Oh /that/ would look good, me sleepin' on your hospital bed with ya, if your girlfriend shows up?" But even then, she's snuggling up to him a little. "Scared tha hell outta me, ya know. "

Arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her as close as she can get without it hurting. "Deal with it if it happens." He mutters, barely awake. "Didn't mean ta. Scared me, too." Breaths becoming slightly deeper, longer. Then quietly, very quietly, one more thing. "Love you." Before he's finally drifting off to sleep.

She started to protest him moving so much, pulling her into him. But she figures if it helps him feel more secure, she can just lay there with him until he goes to sleep, then scoot out and pull a chair up next to the bed. "Ah know ya didn't mean ta." It was the thought of if she hadn't decided to go to Justin's when she had, that scared her. But everything ceases, even her breathing for a second, when he says that. Eyes slide shut, teeth grinding. Sure, her empathy told her he wasn't lying, but he was also drugged up. Swallowing hard, just letting herself snuggle up to him. She'd worry about what to make of him saying /that/ later. Sweet lord.

Thu, 27 Mar 2008 04:42:58 GMT

I shouldn't wanta keep doin' this. I shouldn't wanta keep doin' this. I really, really shouldn't.

Gotta get a separate room.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Jus' a game, right?

Fri, 21 Mar 2008 04:04:16 GMT

Fuck.

Think this is one of those moments where people say they're never drinkin' again.

'Cept I really don't think I can blame this fully on alcohol.

Fuck.

Log. March 20, 2008. Pennsylvania.

After hours of driving, some of them silent, some of them not, Pennsylvania and a hotel with open rooms have finally been reached. However, Oz is very decidely not bringing up that all the open rooms only have /one/ bed until absolutely needed, even though it is glaringly obvious. Sitting on the floor, against the foot of the bed, Oz has one of the rescued bottles of whiskey next to him, nearly empty and opened as soon as they get to the room, guitar in his lap, fingers running over the strings and neck of the instrument. For now, he's not singing along. For now.

Sabrielle had volunteered for food duty, of course. Since she didn't have anything to carry in from the car, it had made sense. Fast food joint with the glaring neon had only been down the street, so hey. Bacon double cheeseburgers ahoy! Using the key he'd given her, juggling things enough to get the door open. "Ya like french fries, right? Ah mean they are made of potatoes." Clearly picking on him, setting the food and sodas down on a flat surface before she's shrugging out of her jacket. It's dawned on her, clearly, since her face is flushing. "Ah guess all tha double rooms were taken, huh?" Fishing out a french fry. Eating was good to use to shut herself up.

"Nah, I purposely got a one bed room 'cause I obviously fuck yer brains out." He deadpans in answers, not looking up from the guitar, smirk flittering across his lips. Considering how /easy/ the girl blushes, it's hard for him to not see how red he can get her face.

That sip of her soda she was taking? Choked on, even as she's giving him a wide eyed look. Throwing a balled up napkin at him. "Oz! Ain't funny!" But she's laughing anyhow, digging into the paper bag to get out his preferred bacon sammich of cholesterol and large fry and bringing them to him. "Here, eat an' stop tryin' ta make me blush so much Ah ignite, will ya? "

Grinning up at her, Oz easily swats the napkin away. "Dunno, I thought it was pretty damn funny, considering you just made a tomata look pale." He gruffly replies, amused. "But since ya got my favorite food, I'll quit, for now." Taking a large bite of the burger first, he makes sure enough of it is eaten before speaking again, mouth only half full. "So, no TV. Whatcha wanna do before it's crack o'clock and time for sleep?"

"Not very nice of ya ta pick on a girl's weaknesses, Ozzie." Snagging the drinks and the bag, and setting across from him, her back against the wall. Munching on her own french fries, staring off into some middle distance. "Ah dunno, think mah cell phone might actually get through ta someone now?" Digging out her own cheeseburger, only about half the size of his. "S'ppose Ah could make ya play for me."

"Love, if I were picking on your weaknesses, you'd know it." Shooting her a wolfish grin, eyeliner rimmed eyes glittering in amusement and something darker for a moment, Oz distracts himself for a moment by taking a drink of whiskey. "And I'd be playin' anyway. But since there's really nothin; in that for me, how 'bout somethin' a bit more fun?"

A bite of her burger, licking ketchup from her fingers, grunting at his reply about her weaknesses. Realizing she's not sure the last time she really ate. Sip of her soda. "Like what? Oh...wait. " Hand into her jeans pocket little leather clad ipod pulled out. Clicking sound of the selection wheel, before it's tossed in his lap. "That's mah theme song, tha one we were talkin' about."

Looking down at the iPod like it's a foreign piece of equipment for a moment - which it basically is - Oz evetually sets the guitar aside, placing one of the headphones in his ear, keeping one out so he can converse at the same time. "Ever play I Never?"
That cheeseburger is toast. So much for seeming the delicate Southern belle, hmm? Another swallow of soda, glancing up at him. "Ah nevah? Can't say Ah have, no. Some kinda game, is it?"

A grin slowly spreading it's way across his face, Oz nods. "Game, yah. Drinkin' game." Picking up the bottle of whiskey to demonstrate, he explains. "Basically, it goes like this. Say something ya never done, and if tha other person's done it, they take a drink. For 'xample, I never been to college." Grin widening, he holds the bottle out for her. "Drink up, love."

"Not fair, how did ya know Ah went ta college? Oh wait.. still in college. Mentioned that, didn't Ah." Looking slightly chagrined, taking the bottle for a long swig, the shudder from the burn. Holding the bottle for a moment, head tipping to the side as she thinks it over. "Ah nevah got a tattoo."

Eyebrow quirking, Oz smirks after a moment, finishing off what was left in the bottle. "I never..." He starts, getting up and heading over to the bag of whiskey, searching around for a good bottle to use. "I never, I never..." Settling on his favored Johnnie Walker, Oz somewhat regretfully takes out the 200th Anniversary. But hey, if aliens are invading, why not get really drunk off the good stuff. "I never dated a girl and a guy at the same time." He finally says, sitting back down, handing the nearly full bottle out.

He got an evil, evil look then. "Ya know, Oz, that's cuttin' it kinda thin. Justin an' Ah nevah went on a date until after Ah was sure Ah wasn't, ya know, inta Angie." But she takes the bottle, gamely taking a shot from it. That shudder isn't the same, but she gets goosebumps none the less. Munching on the last of her french fries, washing them down with soda. "Ah nevah..played a guitar."

The look is only met with his usual grin, and a low rumbling chuckle. "Ohhh, there's a scary look. Shaking in my boots, love." He murmurs, taking the bottle back and downing a shot with no problem. One good thing about Johnnie Walker, it goes down smooth. "Pity that. I'll have to teach ya, if we're stuck out here long enough. Would show ya some stuff, but we mgiht as well save some fun stuff for tomorrow." Taking another drink, Oz thinks a moment before giving his next reply. "I never... Bloody hell, there's gotta be some stuff I ain't done." Brow furrowing, biting his bottom lip for a moment, he eventually smirks, before shrugging. "Why not? Ain't ever kissed a redhead."

She laughs, shaking her head. "Ah nevah have eitha. Gotta try harder, Ozzie." Sipping at her soda, even as she flushes. "Ya should be scared of me. Nevah know what Ah might do. We redheads, we're scary critters." Giggling, even as she's picking up wrappers and things, tidying up. "Done with your stuff?" Leaning over to snag the papers from his burger and the napkin she'd thrown at him.

Grabbing her wrist, mostly to stop her from touching his unfinished food, Oz shakes his head. "Never leave leftovers." He replies, eyeing her for a moment. "Did you know that your freckles get obvious when you stop blushin'?" He finally asks.

She goes still, eyes shutting tight for a moment when his hand grabs around her wrist. Shutting her empathy off still took real effort, probably because she didn't do it enough. Blue eyes open to look at his face, one brow lifting in a lazy arch. " No. Ah don't tend ta watch mahself in a mirror very often or anythin'.

"Oh, so all those innocent and angry looks are just natural talent, huh?" He quips, not letting go of her wrist. "No practicing in the bathroom to make sure ya can look yer absolute most innocent or terrifyin'?"

"Must come as part of tha package, then.Why, ya sayin' Ah should start practicin' an' upgrade? Ah don't spend a lot of time lookin' at mahself anyhow. Nevah really found bein' a narcissist interestin'. What, mah mascara smeared?"

Grin slowly widening all throughout her reply, Oz eventually just gives a small laugh. "Beginnin' ta see why Angie liked you so much." he answers, fingers loosening enough to her wrist go.

Eyes flicking down from his eyes to his grin, before she's looking back up, her own eyes narrowing slightly, as if wary. Still picking up that balled up napkin after he starts to let go. Not jerking her wrist away, just letting it slip away. "Why's that, ya think?"
"Well, lessee. Ya pretty, ya funny, ya obviously don't take shit from anybody. Add in the fact that ya obviously got a temper and it's hard ta not like ya."

There went the flushing again, busying herself with making sure everything not being still eaten was put into that paper sack from the fast food place. No need to make a mess. "Thanks, Ah think." A smirk. "Ah dunno about tha not takin' shit from anyone, but hey, if ya say so."

Looking at her, amused and thoughtful, Oz eventually replies with a question. "Wanna play a different game?" He asks, taking another long drink of whiskey.

There's a shrug, leaning over to steal the bottle from him, if he'd let her. Intent on taking another swallow of whiskey of her own. Blessed feeling of a good buzz, that would be a good thing. Make the rest of the world fuzzy.

"Let's play Truth or Dare."

There's a slowly spreading grin, laughing, head tipped back against the wall. "Oh, like mah life has anythin' worth hidin'. But sure, sugah. Go on."
Reaching out to take the bottle of whiskey back, Oz takes a drink, before setting it in between them. "Truth or dare?"

Sabrielle smirks, fingers picking a strand of her hair to toy with again. "Truth." Cowards way out!

You say, "Why'd you get in the car with me?" Oz asks, after a moment. "Since ya basically don't know me from Jack.""

She tilts her head, regarding him. "Ah was sorta runnin' on auto pilot. Ah didn't know what ta do. Trustin' Sunset an' Angie's brother didn't seem like such a bad idea, since ya seemed ta have a better grasp on thin's than Ah did." Hand in her pocket, tugging out her chapstick to slick over her lips, thinking. "Truth or dare?"

"Aliens ain't near the weirdest thing I've seen, love." He answers, reaching for his nearby duster, searching inside for the pockets. Taking a moment ot light a cigarette, his answer is among a stream of smoke. "Dare."

She groans, then lets out a long sigh. "Ah knew ya were gonna say that. Ah nevah played this game before, ya know that? Ah mean.. what am Ah supposed ta dare ya ta do? " Crawling over, kneeling next to him. Hand out to steal the whiskey for a swallow. "An' it's not like... Ah mean you're like Angie. Fearless. Ah envy that." Chewing on her lower lip. "Help me out here, Oz."

Giving a low chuckle or two, the sounds rumbling from his ehst like thunder, Oz quirks a scarred eyebrow. "And wheredaya think she got all those tricks of hers from, love?" He asks after a moment, moving the cancer stick away from her. "And if you want me to suggest a dare for ya, ya sure ya want to be askin' me for any of those?"

She swats his leg. "Ah doubt Angie gets all her tricks from ya, sunshine. Ah jus.." Shrugging. "Yeah, Ah mean, once Ah know what you're supposed ta dare people ta do, Ah might be better off. Or ya can get a free pass on this one, an' Ah'll take a dare. "

"Alright..." He murmurs after a moment, becoming serious. Fingers tapping on his leg for a moment, he eventaully looks over at Sabrielle. "Dare ya ta kiss me."

Her eyes had lowered to study the bottle of whiskey while he thought. His words, however, make her eyes jerk up to his face. She's slightly buzzed, no doubt, she's got that drunk's glow around her. She's about to protest, he knows she's with Justin, even if he can't know she's sure Justin is going to end it with her. He's got.."Jus' a game, right? No pickin' on me, Ah'm sure Ah'm not near so experienced as ya." Poor Oz, because all she does is lean in and barely press her lips against his.

That may be all Sabs has done, but Oz's response is much more. One arm moving to wrap around her waist, the other rising to cup his hand to her cheek, the Irishman if anything, knows how to kiss.

Yeah, she meant it to be a quick, pretty innocent kiss. Nothing to get too worried or worked up over, no guilt to come from it. His arm around her waist makes her stiffen in reflex she's had to have for the last handful of years. On top of that, it's enough to tug her off balance enough her hand comes up to rest on his shoulder. One kiss was no big deal, right? Might as well enjoy it.

Boldened by the fact that she hasn't pulled away, Oz shifts both of their positions, managing to move Sabrielle into his lap, lips never parting from hers. Tongue darting out to lightly sweep over her bottom lip, seeking entrance, as fingers deftly dart under the hem of her shirt, caressing the lower skin on her back.

There's a faint sound in her throat when he's pulling her into his lap. Fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, lips parting a the feel of his tongue. Of course, she's sort of winging it, since she's not exactly miss Experience here or anything. Fingers against her skin make her back arch, super sensitized from rarely being touched.

Deepening the kiss, proving just how handy a tongue stud can be, Oz makes a small sound that could be either a growl or purr or mix of both. Both hands moving down to her waist, lightly massaging the exposed skin while slowly pushing her shirt up to reveal even more. Pulling back after a moment, breathing heavily, it's a short pause before he's moving his lips to her neck. "We probably shouldn't be doin' this." He mutters in between soft kisses and nips to her neck, voice low and husky.

Yeah, that was new. It makes her curious, her tongue rubbing against his to get used to the feeling of the tongue stud. That stiffness starts to fade, empathy being shoved to the 'off' position making it so she can relax, at least a little. Breath coming a little heavier a shiver down her spine. "Probably not. " Whispered, but he doesn't seem to be stopping, either. Her fingers rubbing along the back of his neck.

Pressing the tongue stud lightly into her pulse point, Oz runs his thumbs over the bottom of her ribcage. "Definitely probably not." He murmurs, lips moving against her skin. However, the fact still stands that he's not stopping, alcohol and now a fair bit of lust and built up hormones from the last few months raging through his system and making him really not care, arms moving to wrap around her, holding her to him as he moves them up to the bed.

The press of tongue stud against skin makes her squirm, fingers clenching on the back of his neck. A squeak as he picks her up, flutter of lashes at the realization he's moved them to the bed. "Definitely...so why are we not runnin' away from each other?" Hazy with alcohol, clinging to him a little more than she should be. Kicking off her boots, letting them thump to the floor, though.

Moving on top of her, Oz continues his attention to her neck and whatever other bare skin there is. "Never was one to do what was good for me." He growls softly. And after that, not much else is said.

Thu, 20 Mar 2008 20:14:43 GMT

Well. This is a turn of events, ain't it?

Dropped Sunset off in Virginia. Probably had a place there just by bein' her 'brother' but I wouldn'ta felt comfortable. Never do, in places like that.

Went back to the city real quick. Got some stuff that I doubt is gonna be replaceable or salvageable if the damn place gets blown up.

Picked up a person as well. Sabrielle. Girl Sunset's been teachin'. Girl Angie went bonkers over, too, I think.

Bloody hell, when did I become a good guy?

Tue, 18 Mar 2008 14:53:42 GMT

This is just... completely bolloxed up.

Aliens. Bleedin' fuckin' aliens.

At least Bridget's outta here. Said she was already on her way to wherever she was goin'. Angie's been outta the state since any of this happened, so I know she's alright. Or, at least outta here. That's a plus.

Gotta get Sunny outta here, more than anythin'.

But once we're gone, where the bloody hell are we gonna go?

Thu, 28 Feb 2008 19:32:38 GMT

Wonder where she always pops off to.

Have to ask her next time I see her. If she's 'round long enough for me to, anyway.

Still don't like that she sleeps in the ruddy park.

Log. February 19, 2008. Manhattan: Central Park North.

The north region of Central Park is slightly less grown out than the south, but it is still green and living again. The playground is still missing, the area now covered with grass and some bushes. The trees are back, standing tall against the still blackened paths and lightpoles. Long branches and green shade creates a comfortable place in the center of the big city, the soft grass still inviting to those who might wish to sit there. The street nearby is still somewhat blackened in the brick, but for the most part it is counteracted by the thriving piece of habitable woodland astride it. The ivy on some of the old walls accents the new life of the flowerbeds in beautiful bloom when it is plausible. Even without, this is a grand and noble drop of earth in New York City. In one spot, even the grass refuses to grow, a pool of sere brown surrounded by well-watered green.

Tagari's settled on a bench, sprawled out and half asleep in the evening gloam. Just another tired hobo.

"We gotta stop meetin' like this, Poppet." Dressed as usual, a guitar case hanging from his shoulder, Oz's head tilts slightly as he peers down at the bench and it's occupant. "So... this where you live then?"

Tagari's first words out are a groggy mixture of welsh slang and english mashed together brutally. She blinks her eyes and lazily rolls to her back to peer up at Oz. "Sometimes." she finally answers.

Knowing not a bit of welsh, Oz doesn't linger on trying to figure out her first words, since he doesn't even recognize half of them. Crouching down into a kneel, guitar case gently finding it's way onto the ground as he does so, Oz's head stays tilted in curiosity. "Sometimes?"

Tagari blinks her eyes, but doesn't move. "Lassssssssst night I met this guy and he took me to his place for cocoa, and had, like, a millionty books. It was nice and Soooo much warmer than out here."

"A millionty, huh?" He parrots. "Must have a pretty damn big apartment, then. My sister doesn't have enough room to even take most of her books outta the boxes they're stored in. 'Course, I don't think she's even got a millionty of 'em." Pausing for a moment, Oz lights up a cigarette from his seemingly never empty pack of Marlboros. "And if you want a warm place to stay tonight, she'd prob'ly take ya in. She's like me... dead, but not. I'd offer, but I don't really got as nice of a couch as she does, and I sure as hell don't know how to make cocoa."

Tagari's lower lip trembles. "You don't know how to make cocoa?" she says, as if this were the most dissapointing, sad failure in the history of the world.

"When I learned how to mix drinks, I focused more on the alcoholic beverages." Oz deadpanly replies. "Warms you up about just as well, really."

Tagari points out, "You put chocolate and Kalhua together, or liquor...."

"I think the closest I get to hot chocolate is heated up chocolate milk with Bailey's Irish in it, honestly."

Tagari grimaces. "Gross!"

"Only cause you haven't tried it." Oz grins. "Pretty damn good, actually. But if you're lookin' for actual cocoa, you'll be wantin' to go back to that guy's place, or my sister's, unless ya got the money to buy it yourself." All joking aside, he really doesn't like the idea of her out here at night, even with boots and a jacket.

Tagari closes her eyes a bit. "It still /sounds/ icky," she protests.

"Well, I ain't really forcin' ya to drink it, am I?" He questions. Throwing his cigarette in the nearby grass, Oz shoulders his guitar case again before standing. "Up ya go, Poppet." He says, offering a hand down to help her up. "M' takin' you to a place warm with books and hot chocolate. Don't like the idea of you sleepin' out here."

Tagari gets to her feet with a groggy, disgruntled mutter. "What's wrong with being out here?" she protests.

"Other than the fact that it's a /bench/ in the middle of the park, and it's supposed to get ta below freezin' tonight, not a damn thing." He sarcastically replies. "Consider you a friend, girlie, and I don't like it when my friends sleep on benches, alright?"

Tagari flinches at his sarcastic reply, almost teleporting out of his grasp; there's a mild shudder to her form, a quivering to her wings. "well, ohkay," she says sullenly.

Wincing slightly at the flinch, Oz sighs, rubbing his free hand over his face. "Just seen what kinda bad things can happen to somebody out here, alright?" He answers in a softer tone. "Don't want you gettin' hurt just cause ya didn't have no where ta go."

Tagari's gaze shifts briefly to an expression of furtive paranoia; but the look fades. "Okay," she says, again. But she isn't enthusiastic.

"I ain't gonna make you stay there if ya don't want ta." Oz remarks after a short moment of silence. "But, really... She's been wantin' ta meet ya. Big Sis, I mean. Told her 'bout how you told me 'bout Bri, and stuff. She wants ta thank ya for that."

Tagari's lips purse. "Are you sure there's cocoa there?" she asks meekly.

"Positive." He answers, giving her a reassuring grin. "And none of that packet kind, either. The real stuff, with real chocolate."

Tagari smiles, briefly. "You're nice, Ozzy," she says, starting to warm back up to him.

"Nice ta know one more person thinks so." He laughs. "Usually people think I'm a jackass, most of the time." Shoving his hands into his duster pockets, Oz peers over at Tagari for a moment. "Ya said ya only sleep in the park sometimes. Where else ya got ta go?"

Tagari shrugs. Her attention wavers, mind wandering. She yawns, and her wings twitch.

Brow furrowing slightly at the shrug, Oz hrms, looking back to the street in front of them. "You meet a lot of people like me?" He asks after a moment. "Dead but not?"

Tagari's attention slowly shifts back to Oz. "Huh?" she asks. She wasn't listening.

Smirking slightly, Oz repeats the question. "You ever meet anyone else like me? Where they're dead and alive at the same time?"

Tagari shrugs. "Iunno. Can we go get chocolate now?" Tagari suddenly startles, flares her wings and brings them down with a sharp, loud CRACK- vanishing.

Fuckin' gobshite.

Sis and Bridget are gonna be pissed that I fought him - If you could call it a fight. - again. Don't care. Hate him too damn much to not fight him when I see him.

He's lucky I let him off easy.

Log. February 20, 2008. Manhattan: Central Park North.

The north region of Central Park is slightly less grown out than the south, but it is still green and living again. The playground is still missing, the area now covered with grass and some bushes. The trees are back, standing tall against the still blackened paths and lightpoles. Long branches and green shade creates a comfortable place in the center of the big city, the soft grass still inviting to those who might wish to sit there. The street nearby is still somewhat blackened in the brick, but for the most part it is counteracted by the thriving piece of habitable woodland astride it. The ivy on some of the old walls accents the new life of the flowerbeds in beautiful bloom when it is plausible. Even without, this is a grand and noble drop of earth in New York City. In one spot, even the grass refuses to grow, a pool of sere brown surrounded by well-watered green.

The north side if Central Park usually holds no interest of Oz's, unless he has nothing better to do than come to the park with his guitar and see if he can make a buck or two, if anything. The sun is actually out for once, making it feel closer to thirty degrees than the actual twenty five, though snow is still on the ground form previous snowfall. It's probably the snow that's caused Oz to take a spot on a bench that on the grass to the side of the walkway like he usually does - Snow was never his thing, considering it never snowed in Los Angeles, and it always rained in the winter in Ireland. - guitar in his lap, open guitar case on the path below his feet, strumming and singing what most rock fans will recognize as an acoustic version of Radiohead's Creep.

There aren't a whole lot of people who wander by musicians and stop to listen to them playing. One such person, however, shows up around Oz's bench as soon as he recognizes the voice. In a host that is as run of the mill as a bag of flour (dressed for the weather, at least) Zachery cracks a grin as he steps slightly closer to Oz's side. On the lines 'I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo', the bodysnatcher finally speaks up. "Took the words /right/ out of my mouth."

Letting the most recent notes fade off, Oz opens his eyes, sliding an annoyed gaze Zachery's way. "Ya can leave, or ya get your head smashed in with a guitar. Yer choice."

"Oh?" Zachery quirks a brow, smirk not fading. "Actually, if you did that last thing, you might actually get some decent notes out of that thing." He casts a downward glance to the guitar, studying it for a second or two. Shiny. Then, contemplatively, he adds, "Or at the very least some money in that case for the entertainment."

Eyes narrowing as his fingers tighten slightly around the neck of the guitar, Oz gives a small growl. "Don't get why the beatnik likes you." He answers, off topic. "'Course, she always did have a soft spot for all the really pitiful things she came across."

Zachery can't help but chuckle. "Is /that/ why she considers your a brother? Ah, that makes sense, now." Purposefully not leaving much time for a retaliation, he nods in the direction of the guitar/bludgeoning weapon and asks, "What is that?" Judging by the tone of his voice, he's looking for something more explanatory than 'A guitar.'

"Apparently tha murder weapon." Oz snarls, standing and towering over Zach with a rather angry expression. "Which is a pity, cause I like this guitar."

Taking a step back out of sheer surprise (forgetting tall people are tall really only works when you're standing and they're sitting, doesn't it?), Zachery narrows his eyes. "You know I'll be back. You've beaten me up before, haven't you?" He sounds unimpressed, and despite his initial backing away he smirks.

Oz gives a grin that is not at all reassuring. "Well, yeah. But it's fun beatin' ya up, ain't it?" He asks in a low voice, setting the guitar down on the bench, before tackling Zach to the concrete.

"Nngh!" Another thing Zachery wasn't expecting. After all, he never really was the hands-on aggressive type. Though he'd probably do good to remember that Oz IS. Once he hits the ground and is able to figure out what just happened, he pipes up, "You're bloody mad! I was just--!" Standing there? Okay, not exactly. There WAS the taunting.

Pinning Zach's arms down with his knees, Oz grins again, looking slightly more... sociopathic this time. Slightly. "Yah." He agrees, before raising a fist back... "Ya know the kid who pulled legs offa spiders?"...bringing it down to barely miss Zach's head, embedding itself slightly in the concrete beside the body snatcher's ear. "That was me."

Zachery winces, but doesn't take his borrowed eyes off of Oz's face. Sneering, he answers, "Good to see you haven't changed since you were little. Though you'll probably regret not having grown any brains since then."

"I'm tempted to see if ya got any brains in this body." He mutters darkly, before an evil smirk flits over his face. Bringing a hand up to Zach's face, knuckles scraped and bloody, small pieces of concrete sticking to them, Oz places his thumb barely in the air above Zachery's left eye. "Wonder if I could reach 'em if they were there..."

Zachery twitches, turning his face away slightly. The look of disdain is still there on his face but his voice has certainly gained an anxious sort of quality. "You really, REALLY don't want to be doing that in public, Oz." He squares his shoulders back a little, attempting to free his arms. Gimme.

It's very obvious from the expression on Oz's face that he wants to continue with the plan, thumb trembling ever so slightly above Zachery's face... but the urge to stay out of jail eventually wins out. Lucky for a certain jello man. Pulling his thumb back with a dark look, it's a moment before Oz instead knees Zach firmly in the groin with a sadistic smile, standing. "You're right. I'll wait 'til we meet somewhere that's /not/ a park ta do that."

The sigh of relief Zachery lets out is shortened with a stopping of breath all together. A slew of insults and profanities come to mind, but the only things he manages to utter are "Ohholybloodygonadsworldofpain..." as he rolls onto his side and writhes uncomfortably. And that's an understatement of the year.

Smirking, Oz gathers up his guitar, placing it in back in it's case, before closing it, standing. Without a word to Zachery, he steps over him, starting to walk off.

Mustering the strength still left in him - and staying right where he is, curled up on the ground - Zachery smirks. "Do you..." A sadistic look to rival Oz's now finds its way onto /his/ face, though his speech is obviously still pain-riddled, "do you even know what she said behind your back?" He arduously places one hand next to him in a start of getting back up. "Eugenie. She was so bloody right it hurts." Or, you know, it might be the kick in the nuts. Either way.

Pausing, Oz turns around, taking a few steps back to Zacheery and crouching down. "Do you really think I give a shite about what the bloody mentaller sketch said 'bout me?" He quietly asks, smirking ever so slightly. "Couldn't care less 'bout what happened to her honestly, for what she did to me. Hope the little bitch is burnin' in hell."

The fact that Zachery would want Oz to do nothing other than burn in hell right now is very, VERY clear just by the look on his face. "Mentaller she might've been, but she was..." He trails off, the look on his face changing to one of sheer exasperation instead. Still on the ground (mostly in fear of getting bowled over if he got up again), he changes the subject. "You are going to die a horrible, horrible death, some day. And I'll be happy to have a hand in it."

"I imagine so." It's hard to tell what exactly Oz is replying to with that, but he doesn't elaborate instead standing again. Turning, it's only sheer luck that the guitar case, thrown over a shoulder, doesn't whack the body snatcher in the head, but it comes close. And Oz is again walking away.

Zachery flinches away at the near hit, before getting to his feet. Painfully slow and ignoring any looks he might be getting from anyone around, he stumbles over to the bench Oz was sitting on and sinks down onto it. Once he feels like he can properly walk again, it's back to the Tunnels for a few days. Why does he even come up here in the first place?

One of these days, I'm gonna take somethin' of hers, and see how she likes runnin' 'round for it.

Knowin' her, she'd have fun.

The minx.

Log. February 24, 2008. Hell's Kitchen.

Hell's Kitchen, officially called Clinton, has a reputation for being the most dangerous place in America. This was true up until the past couple of decades, but it's still a neighborhood that's best avoided if possible. It still has its share of gangs and organized crime, and then some; however, Hell's Kitchen is also home to a number of actors, attracted by its relatively cheap housing and proximity to Broadway. Ninth Avenue in particular is lined by a vast variety of ethnic restaurants, and is where the International Food Festival is held every May.

Warren headed out of the building that housed Murdock's law offices, then glanced around and decided to go for a walk. Marginally risky, in this area, but he was right near a law office and he could, after all, fly ... so he ought to be able to get out of the way if trouble presented itself.

And trouble does present itself, in the form of a quickly moving Trouble Magnet running full on, hair pulled back so that the tip of the pony tail graces the jacket she wears, riding boots hitting and rising from the pavement as she darts across the rather traffic-less street and down the sidewalk. Gloved hand wrapped around something silver, an impish smile is very much on her face as she starts to run by the wealthy man. "Hey Warren!" With that she continues running.

Darting out of an alley way after Bridget, Oz glances around, growling slightly under his breath once he catches sight of his girlfriend, and her hostage. Scowl. Running after her, Warren gets no second glance or even a hello, the Irishman faaaar too focused on his task at the moment. Save the flask.

"Hello!" Warren calls after her, looking a bit bemused. Then Oz comes tearing around the corner and bemusement turns to outright confusion. "What in the world?" He wonders, and starts after the pair, not quite sure what's going on or who needs help.

Tucking the flask into her jacket pocket, Bridget spins around a corner into an alley housing a dead end, closed dumpster and fire escapes aplenty. Ah yay for fire codes. Giving a quick leap onto the closed dumpster, Bridget follows up by jumping onto the nearest level on one of the fire escapes. The sounds of a giggle of laughter escaping from her mouth as she proceeds to climb the ladder quickly.

Growling again, Oz mutters something about 'brainy wench' and 'never trusting her around my pockets again' as he jumps up onto the dumpster after her, following up the ladder. "Love, if you go roof jumpin' again, you might as well just /keep/ the damn thing." He's nearly fallen to a painful landing way too many times when she's done this before.

Warren, following the pair, hears Oz's grumping, and one eyebrow goes up. "Bridget's your girlfriend?" He calls, then glances up at the roof, where Bridget seems intent on heading. "I suppose us guys ought to stick together. Want a hand?"

"Well thank you Oz, I think I will keep it!" Bridget replies, teasingly as she slows down a bit to look to Oz, giving a teasing laugh, "Fill it up with stale beer and the like." The smile fades however upon Angel's offer to the boyfriend. "...crap." She forgoes the ladder, leaping up to grab the rails of another nearby fire escape. Yay for Narrow alleys.

"Please." He dryly replies, looking up at the former paramedic blankly. However, the expression quickly turns to one of a mixture of panic and horror. "Bridget-" And he's serious, because he's using her actual name. "You put stale beer in that flask, and you'll be gettin' nothin' but cold shoulder for a /long/ while."

Warren chuckles. "Right. Hold your arms out ... and I hope you have a strong stomach." Because Warren is /so/ not going to tackle Bridget himself. When Oz complies, Warren grabs him around the chest and lifts off, turned so they're facing one set of fire escape ladders, rather than the end of the alley, since the space is a bit narrower than Warren likes.

Jumpity. Jumpity. Jumpity. JUMP! Not really looking down as Bridget is doing her leaps, she focuses mainly on clearing the roof area first. Upon the feet hitting rooftop, Bridget glances back to see the unhappy pair up. Well, guess roof jumping is back in the equation. She starts hightailing it across the rooftop.

"Hold my arms - Oi!" The question soon turning into a half snarled cry of surprise, Oz tensing. Well... Isn't /this/ awkward? "Yanno... When I took yer help, didn't mean I wanted /this/ kinda help." He mutters, trying to ignore the fact that there is a guy holding him.

"Hey. Your girlfriend, not mine. I'm not about to chase her down for you, but I can help you get TO her." Warren notes. "And keep you from breaking your damnfool neck in the process." Once they're out of the alley, Warren starts pouring on the speed to get to Bridget before she gets too far. He can tell Oz isn't too fond of the flying thing.

Picky Picky, you're getting a short cut while Bridget's having to rely on her own two feet... and personalized mini mecha gear. Running running and look, end of the building. Joy. Jumpity. Sailing into the air she goes with no where to go but down, not reaching the ledge of the building but the fire escape attached, giving a loud bang as the thankfully structurally sound apparatus is landed upon. Shaking it off, she jumps over the railing, falling feet first along the outside of the fire escape, grabbing the bars of each railing flight as she lowers herself gradually.

Eyes narrowing slightly as Bridget starts going down again, Oz twists around as much as he can considering his current predicament. "Drop me when we get over the alley." he tells Warren. "And don't argue with me 'bout it."

"Ooooooh kay. Your funeral, Oz." Warren says, compensating for the squirming. Once they're over the alley, he does as asked, and lets go of Oz, shaking his head as he continues to circle, thinking to maybe cut Bridget off if she heads one way or the other.

Upon feet hitting the ground, the former medic sprints once more, the suit providing her with a lengthy stride as she darts out of the alley way, side stepping a pair of pedestrians as she manuevers diagonally across the street, adjusting her speed to compensate for a passing car as she continues her running. "Stale beer!" She teases back, much to the confusion of the NPCs.

Considering how many times Angelika has purposely fallen from tall heights in the years past, Oz has learned well enough how to grab onto a passing fire escape so he doesn't smash into the concrete. Even if he wouldn't get injured in the same way as a normal person, he isn't wanting to try it. Letting out a grunt of pain as he feels the muscles in his shoulder and upper arm stretch a bit too far beyond their limits, Oz lets out a curse as he finishes the drop to the ground, landing in a crouch. He's only down for a moment, however, again quickly running after Bridget. "Wench..."

Once Bridget picks a direction, Warren's quick to follow. He swoops down and grabs Bridget. Since she's not got her arms out, he ends up wrapping his arms around those too. "Don't struggle!" He says as he heads for the sky, trying to readjust his grip to the more secure under-the-arm grip.

Bridget pouts as her feet leave the ground and the distance increases between her and her intended destination, "Awww...So mean."

Okay, damn it. He goes up, she goes down. He gets down, she goes up. From now on, Oz stays put. Looking up at the blonde duo, Oz's eyes narrow slightly as he unconsciously rolls his hurt shoulder, trying to tell how bad it is. Hm... To get tweaked about another man touching his woman or no? On one hand, he did take Warren's help. On another, he never said he could touch Bridget.

Warren laughs. "Yeah, I'm a real terror, aren't I?" He circles around back to where Oz is standing and drops down. "I believe you lost this?" He asks, grinning at Oz as he lets go of Bridget.

"The worst," the former medic quips as her feet set on the ground. Still frowning, Bridget folds her arms, looking to her boyfriend, "Oz, you cheater."

Walking over to the two, Oz's only response is to jerk the flask out of Bridget's jacket pocket. "/Mine./"

Warren cocks an eyebrow. "I do believe my work here is done. I shall leave the two of you to it." And he starts to leave.

"/Fine/" Bridget hmmphs, "Take it back. Not like I like stale beer to begin with." Tilting her head to look to the departing Warren the smile turns, "By the way, Mr. Worthington, how are your eyes?"

"You're the one who started the game, pet." Oz remarks, giving his usual smartass grin. "Ain't no use in being a sore loser just cause I won for once." Glancing at Warren, Oz rolls his eyes slightly. "Even if I did have some help."

Warren glanced back at Bridget. "They're fine. Spent the night rinsing them with water and suchlike so it wasn't too terribly bad." He's still walking away. Lovers quarrels ... are not something he wants to get into the middle of.

"It's more like /he/ won it for you." Bridget points out to Oz, patting the dark haired male on the head like a puppy. She looks back over to Warren, "Glad to hear they're doing better."

Eyes rolling again Oz gives no reply save for an indiscernible mumble here and there as he lights up a cigarette from his handy dandy never empty pack of Marlboros. Pfft. Won it for him. Please.

After watching Warren walk of, Bridget glances over to the smoker. Evil grin forming she reaches up to snag the pack of cancer sticks, feet moving in the opposited direction of Warren's departure. Madness, take two.

Damn it. One of these days, she might not pop off.

Forgot to ask her where she goes.

Log. February 27, 2008. Manhattan: Hell's Kitchen.

Hell's Kitchen, officially called Clinton, has a reputation for being the most dangerous place in America. This was true up until the past couple of decades, but it's still a neighborhood that's best avoided if possible. It still has its share of gangs and organized crime, and then some; however, Hell's Kitchen is also home to a number of actors, attracted by its relatively cheap housing and proximity to Broadway. Ninth Avenue in particular is lined by a vast variety of ethnic restaurants, and is where the International Food Festival is held every May.

Tagari walks down the street quietly, wings twitching faintly at her back. The few catcalls that go out to the birdpunk are ignored, if she perceives them at all as she walks down the street.

The next guy that sends out any sort of remark finds himself out cold on the pavement, via a well place punched to the back of the skull, thanks to a certain genetically altered clone. "Ya sure got a funny way of stayin' outta trouble, Poppet." Oz remarks, stepping out of an alley neat Tagari. The ember of the cigarette clamped between his lips glows for a moment, the Irishman peering down at the limp body at his feet. "Ignorin' it don't help much. Trust me."

Tagari goes still, turning to peer at Oz. "Huh?" she asks blankly, utterly oblivious to the guy KO'd on the ground.

"Got a listenin' problem, too." He mutters under his breath, smirking. However, Oz is not one to talk in that department. Kneeling down and rummaging through the pockets of his most recent victim, Oz ignores everything but the wallet, standing again as he goes through it. "Ya alright, Poppet? Seems all ya do lately is pulling that disappearin' trick on me."

Tagari shrugs. "I had places to go, people to be," she says softly. "I was reading." She frowns, then gives Oz a puzzled look. "Did you miss me?"

Glancing up from counting the money inside the billfold, Oz looks back down to the wallet in his hand, taking a moment in answering. "Don't think I know ya enough to miss ya when ya poof off like that. Wondered what spooked ya enough to make ya leave, and wondered where ya went to, though."

Tagari's eyes glaze a moment, and she blinks. "Sometimes I go away. I'm dead," she says dully, then yawns. "Can't show you. Too tired."

"I know what's it like ta be dead. Don't fancy seein' it again, Poppet. Trust me." Oz quietly answers, tucking the money into his pocket before throwing the wallet onto it's unconcious owner's back.

Tagari shivers, and closes her eyes. "If you move too fast the world stops and you spin, Ozzy," she says again in a lazy tone.

"A lot can cause that, Poppet. Not just movin' too fast." Oz solemnly replies, flicking the overlong ash on his Marlboro to the ground.

Tagari's eyes flick open and she peers at Oz. "I get mixed up a lot. I was clubbing last night. Twas fun." She shrugs yet again, gaze roving. "Julian was there and I had to take him home. Poor broken thing."

Eyebrow quirking at the name Julien, Oz's head tilts curiously. "Broken?"

Tagari shrugs. "I don't know," she says, dismissing Oz's words. "Sometimes things get murky."

That doesn't do much to dispel Oz's curiosity, but he drops the subject anyway. Or changes it, at least. "Ya ever got that cocoa?"

Tagari's attention snaps to Oz, sharpens, pupils flashing before they settle. "Yes." she says, then frowns like a kicked puppy. "But no cocoa today."

Jerking his head towards his apartment building, Oz gives a lopsided grin. "Big Sis taught me how to make some, if ya want any."

Tagari stares at Oz, then seemingly through him, frowns. "I gotta go, Ozzy," she says softly, forlornly. "Jimmy says its not safe." And with that, she half-turns, and with a snap, vanishes.

Tagari, Angel

Mon, 18 Feb 2008 14:46:25 GMT

Don't see how she's all that crazy, really. Considerin' the crazies I've met, she ain't nothin' compared ta 'em.

A spirit of chaos and death... Can't really deny either. Maybe be more of tha first than tha last, but considerin' certain parts of my history...

Wonder where Poppet ended up popping off to. Gotta ask her where she goes next time I see her.

Log. February 13, 2008. The Cheshire Cat.

Hardwood floors and walls ordain an otherwise underdecorated bar-room. No flashing neon Budweiser signs here; there's a dartboard and pooltable in the back, round wooden tables and chairs are set around almost scattershot in the room, and a simple English (white with red cross) flag hangs opposite the bar. All in all, your average English pub.

The cherry wood bar has seen better days, but care has been taken to keep the wood polished and nick-free. Behind the bar is the standard rack of alcholic beverages. The select appears rather random; there's the well drinks that you'll find everywhere, but mixed in with the bottles, some very expensive ones stand out. Two mirrors are behind the bar, standing to each side of the liquor selection. Finally, a 24" TV hangs from the ceiling for the bartender's use.

Small washrooms lie in the back of the room, near a staircase leading upwards. Behind the bar is a large metal vault door, sticking out in the warmer wood room.

Tagari has found for herself a free space in the pub, dancing to the low-toned music agily. Coordinated movements, muscles controlled expertly, wings not fluttering but moving with purpose. Her jacket's at a table nearby, along with a beer, and a scattering of random trinkets that have caught her eye- can tabs and caps, brightly colored rocks, a chain of paperclips, and a small origami frog.

While Oz would much rather be in an Irish pub, he can't complain about this one. After all, a pub is a pub. They serve alcohol, he'll go there. Scanning the room as he enters the pub, shaking the snow off of himself much like a dog would, his gaze halts as it lands on Tagari. Lips tugging into a smirk, he expertly makes his way through the crowded bar, finally stopping a bit behind the winged girl. "You know, Poppet, most times, a dance takes two people."

Tagari quickly folds her wings, leaning back, nearly to a backbend while moving to balance nearly on toe-tip, to peer at Oz with a grin. "So? I am adaptable. And I like this song," she replies then laughs, before spinning to stand fully once more and face him. "Ozzy."

Grinning down at her once more, Oz chuckles. "Considering who else has that name, that nickname's one I can deal with." And it's much more manly than Ozzie-Bear. "Nice to see ya wearing tha shoes I bought ya. Hate for ya to lose a toe or two to tha cold."

Tagari peers down at her shoes. "Yeah. They're nice." She smiles, then looks back up to the man. "You're nice," she states, simply. Nice shoes, nice person. It makes sense to her.

Chuckling again, Oz wags a finger at Tagari, shaking his head. "Don't be sayin' that too loud, now. Lotta people in here wouldn't agree with ya on that opinion, considering I've been in a scuffle a time or two." Or twenty five. "Only reason I ain't banned is cause I tip good and buy the really expensive stuff."

Tagari sticks her tongue out at Oz. "Thbbt! Silly!" Undaunted by the finger-wagging, she grins.

Digging into his pockets, Oz very much ignores the new law about smoking in bars, lighting a cigarette up. "So, what exactly r'ya doin' in here? Doesn't seem like yer kinda joint, honestly."

Tagari shrugs. "It's a bit calm," she admits, "Not much shine." She edges towards her table, attempting to filch Oz's cigarette on the way. "Abyss's place is better."

Leaning his head back in order to keep his cigarette, the singer smirks, placing the pack of Marlboro Red's and beat up zippo on the table, sliding them Tagari's way. "If ya want one, light yer own." Taking one of the chairs at the table, a scuffed boot resting on table edge, Oz quirks an eyebrow. "/Abyss/? Well, someone's going for the all out emo factor, aren't they?"

Tagari shrugs. "I'd call him Abby but I think he'd kick my ass. He talks a lot. He's nice if you ignore it." she smirks, snatching up the pack and lighter and flopping down across her chair to sprawl. Taloned fingers work with surprising deftness to light the cigarette, before pack and lighter are slid back towards Oz. "He remembers who I was before I was crazy."

"Who said anything 'bout you bein' crazy, Poppet?" Oz asks, tucking the pack of smokes and lighter away. "Ya seem about as sane as anyone else I know." Which, honestly, isn't all /that/ sane, but.

Tagari takes a puff from the cigarette; it seems to calm her, focus her, moreso than it would the average person. "But I am," she says softly. "But I got better. Sorta. I think. Maybe."

"Wanna know what I think, Poppet?" He asks, not waiting for her to answer before continuing. "If you want my opinion on it, it's us less than sane ones who are the normal ones. All those sane people... they just seem to be missin' out on life's important things by not wantin' to try anythin' new."

The winged woman's reply is a short laugh. "Maybe." She takes another puff of the cigarette, then leans it against an ash tray, so she can get her beer. "Sometimes it feels like I'm in a box and you can't see me, and I can't see you. Like aquariums with animals, and that special glass, you know?"

"Yeah. I spent a lot of the last ten years or so only sometimes seeing people when they could only sometimes see me." Oz nods. "Seems like only in the last seven months or so that people have actually seen /me./" Which of course, makes sense. He's only had this body for seven months. Flicking his ash onto the barroom floor, Oz gives a wolfish grin. "Give it long enough, and everyone in the world'll know my name."

Tagari lifts a dusky eyebrow. "It's dangerous to give your name so freely, Ozzy. Names have power." She taps a talon against the hard wood of the table a moment, before retrieving her cigarette to finish it. "Sunlight and damnation. I painted it once."

"Trust me, Poppet. Ain't my name that gives people power over me." He answers, taking a last drag from his cigarette and stubbing out the ember on the bottom of his boot. "Ain't near old or evil enough for it to be my name that's got the power." Throwing the smashed filter on the floor, Oz lights up another one, as par his routine. "Painted, huh? Well, there's your insanity cause right there. Ain't no sane artists."

Tagari is amused by his words and she laughs. Perhaps it's a bit on the euphoric edge of things, but it's better than being upset. "You're a genus loci," she says, then, setting aside her used-up cigarete remains, gathers her beer and takes a drink. Guiness.

Peering at Tagari over the edge of his flask, Oz raises an eyebrow. "I'm a what now?"

Tagari explains; "Genus Loci. A spirit of a place. A grounding force." She yawns, then takes another gulp of her beer. "Or maybe I remember wrong. It happens."

"And what place am I spirit of, exactly?" He asks, sounding amused. "Considering I'm not near as much of a grounding force as my sis is, I'mma choose the first explanation."

Tagari leans forward a bit, staring at Oz, intensely. "Chaos and death, Ozzy," she says, in a nearly hollow tone, before sitting back. "Or beer and bubble-gum. Take your pick."

"I'll take chaos and death. Not much for bubble-gum." He deadpans, eyes still shining with amusement as he takes another drink from his flask. "Now, if you had said beer and broads, however..."

Tagari sticks her tongue out at him. "It's beer and bubble-gum, not beer and broads. Everyone knows that. So it'll be death and chaos." She smirks. "Better than being a fairy princess, right?"

"No, I /know/ a lad who's a fairy princess. Considerin' how well he pulls it off, he can keep the occupation." Oz smirks. "Does a pretty good job at piercings, too, but I'm sure that's just his day job."

Tagari's attention shifts beyond Oz, deeper into the bar, she tenses, wings flaring as her expression turns to something wrathful. She swears, gestures dramaticly to nothing, and with a loud *crack* like the breaking of bones, vanishes.

Brow furrowing, Oz turns, looking behind him to see what the problem could be... before quickly shifting back as the crack sounds, to find an empty chair. What the bleedin' hell?

Hrm. Not sure if I like him or not. Can maybe tolerate him, at least. But like him...

If anything, compared to the last few people the beatnik's seen, he ain't all that bad.

Still ain't gonna stop me from hurtin' him if he hurts her, though.

Log. February 16, 2008. Beacon: Sunset's Apartment.

It'd been another busy, hectic day ... if for entirely different reasons than normal. Warren had finally found five minutes of downtime to use, and decided to stop by Sunset's place and see how she was doing. He twisted the key in the lock and walked in. "Hey, Sunset? You in?"

"She's sleepin', at tha moment." Answers an Irish drawl from the living room, far too deep and masculine to be the apartment's owner. Smirk tugging at his lips, Oz sets aside the guitar in his lap, though makes no move to rise from the chair he's in. "You must be that Worthington guy she's datin'."

Warren blinks, and looks Oz up and down. "And you have /got/ to be her brother. Oz, right? Sunset's mentioned you." Warren walked further into the apartment and offered a hand. "Pleasure to meet you, finally."

Staring at the offered hand, Oz's only response is to raise an eyebrow before looking blankly up at Warren. Does he /seem/ like a handshake kind of guy to you?

Well, Warren had to /try/. He'd really rather be on friendly terms with her family. He lets his hand drop. "She's really fond of you." He says after a moment, and then grabs a chair from the kitchen to sit on, backwards, so he doesn't have to finagle his wings.

"Well, with how long she's put /up/ with me, then yeah, I'd have ta agree." The singer dryly answers, continuing to warily eye Warren. "So... About that charity ball thing..."

Warren winces and rubs a hand over his face. "That, Oz, was an unmitigated /disaster/." He says. "I don't know what the heck Magneto was doing there, much less Venom."

"But you're tha one that got her ta tha hospital, yeah?"

Warren nods. "Yeah, I was. As soon as Magneto turned her loose." There's an underlying growl to Warren's voice that says he's /still/ pissed about Mags grabbing her in the first place.

...It's a moment, before Oz gives a smartass grin. "Then I don't gotta ta kick yer ass like I usually would." He answers. "Lucky for you, rich boy."

Warren gives a laugh. "Well, that's good news. And ... just because I'm rich, doesn't mean I can't defend myself, Oz. If I couldn't, I wouldn't have been doing the fly-by-night stuff in the first place."

"And if I hadn't promised Big Sis that I'd stay here until she woke up, I'd be sayin' let's go to tha roof to see who could beat who, but." Raising his hands, Oz spreads his fingers in a 'What can you do?' motion, smirk still in place. "Been a while since I been in a good fight."

Warren grins again. "I said I could defend myself, not that I was guaranteed to win. I try /not/ to get into fights, if I can avoid it. Though, to be fair, going up on the roof would give me a serious advantage." Wings. Flying. Yeah. Oz /might/ just have problems with that.

"Well, I ain't stupid enough ta say let's fight in tha apartment." Oz scoffs. "Already destroyed tha place once and Sunset scares tha piss outta me, so I ain't really wantin' ta do it again."

Warren cocks his head. "You're scared of her?" He says. "Do I want to know why? She hasn't seemed overly frightening to me, thus far."

"Well, ya ain't seen when she's pissed off, have ya?" The Irishman asks. "She's redheaded and got Spanish blood, that don't really add up to a calm temper, alright?" Pausing to light a cigarette, Oz grins. "Just wait when she's in that last month of pregnancy. She'll put the fear of God right in ya."

Warren grins. "You have a point. But then, I deal with someone who's the definition of 'foul tempered' all the time, so I might hold up better. Maybe. Just depends on how nuts she gets with the hormones." He mock-shivers. "First time dealing with that. Going to be interesting."

"Don't care how foul tempered anyone is, can promise ya that no one's scarier than Big Sis when she gets pissed. Hell, I've seen her go through tha pregnancy thing two times before, and I /still/ only stick around when absolutely needed in the last month or two." Oz remarks. "Course, I'm a jackass, so I expect ta get in trouble."

Warren blinks. "She has two other kids?" He says, sounding surprised but not angry. "Ok, I definitely have to work on her a bit about her past history."

Glancing up, a bit surprised, Oz shakes his head after a moment. "She /had/ two other kids."

Warren catches the past tense. "Uh oh. What happened? Or should I ask her?"

"S'no big drama filled secret. She just isn't one to talk about it unless someone asks her." Oz shrugs. "But, since I already let the cat out 'bout one thing... 'Bout eight or nine years ago, when she was still living on tha West Coast, she ended up married to this construction bloke named James. Only reason she married 'him was 'cause she was knocked up with his kid, and he was threatening a custody battle if she didn't, and Sunny knew that there was no way in hell she woulda won it, back then. Fast forward to six years later. They got another kid, and they hate each other. They didn't like each other much to begin with, but..." Pausing, Oz scowls heavily. "Let's just say tha bastard had a way of getting too aggressive if somethin' pissed him off." Stubbing his cigarette out in a nearby ash tray, Oz lights another one before continuing the story. "Course, eventually Sunset starting fightin' back, started challenging him more. Guess she figured that once he realized that she wasn't gonna take his shit anymore, he'd stop, but... Instead, he ended up killin' himself and takin' Matthew and Julia with him. Papers said that he was just drunk and wrecked the car, but s'doubtful that that's what actually happened. After that, she moved out here..." He trails off, shrugging.

Warren listens quietly, horrified at what he's hearing. Good /god/. Bad, bad, bad stuff. No /wonder/ Oz was making like Logan on a bad day. Warren might not have ever had a sibling, but he'd seen more than one big brother in action to know that if their kid sisters did get hurt, the next guy to go anywhere near them got VERY short shrift. "Damn." He says. "Now I'm glad I didn't ask her. Can't be easy for her to talk about."

Oz shrugs again. "She's accepted tha whole thing. Not sayin' she isn't still sad 'bout it sometimes or anythin', but.... What's past is past and all that, right?" Not that Oz really believes that /himself./ "You just passed another test, by tha way."

Warren cocks an eyebrow. "From everything I've ever heard, mothers never truly get over the death of their children, even if they do manage to get something approaching a normal life going again." And the eyebrow goes higher still. "Oh /really/?"

"Last guy she was datin' - The /actual/ one that got her pregnant. - ended up proposing and all that." He explains. "Then a month or two from the weddin', decides he can't deal with some parts of her past, and leaves her. Considerin' the reaction you had to /one/ of the worse parts of her history was pretty uneventful, as it were..." Oz again trails off, letting the rest of the sentence speak for itself.

Warren snorts. "Oz, I've had a lot of experience dealing with weird and BAD pasts. Couple of people I know, their past histories would curdle your stomach. I learned a long time ago that when people have bad shit happen to them, they don't need or want pity ... or to get shafted a second time."

"Well, ya can't blame me for making sure, can ya?"

"Not a bit." Warren says. "I don't have any siblings myself, but I've seen them in action, so I know the drill." He grins. "And incidentally, you've passed a few yourself."

Scarred eyebrow quirking at that, Oz chuckles. "Such as?"

"I'm a Worthington." Warren says. "You have NO idea how many women ... and their assorted relatives ... I've had try to get their claws into me and my money, one way or the other. They sure as all hell wouldn't have /dared/ to 'test' me."

"If I wanted money, I'd earn it my damn self." Oz snorts. "One day I /maybe/ might ask ya for a favor and ask if ya know anybody in the music business... If I like ya by that point. But other than that? I don't really give a shit /how/ loaded ya are."

"Which is my point. And half the reason I like Sunset. She couldn't give a fuck less about my money either. It's ... refreshing." Warren says, then snorts. "You'd kinda be out of luck. I don't know anyone in the music business. At least, not at /that/ level. Couple people I know are just starting out, though."

"Pity." Oz blankly replies, stubbing out his second cigarette. Yeah, he really sounds like he regrets that. "One more thing, though."

"Uh oh." Warren says. "Why do I have a feeling I'm in trouble?"

Oz grins, though it's not a reassuring look. If anything, he looks like a wolf that's spotted an injured deer. "Hurt her, and I'll rip your wings off before killing you /very/ slowly, and /very/ painfully." He quietly remarks. "Got that?"

Warren huffs relieved laughter. Standard (at least as far as he's heard) Big Brother Threat Number 1, with suitable variations for the person it was aimed at. "I have no intentions of hurting her, at least not deliberately. And if I /do/ hurt her deliberately, I'd /let/ you kick my ass."

"Oh, I think I'd have to get in /line/ if you did it on purpose." Oz smirks. "With Big Sis right at the front. Think I'd be third, at the least.

Warren chuckles. "You're probably right." He says. "I can't guarantee this will last, even if I'd like for it to. But I can guarantee I'll take the best care of her I can for as long as it lasts."

Giving Warren as close of a smile as he's going to get, Oz finally extends his hand. "Good enough."

Warren grins in return and takes the offered hand without any hint of pique at the earlier refusal, giving it a firm (but not overly so) shake. "And we won't mention this little chat to Sunset, since I have the suspicion she'd take a dim view to us having had it." He adds.

"Considering she was expecting it to happen one day, not really." Sunset pipes up from the hallway, sending a somewhat sleepy smile Warren's way. "Pity I wasn't around for more than just the threat though. I would have love to known what else was said."

Taking that as a cue to leave, Oz finally stands, picking up his guitar on the way to the door. "Well, now that my job is done, Boss, I'm gonna head out before you two get... couply."

Bridget, Tagari

Mon, 11 Feb 2008 20:27:14 GMT

Somedays, can't help but feel really fuckin' useless. Wasn't able to stop the little punk who broke into Bridget's apartment, wasn't there to help Sunset at the damned ball... Maybe if I was actually places when things bloody happened, I'd be useful.

'Pparently, I'm gonna have to follow Bridget or Sunset everywhere they go.

Log. February 9, 2008. West 46th: Bridget's Apartment

The decor is minimal. Other than the needed furniture and accessories in the rooms, there is little in the form of distraction except for the laptop in the living room area resting on a worn looking, second hand desk. Scattered about the empty spaces of wall are pictures of family as well as one group photo of EMTs and Paramedics standing in front of a few New York Ambulances. There is a bullet hole in the picture right where Bridget's face is. There is a heavy set curtain set up for the window of this room.

Even if Oz isn't one to watch the news, when something as big as what's happened tonight happens, they usually interrupt every station with a local news report. It's only the fact that by the time he got to the Plaza, everything would be finished, that has kept him from immediately rushing out and going to see if Bridget and Sunset are alright. However, that doesn't mean his wait for Bridget to return home was any fun... Even with the former paramedic home and safe, he's still got a few worries on his mind. Tilting his head back as he takes another drink from the bottle of Johnnie Walker in his hand, the singer looks pained as it goes down, though it's doubtful it's from the burn of alcohol.

And to go with the Johnnie Walker, there is the smell of freshly baked cookies. Over in the kitchen Bridget is baking a storm, batches upon batches of cookies already lined up and ready to go. Ten separate cookie sheets, an unusual sight considering how sparse the rest of her apartment is and that typically only one person lives here. "Want a cookie?"

Casting a glance towards the kitchen, Oz shakes his head. "Why is it when somethin' goes wrong, ya bake?" He asks after a moment. It doesn't really seem like he's wanting an answer, asking questions just to distract himself, since he's asking a question on a completely different topic soon afterwards. "Would I have been able to stop either of 'em? If I had been there?"

"Because it prevents me from sitting in a corner in a fetal position and rocking back and forth," Bridget cheerily replies, "And unless you can fly, make forcefields, or make things you throw explode on impact, no, you probably wouldn't have."

That's really not the answer he wants to hear, but it takes it as truth anyway. Giving a heavy sigh, he rubs the back of his neck before setting the bottle down, moving behind Bridget. Arms wrapping around her waist, he rests his forehead on the top of her hair, sinking slightly against her. "Still can't help but feel useless 'bout the whole thing. Maybe if I had been there, coulda gotten you and Sunny out sooner."

Eyes close as hands fall to her side, leaning back against Oz. "Don't worry." Bridget murmurs, "The useless feeling goes away after the first few times."

Giving an unamused chuckle, Oz slightly tightens his grip around her. "Love, you know I got a guilt complex." He answers, in a way that may or may not be joking. "Might take more than a few times."

"Well if you hang around me long enough, it'll happen," Bridget replies, "I'm a trouble magnet, remember?"

"Or I could just follow you everywhere and make sure they attack me instead of you."

"And that would be a /no/ because I've finally gotten to the point where I can usually talk my way out of it." Bridget replies, "You bezerking on them /might/ ruin any negotiations I have made with them."

Smirking, Oz turns his head to rest his cheek against the top of Bridget's head, staring at the multitude of cookies. "I got a question."

"Yeeeeeessss?"

"Who the bloody fuck is gonna help eat all these cookies?" He asks, trying to sound serious. However, the small grin on his lips doesn't quite help him with that accomplishment.

A smirk forms on Bridget's face, "Oh... I was thinking of eating them all. Didn't you know? Thin is out. Cookie bellies are in."

Chuckling, Oz quirks an eyebrow. "Yanno..." He begins. "If you do that, I know a way to help you work all that sugar off."

"In that case I guess I should just give the cookies away."

Sighing, the singer slumps. "Always gotta ruin my fun. Was just talkin' 'bout a /spar/." Suuuure he was.

"But yes, I'm giving them away. Pretty much any time I bake like this I give them away. I buy cookie tins in bulk you know."

"Do you just know that many people, or do you just want everyone you know to gain a few pounds?" He asks, jokingly, a hand darting out to grab one off a nearby tray.

"A tin for each person. That's a lot of cookies to make."

"Your sayin' all these ain't enough?" He asks, turning Bridget around in his arms to look down at her, cookie still in one hand. "How many damn people you know, love?"

"Well," Bridget tilts her head, eyes looking to the ceiling in thought, "One for Sunset, one for Warren, one for his father, one for Emmett, despite him thinking I'm nuts, One for Remy, one for his date, one for Susan, and if I have extras after I'm done baking, there are always the Paramedics. They get the most calls in a shift but they are the least appreciated and often treated like dirt."

"None for me, then?"

"Well.... I guess I could get you a tin ready." Bridget replies, trying to make her tone begrudgingly.

Smirking, Oz looks thoughtful. "Well, if you don't want to make any extra cookies, I'm sure there's some kind of alternative you can give me..."

"I'll manage the cookies."

Slumping again, Oz almost looks like he's pouting. Almost. "Keep up shootin' down my ideas, and I might take that ring 'f yours back." He dryly remarks, not serious in the least, before he ducks his head down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "Love you."

Bridget smirks, tilting her head back to look at Oz, "I know." She pushes a cookie into Oz's mouth.

That was - Fuck, I - Next time I see Poppet, I'm buyin' her something else. Don't know if I can ever thank her for this...

It''s not my fault. If Bri said, it's gotta be true. It's really not my fault.

Log. February 10, 2008. Bronx.

East of the Bronx River, the borough is flatter, and includes four large low peninsulas or "necks" of low-lying land that jut into the waters of the East River and were once saltmarsh: Hunts Point, Clason's Point, Screvin's Neck and Throgs Neck. In the northeast corner of the Bronx, Rodman's Neck lies in Long Island Sound. Sections of the Northeast Bronx have small apartment buildings, small private homes and multi family homes. It also contains the giant high-rise apartment complex of Co-op City. Neighborhoods include: Eastchester, Edenwald, Baychester, Co-op City, Woodlawn, Wakefield, Pelham Parkway, Williamsbridge, and Norwood. Southeast Bronx consists of large apartment buildings, and complexes,as well as small private homes, and large upscale homes. Neighborhoods include, Pelham Gardens, Country Club, Soundview, Castle Hill, Throgs Neck, Parkchester, Van Nest, West Farms, Morris Park, Bronxdale, Westchester Square, Pelham Bay, City Island, Locust Point, and Silver Beach. It is the home of the Bronx Zoo and the New York Botanical Gardens.

Tagari walks along the darkened street quietly. The vagrant's clean, but still bereft of shoes and a coat as she moves, wings twitching with every footfall. The bird-winged woman's eyes are glazed, her focus inward, lost in thought or something.

Even Oz, with his lack of attention given to most of the people he passes on the street, can't help but notice the winged girl. After all, she's certainly an easy one to spot. Leaning against the stairs to a random building, lit cigarette dangling from the corner of his lips, a scarred eyebrow quirks upward. Well... Isn't this interesting? Taking note of her lack of shoes and coat, the Irishman, for now, continues to simply watch.

Tagari blinks, tilts her head to one side and shifts her focus towards Oz. She doesn't pay the slightest attention to the rest of the people present, and her gaze does shift about as if following something Oz can't see, but for the most part? Oz's focused upon. Talons are splayed in a wave, before she says with a grin, "Hi."

Head tilting back ever so slightly, there's a hint of amusement in Oz's eyes, along with the bare hint of a smirk on his lips. Very interesting. "'Lo, poppet."

Tagari's wings twitch, the beats slowing to delicate movements. "Are you real?" she asks, shifting her weight to balance on the toes of one foot, setting the bangles and bracelets about her arms clattering like dusty bones as she finds her balance.

"Well, that's a bit of a odd question, innit?" He asks in answer, smirk growing. "That would depend on yer def'nition of real. Some people would say that I am, others..." Raising a hand, Oz wobbles it from side to side. "Bit of a shaky ocean, steep slope, however ya wanna say it."

Tagari purses her lips, then chinks her weight with a light hop to the other foot. She peers up, at the dark sky, then wrenches her body into an impromptu spin. When the spin ends, she's facing Oz again. "People say the people I talk to aren't real. But I know they have it backwards. And I can see you."

"S'that so?" The question doesn't really sound all that interested in the subject, honestly. However, after taking a drag from the cigarette, taking it from his mouth to flick ash to the ground, Oz asks another question. "What people you talkin' to then?"

Tagari shrugs, and glances to something at Oz's side. "Dude, what you mean he can't see you chica. ..." Her lips purse a moment, then she peers back to: "Ozzy-bear." The girl's wingbeats slow, then stop. Her expression's puzzled, brow wrinkled. "Oh, this is just f. er. messed up."

Head tilting, Oz now looking very much like a curious puppy, an eyebrow raises. "Can't see who?" He asks, slowly coming to a possible guess about who exactly she can see.

Tagari settles to a crouch, staring intently at Oz's side. "Maybe he's not really /real/," she muses. "Well fine, if you say he's real, maybe he is." she pauses, as if listening, having lost focus on Oz himself for the moment. "-and she's nice? That's cool. Totally sucks when someone's girlfriend is mean. Uh-huh. No; I don't have any brothers."

Eyes snapping over to Tagari, all amusement gone from his eyes, Oz's expression is disbelief, bordering on shock. Cigarette falling from his hands, the singer not even seeming to notice, he takes a deep breath, trying to keep his voice calm. "/Who/ are you talkin' to?"

Tagari rolls his eyes to Oz. "To the little girl, duh," she comments, before her attention turns back to Oz's side. "What's your name, hon? Brianna? Oh. That's a pretty name. My name's Tagari." She smiles. "Yeah, the guy back there? That's Jimmy. He's like you, too. Dun worry, he's nice. He's just bossy. You can ignore him, I ignore him a lot."

If Oz hears anything past Brianna, he doesn't act like. Feeling the blood drain from his face, Oz's mouth goes dry, brain screeching to a halt. "Ya - How -" He croaks out, after a moment, before fumbling inside his duster pocket, bringing out a silver flask to take a long swig from it. Taking a gasp for breath as he finally lowers it, a somewhat shaky arm comes up to wipe at his mouth, gaze now glued to the supposedly empty spot at his side. "Brianna?"

Tagari ohs, and looks to Oz. "She says it's not your fault, Ozzie-bear," the woman says calmly. "Whateva that means. Whatever you think you did, you didn't. It's not your fault. Ooh. What's in the shiny bottle? Is it coffee?"

"No, it's-" Shaking his head, Oz lifts the flask to his lips again, before giving it a watery glare. "Well, it's empty, ain't it?" He chokes out, hand unconsciously clenching around the flask, crushing it as easy as a bit of paper as he falls into a crouch. Either he doesn't care, or he doesn't notice, hands resting on the back of his head as he takes a few shaky breaths. "What else she got to say?"

Tagari raises an eyebrow at Oz. "Coffee's better. And the mugs are prettier." She looks back to the little dead girl. "She likes your girlfriend." Her wings flick. "Jimmy says I shouldn't talk to you because you're a stranger, Ozzie-bear,and you're not really dead." With that, she takes off a bracelet, and sets it on the ground. "You can have that one, Brianna."

"Was dead." He mutters, hand not carrying the crushed flask rubbing the back of his neck. "For a few years. And tell Jimmy that no one's a bloody stranger if ya know their name." Shifting his weight to where he's sitting against the stairs, Oz finally notices the crushed flask, muttering a curse under his breath. Tossing it away, he slumps against the stairs, alternating his gaze between the space at his side and the bracelet on the concrete, completely unaware of the tears crawling down his cheeks.

Tagari lifts an eyebrow and gives Oz a look, then glances back over her shoulder. "Y'hear that Jimmy? See. I'm right. I win. He is nice. You totally owe me for this." She grins, turning her attention back to the man. "You want a bracelet, too?" she asks, then glances towards the empty space where the child should be. "You think he should get a bracelet, Bri?"

Giving a small smirk, Oz shakes his head, raising a hand to scrub over his face, wiping the tears away. "Got enough jewelry, I think." He chuckles, spreading his hands wide, displaying the many rings, before flicking at one of the numerous earrings in his ear. "Mainly wonderin' how Bri's gonna wear the one ya gave her, s'all."

Tagari shrugs. "They find ways," she says calmly, before commenting dryly, "You have more spark than I do. I'll get jealous. Or maybe I'll kidnap you and keep you." She frowns. "You look too big to keep in a tree though." she sighs. "So I can't keep you."

Smirk widening, Oz chuckles again. "Spark, huh? Used to call it 'flair' when I was younger." Tearing his eyes away from the sister he can't see, he reaches into his pocket lighting another cigarette with still shaky hands. He seems to calm down a bit though, strengthening, after the first initial drag. Letting the smoke curl from his nostrils like a dragon for a moment, the nicotine swirling around in his lungs, the singer finally exhales after a moment. "So. You see ghosts, huh, poppet?"

Tagari shrugs. "I guess so," she replies. "Everyone says they're dead and they don't count as real people." She shakes her head in dismay. "They like me."

Oz scoffs. "Don't listen to 'em. Just cause they ain't got bodies don't mean they ain't real people. Trust me on that."

Tagari runs her hands through her hair, then pushes herself back up to stand with a grunt, flinching as her weight rolls on a frostnipped toe. "Sometimes I think I'm dead," she announces.

Eyes narrowing a bit as he notices the flinch, Oz takes the cigarette from his mouth, looking Tagari over closely, before he frowns. "Yeah, well, ya will be soon if ya don't get any bloody shoes or a jacket on." He answers, before standing, careful not to do anything that might jar his sister. Now that he knows she's there... "Ya not got any, or what?"

Tagari blinks her dark eyes. "I dunno. They vanished." she then shrugs. "Maybe someone took them. People take my stuff sometimes." Her gaze flicks away from Oz, about the area. "I used to have a lotta stuff."

"Well, then. Guess we'll just have to get you some more then, won't we?" He asks, like it's the obvious thing to do. Reaching into a pocket, he brings his wallet out, counting the bills inside. "Pretty sure I got enough, yeah."

Tagari's got no interest in money. It's not bright enough to catch her eye and keep it, not pale enough to be decent to really draw on. She purses her lips at the offer. "Why?" she finally asks, in a childish tone, peering up at Oz, wide-eyed. Why does she need shoes and a coat?

"Cause it's the middle o' bloody Feburary, and there's snow on the ground." Oz answers, tucking the wallet back into his pocket. "C'mon. Think I saw a clothes store /somewhere/ near here."

Tagari frowns, and sullenly sighs, before moving to follow Oz. "Don't see no god-damned snow," she mutters. "Don' feel /cold/."

Rolling his eyes, he slows down until he's beside Tagari. "Look, Poppet." He says, using his now nickname for Tagari. "Either ya can let me buy ya a pair of gutties and a coat, or ya come up with some other way for me ta thank ya, alright?"

Tagari hrmphs. "Fine," she says like a pouty child. "But I'm only doing this 'cos Jimmy says the idea's fine. And because you're made of spark. Y'gotit?" Her wings twitch, return to fluttering.

Bridget, Jamie

Sun, 03 Feb 2008 18:36:53 GMT

Log. January 27, 2008. West 46th: Bridget's Apartment.

The decor is minimal. Other than the needed furniture and accessories in the rooms, there is little in the form of distraction except for the laptop in the living room area resting on a worn looking, second hand desk. Scattered about the empty spaces of wall are pictures of family as well as one group photo of EMTs and Paramedics standing in front of a few New York Ambulances. There is a bullet hole in the picture right where Bridget's face is. There is a heavy set curtain set up for the window of this room.

The damage has already been done. The noise has already sounded and now only silence befalls Bridget's apartment. Shifting his large, wet blue eyes to peek over his shoulder, the intruder carefully crosses the entryway. He holds his hands out to keep balance as his sneakers press against the door where it lay on the floor just inside. With a little hop, he clears it and fully enters the dimly lit residence. The boyish looking man's nostrils flare as he looks this way and then that, turning to cruise into the bedroom. He makes fast work, tearing a pillow violently from its wrappings and throwing it across the room with his mind. Feathers explosively erupt around the room, swirling down like snow. Finding it difficult to see in the mess, he shoves what he can find into the pillowcase without discretion before he exits. The bedroom isn't what interests him, so he doesn't stay long. Soon enough, he is perusing through her kitchen, shoving what food he can into the sac.

The noise indeed has already sounded which is apparent as Bridget sits up straight from her spot on Oz's couch, ignoring the TV as her cellphone starts playing a ringtone. She frowns. "Shit."

Attention grabbed more by the curse and Bridget shifting than the phone ringing, Oz's eyes narrow slightly as his head tilts. "Spidey sense tinglin'?"

No spidey sense of his own, Jamie shoves two mashed up peices of bread into his mouth. Chewing hard on the wad, he shoves the rest of the loaf into the pillowcase before returning to the living room.

The former medic doesn't reply immediately as she reaches to the phone, flipping it open as she starts getting up. Fingers fly over the keypad as she moves to the doorway, pausing momentarily, upon looking at something on the screen. "Break in at my apartment."

It's barely a moment before the words register, Oz off the couch and out the door in a flash. If one didn't know better, you'd think his alcohol collection was on fire.

As Oz pushes off of the couch, Jamie pushes on to Bridget's. Planting his foot on the edge of one of its cushions, he hips up onto it rather than going around. He clears it soon after but not before snatching up her remote controls and shoving them into the bag. Why? Why not?

Because Bridget is in it. And she's damn hawt that's why. Although being that she has no access to reprints that could be an unhappy thing for her. Growlie face. Bridget steps up her pace as Oz passes by her, hanging up the phone and shoving it into her pocket as she starts moving after her boyfriend.

Deciding to tell the elevator a hardy fuck you, Oz instead head the stairwell, jumping over the railing to land in a crouch on the bottom floor. Apparently, the stairs can go fuck themselves too. Hurrah for resilience to injury, however. Shaking off the somewhat unsteady landing, the Irishman stands, heading for the familiar, and now empty doorway. Tsk. Someone's an amateur.

Landing in a crouch on the other side of the couch, Jamie's eye's flick up to the doorway. With his objective completed, he had been all set to make for it as the Irishman abruptly appears. He jumps back, muscles tightening as his hand flings forward. The door snaps back up from the ground - slamming into the gaping hole that it once occupied with a load boom and a spray of splinters.

Bridget also denies the elevator and stairs the pleasure of her company as she finds herself doing the same thing. Thank god for the MA v2 PE. DAMMIT! Why did she tell him just where the break in was? WHY?!

Well, he didn't see /that/ coming. Actually, not true. He /did/ see it, but how do you avoid a door? Sending a glare to the ceiling, Oz quickly flips himself back up to his feet, wiping away blood from the corner of his lip. "Ow." He deadpans, brushing stray splinters off of himself. "Just makin' the beatin' yer gonna get worse for yerself, mate."

The window. Unknowingly, Jamie scans the room for an alternative escape route. He finds one, too, but doesn't dare move for it, yet. His hand claws at the air, slowly moving through the room as it sweeps towards Oz. A photo leaps off of the wall, the glass from it shattering and spraying mid-air before it is ultimately propelled in the doorway's direction. A lamp soon follows, fragmenting mid-air as well so that only half of it actually makes it to the doorway. Jamie crawls backward to seek psuedo-shelter behind the arm of the couch.

How do you avoid a door indeed? For Bridget it's rather simple. Allow for the boyfriend to take away the door's momentum, "Oz wait!" The owner of the apartment reaches towards the now standing Oz, tugging him back from the doorway.

It's most likely a good thing that Oz is tugged out of the doorway, considering that he might have just a feeeew more injuries if Bridget hadn't. Just because he has piercings does not mean he wants to become a pincushion. "Bloody fuckin' hell." He mutters. "What, we gotta wait for him to run outta things to throw?"

A cushion from the couch soon follows the other home-made projectiles. Foam padding boils up out of it before a great deal of the pillow bursts into flame. It hits the outside door of the hallway with a soft thud. Having successfully warded Oz away, Jamie wastes no more time in going for the window. He flings forward his hand - the window frame cracking and peeling as the glasses shatters outwardly.

"There's nothing in there worth getting cut up over," Bridget replies. Hearing the window break, she turns her head towards the doorway, "WHAT THE HELL IS IT WITH PEOPLE TEARING UP MY APARTMENT?!"

"That's usually what thieves /do/, kitten." Oz deadpans in response, peeking into the doorway of the apartment, ready to duck out of the way of a slap to the head if one's coming.

The desk screeches against the floor as it is slid out of the way before ultimately topping over onto its contents with a clatter. Heaving up the pillowcase-sac, Jamie wets his lips nervously - side stepping anxiously up towards the window. He lifts a leg up dartingly and shifts his weight to propel him out. He ignores the glass.

At the pause in the noise, Bridget moves to her feet, moving into the apartment to get a look at the departing figure.

Well, if Bridget thinks it's safe to go in... Bending down to quickly pick up one of the fallen hinges from the door, Oz whistles lightly at Jamie, trying to get his attention. "Oi, mate. Ya forget somethin'."

A whisp of shaggy blonde floats up as Jamie hops out of the window. His arm flings forward as be bounds down the fire escape but nothing happens - save for a slight breeze wafting in the couple's direction. He doesn't take the time to actually concentrate.

Brr.

Jamie lets out a little grunt as the hinge hits that pillowcase that he has flung over his shoulder. The strength behind Oz's throw pushes him over slightly, causing him to stumble forward but not hindering his escape.

As Jamie leaves, Bridget moves over to the desk quickly, the frown contorting to a look of slight relief. Bending down, she picks up the laptop, holding it close to her. Phew!

Eyes narrowing, Oz lets out a slight growl as Jamie heads off, before looking over at Bridget. Smirking, he repeats her earlier words. "Nothin' worth getting cut up over, huh?"

Bridget looks over to Oz, "Well, it's not like I can't type up my files word for word from memory if need be. I just don't want to do that."

Smirk staying in place a few moments longer, it fades as Oz looks to where the door used to be. "Ya can stay at my place 'til ya get a new door." He offers, glancing around to see what else is missing.

"Thank you Oz," Bridget replies, looking back to the issues with her apartment, "Well, I guess now is as good as any time to call the police about it."

Belaredly posted Christmas gifts!

Thu, 03 Jan 2008 08:25:25 GMT

Bridget - A 500 dollar gift card to Barnes and Noble, becoming her personal mechanic and the Kylemore Claddagh Ring.
Sunset - Tree of Life Spirit Board
Angelika - Tickets to Spamalot, Wicked, and Chicago
Rich - Children's Tin Drum
Diego - Power Tour Electric Guitar
Calie - Power Tour Electric Guitar

Aerin, Jamie, Jackson, Zachery, Bridget

Thu, 03 Jan 2008 08:21:52 GMT

Log. December 09, 2007. New York City - Central Park North.

It's a damp sort of day, which has left the park relatively void of visitors. Compared to better days, at least. Though it isn't currently dripping, low clouds hover menacingly over New York, threatening more precipitation to come. The girl leaning against a tree trunk looks like she's been there since before the rain stopped, long black leather... coat?... obscuring just about everything below her chin. She looks up at the clouds as if gauging the weather, but gives the surrounding park an oddly wary glance every now and again, perhaps to spot anyone trying to sneak up on her. Not that anyone is.

Well, most wouldn't consider Oz as the sneaky type, so there's no use for Aerin to be suspicious of him. After all, when you're close to hitting 6'5", there's no use trying to be sneaky. Someone is going to see you coming. However, Oz is sneaking up on anyone on this rather not so sunshiny day. Hands shoved into his overcoat pockets, (even for the currently halted rain the coat isn't closed) the Irishman blinks a bit of water out of his eyes as it slides down from his damp hair. Shows how long he's been outside today. Head tilting like a curious dog as she catches sight of Aerin, Oz slows to a halt as he reaches her, placing a slightly damp cigarette between his lips. "Got a light?" Of course, there is a chance that for some odd reason, Oz doesn't have a lighter, but it's doubtful.

When it becomes clear Oz is heading her way, Aerin stops watching the park so much and just keeps an eye on him. It's not that she's /suspicious/, exactly... more uneasy. For which there's any number of possible explanations. The girl raises a brow at his question, mentally reviewing her current list of handy possessions. A couple times. "Don't think so..." Finally, she shakes her head. "No, can't say I do, sorry."

Shrugging, Oz rolls the cigarette between his fingers. "Well, what can ya do?" He mutters, staring down morosely at the cancer stick. "Thanks anyway, love." Placing the cigarette back in his pocket, he turns to leave, before halting, staring down at the ground. Scarred eyebrow slowly arching, he can't help but comment. "Well... that's interestin'."

A corner of the girl's mouth pulls back in what isn't quite willing to be an amused smirk at Oz mourning the lack of light. It fades abruptly when he switches to staring at the ground, guarded and wary for just a fleeting moment before Aerin adopts a puzzled expression instead. "What?" She looks down at where her bare toes aren't quite covered by her 'coat', then back up to Oz. "Really? Why would that be?"

Well, other than the fact that something about her feet aren't quite right - Oz doesn't really look at people's feet enough to know what, so he doesn't bring that up. - he instead goes with the only reason left. considering this is the most logical reason, that's maybe a good thing. "'s the middle of bloody December, and you ain't got shoes on. That /don't/ strike ya as odd?"

Aerin looks down at her toes, and shrugs. The reason he comes up with seems to settle her a bit, but she's still annoyed at herself for giving him the opportunity to notice anything. It's probably fairly apparent, that mood. "I suppose it is," the teen admits. "I just don't really think about it." It's the usual state of affairs for her.

"...Alright." Leaving it at that - Perhaps it's because he has two sisters, one of them pregnant, and his girlfriend is slowly training him, but Oz is now wary of all annoyed females, regardless of age. - Oz shrugs again. "If you ain't lost a toe to frostbite yet, don't guess you're gonna in the long run. Ain't my place to care anyhow." Perhaps that wasn't the best way to have worded that sentence.

The sky's overcast, and while not raining right this minute, it did earlier and probably will do so again. Soon, too. Leaning against a tree, Aerin eyeballs Oz when he gives up easy. But she seems okay with it. "Probably not," she agrees. She falls quiet for a bit, considering him from the corner of her eye. "Kinda raises the question of why you asked to start with, though," the teen points out, now more curious than on edge.

A fit of coughing erupts from a nearby cluster of bushes closeby - its small evergreen limbs taking on subtle lives of their own as something shifts its weight beneath them. Jamie quiets himself down quickly enough, holding his breath somewhat in the hopes that he might not draw any attention to himself. Sure.. he was listening in.. but only because he was here to begin with..

Being taller than most, Oz has always had a problem with judging people's ages since he usually towers over people older than him. Add in the fact that Aerin doesn't look all that old anyway, and you get, "You're what, fifteen? Think anyone would be wonderin' why ya didn't - " Ending suddenly with the coughing fit from nearby, the clone curiously peers at the bushes, eyes narrowing slightly. "'s that just me, or did ya notice that too?"

At the fit of coughing, Aerin spins to face the bushes, stepping away from them and the tree she'd been leaning against. Her ears, miss something like that? ...Not so much. Her coat doesn't seem to move quite with her - nothing really obvious, as she's only tense and thinking about if she'll need to bolt rather than actually preparing to, but the (additional) oddity's there. "Eighteen," the girl corrects automatically. "And, yeah." Think she just might've noticed.

Jamie feels his stomach tighten as he tries to hold his breath - his throat tightening around itself. A small grunt comes from the bushes under which he is hiding as he fights down another cough - shivering in on himself and pulling the blanket he has wrapped around himself a bit closer in.. Shit.

Bouncebouncebouncebounce/bounce/. This bouncing, for once, is not Jackson; his small white ferret comes skittering helter-skelter down the path, straight past Oz and Aerin. Where Squishy is, though, Jackson is never far behind, and the skinny teen scurries after the overexcited creature, black-and-red striped scarf fluttering behind him as he runs to catch her. "/Squishy/ I swear if you don't come back I will /eat you/." Not, perhaps, a very frightening threat from the vegan boy, but the ferret does come to a stop, tumbling off the path to frolic happily in a patch of mud at the edge of the grass, damp white fur quickly becoming stained brown. Jackson skids to a halt beside her, and only then does he look up at the /humans/ standing nearby. "Am I late I hope I'm not late nobody's gonna eat /me/ are they oh hey it's you how are you healing?" His words tumble out without noticeable pause, or without much indication as to which part of his speech is directed to whom.

Mouth opening to answer Aerin, Oz doesn't get a chance to answer as he watches the ferret and the ferret owner rush past. Well, this day is just getting odder and odder, isn't it? Girl with no shoes, mysteriously shaking and coughing shrubbery, and a boy who can make CareBears cry. With a ferret. All he needs is a herring and he can cut this tree down. Blinking for a moment, the still wet Irishman decides to deal with first things first. "I'll get back to ya in a moment, lad." He answers, though the fact that he can correctly talk might say how his tongue is. Walking over to the bushes, Oz reaches a many ringed finger into the bushes, pushing the branches aside. "Hi. Who the fuck are you?"

The white streak that darts past distracts Aerin from Jamie, and she can't help but snicker at Jackson. The presence of someone /familiar/ also helps. Although the need to interpret his questions causes the teen to pause, looking from Jax to Oz and back. "I don't think you're late; you're the second one here," Aerin says after a moment. "And..." Healing? At this late date? "...I don't think you mean me," she concludes, giving Oz - or his back, as the case might be - a curious glance.

Jamie shrinks back from the sound of branches moving. Hidden beneath his dampened blanket - or at least the top half of him - he can't very well see Oz.. but he knows who the man is talking to.. His muddy, jean-clad legs turn inward in the direction of his stomach. Not here. Go away. Nobody's here. He chokes on his own cough, inevitably falling into another fit - forced to bring both of his hands to cup over his mouth.

"Oh /good/," Jackson replies, beaming as he crouches to scoop his muddy, bedraggled ferret into his arm (she quickly turns the front of his jacket fairly muddy as well), "cuz I totally had put down 'get eaten' in my day planner for tomorrow an' I wouldn't want t'get ahead of things." He straightens, and with one free hand brushes dampened blue hair back from his forehead. "How're you doing? Do you know Mr. Oz? Have you met Squishy? Is there someone /in/ the bushes? They aren't dying, are they?" This time, at least, he does pause between sentences. But only slightly.

"Well, there's someone here. Dunno if they're dyin' or not. And don't call me Mr." Oz dryly answers, before kneeling, reaching under the bushes to grab onto Jamie and pull him out. Considering Oz could lift a fire truck or three, it isn't too much of an issue for him. "Again, who the fuck are you, kid?"

Aerin grins at Jackson. "Who's going to eat you tomorrow?" She looks over at Oz and Jamie, while replying to his rapid-fire questions. "Reasonably well; cold, but that's nothing new." Not at her body weight. "No, I don't; yes, I have; yes, there is; and no, I don't /think/ so." Watching Oz pull Jamie out, the girl frowns faintly, studying Jamie.

Jamie stumbles out, flailing about some as he continues to cough. His blanket is kicked away after falling from around him and getting a bit tangled in his legs. Shabby and ill-groomed, the boyish looking young man stumbles back and falls onto his back after being pulled free from his hiding place. He might reply if he could just stop coughing, pounding a fist against his chest as he glares up at the man who grabbed him with angry, wide blue eyes. "Fuck y-y-y-youu," he manages to growl out, nostrils flaring and bunching up as he reaches to snatch up his blanket from the wet ground, his tired form visibly shivering.

"Pterodactyls," Jackson responds earnestly. "They've been hungry lately. Do you want my jacket? I ain't that cold." Jamie's expletive catches his attention, and pierced eyebrows knit together as his attention turns to the man. "You shouldn't curse, sir," he says sternly. "And /you/ look like you could use a good jacket, too. That cough don't sound so good." At this he fidgets slightly; he has only one coat to offer, and it /is/ cold. "D'you want my sweatshirt?" he offers uncertainly.

Rolling his eyes, Oz keeps his grip on Jamie as he stands, helping the kid steady himself on his feet. "Oh, for fuck's sake." Maybe if Oz were a nicer person - or maybe if the jacket he was wearing wasn't his only jacket, and he just about had it worn in - he might have gave his duster to Jamie. As it were, Oz is not a nicer person, so Jamie doesn't get an offer. However, another scathing remark is cut off before it can be said, by a ringing coming from somewhere within Oz's pockets. Apparently, someone managed to convince Oz out of his technophobia, if not a small bit. Digging the phone out, he doesn't answer it, only looking at the number. "Oh, bloody hell." Not really giving any information to who called him and what it meant, Oz instead casts Jamie another annoyed look - He does not like being eavesdropped on, purposely or not. - he sends a wave Jackson and Aerin's way, before briskly walking off. Bye, or whatever.

Log. December 15, 2007. West 46th: Sunset's Apartment.

The apartment is somewhat plain, though for now, Sunset manages to make it work. Soft gray carpeting covers the floor in all the rooms but the kitchen and bathroom, the walls a normal white, though random photographs of places or people Sunset knows hang in places. A somewhat dingy couch and armchair takes up space in the living room, along with a coffee table and end table, both having seen better days. There's no TV, but a good stereo on a stand takes it's place, a few stacks of CDs surrounding it. the shelves of the stand are filled with books, or somewhat witchy knick-knacks. Next to the stand, is a tall, 6 shelved bookshelf, nearly filled to the brim with books, and also holding knickknacks and collectibles.

The kitchen has worn tile floor, but the counters, cabinets, and appliances are all clean, if not somewhat outdated. Opening the fridge can find a supply of bottled water, milk, somewhat questionable chinese/mexican/greek/italian/etc. take-out, and perhaps the occasional cooking ingredient.

In the bedroom, there's a full size bed, with nightstands on either side of the bed. The bed is covered by a dark blue heavy blaket, with white sheets underneath, and white pillowcases over the pillows. One door leads to a medium sized closet, while another leads to a normally decorated bathroom, though there is oddly no makeup in sight for it being a female's apartment.

One thing about giving out keys to your apartment, is to expect people to come over during emergencies. Like, when they run out of Doritos, or need to borrow a take out menu, or run out of beer. While it's usually Angelika coming over when Sunset isn't around for the first two, Oz is currently over for the last. Even if the redhead is pregnant, she still apparently knows her 'siblings' better than they do, and prepares for 'emergencies' such as this. Opening the fridge, the Irishman kneels behind the door, peering into the cold abyss. Lessee... Take out, take out, cereal, milk... If he didn't know better, he'd say /he/ lived here.

Someone who certainly /doesn't/ live here, is the person approaching the apartment's front door. Zachery appears his usual scruffy self, tiredly rubbing his face. Even though he's been walking around in the cold for a couple of hours - and his hands and face feel positively /freezing/ to match - he looks like he might have just woken up. Too much sleep will do that to a person. "... Keys are overrated." He mumbles quietly to himself, casually leaning against the doorpost as he knocks. "Voooodoo lady?" It's an affectionate term, really. Maybe. A little bit. Probably.

Looking over the fridge door as the knock sounds, Oz stands - /Still/ without a beer. Sad. - closing the door behind him as he moves for the front door. Who does the beatnik know that would /knock/? Not bothering with the peephole - Pff, what does he care about being safe? He can lift a friggin' fire truck. - Oz instead opens the door, eyes narrowing slightly. "...Who the bloody fuck are you?"

Zachery's eyes narrow likewise, though he soon composes himself and pulls away from the frame to straighten himself. Don't remember? Haven't we met, with this host? ... Splendid. The bodysnatcher fights to keep a smirk off of his face, looking as though he meant to stroll right into the apartment, rather expect answers. "... A friend of Sunset's." He answers, faking his best generic American accent. Or lack of an accent, if you wish. And with years of practice, he really /does/ sound like he could have been born and raised just around the corner. Oz is stared at inquisitively. What are /you/ doing here, then?

Arms crossing over his chest, Oz leans again the doorframe, doing his best to look intimidating. Not that he really has to try, what with the... tall and muscle thing he has going. "Well, she's not here." So go away so he can get back to finding beer. "But I'll tell her ya stopped by..." Whatever your name is.

Zachery can't help but look slightly nervous, despite efforts to look less so. Ahem. "I don't... think so." He replies, matter-of-factly. "I don't really like leaving messages. Where's she off to?"

"No bloody clue." Oz answers truthfully. She was gone when he got her. "And don't gotta leave a message. I'll just tell her ya stopped by." No, he is not going to invite you in without good reason.

Zachery sighs, slapping a hand over his own face as he thinks, slumping a bit. "Uungh. Well," He goes back to his usual accent, and when the hand slides off of his face and he looks up to Oz's, his expression is decidedly stuck on annoyed. Arr. "Just tell her thanks for the bottle, and I'll be disappearing for a while." Which, he figures, at least Oz would be happy about.

Eyes narrowing into slits, Oz doesn't move from his position against the door frame, though it perhaps seems like he's grown a bit in bulk in the last few milliseconds. Oh, the aura of sheer annoyance and anger. "One question. Ya wanna tell me what the bloody hell someone like ya is doin' visitin' my sister?"

Zachery opens his mouth, still looking disgruntled, before closing it again. After a bit of thinking, he answers, "I would really like to say 'Because we /love eachother/' in jest, but I'd probably regret that joke." Then, quickly, he adds, "I'm just trying to be polite. Grateful." And it sounds like he's regretting it already.

That better be in jest, considering Zach would never past the brother test. Really, if he were anywhere other than Sunset's place, Zachery would have been beaten up by now, but even when the redhead isn't present, Oz still fears her... And who can blame him, really? Eyes unnarrowing a smaaaaall bit, Oz looks disgruntled by the fact that he can't beat up the bodysnatcher, answering. "I'll tell her you stopped by."

Zachery smirks, humorlessly. Yeah. Right. He appears to momentarily search for a response, but then simply gives up and turns around. He can't think of anything that wouldn't result in Oz wanting to beat him up even more, and he's not about to risk that. "Good bye, Oz." Mentalhisss.

Mentalhisss back. Not bothering with his own goodbye, Oz shuts the door, turning back to head for the fridge again. Now where's that beer...

Log. December 21st, 2007. The Bronx: North Central Bronx Hospital.

Evening has set and for the most part the hallways are clear of visitors. Visiting hours as a whole are pretty much done with but for the first floor area closest to the ER it's still as bustling as ever. Security have been exhausted in maintaining the privacy of the patients but have formed some semblance of a victory in that the most blatantly obvious reporters have been kicked out. The others, have the sense not to get kicked out so they can come again and try tommorrow. It's probably because of this that Oz feels it safe to come into the cafeteria. Avoiding the coffee, and the food all together - He'll stop somewhere on the way home, thank you. - he sits at one of the tables near the doors, chair leaning on it's two back legs, feet resting on the table. Dressed in leather pants, and a black, well fitting t-shirt, a barbell in one eyebrow, the other scarred,and the usual amount of earring in his ears, his duster resting on the table beside his feet. While most people might have to struggle with keeping the chair balanced like he is, Oz makes it seem easy, eyeliner ringed eyes closed, an air of relaxation, confidence, and oddly, gracefulness about him, though a slight tension in his shoulders almost ruins the effect.

Whether evening has set in in this world is not as obvious for this one Bridget as she still puzzled to why she found herself back in the hospital dressed in her paramedic attire. Finding it quite odd being that she quit she managed to locate of all things, her street clothes in the locker area of the hospital. Well, at least she was in the main base for Emergency Response. Having switched her gear for the more familiar riding gear, she was somewhat uncomfortable due to the slight tightness of it against her MAv2PE. Silly Bridget, apparently she grabbed the wrong size exterior outfit. She pats her attire, frowning as her identification seemed to be missing. But no fear! Her emergency money and motorcycle key is still in the street clothes! Yay! First things first... Food. With that she heads towards the cafeteria, barely missing a familiar looking blonde entering the locker room a couple minutes later to a less than happy sight.

One eye opening as he feels the air current change as the door opens more than hearing the door open, Oz opens the other as he spots Bridget reentering the cafeteria. "Figured you'da gone home by now."

The former medic looks over to Oz, frowning in confusion as she walks across the somewhat barren cafeteria, avoiding the puddle of coffee that rest near Oz's table, "This is going to seem unlike me, Oz but... I seem to have forgotten something." She shakes her head looking concerned, plopping herself down across from Oz. "That alone is freaking me out..."

An eyebrow raising, Oz looks... well, confused. "Uh... You're worried cause you forgot somethin'?" He repeats, making sure he got that right. "/Everyone/ forgets things. Unless it was something important, like directions to a ransom drop off or somethin', don't see what the big deal is."

Bridget's jaw drops slightly at Oz's somewhat unthought out response, "In case /you/ forgot," She murmurs, voice kept rather low, "I shouldn't be able to forget things. Much less something so simple as why the hell we're even here in the hospital, why I found myself in my old uniform, or how my street clothes ended up in the locker."

"Uh..." Okaaaaay. "I'm here 'cause me drummer was kidnapped by a psychopath and I went in and rescued him 'fore he got killed. S'all over the bloody papers, not to mention we /talked/ about it about ten minutes ago. /You're/ here 'cause you /work/ here." head tilting back some, Oz peers warily at Bridget. "Maybe you should be here anyway if ya already forgot that. And /why/ aren't ya supposed to be able to forget things since everyone does and you're a part of everyone?"

"Because that's my ability," Bridget hisses, "Like your 'super strength' is yours." The irritated look fades away as she processes the rest of what Oz said, "Wait... Rich got kidnapped? When? How? Was it Rine again?" She pauses, looking to Oz's face... In particular the eyebrow. "When did you...?"

Eyes narrowing, Oz looks more than wary, now viewing Bridget with suspicion. "How do you know about that?" He asks, voice deathly serious and quiet. "And who the bleedin' hell is Rich?"

"Considering how much we sparr together and you can hold your own against the MA v2 PE suit, and you flat out /telling/ me, of course I'm going to know about that," Bridget replies, voice still low, "And how can you not know who your drummer is if you're here after rescuing him? And when the hell did you get a new peircing?!"

"Okay, you're off your bloody nut." Oz replies after a long pause of simply staring at Bridget in a mix of high annoyance and confusion. "I only met ya ten bloody minute ago, ya mentallin' bird! My drummer's name is /Mike/ and I've had this piercin' for half a bloody year. Any other insanity ya wanna ask me before I leave?" Taking his feet off the table, his chair going back to all fours, the singer stares at Bridget, waiting to see what /else/ she's going to babble.

Bridget blinks, "Oz. If this is a joke you're playing on me, it's not funny. But fine.... if you're going to act like this...what if I told you something about yourself I seriously doubt you told the public?"

Giving a snort, Oz leans back in his seat, arms crossing. "Had the bloody tabloids followin' me 'round God knows how long. The things they don't know, I sure as hell know you don't know."

"Very well, I apologize for bringing this up but you leave me no choice," Bridget leans closer to Oz, tilting her head to whisper in Oz's ear. "You killed dad." She tilts her head up, stepping back, "Justified in my opinion but still not something you share with them. Now can you quit making fun of me ?"

Jerking back, Oz does not look relieved, or enlightened. Instead, he just looks more annoyed and more confused. "Who the bloody fuck are you confusing me with!?"

"No one!" Bridget snaps, "I'm not confusing you for anyone. You are one Oz Delaney. Well, second edition if you want to get technical. Oz, you're not helping... quit playing with me here. You're freaking me out and you of all people should know I don't need to be freaked out with all the other crap I've gone through this past year."

"...How many times I gotta say it!? Only known ya for ten goddamn minutes!" What the fuck is it with him and crazies lately?

Bridget's eyes widen, "Oz, you're going too far. I'm ... really close to ignoring what I promised Sunset. Frankly I'd think she'd consider me justified. What happened to you Oz? You have your temper but... this is just too much. It's like a nig-." Bridget pauses, realization on her face, "... Emma."

Scowling, Oz's eyes narrow, before he growls. "Gettin' really sick of you mentioning people like I should know 'em."

Bridget doesn't reply to Oz as she starts glancing around the cafeteria suspiciously, "That goddammed... LISTEN YOU DAMN TELEPATH! GET THE HELL OUT OF MY HEAD!"

Not really expecting that, and already on edge with the conversation anyhow, Oz jerks back in surprise as the shout wtih such force that the chair topples over, him going with it. Quickly righting himself, Oz keeps the table between himself and Bridget. "What the /fuck/ is your problem!?"

"What the hell is my problem?" Bridget repeats, giving a slight laugh, "My /problem/ is in the form of one bitchy telepath who apparently likes to screw with the minds of those who don't like to kiss up to her." She gets up from her seat, a somewhat challenging sneer on her face as she glances around the fortunately empty cafeteria, "What's the matter, Frost? The blatant physical torture not enough anymore that you have to make alternate reality dreams to plop me in?! There's no way my Oz would be so much an a-... well... Ok you had the personality down but you screwed up on a LOT of things!"

Spluttering, it takes Oz a moment to focus on just /one/ thing in that rant. "/Your/ Oz?"

Bridget turns around looking to Oz, "Not /you/. Hell, why am I even /talking/ to the fake Oz? You're nothing more than the concoction of a PMSing mutant with mind manipulation techniques. All I have to do now is just wait to wake up."

He's reallllly tired of this. "Well, gee golly!" Oz sneers, obviously having reached his limit for this... WTF-ery. "Let me help you with that, then!"

Sure, whatever," Bridget murmurs. Glancing over to the opening Cafeteria door to see a rather confused blonde enter in. Door closing after her. "Frost's pulling out all the stops I see. Hello fake Bridget!"

"My riding gear!"

Really, /really/ tired of this. Glancing between the two Bridgets, the Irishman gives an annoyed sigh, before leaning across the table, raising a hand to soundly flick Bridget in the forehead. "Wake up." Or just... get knocked out by that, for some odd reason.

"Hmm?" Thunk! To the ground Bridget goes.

'Fake' Bridget glances down to the fallen Bridget and then up to Oz, "...Shape changing mutant?"

"Don't know. Don't care. Had to deal with too many damn crazies in the last week, and I was tired of dealin' with her." Oz answers, sounding less than happy as he slips on his duster. "M'gettin' outta here before she wakes up and starts babblin' again." Stepping around the unconscious Bridget as he heads for the door, he gives one last warning before leaving the cafeteria. "Watch out for that one. Bloody insane, she is." And goodbye, cafeteria.

Fake Bridget glances around, seeing nothing but the faint image of someone on the floor turning to nothing, "Oz!"

****************************

Eyes open and the blonde head shoots up "GAH!"

Jerking back to keep from being headbutted, having been leaning over the blonde trying, and obviously succeeding to wake her up, Oz peers at Bridget with a smidgen of worry. "You alright?"

Blinking, Bridget turns her head to look to Oz and then around the room. Alright, own apartment... good. "Quick, today's date, who is your drummer, and anyone you know in the hospital right now?"

"Er... December 21st, Rich Malone, and not that I know of... /Why/?"

"...Nothing. Bad dream."

Log. December 25, 2007. West 46th: Bridget's Apartment.

Christmas evening. The gifts have been delivered, the food has been eaten, and the guests have headed to their respective homes with the exception of two. One of them busies herself at the dishwasher, moving her head back as she opens the door slowly, allowing for the hot steam of the just finished dish washing cycle to escape.

Well, not /all/ gifts have been delivered. Oz has one more to give, at least, and part of him is hoping there's at least one more for him. Though, even if there isn't, who is he to complain about what he does have? Watching Bridget from his position at the entrance to the kitchen, the Irishman moves behind Bridget after a moment, arms wrapping around her waist, and chin going to rest on top of her head. "I got any more presents?" He asks, managing to sound like a little boy on Christmas morning, in tone, at least.

The former medic smirks, allowing the air conditioning of the apartment to counteract the steaming glasses and plates that lay below. Yes. There is no way she's touching those hot dishes right now. "Considering how many fights you've gotten into this year, shouldn't you be happy that Santa didn't give you coal?"

Pffft. "For mosta those, I was defendin' my /honor/, thanks much. Woulda been wronger to /not/ fight." Yeah. /That's/ what it was. "...S'that a no?" Pout.

Bridget reaches over to the counter, grabbing a clean dishtowel and flinging it over her shoulder, covering Oz's face with fabric. "Help me put up the dishes you goof."

Grinning despite himself, Oz shakes the dishtowel off, reaching over to grab a few glasses off the top rack. Placing the glasses in one hand down so he can successfully open the cabinet door, he turns around to look at Bridget. "Actually, speakin' of presents..."

Bridget slides the upper rack of dishes into the washer to expose a large platter, lifting it up, "Oz, could you put this in the bottom cabinet? Use the door on the opposite side of the island, that's where it goes."

Okay, never mind. He'll just get to the presents thing later, then. Leaving the glasses where they are, and taking the platter, Oz disappears behind the island... only to pop up a moment, later, eyeing the cereal advertisement wrapped box. "Yanno, dependin' on how awesome of a present this ends up, I might not even give ya your last one, since your choice in wrapping paper don't fill me with Christmas joy." Moving next to Bridget again as he begins to viciously, and somewhat childishly, tear off the wrapping paper with one hand, Oz sets the gift down as it's fully unwrapped. Staring at it as if he's about to drop to his knees, bow down, and worship the bottle of alcohol in all of it's glory, he instead turns to Bridget, pushes her against the counter, and proceeds to kiss her silly. There's a good chance he really, /really/ likes his present.

Bridget surpresses a laugh at Oz's reaction, waiting 'til the shower of affection dies down before speaking. "You know Oz, if you don't like it we could always exchange it..."

"The hell we will." He growls back, pressing his lips to hers one last time. "Well, if anythin', this makes me less nervous 'bout your last gift." Oz murmurs, suddenly slightly nervous and fidgety. "Go look in your nightstand."

Bridget archs an eyebrow. "Alright." With a turn, Bridget heads into her bedroom, peeking into the drawer. Upon spotting the small box, she gives a slight sigh of relief. As she reaches in to pull the box out to examine it's contents. A Claddagh Ring. Pulling it from it's box, she studies it curiously.

Yes, that is an actual sapphire. Yes, those are diamonds. Yes, it is white gold. Who says Oz doesn't know fancy? Having followed Bridget to peek in at her reaction, the nervous tension around Oz only seems to heighten at the supposed lack of reaction. "Figured you might know the meanins of all the ways to wear it, but if ya don't..."

"One way for marriage, one for engagement, and one for dating, right?"

"And one for being single and looking for a relationship, or single and not looking for a relationship." Wow, he actually knows something she doesn't. Moving behind her again, Oz slips the ring onto Bridget's ring finger on her right hand, facing the heart towards her. "This way means you're dating and committed to someone."

Well it's more that Bridget's citing the original meaning and not the altered one. Bridget glances to the ring, "It's lovely."

Leaning down to rest his cheek against her shoulder, nuzzling her neck slightly, Oz gives a small smile. "'ll admit, expected you to react more like I did a minute ago." He answers.

"I blame all those times of playing politics with supervillains. You learn not to be overly expressive."

"Couldn't play politics if I wanted too, and I ain't crazy or smart enough to be a bad guy. Feel free to go 'squee.'"

Bridget grins. Squee.

Bridget

Mon, 19 Nov 2007 04:12:34 GMT

God fucking damn it. Shoulda really thought this through before getting this damn piercing. Can't smoke. Can't drink. Can't kiss my fucking girlfriend.

Hands are shaking too much to distract myself with playing guitar. Can't go out and do something unless I wanna kill someone. Head hurts too much to watch any damn TV.

This withdrawal better pass soon. Can't see me lasting two weeks with this shit.

Log. November 14, 2007. New York City - Oz’s Apartment.

For the few people that know Oz past name and face, they’d know his usual schedule well enough to know that it’s very odd that he hasn’t left the apartment for a few days now. Said owner and occupant of the apartment has a few good reasons for not wanting to, really. Nicotine withdrawal. Alcohol withdrawal. And, he can’t quite talk right, so… There’s a chance if he leaves, he’ll kill someone when with his already grumpiness. As such, he’s instead halfway laying on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, and the apartment kept dim, barely any lights turned on. A bare tremble runs under his skin every now and then, and the light sheen of sweat is visible even in the dim light of the apartment.

Into the dim apartment enters a ray of sunshine in the form of one rather chipper blonde. No... not Jackson. This one's more compatible to Oz's setup. "Good Afternoon!" she greets, stepping into the apartment, closing the door behind her. Walking over to the couch, her head tilts in curiosity at the shut in singer.

Instinctively flinching away from the noise, Oz's only response is to let out a grunt of pain. Ow. Headaches and noises don't go. Arm lifting up just enough for Oz to glance at Bridget, he gives a small, somewhat weak grin. Can't say it's a 'good' afternoon, on his part.

And with that weak grin, Oz is rewarded with the back of a hand being placed on his forehead. "Sick ? Or did you and jello-boy get in another fight and I'm going to have to make my threat again?"

Crap, he's gonna have to talk, ain't he? "No cigarettes in two days." He mutters, talking a bit slower than usual to make sure he enunciates correctly. Mostly succeeding, with only a little of 'marbles in mouth' syndrome, Oz pushes himself from the couch with a small grunt, heading for the kitchen. "Or alcohol."

Bridget frowns. "Oz Apollo Delaney...Did you get in a fight again?!"

Shooting her a dry, annoyed look as he gets a bottle of half frozen water from the freezer, Oz twists the cap open. Woman, give me some credit. Taking a long drink from the bottle, Oz finally answers, though it's not quite vocally. Turning towards her, the Irishman opens his mouth, sticking his tongue out enough to show the silver tongue stud dead center in the middle of the appendage.

Bridget's budding angry look falters... instead going to one of understanding. "Ah..." She smirks, "Fine, yes or no questions then."

Taking his tongue back into his mouth, Oz takes another drink of water. Thank you. Screwing the top back onto the water bottle, the singer leans against the counter. Eyebrow quirking as he tilts his head, he tries to ignore another shiver. Questions? Shoot.

"Turkey for Thanksgiving and Ham for Christmas?"

The eyebrow arches higher, as Oz mouths his own question. 'I'm invited to both?'

"Provided you don't screw up big time between the two holidays," Bridget replies, giving a nod, "Don't worry. I'll blend your Thanksgiving dinner very well in a blender for you. Turkey shake with a hint of cranberry. Yum."

Eyes narrowing a small bit, Oz can't stop his lips from twitching into a grin. 'I can eat as nearly as well as I could a few days ago, thank you very much. Just gotta take really small bites.'

"Why stop at small bites when you can /drink/ it?"

'I prefer separate flavors to my big meals, but thanks anyway.' He remarks as dryly as he can without actually speaking. 'Know any cures for the current hell I'm going through?'

Bridget shrugs, "Best bet is to sleep through it."

'Got anything that'll put me in a coma until Thanksgiving with no lasting damage then?'

"How about a documentary on the history of cheese?"

'I said put me in a coma, not make me want to kill myself.' Oz replies, before taking another drink of water. 'Don't got any weird prescription drug mixtures or anything you can whip up?'

Bridget frowns, "I'm a former paramedic. Not a drug dealer. How about warm tea?"

Oz stares blankly at the blonde. Yeah. Because he's such a tea drinker. Damn... Goodbye, pride. 'Got any nicotine patches?' Pause. 'Or an IV filled with Guinness?'

"I'll grab some patches."

'What about the second one?'

"I'll grab some patches."

'...Please tell me that's an 'I'll see if I can find the right equipment.''

"It's a 'I'm going to the drug store to get you the strongest over the counter stuff I can.' That sufficient?"

Slightly rolling his eyes, Oz shrugs. 'If it's as close I can get to the actual thing.' Reaching towards Bridget he pulls her close, arms wrapping around her, speaking again. "Next few weeks are gonna be hell." There's a doubt that he's talking about cigarettes or booze.

"Welcome to the holiday season."

Rene, Lucien, Bridget, Jackson

Tue, 13 Nov 2007 19:27:25 GMT

God. I don't wanna hear anythin' like that ever again.

I need to find new places to drink, 'pparently.

Log. November 8, 2007. New York City – Harry’s.

Harry’s is what one would expect of a usual dive bar. Smoky atmosphere, coupla pool tables, uneven tables and chairs, and some kinda sports game on the TV. Not even paying attention to the football game on TV – Americans and their bloody bastardization of the real sport. – Oz sits at one of the barstools, staring at the label on his bottle like he’s either trying to light it on fire, or either deeply in thought. Thinkthinkthink.

Beside Oz, Julien is half-sitting, half-standing, both palms pressed against the none-too-clean surface of the bar's counter as he leans across it. He's rather out of place here, dark jeans undoubtedly designer and tailored to fit, sleeves of his Armani dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, a ridiculously expensive watch glinting at his wrist, ostentatious in its lack of ostentatiousness. He is scowling as he argues with the increasingly-frustrated bartender. "/Look/, it is /not that hard/," he says, halfway to a growl but gentled by the French-Canadian accent draped heavy over his words. "Equal parts orgeat syrup and orange curaçao, double as much white and dark rum, twist of lime -- shaken over -- do I have to come over there and make it myself?"

Usually, Rene would forgo going to one of these places; but Ghostflower unfortunately helped out someone 'big' on the club scene a night or so ago, and now he can hardly go to his familiar haunts without getting stared at or fangirlboyed over by means of stalking. With the newfound friend of alcohol slowly creeping back into his life, Rene comes into the doorway of the bar when Julien is in the middle of his shtick. There is a pause as Rene walks towards the opposite end of the bar, eyes stuck on the ...demanding man. Enough to not notice Oz until he sits down beside him on the other side. The blonde jumps slightly, the loose blonde over his black peacoat jumping as he turns his head. "Well /hello/."

Giving a low chuckle as he looks up from his bottle to glance at Julien, Oz smirks before speaking. “If you’re lookin’ for anything like that, mate,” Oz cuts in, sounding amused and displaying his own heavy accent. Irish! He’s himself again! “I’d say you’re definitely in the wrong place.” Pausing to glance over Julien’s attire, the smirk widens. “Actually, I better change that to you’re in the wrong place overall.” Tensing slightly as the short one speaks, a bit of the Irishman’s amusement fades, turning to face him. “…Hi.”

Julien turns to level his scowl on Oz, green eyes narrowing in curiosity more than anything else as he sizes the other man up. "I am not in the wrong place," he answers with a wry quirk of his lips. "This bar is in the wrong city." He slumps back onto his stool, neatly manicured fingernails drumming against the countertop. "Any Scotch that doesn't taste like piss," he amends his order. "Can you handle /that/?" The bartender glares and turns away, presumably (hopefully?) to get Julien his drink, and Julien turns back to give Oz another once-over, thoughtful and appraising.

Rene clears his throat a little as the Irish accent makes itself known. "I see you got rid of that... invasive issue." Eyes settle across Oz on Julien for a few moments. The tiniest squint crops up, and he leans forward to peer at him a little better. I hear an /accent/. It is vaguely familiar. "Parlez français?" He takes a chance now.

“Ayuh. Tell your friend that next time I seem ‘im, I’mma kill ‘im.” Replying to Rene like he’s simply talking about the weather, Oz raises the bottle to his lips to finish what’s in it. Either unnoticing or uncaring of the looking over from Julien, he next words are to the bartender. “Give the lad a glass of Johnnie Walker Blue, barkeep. Somethin’ tells me that he can afford it, and it’s the only thing that /might/ be up to his standards.” Pause. “Better yet, give us each one.” Peering over at Rene, Oz might as well up the generosity. “What you want, shortie?”

Julien snorts at Oz's suggestion, and the drumming of his fingers stops. "/Blended/," he says with a trace of contempt, but that does not stop him from accepting the choice without further complaint. He turns on his stool to look at Rene for the first time, and his lips press together at the younger man's accent. "Oui," Julien answers, dryly, and when he speaks he enunciates the differences between his Québécois and Rene's French pronunciation. "{But do /you/?}"

Rene's smile quirks just a little. He's heard the different pronunciations many times, so curiosity seems to be pressing. His own voice carries a new hint of faint amusement. "Oui. Naturellement." Yes. Naturally. His smile brightens between Oz and the barkeep. "Me three." Oz gets poked at. "And he's been there before." Zach will be fine.

Jerking away from the poke, Rene only gets a cool look in response. Do not poke me. People lose arms that way. Looking away as three glasses are set down Oz grabs one, taking a drink from it. “I should care why?”

Julien reaches for one of the glasses, downing his in one quick swallow before gesturing for a second even before his empty glass hits the counter with a clink. "Naturellement," he echoes with quiet amusement, and then eyes Rene again. "Are you even old enough to be in here?"

"You shouldn't." Rene isn't as afraid of Oz as many others might be--perhaps it's more than a few reasons. Julien gets a brief nod and a bright grin as one hand reaches for his glass. "Yes. I'm just very small for my age. I'm working on it." Well. In France he is. By the fact the barkeep simply turned the drink over, he either doesn't care, or assumes Oz knows what he's talking about. It's all good, Jules.

Eyeing Julien’s empty glass for a moment, Oz quirks a scarred eyebrow. “Bad day, or ya always drink like that?” He really can’t help but ask. It’s Johnnie Walker! You don’t drink that stuff down without /savoring/ it first, you odd snooty person. “And I don’t think being a midget is something you can work on. Doubt drinkin’ milk this late in life is gonna help any.” Oz glibly remarks, though a smirk hints that he just /might/ be teasing. Maybe.

"It is not single-malt," Julien answers (and therefore, it is implied, clearly not worth savoring.) "-- I /am/ curious, though. How exactly /does/ one work on something like that?" Emerald eyes regard Rene with idle interest.

Rene raises his eyebrows and lids his eyes matter-of-factly in response to Oz. "In the end, it all simply means that I spend less on buying drinks." He takes his time with a sip of his own glass. "Wishing, mostly." He says this with a tone that implies he means srs biznis, but it's easy to tell that he's being playful. "Sometimes a few turns on the rack." Both men get a tiny wink.

Ignoring the wink – It never happened! – Oz also ignores Julien’s first remark. Well, /sorry/ that a three hundred dollar bottle of the some of the finest scotch whisky isn’t up to your liking, rich boy. Go buy the three thousand dollar version and drink at home. Taking a drink from his own glass, Oz taps a thumb against the side, ring clinking against the glass with every tap. “What’s that sayin’? If wishes were horses…”

"Do you actually /have/ a rack in your home?" Julien's eyes light with interest. "There are far more interesting uses for them than making people taller."

Rene shakes his head a little. "No. But I improvise. And am all too aware of other uses for them." The boy gives a light chuckle. He sticks his chest out a bit and nods to himself. "You'll all see. Someday. I'll be a /monster/. And then nobody will tease." He looks mildly devious.

Jesus Christ. Eyes closing, Oz takes a leaf from Zachery’s book at that moment. Pretending he’s somewhere else, and /not/ hearing this conversation.

Julien's lips twitch into an approximation of a smile as Oz's eyes close (or maybe it's because the bartender has refilled his glass.) "I have been contemplating installing one in my dungeon," he informs Rene. "But in the meanwhile there are more creative ways to achieve the same effects."

Rene's gaze flits from Julien to Oz and back. There are some things Oz and Zachery have in common, apparently. "It seems too ungainly to really own one, really. Tighten up those ropes on the bedposts--" Rene even makes some cranking motions. Or tries. "--and everyone's good."

Eye twitch. Suppressed shudder. Someone /save/ him.

The hint of a smile broadens into an outright smirk. Julien downs his second glass just as quickly as his first before nodding agreement with Rene. "If you invest in a good, sturdy stand-alone frame, too," he says, "there are no end of possibilities. Convenient places to hang slings from."

Rene can't help but giggle at Oz and nurse the inwardly warming drink. "Ooohh." Rene speaks with a nostalgic voice now. "I miss mine." Sigh. Used to have one. Boo.

“God.” Throwing back what’s left in his glass, Oz is actually hoping for a supervillian to attack at the moment. Something blowing up, some reason for him to leave without make it look like he’s running away from /these/ two.

"Yes," Julien replies, "that is what so many of my clients say. But despite how I make them feel, I am, in fact, not /actually/ God." In case there was any confusion. He glares at his empty glass, and when it fails to refill itself, he glances back towards Rene. "You should come try mine sometime, then."

Rene laughs. "Ohho. Well. If I had less on my heart and mind, then I might say yes. It sounds like fun, though, I assure you..." He makes this clear by looking the man once over. "Have you tried asking him?" Point at Oz. "He's brusque, but he's nice."

Okay, now it’s just not fair that Rene looks so feminine. Man or not, Oz just /can’t/ smack someone who looks so… girly. No matter how much he wants to. “Sorry. Think my girl would be a bit pissed if I cheated on her, especially with a bloke.” Was that a tiny bit more emphasis on the word girl there?

"What your girl does not know..." Julien replies, laughter threaded through his voice. "And it is surprising how many of my clients are partnered already." His eyes flicker over Rene once again, thoughtful. "Besides, if you have a lot on your heart and mind that is the perfect time. I tend to -- alleviate that."

"An...alleviation...caused it." Rene peers intently at his glass and empties the last bit before digging into his coat pocket for his wallet. "I think I should avoid similar situations for a while." Which means he shouldn't stay to obviously flirt--one reason he's now attempting to avoid eye contact overall.

Does this mean this conversation is /over/? Thank God.

"Mmm," is Julien's only response, vague and noncommital as he collects his third glass from the bartender. He eyes it morosely. The conversation, it would seem, is over.

Rene lies what he owes on the counter, slipping from the stool and pausing as he skirts behind the men to leave. "Take care." The blonde smiles as he adjusts his coat straight and steps past. "See you around~." Whether he is talking to Oz or Julien(or both) can go to a guess; Rene got the drink he came for(if simple), and so he aims to depart without much of a fanfare.

Throwing his own amount on the bar, Oz stands from his seat, taking his duster off the back to slip on. “Nice meetin’ ya, mate.” Pause. “Save for most of the conversation, at least.” He finishes with a mutter, before turning to walk out the door himself.

Finally figured out what the hell Bridget did to get Zachery to leave. On one hand, m'highly amused, considerin'. (Along with a bit jealous, assumin' she had to feel me up a bit before actually goin' in for the kill. Wonder how willin' she'd be to do that otherwise.) One the other hand... it scares the hell outta me that she's got no problem putting my future youngin's in danger.

Got a few idea for what to get her for Christmas. One of 'em includes not talking about my 'daddy issues' considerin' they seem to do nothing but put her in not exactly a good mood.

Log. November 11, 2007. Hell’s Kitchen – Oz’s Apartment.

Other than the sounds of the apartment owner’s handy guitar being tuned, silence would reign in the apartment. For a former and possibly future rock star, Oz is actually a pretty quiet neighbor, most of the time. I’m sure the other occupants of the building are thankful. Sitting on the floor in front of the couch, with an open carton of Marlboro’s beside him, he seems to be tuning the guitar he’s holding more out of habit than anything, mind obviously somewhere else, and not paying attention to anything around him.

Along with the sounds of a guitar being tuned, the sound of the door's lock clicking is also heard as Bridget pokes her head in the apartment, giving a smile, "How's my favorite singer doing?"

Blinking as Bridget speaks, Oz doesn’t look up. “He’s at the moment baffled about a few things.” He answers with a slight grin. “Things like… what to get you for Christmas. And what you did to make Zach leave.”

The door closes as Bridget moves over to the couch, lying on the cushions, rubbing her hand along Oz's hair. "Could go for gift cards or something..." She opts not to answer the second part.

Head tilting back, the grin widens, becoming a bit more… Oz like. “Was thinkin’ ‘bout getting you one of those… santa lingerie sets, but I’m not sure it would count as an actual gift to you.” Looking over at Bridget, he quirks an eyebrow. “And you aren’t gonna be able to avoid that last wonderin’ forever.”

"Good luck getting me to model that set for you," Bridget deadpans, "And I can avoid it for now..."

Well, that doesn’t mean he can’t imagine, does it? Not voicing that thought, Oz looks both amused and exasperated. “There is no way it could have been /that/ bad. From the pain, I’d assume you kicked me a few times… though next time, I’d prefer you’d take out my spleen with a spoon, love. Less pain.”

Bridget smirks, "If it was me kicking, he'd been moving away from me, not getting out of you as quick as he can."

"...Then what the hell did you do?"

"Scared the living shit out of him by making a bluff."

Now he's looking more exasperated than amused. "By?"

"Threatening what all guys hold dear. After all, while he's in you, he'd be the one feeling it. Not you."

“…Not immediately, no.” Mouth twitching into a grin after a moment, Oz starts to laugh, lead leaning back against the couch. “Naughty, naughty catholic girl. Feelin’ me up when I’m not even awake.”

"You know a more effective manner in which to get a human possessing mutant out of someone that doesn't involve permanent damage or second degree burns?"

“No. But I woulda gone to Sunset to see if she knew anything that didn’t involve molestin’ my possessed body.”

"That takes time and considering Jello boy's track record with hosts. This method is likely less damaging."

"Except to my future kids." Oz replies, still grinning. "Well, next time you wanna try that trick, just make sure it's on me, and doesn't involve the pain, alright, pet?"

"I wasn't really going to rip them out," Bridget replies, "I wasn't even using the full strength of the suit."

Shaking his head, Oz laughs again. “You still might have killed the next generation. Think you should be at confession for attempted murder.” He’s really not gonna let her get away with no teasing for this.

"You want me to make sure that I killed them?"

"...That question could either lead to somethin' very, very fun... or very, very painful. Which one is it?"

"The process of making you sterile is not something some would consider /fun/. Unless it was Zachery, and he wasn't in you at the time."

Grin not fading much, Oz peers at Bridget. “Mad at me?”

"Keep this up and I /will/ be."

"Sorry, love, can't help but tease ya. Couldn't move for a while, figure I got the right to, for a bit. Was kinda hopin' i'd get to see ya blush once or twice, but..." Trailing off, his head tilts slightly. "So, whatcha want for Christmas?"

Bridget smiles, "Well, being that you were stupid enough to let Jello-boy take over your body, I think I had the right to make it ache a little." She rests her head on the cushion, hand still running in Oz's hair, "I think I'm good for Christmas."

The singer looks a little disbelieving. “A bird that doesn’t want any presents…” Sighing, he closes his eyes, head tilting against her hand. “You confuse the hell outta me.”

"Well not many /birds/ have crazed assassins to worry about." Bridget replies, "Can't get bogged down with too many things to pack if something happens."

“Then how ‘bout somethin’ small? Necklace, or somethin’.” Eyes halfway opening, Oz glances to her neckline. “Don’t ever really see you wearin’ one.”

Bridget smiles, "Well, my past job wasn't one for allowing jewelry. Not good if patients have something to grab at."

Staying quiet and thinking for a few more moments, Oz finally speaks. “Who’d you chose at Confirmation?”

"Whhhhy?"

Giving a grin, he answers simply. “Necklace.”

"Named for St. Brigid. Chose St. Catherine of Alexandria upon Confirmation."

Grinning, Oz reaches down for an open pack of cigarettes, getting his lighter from his pocket. “Saint of students and teachers. Shoulda known.” Lighting a cigarette, the grin fades as he speaks again. “Mine was St. Rita. Cascia, I think.”

Bridget's smile fades, "...Oh."

“Yeah. Oh.” The Irishman parrots. “Woulda found one for abused and dead children, but me pickin’ Rita pissed Da off enough as it was.” Giving a sardonic and morbid type of smirk, he continues. “Quit going to church sometime when I was 15 ‘cause She never seemed to listen to anything I told Her.”

And once again, Bridget finds herself without something to say.

God, next two weeks are gonna be hell. This better be worth it, but I'm kinda regrettin' it, now that I can't smoke none. Drinkin' I don't need. Drinkin' don't help keep me from killin' morons everyday. All together at least. Nicotine helped with most of that.

Fuck. Better come up with a good excuse to not leave the apartment for the next two weeks. Unless I wanna go to jail, and that's somethin' I definitely don't fancy.

How do I know Bridget ain't gonna be all that thrilled with this?

Log. November 12, 2007. New York City – Queens – Ink’d and Jabb’d.

The parlor doesn't look like much on the outside, worn down bricks and a dingy door, tinted glass window to the side proclaiming 'Ink'd and Jabb'd' in gothic bleeding letters. The inside is colored in dark shades of red, blue, purple, black, and any other dark color, various frames covering the walls. Tattoo possibilities, awards, degrees, and the like. The front has comfortable black leather couches, chairs, surrounding tables with books of even more tattoo possibilities, a TV, tattoo magazines, and pictures of available piercings in more books. And if the TV isn't on a certain channel for people to watch, a nearby stereo is on, steadily playing a barrage of hard rock and heavy metal. Near the back, a red door painted black leads to back rooms, where the stuff involving needles take place.

A bell does not ring as Oz enters the parlor... maybe because there’s no bell above the door. But the Irishman certainly doesn’t look out of place in the tattoo shop, leather duster on to ward off the setting in winter outside, black jeans and t-shirt underneath, with worn boots to finish off the outfit. Throwing what’s left of a cigarette out the door before he closes it, he rubs a hand along the back of his neck before walking further into the shop.

Tattoos and piercings notwithstanding, Jackson manages to look out of place here, although he /works/ in the store: today he is in fitted black jeans with faintly silver pinstripes, and a babydoll t-shirt with the cheerful characters from the Candyland board game dancing across it. A fuzzy sunshine-yellow hat sits floppy atop his mop of jet-black hair, and there is a Care Bear (fuzzy and sunshine-yellow to match) sitting on the countertop in front of him, watching with ever-vigilant plastic eyes as he slogs through a math assignment. Jackson looks up from his homework with a bright smile as Oz enters, and does his employee-ful duties, greeting the man with a chirrupped "Hi, sir! 'kai help you? -- Funshine Bear will maybe help you, too. I brought him t'help with my homework but he's /useless/ at pre-calc."

Scarred eyebrow quirking upwards, the corner of Oz’s mouth twitches as he holds back a grin at the odd little worker bee. Tapping the CareBear plush on the nose with a ringed and black nailed finger as he reaches the desk, he finally lets the grin show as he speaks. “Think you or Funshine here could see if it’s possible for me to get a piercin’ or not?” Oz asks, Irish accent as heavy as always. “One in the tongue, if possible.”

"Funshine is way better with piercings than with math," Jackson assures Oz with a grin, setting his pencil down and picking up the plush bear. He bounces out of his chair to lean across the counter, squinting at Oz's mouth intently. "Open up! Dr. Funshine needs t'have a looksee 'fore he can give you his /professional/ opinion."

“Sure thing, lad.” Giving another, somewhat lopsided grin, Oz for once does as he’s told, mouth opening and tongue emerging for the ‘looksee’.

Jackson peers at the man's tongue, and then lifts Funshine to 'inspect' it, too. His head shakes sadly as he returns the bear to the counter. "Oh. Oh, /no/. Oh, that won't do at /all/. I'm afraid it just ain't possible, sir," he says, looking up at Oz with wide, solemn eyes.

Eyebrow raising again as he takes his tongue back, Oz’s head tilts. He’s /fairly/ certain the boy is just teasing him... “Pity, that. Had plans for that piercing.” He answers, smirking after a moment.

"Were they int'resting plans, sir? If they were /good/ plans, maybe Funshine can work some Care Bear magic." Jackson leans in closer, voice lowering conspiratorially as he informs Oz, "Care Bears got /lots/ of magic, y'know. They store it in their tummies."

“I’terestin’s a word for it, ya.” Oz answers, own voice lowering to mimick Jax. “Think my girl would be kinda diss’pointed in ways if I didn’t get one, ya get me?”

Jackson nods earnestly. "Funshine knows all about love. He has agreed to work his magic. /Jus'/ for you, mind. He don't do magic for just /anyone/." The wiry teenager disappears behind the counter a moment, popping back up with a round tray full of a wide variety of various shapes and colours of jewelry. He points to one section of barbells in a range of colours. "You can pick any of these t'get pierced with. They're longer to accommodate the swelling that happens at first. In two weeks you can switch it out for a normal size."

Automatically pointing at the simple and classic completely silver barbell, Oz spins the ring on his thumb momentarily, looking thoughtful. “Just before we do this, this ain’t gonna fuck my singing up in the long run, is it? Don’t much fancy lookin’ into another career, if so.”

"In the long run? Nosir. In the long run, you'll be fine." Jackson grins wryly as he ducks to put the tray away and retrieve one of the barbells Oz chose, this one sterilized and sealed in its autoclave wrapper. "Wouldn't count on doin' too much singing in the next week or two, though, 'f I was you. Or talking much either. Or -- uh. Eating." Jackson's own tongue ring catches between his teeth briefly, glinting bright blue. "I ate soup an' ice cream for a week an' a half when I got mine." He squints at Oz thoughtfully, brow creasing slightly. "You're a singer?"

“Ain’t got any practices lined up with the holidays being near anyhow, so no worried about most of that. What about smokin’?” He can get how drinking would be bad for this, and he /just/ might be able to give that up. Maybe. Alcohol withdrawal can’t be as bad as nicotine withdrawal, right? “And yeah. We ain’t nothin’ big yet, but we will be one day.”

"No smoking," Jackson answers oh-so-sternly. "No having any kind of fun at all!" he adds, more playful. "Alcohol, tobacco, nicotine, caffeine, drugs, kissing, oral sexual contact, those'll all make the healing time longer an' with the first few it'll waaay increase risk of infection, so you should avoid 'em for a week or two." Normally so bashful about even mentioning sex, here in a professional cntext it comes easy (Jackson does, after all, on occasion have to pierce much more intimate places than tongues. He has gotten used to discussing aftercare.) "An' when you're famous, I can say, /I/ pierced his tongue! That'll be /my/ claim t'fame. But I can't name-drop if I don't know your name, so I'mm'a hafta see some ID." (This, of course, has nothing /actually/ to do with name-dropping; Jackson has retrieved the standard legal liability forms from behind the counter and is waiting, pen ready, to fill them out before they can continue.)

“Well, fuck, there goes all my fun hobbies. I’ll be insane by the time these two weeks is over.” Even with this grim prospect, he still takes out his wallet, handing his license out Jackson’s way. “Think I deserve to know your name then. Might as well give this place some publicity. I mean, that article that came out in that big tattoo magazine month or two ago probably gave it a good bit anyhow, but.”

"Jax," the boy replies brightly, taking the license and setting it on the counter beside his paperwork to start copying the information. "Jackson HollaohmygoshIalreadyknowyou." He peers down at the name on the license, and giggles. "Small world."

Eyebrow arching again, Oz questions, “Is that your actual last name and all one word, or did ya forget to breath in all that?”

"S'my name, sir," Jackson replies with another giggle. "And let me tell you it is really hard t'fit it on standardized test forms."

“S’why I like having a first name with only two letters. Makes it damn easy on that bloody tripe.” He replies with a grin. “But ya know me? Weird, figured I ‘member someone like you.”

"Oh, no, I don't mean --" Jackson waves a hand in dismissal, head shaking. "We ain't met. Just know who you -- my roommate. Plays with you. Rich. Seen your picture on his --" Another vague gesture. "Stuff."

Completely ignoring the way Jackson worded the last sentence, Oz nods in recognition. “Ah, yeah. You’re the one who can... make rainbows or somethin’, right?” He asks, curiously, voice lowering again a tad.

"Or something!" Jackson agrees with a lift of one shoulder. He finishes marking down Oz's info, and then slides the form to Oz, along with a pamplet on aftercare for the new piercing. "Sign here an' here an' initial here, please, after you read this," he says, marking the spots with X's. The form is the standard -- I understand I am getting something done to my body that is permanent, risk of infection, if I don't care for it right and die it's not your fault, if I hate it a year from now it's my own stupidity, &c., &c.

Only glancing at the form – his current piercings, and the scar where one eyebrow barbell used to be proof that he knows all of this already – Oz signs and x and dots his i’s and crosses his t’s. “I’d ask if I could have one last smoke before all this, but better to get it over with so I can smoke sooner, really.”

"Y'ready, then, sir?" Jackson nods towards one of the doors to the back rooms. He holds the Care Bear out towards Oz. "You can hold Funshine Bear while I do it," he offers, and then lowers his voice again. "Jus' in case y'get scared."

Grinning, Oz shakes his head at the offer of the Care Bear companionship. “M’good. Sides, doubt gettin’ a needle stuck through my tongue can’t hurt worse than most of the fights I been through.” He answers, heading towards the mentioned to back door.

"Okay, sir," Jackson replies, "but he's here if y'need him. He likes helpin' people." Taking the sealed barbell, he trots after Oz towards the back room and gestures towards the adjustable tattoo chair. "'f y'don't mind havin' a seat while I get things ready?" /Just/ in case, Funshine Bear is left balanced on the arm of the chair. He looks lonely and neglected without anyone to hug him. Oz is /so/ /mean/.

And Oz will keep on being so mean, because no force in this world over the age of seven could make him hold a CareBear. Not even Jackson and his odd power of making everyone like him. Sitting down in the offered seat, Oz shrugs his duster off behind him, glancing at the stuffed bear plushie. Was it him, or was it staring at him?

It is not just him -- the bear is staring with large sad eyes that, in fact, are glistening with tears. (Jackson's mutation might have a hand in this.) Jackson meanwhile is cheerfully going about the process of preparing: hands washed, gloves on, tools all sterilized and sealed laid out on the table beside the chair; he explains what each one is as he sets them down. (And Funshine Bear cries in the background, yellow head drooping ever so slightly in a way that the stuffed toy really should not be managing on its own.)

...Okay, that’s just /creepy./ “What is it, possessed?”

"Hm?" Jackson looks up from his explanation, blinking in mild confusion. "Possessed? Whowhat? I got some holy water in the fridge from the /last/ demon infestation we had."

Oz only points a finger at the yellow bear, still staring in something akin to horror and amazement. What the fucking hell is going on?

"Oh, /him/," Jackson replies with a nonchalant shrug. "He ain't possessed. Jus' sad."

...Oh, God. “When’s he stop?” Oz has seen Chucky way too many times to want this to keep going on. There’s something just... wrong about the whole thing.

"Stop?" Jackson looks baffled. "When he stops bein' sad, I guess, sir." He picks up a paper towel and opens up the seal on a tiny disposable marker. "'kai see your tongue, sir? I'm gonna mark the place t'pierce so you can tell me if you like the positioning aright." Funshine Bear's abnormally sad eyes track the process silently.

Staring at the sun marked bear for a few moments longer, Oz lets out an annoyed sigh, grumbling something about creepy ass dolls and blackmail photos. Grabbing Funshine off the side of the chair, Oz places it in his lap, before trying his best to pretend he did /not/ just do that, tongue again sticking out Jackson’s way.

Jackson /beams/, and Funshine returns to his normal unanimated self, smiling his cheerfully sewn-on smile out at the world from the comfort of Oz's lap. Jax uses the paper towel to blot Oz's tongue dry before eying it critically and then placing two tiny blue dots, one on the top and one on the underside of the man's tongue. He holds up a hand mirror so Oz can see. "Look okay, sir?" In the mirror, Funshine is smiling, normal and un-animated.

If Oz were the kind to facepalm, he would be doing it right now. What the hell is he doing, holding this... cheery yellow thing? Thank God no one else is here to see this. Peering at the dot on his tongue for a short moment, the Irishman nods, doubting his could actually talk at the moment.

"Good." Jackson blots Oz's tongue again and picks up his needle. Nitrile-gloved fingers hold the man's tongue steady while his left hand aligns the needle. "Ready?" he asks, again.

Oz only again gives a short nod, fingers drumming on his knees. Pokey time nao?

"Okay. Take deeeeep breaths, an' I'm gonna count t'three. On three the needle's going to slide in -- it'll be a quick pinch an' then it'll be over." Sure, Oz has gotten pierced before, but Jackson is required to give everyone the same spiel nonetheless. "One, two, three." Aaaand, pokey time. It is, as promised, over in a split second; the needle slides through easily and then Jackson is reaching for the barbell. (Funshine Bear is still smiling.)

Oz’s tongue gives a small twitch as the needle goes in, the owner of said appendage not showing much of any reaction, save exhaling sharply for a short moment. Okay... that was an actual small ow.

"Jus' one more tiny poke while the barbell goes in --" Jackson slides the jewelry in even as he says this, the barbell pushing the needle out as it goes, "-- an' then screw on the top," (and he does so), "an' now you're all done!" Jackson hands Oz the hand mirror to inspect his new piercing, and turns to fill a paper cup with ice-cold water from a cooler in the corner, offering the man the cup as well. "You'll want t'drink lots'a ice water; staying hydrated will help you heal faster, an' the cold will keep the swelling down."

Drinking the water first, Oz moves his tongue around his mouth for a moment, getting used to the feeling of the barbell. “You sure I gotta wait two weeks before smokin’?” He asks, already feeling twitchy for nicotine. Liquor he could go without, he’s sure. Yet, now he’s starting to wonder if he can do the smoking thing. “What about a week and a half?” His words are a bit jumbled, tongue swelled a tiny bit already.

"Weeell," Jackson replies slowly, "you can wait a week an' a half /if/ you want your tongue t'get horrible infected and then you'll die or mebbe jus' never be able t'sing again, how's that?" He beams at Oz.

“...Fuck.” Moving the CareBear from his lap, Oz puts his duster back on, digging both his wallet and pack of Marlboro’s from his pocket. Staring at the cigarettes like he hasn’t eaten in weeks and the pack is a cheeseburger, he manages to throw the pack into the trashcan nearby without too much mental difficulty. Not too much. “How much is it?”

"Thirty for doing the piercing, thirty for the stud." Jackson winces sympathetically as the cigarettes are tossed away. "Eat lotsa ice cream," he suggests encouragingly, "an' get your partner t'give you lotsa hugs."

“I’d be surprised if she didn’t wanna bap me in the head a few times, actually.” He mutters, standing from the table as he counts out the right amount, handing out three twenties Jax’s way as he tucks the wallet back in his pocket.

"Why?" Jackson looks puzzled as he takes the money. "It's /your/ tongue. And besides, there are benefits to --" He blushes, and bows his head sheepishly. "Well. Benefits for her, too," he mumbles.

Oz grins. “Yeah. But it’s not like I can give her the benefits for two weeks, can I?” He replies. Not like Bridget is letting him /anyway/ but still. He can’t kiss her either, and that’s something she /is/ letting him do.

"The waiting'll make it all the better when the two weeks are up!" Jackson says brightly. "An' it looks good on you. M'sure she'll come 'round."

“’Course it does. Everythin’ looks good on me.” Oz smugly answers, hands starting to fiddle around with his lighter. Must not smoke. “And she’s dealt with stupider crap from me and got over it, don’t see why she wouldn’t this time.”

"I don't doubt that, sir," Jackson replies, nose crinkling as his grin stretches wider. There's an impish twinkle in his bright blue eyes as they flicker over Oz, and he rocks back on his heels. "Though /everything/ is a pretty tall claim. Have you really tested it?"

“...Ya plannin’ on doin’ somethin’ like ya did with the bear, ain’tcha?”

Jackson's eyes widen, hands lifting as he shakes his head. Innocent! So innocent! "Funshine Bear was /sad/." The innocent look is thrown off somewhat by his mischievous grin. "/I/," he informs Oz firmly, "didn't do /nothin'/." To prove his point (or mitigate it, depending on your angle), a soft glow of a halo forms around his head.

Glancing down at himself to make sure that his clothes haven’t changed to anything else, Oz looks back up at the halo. “That... would be much more convincin’ if ya didn’ have that grin on ya face, lad.”

Jackson laughs, and the halo brightens. To go with it, a pair of white feathery wings unfurls from his shoulders. SO CONVINCING.

Shaking his head, Oz can’t help but grin now. “That ever worked on anyone?” He asks, curious.

"Oh, all the time," Jackson answers lightly, "'cept I'm usually more subtle about it." The halo and wings vanish, and his expression changes back to one of wide-eyed innocence. "Mostly y'just can't /tell/ when I'm grinning."

Chuckling, Oz shoves his hands into his duster pockets, lightly shaking his head again. “Right. Well, thanks for the hole in the tongue, mate. See ya in two weeks?”

"Two weeks!" Jackson's fingers curl in a wave. Funshine Bear waves, too.

Bridget

Thu, 08 Nov 2007 04:18:33 GMT

Well, that was a bloody fuckin' ordeal. Dunno what the hell went on since yesterday, but once I can walk again ~~What the bloody fuck did Bridget do to me?~~ I'll be able to make sure I'm not wanted for murder or have any weird tattoos or piercings...

Bastard. I should fuckin' kill him. Nah. Let Sunset kill him. She'd do a better job of making it more painful than I ever could. Or mayeb find a flamethrower or make one of my own...

Wonder if Bridget knows how to make one.

Bridget... God, dunno how the hell that slipped out. But there was no use denying it afterwards, or trying to pretend I didn't say it. Might've been an accident, but that don't mean it wasn't still true. I love her. And even though she didn't say it back, I think she loves me too.

Log. November 7, 2007. Hell’s Kitchen –Oz’s Kitchen.

Evening. With the low temperature and the wind tunnel effects of the buildings, it's DAMN cold out. It makes staying in an apartment all the happier, provided there's sufficient heat. Even if Oz's was one of the unfortunate ones without, the heat from the oven is more than sufficient to bring about a warm toasty feeling. The smell of fresh baked cookies adding on to the cozy feeling. However, the uncharacteristic apartment smell is not due to the workings of one Oz Delany but instead to an overachiever by the name of Bridget.
Bridget's attention's are not on the stove however as she walks into the living room, carrying a filled bag of ice to replace the bag of cold water that currently rests on one Delaney crotch.

Still on the couch where Zachery left him, it’s quite possibly a good thing that Oz is still out cold. Might as well have as much of this gotten over with while unconscious, after all, though there’s no way that Oz isn’t going to be feeling some sort of pain when he wakes up… Next time Bridget, find another way? You put Oz’s future offspring in danger.

Reaching over to the crotch bag, Bridget lifts it off and plops the one with ice down. "Idiot."

One hand reaching up, it grabs onto Bridget’s wrist before she can walk away. “Love, you wanna tell me why it feel like my goods were used as the ball in a coupla rugby games?” Alright, maybe not all that unconscious.

The scholar pauses in her departure to look to Oz. "Not really," Bridget replies, "Just be glad that you were unconscious for the past few hours. I'm sure it was really hurting when Jello-boy was in you."

Not letting go of her wrist, Oz’s eyes finally open, the Irishman peering up at Bridget through half lidded eyes. “You’re mad at me.” He states after a moment of observation. “Why?”

"Because you did something very, /very/ stupid." Bridget replies, "What did I tell you about picking fights with Zachery?"

“Didn’t go to pick a fight with him.” Oz answers, letting his eyes close again, jaw clenching slightly as he does his best to ignore the pain radiating from his nether parts. “Just went to tell him that he or someone in those damn tunnels better looking out for Sunset while she’s living down there. He got snippy about it, so I grabbed him and went to threaten him, and then…” He ends with a small shrug. “Woke up in pain.”

Bridget sighs, lifting a hand to rub her temple, apparently combating a headache. Thanks Oz. "Ok... basic rule of thumb is to NOT threaten the mass murdering mutant. At least so blatantly and with such careless actions. That never ends well."

"Yeah. I got that." Thanks ever so much, teacher. "How long was I out for?"

"Depends." Bridget replies, "What day did you run into Zachery?"

"Well, what day is it?"

"November 6th, 2007."

Taking a moment to figure out what day it is from that, Oz rubs a hand over his face. “S’it Wednesday?” He asks, though it’s a bit of a rhetorical question. “Yesterday, then. Not enough time to do too much damage… I hope.”

"Your rings got dropped off about an hour ago," Bridget replies, "Either Jello boy returned them or someone grabbed them for you." Bridget replies, turning towards the kitchen. The buzzer goes off. Ah sweet predictability. "Fortunately he was able to be convinced to evacuate your body. He has a rather lousy track record with hosts."

Murmuring some reply under his breath, Oz lets go of Bridget’s wrist, hand falling back onto his chest. Laying still for a moment his eyes open again as he glances around as much as he can without moving and jostling… areas, making sure that everything hadn’t been sold or broken. Eyes falling on the stack of nicotine patches, he simply stares. “Uh… love?”

"Yes?" The buzzer dies as a wave of heat erupts from the kitchen and the sound of a tray setting on the top of the oven can be heard.

“What the hell are all these?” He could guess, but for all he knows, Zach could have put birth control patches all over him… Crap. “Please tell me they’re nicotine patches and not somethin’ else.”

"They are," Bridget replies, "I took them off as soon as Jelly-belly made his leave."

“…Where are my smokes?” Maybe coating his lungs in a nice tar finish will help get his mind off the pain.

"Unless you have a stash hidden away over here, I do not know," Bridget replies, "There were none found on you."

“Fuck.” He mutters harshly, preparing for this battle. “Gotta move then. This’ll be a bucket fulla fun, won’t it?” Starting to push himself up, Oz nearly gets into a full sitting position, before tensing, hands clenching into the couch cushions below him, before he lays back down with a pained expression. “Never mind. Don’t see myself moving from here very soon.”

"You should have seen the look on your face when /he/ was in 'control'. I don't think he'll be considering taking over your body again for a long, long time."

“Prefer to not think about that thing walking around as me, thanks.” He answers in reply, gaze towards the kitchen. “Hey, love?” Oz calls. “C’mere for a minute.”

"Hmm?" Bridget strolls in... oven mitts still on her hands, "What is it?"

Grinning at the sight, Oz beckons her closer with a finger. “Gotta be closer than that.”

"You trying to be sneaky again?" Bridget asks, giving a smirk as she walks closer, removing the oven mitts and setting it next to the nicotine patches.

“Can’t even sit up, pet. Not in any position to be sneaky.” Oz replies, though he’s certainly not trying to act innocent. No use trying when everyone knows it’s impossible. “Just heard about this thing I wanna try out. S’pose to help the body heal faster or somethin’.”

Bridget smirks, kneeling down next to the couch, "Sounds like a start to something sneaky."

Grin widening, Oz shakes his head. “Not sneaky if I tell you what it is.” He shoots back, scarred eyebrow quirking upwards. “Think it came from an old wives’ tale, really, but I think it was something like… Kiss someone enough and they eventually won’t feel any pain at all.”

"Ok... more like bullshit." Bridget replies, leaning closer. "But considering I'm the reason why your crotch hurts, I guess I could give you a few kisses... on the lips."

“Wasn’t thinkin’ ‘bout anythin’ else.” He answers softly, a hand coming up to cup her cheek. Staring at Bridget for a long moment, he says something else, sounding as if he doesn’t even know he’s speaking. “I love you.”

The blonde tilt's her head, smirk widening, "I know."

With a blink, Oz seems to realize what exactly just happened. Eyes widening a small bit, he gulps, before trying to regain his composure. “Usually a different reply than that, but I guess that Star Wars movie made it more popular.”

"And I would be the type to remember quotes, wouldn't I?"

Giving a lopsided grin, Oz nods, before looking thoughtful. “Where were we?”

Kissyface.

Just cause Oz was unconcious doesn't mean I don't get to post the log.

Wed, 07 Nov 2007 03:50:44 GMT

(OOC: This should not amuse me as much as it does. >D)

A lazy and chilly day so far has Rene holed up in the heat of the shop; it is only late afternoon, and the darkness outside has been both a pain and a blessing. A pain because he seems to want to go home early, and a blessing because with the shortened days also comes a refreshing of what might be called his 'sinister' abilities, even though they are nothing of the sort. The blonde sits behind the counter, browsing a catalog with his elbows propped on the table. He is prone to wearing sweaters lately, and today is the same; a dark green sweater over a pair of light blue jeans and sneakers. Rene's hair is loose, and the hand holding up his head sometimes wriggles to flick it back.

How relaxing. How serene. Zachery seems to have taken to providing stark contrasts lately, and such is the case today. The bodysnatcher plus host digs his fingers into his face while on his way to Rene's store, passing a large window just as he bumps into another man. He doesn't pay it much mind, however, walking past while he receives some inappropriate gestures and angry yells to his back. Once he does enter, the door /flies/ open and is only barely stopped from bumping into anything that might be behind it by a hand that is psotively adorned with rings. A hand that is very much attached to the body of someone Rene would know by the name of Oz, in this usual kind of clothes. Only lo and behold, "Rene. I either did something horribly stupid, or HORRIBLY FANTASTIC and I can't figure out which one it is." the British accent doesn't match. Guess who.

Rene sits up when the man comes inside--there is a pause wherein he wonders why Oz is at the shop, but then the visitor speaks. Rene stares. That's all you get.

Zachery stares back, then finally checks whether there are any customers about. When he sees that there aren't, he goes back to wondering why there is a silence. There should not be a silence. The door is footed shut behind him. "You. Speak." :|

Rene grabs the catalog from the counter, rolls it up, and whips it across the room at an apparently dangerous speed within a span of a few seconds. The projectile is likely boosted by some sort of magic, solookoutforyourhead. Fwoosh~.

PAGEFLUTTERTHUD. Zachery throws his - or rather, Oz's - arms up in a flail, but a split second too late. He manages to get away without any papercuts, but gingerly rubs at his face anyway, sending Rene a glare. "NOT /MY/ FACE." I've still got to return it! ... Maybe.

Rene stands up, feet on the rungs of the stool and hands flat on the counter. Luckily, the extra height from the stool puts him around average man-height. "That's not your face! Are you retarded?" There's half of Rene that finds himself displeased, and the other half wants to just laugh. He's torn, so the expression on his face is not quite angry nor amused; maybe a little bit of confusion too.

"Maybe his retardation rubbed off on me!" Zachery answers, in a decidedly unmanly helpless squeak. "And it IS for a few days! ... Sort of." Do not deny my logic.

Rene takes a step off the stool and manages to get around to the other side of the counter without breaking stride. "I doubt it. Why? Please. Entertain and enlighten me."

Zachery's eyes narrow, a tentative sort of look crossing his face. One that might not be all too unfamiliar to Zachery, but looks a little strange on Oz. Almost as if he's expecting Rene to hit him again, with somehow another conjured up catalog. "... Because I don't like the idea of wasting a perfectly good host?" ... He looks down, then promptly starts to try and pry the rings off his fingers, wincing. Eaugh. As if the black fingernails and clothing wasn't enough. He'll fix that later.

Rene steps forward and smacks at the man's prying hands. Cut that out, you. "Stop that. He's a rival or something, isn't he? Isn't taking a rival...not...kosher?" Rene then attempts to help take the rings off for him. Well, if he's going to be in there awhile--may as well make it as smooth a transition as possible. "Did he do something to you again?"

Zachery flinches, letting out a short whine. But /I/ want to take the rings off. They are filthy Ozrings. "Well. Sort of, I, uh. In a way, yes." What do you mean, beating around the bush?

Rene gives a small, sharp tug on Ozach's arm. "I didn't ask you to mutter at me." Speak up. Rene seems to be getting the decor off of his fingers with relative ease. Gotta be gentle. Each one finds a place slipped back on his own fingers. When this is all over the man will get them back.

Zachery fumbles for words, then finally gives in and breathes his answer out in a sigh. "Well. He /did/ sort of grab me by the ribs. And sort of threatened to kill me if I let anything happen to /Sunset/." He rolls his eyes at the last name.

Rene lets out a small chuckle, lifting his eyes to look the man in the face when the last ring comes free. Now Rene has bling. "It's not your place to guard her--but I think as long as she's with you guys, you all need to do that. I can't say I agree with Oz' method of telling you that, though. By the ribs, you say? Reminds me of a long time ago." A year? Wow. Snortchuckle. "...Pelviswater." Snork.

Zachery waves a now ring-free hand in front of Rene's face. NEIN. "That never happened." He dryly proclaims, wih as straight a face as possible. "You are talking nonsense." Then, he stares blankly, realising something. "....Ohgodhehassuperstrength." ... Awesome.

Rene's eyebrows raise up a little. "...how much?" Of all things to be interested in. While he asks, he waves his own hand back at Zach. Mnnneh. :|

Zachery's eyes narrow slightly, ignoring the hand waved back. I have actual useful powers at my command now. If I can figure out how to use 'em. You are no longer interesting. "I haven't the foggiest." He mutters absentmindedly, looking around the shop in wonder, flexing his borrowed hands. That's probably not a good sign for the owner, either.

Rene eyeballs Zachery at first, but it doesn't take long to notice the grabby-looking hands. "...You're not testing it here."

"You've got money." Zachery proclaims simply. "You can replace things. People will come after me for destroying public property." Why, it's perfectly logical! ... To him. The counter is eyed, for no readily apparent reason. Hmmm.

"You even try it, and I'll drag you outside by your balls."

"... Ow." Zachery concludes afer a few seconds of thinking, shoulders slumping. "Okay, fine. I have an idea." He turns back to face Rene, lifting a hand to idly scratch at his chest. "His apartment."

Rene squints up at the man. "I don't think that would be very wise either. Doesn't he live with other people? I could always give you some acorns and we can go chuck them off of buildings..." Which might be amusing, but Rene can understand the 'want to trash his home' feeling.

Zachery frowns, pondering. "Hmm. That /does/ sound like fun." He peers down at Rene, before his slightly hyperactive mind decides to take a turn for yet ANOTHER subject. "I'm tall. You think I'm taller than Brooks? He offered me a place to stay. Not so bad, him. I figure if I can get along with HIM and not Oz, there must be something seriously wrong with this... barbarian of a man." He pokes himself in the side of the head, then frowns at his own finger. "Ow."

Rene's expression and mind-train come to a burning halt. "...taller than /who/?"

"David Puff-the-dragon Brooks. He's in a wheelchair now. I got to push him around. We got really quite drunk and I fell asleep in his bathroom. We met in the park the other day." Zachery pauses, quirking a brow. "I hadn't told you that yet, had I?"

Rene seems a little dumbstruck by this news. "Well, fuck. I thought he OD'd or something. I took one of his tumblers." Oops. Maybe he hasn't noticed. "So you're buddies now?" Rene peers upward, laughing in disbelief. "I'll be damned."

Zachery seems a little surprised by the laugh, not to mention the 'buddies' question. "... Well. He's a lawyer, he's got money, and he knows I'm quite technically a serial killer and hasn't felt the need to try and hand me over to the authorities yet. I figure that's about the best 'buddy' I'm going to get." There's a certain hint of sarcasm there, but it's not entirely untrue. A last part is added without actually looking at Rene, his attention instead directed toward a random mannequin as he waves a dismissive hand. "You know, apart from you and all." The mannequin in question gets a skeptical and perhaps disapproving stare. Hm.

Rene, however, is smiling right up at him. 'Ignore' me all you want. "And here I thought you'd forgotten me for David." If Rene had less sense, he just might have made an audible 'aww'. For now it seems to manifest in a grin. "I think vigilante trumps lawyer, though."

Zachery glances over his shoulder, back at Rene. "Pff. Should I be so gullible as to believe the rumors, I'd probably believe you were a real mini-Batman by now. An overly feminine one, but still." Then, he busies himself with looking at himself, or Oz, shuddering. Ick.

Rene raises a brow. "Well, it depends on which rumors. I've heard some nice ones, but I don't think the Bugle is liking me. I squeezed in a bit in the back pages today. I even clipped it out." Rene looks at Oz too. Though for different reasons. Much different.

Zachery tentatively pokes at his borrowed stomach. "One one hand, I have plans. Plans that involve horrible tattoos where one will not find them unless squirming to in front of the mirror, or in compromising positions." He pauses, then winces. "On the other hand, I'll have to pee /some/ time." and that, judging by the tone of his voice, is a very very very bad thing.

"You can always close your eyes and let me help." Rene has no qualms against tattoos, clearly.

Zachery shakes his head, shooting Rene a semi-glare. "Ohnonono. I think you know I'd rather let him have a bladder infection letting /that/ happen."

Rene grins. "Thought as much. You could always pretend he's just another host. Then you'll have no trouble taking a piss." Hm. "Is it -that- much different if you know the person?" One wouldn't think the bathroom would prove itself a trial.

"Yes." Zachery answers, absolutely sure of his case. "He's going to murder me if I don't kill him first, isn't he?" He doesn't seem particularly scared, still staring downward at his host. Bah.

Rene puffs out his next breath, mostly because of idle thoughts careening around in his head. "You said he has super strength? I wonder if you could use my magic." Wat? He's curious. And is mildly surprised the entire act that Oz unfortunately met hasn't happened to him yet. A tiny part of him is jealous. A tiny, tiny part.

Zachery looks up, peering at Rene. He gives the whole matter a thought, before shrugging and deciding to inspect one of Oz's arms instead. "... If I'd possessed you?" He lets out a single chuckle, but it's more mocking than anything else. "I've no bloody clue. And I don't think I'll ever find out."

Rene makes a tiny pout, and it soon disappears. "How long are you planning on staying in enemy territory, exactly?"

Zachery huffs, taking a deeep breath as he thinks. "... Long as I take to figure out whether I should kill him, or let him plot my impending doom and inevitable demise. I have to say, I'm leaning toward the death part."

Rene frowns and glowers upward. "No."

Zachery blinks, and stares back. "... I'll make it look like an accident? I could even try to drink him to death. Perhaps have him fight and break up with his girlfriend first, so he'll have a good, legit cause to off himself." Mm, plans. He turns toward the ceiling instead, plotting further with a faint grin.

"You can always just...turn his life upside down now, then let him go. Watch him writhe." Rene has a slightly better suggestion.

Zachery ponders, then looks at Rene for several seconds without actually saying anything. Finally, he speaks up in a relatively cheerful tone, "That's not an entirely bad idea. I mean, what've /I/ still got to lose if he decides to try and get back at me for it?" Then, he promptly turns and heads for the door out. "I need a drink."

Rene is feeling particularly bored and lonely today, so--"Can I tag along? Pleeeeease?" Simba-grin. Innocent and -evil-. "I'll help you get that polish off too." YOU NEVER CHIP AT ITyouwipeit.

Zachery glares at one of Oz's hands, lifting it to in front of his face as he pulls the door open. "Fine, come with. But only if you help me plot." Damn you and your sense makings. He leans lazily against the door, waiting for Rene to pass first.

Rene is between glee and shame that he knows he will not go home sober. He was doing so well, lately; sometimes people slip, is all. "Alrighty. We can make his life into a Soap." He scuttles over to the counter to grab his keys and coat, hightailing it back out into the brisk air. Whooocold. Coat is going on.

"Splendid." Zachery moves out of the doorway, sauntering out into the cold, stuffing his hands in his pockets. So to speak. "... As soon as we get to a pub and I manage to find a toilet."

Zachery

Tue, 06 Nov 2007 21:38:00 GMT

There are no thoughts. No words. Just drowned out silence.

Log. November 6, 2007. New York City – Hell’s Kitchen.

There's only so many hospital supplies you can sneak underground, and the Morlocks have run out of a few things. Unfortunately, with his brother being far too weak to be taken as a host, Zachery has to find a new host topside. There is only a short scream and a metal -CLUNK!- when someone is hit over the head with a pipe, and keels over unconscious right in front of the alley that leads to the Morlocks' tunnel. "Ho hum." Zachery hums contently, dragging the body into the shadows. Easy enough, eh? The hard part was the waiting for an appropriate host, perhaps.

There’s a good chance that Zach’s plan would have worked. It’s the Kitchen. Other than Daredevil, who’s really gonna pay attention to someone screaming before the sound of someone getting hit on the head? Well, Oz usually wouldn’t, but fortunately… or maybe unfortunately, considering he could kinda care less about the guy getting attacked. As it were, he was only on his way to the Tunnels to see Zachery, as it were. “Looks like I can save myself a climb.”

Zachery looks up from lugging the body away, a hiss immediately seething out at Oz's voice. "You don't /have/ to not do it. Sooner you're out of my sight, the better." He gets to his feet, skull tilting to the side curiously.

“You think I’m here ‘cause I /wanna/ be around you?” Oz shoots back. “I’d rather be in the middle of a fuckin’ pikey camp.” Taking a moment to light a cigarette, he expels the smoke in Zach’s general direction. “Only here ask you something ‘bout Sunny.”

Zachery's skull tilts upward slightly at the smoke. Ugh. The question gets a few silenced seconds in response, as though he doesn't quite understand who Oz is asking about. When he finally does speak up, a grin sounds in his voice. "'Sunny'? Sh's n'a fookin' /care bear/, Oz." He pauses, just to watch Oz's response. "... 'n why'd'ya'ate pikeys, 'en?" Yes, that DID just sound like one word. Zachery is amused. Very very amused. Still standing over the unconscious body.

Eyes narrowing, Oz's teeth bare in a snarl, though he still tries to be… Well, he tries to ignore it. For now. "Sunset, ya bleedin' can o' piss." He hisses back in answer. "I know ya don't want her down there as much as I do, yeah? Ain't no place for her, galya or not."

Zachery chuckles, amused by Oz's irritation, no doubt. He leans down and turns his attention to the body on the floor, reaching for a pocket to fish the wallet out. And yet he goes about it like it's the most normal thing in the world. "I know /who/ you mean, you... ape." The last word is muttered, moreso than spoken out loud. "But if she'd rather be around me than to look at your sorry face, then who am I to tell her otherwise?" Any other person, and he'd have given them an actual answer. Of course Sunset isn't better off in the Tunnels. But Oz... just isn't worth his time.

Letting out a growl, Oz drops the cigarette, hand darting forward to reach into Zach, fingers lacing through the spaces in between the bodysnatcher’s ribs. Pulling him back up and closer to him, Oz speaks in a dangerously low voice. “Let me put it this way. If anything happens to her while she’s down there, I will blame you, and I hope I don’t have to tell you what will happen to you then.”

Zachery erks, pulling back as far as he can without actually popping a rib out of his chest. A hiss starts again, but he makes no attempt to get loose, staring straight back at Oz. "Physical violence? Wow. I didn't even realize how /right/ I was when I called you an ape just now." Uncomfortable, yes. Amused and stupidly stubborn in not wanting to back down? Definitely.

Eyes narrowing a tad bit more as Oz’s head tilts, grip on Zach’s ribs not loosening one bit, the clone thinks for a short moment… before acting. Free hand reaching into Zach’s right leg, he grabs firm hold of his thigh bone, pulling the whole leg out of the socket with a loud CRACK! Letting the jello man’s ribcage go, Oz holds the leg up, bringing it down to none too gently smack Zack over the head with it.

"WH--" Is all Zachery manages to hiss before he's... hit on the head with his own leg, and keels over. Fortunately for Oz, the leg - bones and all - soon literally melts away and falls to the floor with a watery splutch. It's instantly drawn back to the rest of Zachery's body, where it takes a mere few seconds longer to 'regenerate' his entire leg. Zachery's eyes flit uncertainly between the reforming leg and Oz, as if not quite understanding what just happened, before his gaze finally comes to rest on Oz's face. "... I bet you think you are absolutely excellent right now." Strangely enough, there's a threatening sort of tone added to the bodysnatcher's voice, now.

“Actually, I’m thinkin’ more of how to kill you than anything, but…”

Zachery gets to his feet slowly, standing up straight and tilting his skull back almost smugly. "Go head and try. I'll give you the first shot."

"But..." Oz continues, giving a smirk that's very much meant to piss Zachery off. "You aren't worth it."

Zachery chuckles slowly. Sinisterly, almost. "Like Sunset's mongrel of a child, then? She'll stay here, then." Let's pretend I have any say in it whatsoever.

All the amusement fades from his expression. “Keep it up and we’ll see if you can still do that little trick of yours after I rip off your skull.”

Been there, done that. Zachery appears entirely unimpressed, taking another step forward. "I'd say something about the physical lack of brains in my skull,” He taps a bony finger against the side of his own head, "but I do believe we /both/ suffer from that..."

Giving an angry snarl, Oz grabs Zachery by the neck, uncaring that he grabs bone instead of the flesh he’s used to in fights. “Give me one more reason.”

The hand inside Zachery's neck starts to tingle. A little at first, but it soon increases. The cold plasm tightens around it, immediately latching on with the intention of forcing its way through the pores. Now in reach, Zachery leans forward slightly, completely unbothered, and reaches up to simply grab Oz by the /face/. "How about this one?"

Face jerking back and turning away on reflex and instinct, the Irishman looks both weary and boggled. “The /fuck/ are you trying to do?”

"You get three guesses." Zachery hisses, his voice semi garbled while he leans closer still. Any grip on his neck is rendered useless as he quite literally starts to liquefy. An arm pressed to Oz's chest sinks almost instantly into the clothing below, coating the skin and working its way through with an immediate stinging sensation over the entire area. "... Hurt yet?" He keeps his skull just solid enough so he can look up at the other's face. Morbid interest.

Lip curling back, Oz lets out a growl of pain, though it certainly doesn’t bring him to his knees. Pulling his arm out of Zachery’s neck, he begins to realize what exactly is happening when the plasm stays on his arm, spreading, and give the same stinging sensation on his chest. Trying to wipe the plasm off doesn’t help either, only spreading it to his other arm, Oz finally realizing that, for a better term, he is momentarily screwed. Even still, he has never ran from anything, and he sure as hell isn’t going to run from /Zachery./ Looking towards what’s left of the bodysnatcher with as much hatred as he can muster, Oz speaks. “Touch her, and I /will/ find a way to kill you.” Her could mean Sunset, Bridget, Angelika… but no matter who he means, the promise is still there.

The only sound that comes from Zachery is a strange hiss of a chuckle, that melts away as he himself does. Soon enough his entire body has merged into a shapless blue glob, and latches onto Oz's form completely. He prefers to nearly drown his victims before possession so he himself doesn't feel too much of the pain when he wakes up in the body, but... this works just as well. In fact, the pain immediately worsens, like thousands of needles pushing further and further into Oz's skin and - strangely enough, for the cold plasm - working its way into the bloodstream with a burning sensation wherever it goes. Any organs reached give a protest in the form of short stabbing pains, and it shouldn't be too long before Oz starts to feel considerably lightheaded.

Letting out a mix between a cry and a grunt of pain, Oz stumbles, falling to his knees as he hunches over. Clenched hand rising before he punches the pavement below him, the relief from the stabbing and burning sensations only lasts a second. “Bastard…” This is most likely to be the last thing Oz says, if not forever, than at least a few days.

Sun, 28 Oct 2007 19:09:19 GMT

Log. September 24, 2007. Salem Center - Notes 'n' Rhythm.

Another day, another practice. It's amazing with the learning disabilities, the tutoring sessions from Emma and the consistent practices how Rich manages time to do classwork. And slee- oh right. Phantasm. Those must be some BORING dreams. Ah well. Giving a greeting to the Notes 'n Rhythm's current owner, Rich starts lugging portions of a drumset into the designated practice room. Apparently he's negotiated the use of one of the store drums for the practice sessions, stating it's good advertisement for them to be played by someone who knows what they're doing rather than by an amateur. He's not even about to admit how many practices it took to arrange /that/.

Her hair let down to hand pleasantly on either side of her face and a pair of large round tortoise-shell sun-glasses over her eyes, Aurora bumps the doorway with her hip as she enters - peering around the music store as if she'd walked into the sun too abruptly. As if.. /momentarilly blinded/. She brings her starbucks latte to her lips, sipping lightly as she looks around for someone who might help her find what she's looking for. She wears a tiny brown leather jacket that just barely ends under her breasts. It's left open for the short white summer dress that she wears. And of course, her ankle-boots match the stylishly rusted jacket. She's alllll class. Son of a- what was that guy's name again? Carefully, the girl removes her shades, shaking around her head on her neck to loosen her hair as she tucks them into her shirt.

It’s as if the Universe doesn’t want to store to be filled with too much class, considering how soon after Aurora that Oz enters the store. Only casting the blonde a glance as he walks past – Okay, more than a glance – the singer doesn’t much focus on why the blonde seems familiar, turning his attention to Rich. “Need some help with that, or ya got it?”

"Yeah Oz, Grab the cymbals wouldya?" A voice replies from the practice room. There is a slight thud as well to which the owner sighs, turning towards the practice room. "You break it, you buy it if you can't sell it, Rich," she cautions, "I don't make enough to just give you free sets considering how quickly you go through them." She smirks.

"Hey! The last set was mine!" Rich replies, peeking his head out of the practice room, exposing his mussed up hair to the prim and proper pop star, although his glance isn't on her and thusly there is no recognition to be made yet, "and it wasn't me that messed them up."

Aurora perks up as the water seems to stir. Rich! She'd be marching were her movements not so.. well.. /dainty/. She passes right by Oz - a whisp of her subtle perfume wafting up in the air as she steps into the practice room. "Too good to greeeeeeeet me at the dooooooooor, now, Rich?" Aura asks lazilly, raising her eyebrows hard. A hand moves to her hip as she leans her weight on it. Pursing her lips and givin' some good sass.

Grabbing said cymbals, Oz smirks. “Ya, mate. Dontcha know that his ex girl destroyed ‘em instead?” He speaks up, smirk widening. “Hasn’t learned to not piss off the birds yet.” Eyeing Aurora as he enters the practice room, cymbals in hand, he shoots Rich a questioning glance. And this person is? “Speakin’ of...”

Rich being near the door ends up having to step back to allow the pop princess access to the room. "Uh, I didn't know if you'd be stopping over, much less when." He reaches a hand to the back of his head, running fingers through the messed up hair, "Hey Aurora." Wow. Someone's been doing their research, "Guess you're up fer that chat eh?"

The store owner's ears perk up at the name escaping from the doorway, "Aurora McCloud? Here?"

Hoo boy, "Oz? Door."

Aurora frowns, turning to look over her shoulder at the shop keeper's voice. Greeaaat. "Yeah, well." "Neither diiiiid I, I just figured it was a coooooool opening.." And she really doesn't care anymore soooo... Waggling her eyebrows and rolling her eyes, the young lady steps further into the room, passing it, some. So this is that room. Hmm. Looks the same. Wonder what happened to the classroom. Couldn't be in /this/ building. "Why wouldn't I have stopped over?" She asks, pfting out a breath between her lips and turning back to the two men, narrowing her eyes some. Between looks at Rich, Oz is offered a hesitant one. Trustworthy?

Sliding said door closed, and locking it, Oz shoots the owner a look that warns him bad things will happen if he tries to unlock and open it. Turning back to the other two, Oz crosses his arms, leaning back against the door. Well, at least now it’s obvious why this girl is familiar. “So... Yer the chick that pops into people’s heads?”

“Because your little group of friends wouldn't dare let you mix with tha' common folk?" Rich replies with a teasing smirk before glancing over to Oz, then back to the popstar, "Oz, meet Aurora. Aurora, meet Oz. He was with me at tha club when ya first popped in my head. So uh, yeah he knows 'bout that." He nods to him, "Best Mates."

"Or because they know I'm probably at risk for passing out at any given moment?" Aurora counters Rich. Not that she really considers them her friends. You can never really tell. "I remember," she offers to them both, nodding as she watches Oz carefully, "He's my bodygaurd." She just... didn't remember Rich! She smirks, toying with her hair and looking back along the practice room. "So what do /you/ do?" She asks it to the room.. but she means Rich. She /knows/ he has /something/ going on.. Oz.. well.. Oz.. already knows what she is.. so.. what's the point in fighting it?

If Oz knew that Aurora remembered him and not Rich, he wouldn’t much be surprised. Women usually remember him, after all. “I sing and fight, Princess.” He answers, arms unfolding, hands plunging into his pockets, searching for something. “Also drink, smoke, and somehow manage to end up in trouble without getting put in jail. So far.” He continues, lighting a cigarette as he speaks, before exhaling a stream of smoke Aurora’s way, smirking.

“About the same, 'cept I sing backups and play tha' drums." Rich adds in response to Aurora's question and Oz's answer, "He likes the mike..." He smirks, apparently thinking of some very inside joke.

Aurora wafts a hand back and forth in front of her face to fan away the smoke, coughing just a little, her chest heaving, "/Naaaaaat/ what I meant," she elaborates in a deeper tone. She narrows her eyes at the mike comment, pouting some, "Is mike like.... aaaaaanother word for penis or something, dude?" She asks, arching her eyebrow and eyeing Oz a little, "Ooookay, whatever floats your boat." She continues to pace. "I meant. What do you /do/." As if /that/ shines any light on it.

Glaring over at Rich for a moment, Oz waits to see if he can burn a hole through Rich’s skull. “Ayuh. Mike’s a real dick, all right.” He answers, eyes narrowing a tiny bit more. “And I already told ya what I did, love. Unless ya need a demonstration of the fight part.”

"Perfectly acceptable nickname for Mike now," Rich replies, giving a shrug as he looks over to Aurora, "That's pretty much /all/ he does. Pure rocker stereotype Oz is." Well, except the clone with cybernetic implants part. "Same here, 'cept I do tha' whole dream thing."

Aurora pouts, widening her eyes helplessly as Oz... more or less offers to start fighting. She crosses her arms under her chest, shrugging towards Rich, "You can... fight him if you want to?" She offers sweetly, smiling, "Dream thing?" "I like how you assume I knooooow this crap." She laughs. "What dream thing?" Oz does have powers = Oz isn't interesting anymore.

Snorting an amusement, Oz smirks. “Yah, lad. Why don’tcha fight me? We can see if it’s possible to live with a windhole through yer skull.” Not that Oz would really put a windhole through Rich’s skull, cause he’d like to keep that out of jail thing going. Though, maybe if someone pissed him off enough one day.

Rich glances over to Oz, narrowing his eyes, "How about next time I take a nap?" He looks back over to Aurora, "Basically fer one when I dream, I have a dream self that appears in this world. An when I'm awake, if anyone's sleepin' in a certain area o' me I can pick up on their dreams."

Aurora shrugs, blinking a little, "That's funny.." "When I dream.. I.. go into other people's heads." Her eyes widen some. She'd rather have his, honestly. She glances back to Oz. Still hesitant about him. She looks back to Rich, "Is /that/ how you sensed me?" She asks skeptically, narrowing her eyes and shaking her head.

“I figure it’s pretty obvious when someone else is in your head.” Course, Oz was part of a trio in one person’s head only a few months ago, so maybe that’s just experience.

"Ya only had two other minds ta deal with Oz, I had a whole fuckin' residential district." Rich points out, frowning to Oz, before looking back to Aurora, "I've been workin with a tutor ta be able ta block otha people's dreams away from my mind so I can go inta tha city at night again." Rich explains, "Was a bit o' a mess a couple o' months ago when tha' dream sensin' kicked in. Ya tripped my shield but since ya ain't a usual dream ya slipped through."

Aurora narrows her eyes, nodding some as she watches the two men, "I tripped your shield." She repeats shortly, frowning before she moves to pace again, "Right." ... "I guess.. that explains it.. then.." What did she expect to talk about after that..? She actually can't help but feel a little stupid now. "Wait. Residential district?" She asks sharply, one eye growing tiny while the other bulges.

Flicking a line of ash to the floor, Oz opens his mouth to answer, but he’s cut off by a knock on the door behind him. Turning around, he peers curiously out the door at the spiky haired blonde, who was pointing curiously at Aurora, mouthing some unintelligible question. “Think it’s s’alright to let Calie in?”

"Tha dream pickin' up thing ain't a one mind at a time thin'," Rich explains, "When it first hit me, I was pickin' up dreams from an apartment buildin' near tha club I was playin' at." Rich glances over to the door, "Sure. 'Bout time ta gauge her feelin' towards mutants. Already tried tha' topic on Diego."

Aurora frowns, "Sounds.. fun." Her powers are looking like an effing picnic. The girl glances between them a bit worried at the knock on the door. "IIIIII hope /I'm/ not supposed to be your guinea pig?" Because it's /sortof/ not a public thing? She glares just a little at the thought - entertaining the idea of hiring someone to kill Rich.

Not answering, Oz turns unlocking the door, and sliding it open. Reaching out, he quickly pulls Calie in, closing and locking the door behind her. “What-!?”Stumbling, Calie looks between the three. “Did I walk in on some weird cult meeting or...” Trailing off, the bassist looks Aurora over for a few moments.

“This should be good.” Oz mutters, before Calie turns back to him.

“Please tell me she’s a bassist groupie, or at least single and liking of the womenfolk.”

"Nah," Rich replies to Aurora, "I got more tact than that." He turns over to Calie, "Hey Calie! I'm a mutant!"

Aurora blushes, eyes widening some as Calie stumbles in. She takes a slow step back... laughing and holding up a hand to her mouth at Rich's /tact/. "Dude," she just shakes her head, closing her eyes.

Hand going to cover his eyes, Oz only slowly shakes his head. Oi.

Blinking, Calie shrugs after a moment. “Alrighty.” She replies, hands shoving in her pockets. “So... no one answered my question. What the heck am I interrupting?” Calie asks again, before glancing at Aurora. “Amongst other questions.”

"Great!" Rich chirps, "No bigots in the group. All's well."

Aurora just watches.. Not particularly catching all of what the hell is going on. Her eyebrow does twitch up as Calie keeps watching her though, "Youuuu... reeeeeally don't know who I am?" She asks, her pitch rising as if to whine - though she smiles at the idea. Quite brightly. She shakes her head, blinking, "And no, I'm not. And no, I'm not. Sorry." Her chest heaves as she laughs, blushing and scratching the back of her head.

“Well, fuck.” Arms crossing, Calie leans back against the wall next to Oz, before reaching out to poke the singer in the stomach. “Dude, give me a smoke.”

Shooting her an annoyed look, Oz shakes his head. “Go get your own damn smokes, ya bum.” He goodnaturedly replies, lighting another one just to annoy the bassist.

“...You’re an ass.”

Rich pulls out his pack, "Here Cal." With that he tosses the pack over to the female, "So Oz, least we know that little tidbit's gonna break up tha' band." He glances to the bassist once more, "Oh right... Calie, meet Aurora. Aurora, meet Calie."

Aurora raises her eyebrows, holding up a hand in a flat wave, "Hey," she mumbles, "Look. If you guys are going to smoke.. I think I'm gonna go outside or whaaaatever..." "I.." She waves a hand along her collar bones and neck, "Yeah." She frowns.

Catching the pack of cigs, Calie murmurs some kind of thanks, more occupied with stealing Oz’s lighter and lighting up. Waving her own fingers at Aurora, Calie steps away from the door with a smirk. “Need any protection from the outside customers, Ms. McCloud?” The blonde asks. Apparently Calie knows who the singer is after all.

"Nah, I'll go with her," Rich glances to the pair of active smokers, "There are some other things we need ta get talked 'bout 'fore practice starts."

Log. October 17, 2007. Westchester County –

Another day, another practice. Although not time for one of Recalibration's scheduled practices for quite a bit, Rich is very much situated and set up in the practice room. The recording setup in place as well, Rich is not drumming but instead sitting in the corner of the room, in his hands, one of the store's non electric guitars. Apparently the shop owner has been VERY accommodating due to the increase in business the store got since that one story broke out. Granted, they were mainly in small things but hey, guilt purchases are better than none at all from the retail standpoint! Eyes closed, the drummer's head rests against the wall, the fingers strumming some basic chords.

Sliding open the soundproof door, Oz either doesn’t notice or doesn’t seem to care that slamming it just might interrupt Rich. Sitting on one of the speaker boxes, the Irishman reaches into his pockets, bringing out his cigarettes, and a brightly colored, crumpled up flyer, tossing the latter Rich’s way.

The eyes open at the loud sound. The soft chords stopping as well as Rich feels the wadded up flyer bounce off his head. "What's up?"

“Some college kid wants us to play at his frat party.” Oz answers, exhaling a stream of smoke. “Some Halloween thing at Delta what ever the fuck it’s called.” Even with the prospect of a potential gig, the singer doesn’t look all that happy about it. “Told him I’d talk it over with the rest of the band first.”

Rich glances over to the flyer and sets the guitar aside before reaching for the paper, uncrinkling it. He doesn't bother reading it, but instead just looks at the 'tasteful' graphics on the flyer. "Sounds like it could be fun," Rich replies, giving a shrug, "Most are so wasted and full o' spirits at tha' end that they end up payin' more fer tha' entertainment."

“Did you miss the part where I said frat party?” Oz asks, raising an eyebrow. “Where most people will be too drunk to remember us the next day? Seems like a waste of a gig to me.”

"But some will not be drunk." Rich replies, "And if they think they had a good time, they're going to want to recreate that feeling later, with all o' tha' parts o' it next time, 'cludin' tha' band."

Letting his head thunk back against the wall, Oz doesn’t answer for a moment. Rich has a point, but... “I fuckin’ hate college parties.”

"Gotta start somewhere," Rich replies, "An' considerin' what we sing about, ain't they tha' target audience anyhow?"

“Alright, I’ll ask the birds about it. But don’t expect me to socialize unless I absolutely got to. Three bucks says it’s nothing but drunk jocks wantin’ to talk ‘bout nothing but their bullshit version of football.”

"Well, there's also tha' Sorority that's associated with tha' frat," Rich reminds.

“Which would be a better pro if I weren’t already datin’ someone.” Oz points out, putting the cigarette out on the bottom of his boot. “But if you get into any fights over a sorority girl, I ain’t fishin’ you out of any trouble.”

"Aintcha been readin' tha tabloids?" Rich quips, "I'm apparently already datin' someone and I even got tha ex askin' me questions 'bout it."

“Don’tcha read online?” Oz requips. “Angie found this gossip blog online. Someone apparently saw you entering that singer bird’s apartment and leave like 15 minutes later looking pissed or something.”

"That's 'cause she nearly drowned."

"Tabloids don't know that, do they?"

"Nope." Rich replies, "So, they describe my swimmin' trunks too?"

Oz gives a shrug. “Only know what she told me, which is pretty much what I already told you.”

"Ah." Rich sighs, "...Well... 'least we're gettin' publicity... Thou' I wished it came after we had a real gig, not 'fore."

“Ain’t no such thing as bad publicity.” The singer quotes, running a hand through his hair. “Or so they say.”

"Next time we'll pair /you/ with tha' pop star."

Oz smirks. “Think I’d prefer a girl from some rock band, but alrigh’.”

"Now that that's settled..." Rich murmurs, cracking a smile, "If we do tha' gig, any idea which songs ya want ta do fer tha set?"

“Room 21 is a bit of a given, ain’t it?” The clone asks, before listing off a few more. “Get Stoned along with it. Nothin’ Good About Goodbye, Lips of an Angel, How Long... what else?”

"Hmmm," Rich furrows his brow in momentary thought, "'Done it Anyway' maybe... 'Broken Bones' I'm not sure about..."

“Last one’s too heavy, prolly.” Taking a moment to light another cigarette, Oz shrugs. “For all we know, we won’t even need a huge set list. Guy never said if we would be the only form of entertainment for the night or not.”

"Better somethin' we can knock off o' tha list than be there and be all 'shit, what do we do next?'"

“True. What about No Surprise and Pain? Maybe Paralyzer and I’ll Keep Your Memory Vague as well. That’s what so far... 10 songs? How many we looking at for maximum, you think?”

"Ain't so sure 'bout 'Pain'. Sure screamin's what we want ta be doin' if they're drinkin'?"

“Then you think of a few more, Little Drummer Boy. That’s eight I thought of that could go on the list and only one for you.”

"Well sorry my shit's all got messages an' stuff ta 'em."

“Who said the songs I picked don’t got messages?”

"Sex, Drugs, and Rock and roll versus inequality, injustice, and aggression. Which of these set ups don't belong at a frat party?"

Oz grins. “Can’t help if I got all those things in the songs I write.”

Rich sighs, "Who knew that /I'd/ be the overly serious one when it came ta lyrics?"

“You do realize who yer talkin’ ta, right? The guy who got expelled from three high schools, one of them for sleeping with his teacher to pass the class?”

"I ain' exactly college material ya know."

"And I am?"

"That ain't my point."

"Then what is it?"

"...That ya first argument had nothin' ta do with explainin' how I became tha' serious one."

“I was pointin’ out that expecting me to be serious about a song list for a crowd of drunk people ain’t the smartest thing in the world, lad.”

"... Ya know, fuck it. Broken Bones is fine. They'll be too drunk ta even bother tryin' ta figure out tha lyrics."

Log. October 22, 2007. New York City – Hell’s Kitchen – Oz’s Apartment.

Lounging in the lone armchair in the living room, a leg thrown over one of the arms, Oz looks all but dead to the world, head leaning against the back of the chair, eyes closed. Other than the fact that no one could sleep through the music blaring from the stereo a few feet away, there would be a possibility of him venturing through the land of Nod. Face smeared with small amounts of motor grease in a few places, its obvious Oz is taking a break after coming home from work before cleaning up. Obvious to those who know him, at least.

As he teeters between the land of nod and land of wake, there's the sound of a knock on the door. Shave and a hair cut.

It’s barely heard over the music, but the knock is heard, none the less. One eye opening and looking in the direction of the door for a short beat, Oz lets out a longsuffering sigh, getting up from the chair. Hitting the power button on the stereo on the way to the door, the singer doesn’t bother looking through the peephole to see who it is, opening it.

The door opens, revealing the smiling face of one bouncy paramedic as she wraps her arms around the apartment resident. "Hey! Got news for you!"

Falling back a bit at Bridget’s glomp, Oz gives a small grin, raising an eyebrow as he looks down at her. “Finally get that pony you always wanted?”

"No, still waiting on that," Bridget replies, sliding her hands off of Oz to make her way completely into the apartment and to the sofa, leaning against the couch, waiting til Oz closes the door before continuing.

Doing so, Oz follows Bridget to the couch, sitting next to her. Without much of a second thought, he reaches over to pull Bridget into his lap, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. “What is it, then?”

Bridget pauses in her response to kiss Oz back, getting a bit of the grease on her face as well, "I got a job offer. And this time it wasn't from a super villain or some creepy guy!"

Smirking, Oz brings his hand up to wipe the grease off of Bridget’s face with a thumb. “What kinda job?” He asks. “CIA or something finally recruit ya?”

Blink. Blink. The head tilts. "Very funny, Oz. Nope. United Nations. Data analyst."

"...That sounds suspiciously borin' enough to be a cover for a secret agent job." Oz replies, scrutinizing Bridget for a moment, before grinning. "'Course, feel free to model the skintight catsuit that I'm expectin' to come with the job for me anytime ya want."

"Sorry Oz." Bridget replies, cracking a smile, "Pure desk job. I'm going to be analyzing the economic situation of third world countries. Thought I'd give my economics background a bit of a test run. Annnnd also I figured I might want to take something remotely leisurely so I can focus more time on other forms of research without having to drive all over the place because some darwin award candidate thought it would be a great idea to go pool diving from his fifth floor balcony."

“And you’re completely certain there’s no catsuit involved with this?”

"Does my MA v2 PE suit count?"

“No. Armor keeps it from being skintight.” Oz quickly replies, giving a somewhat lecherous grin. “Not that I’m complainin’ when ya wear it, mind you.”

"Men really do have one track minds, don't they?" Bridget replies, giving a sigh as she obviously is not interested in a real answer as she continues, "So, what do you think? Desk job versus biking around the streets of the city at night where cars are thrown at me?"

Sobering a small bit, Oz’s head tilts as his arms wrap around Bridget’s waist. “If the first is gonna keep you safer than the second, what do you think I’m gonna say?”

"Well you never know... all that running does help keep one in shape after all..."

“Healthy and safe are too diff’rent things, pet.”

"I consider not having a car land on me to be very healthy."

Giving a small grin, the Irishman doesn’t answer for a moment, leaning his head against Bridget’s shoulder. “So, you taking the desk job, then?”

Bridget nods, leaning her head against the top of Oz's tilted head, "Things have gotten way too crazy out there. I should try to use my talents to help others in another way for awhile."

“Good. Worryin’ ‘bout you woulda made me go gray far too long before I would have.” Oz replies, before his voice takes on a teasing tone. “Which is nothin’ but all kindsa backwards, considerin’ you’re the older one. Geezer.”

"Geezer?! All those born in the late '60s to early '70s, please raise your hand." Bridget replies, reaching over to lift up Oz's arm. "I am /not/ old."

Yeah, like he’s really gonna stop the teasing now that he knows how she reacts. Grin widening, Oz glances at the hand on his arm. “Ya know, love, if you wanna feel me up, you can just ask. Men your age can’t be as fit as me, I know, but there’s no use trying to hide behind some excuse.”

"You egotistical..."

Low chuckle rumbling from his chest, the singer doesn’t give Bridget much of a chance to finish the statement, leaning forward to capture her lips again.

Aurora, Rich

Fri, 21 Sep 2007 01:23:24 GMT

That was fuckin' weird. Kinda interestin' that I got to talk to that famous chick (What the hell is her name again?) but it's not normal for people to just black out.

Or be able to see through someone else's eyes. Not to mention, that famous chick's eyes. Maybe she's got some kinda weird power.

She better notta fucked up Rich's ability to drum with that shit.

Log. September 19, 2007. New York City - Manhattan: Midtown East.

It is nighttime in the city and is this city boy so glad to be back in it! Giving a slight smile as he glances to the Chrystal Nightclub where people are waiting like crazy to get in, Rich is not here to be one of those /privileged/ ones to get inside. He's mainly there because of the large residential building nearby that has a lot of the lights already extinguished for the night. Tonight is the perfect night to test those newly erected mental barriers.

Oz might be there to make sure Rich doesn’t do anything stupid if his barriers don’t hold up. However, he’s not simply going to sit around waiting for them to work or break, or whatever Rich is expecting, because the singer assumes it can just as easily be accomplished inside the nightclub, whether Oz has to get both of them in by charming a few of the more privileged women in line or forcing the bouncer to let them in. At the moment, he’s trying to first, and it seems like there’s a good chance it’s working. He may be starting to act more mature, but his party boy ways haven’t changed much.

The rumble of the limo's bass vibrates through the ground as it cruises up along-side of the curb - causing more then a few people to turn their heads and look even before any promise comes of it. The stretch slows - the last window coming even with the two by the side of the street once it stops - at first reflecting their imagine before it sinks out of sight. The chattering of teenage girls and giggles sparks out of the open window. Loud enough to make you wonder why you couldn't hear it before. "Hey," comes Aurora slow, quiet voice, her hand falling gracefully out towards the line. Casually as ever, the blonde curves her neck up to peak over what of the window-glass is still up. She settles her eyes upon Rich's face, a small smile crossing over her lips, "Could you pleeeeeease tell us iiiiiiiiif... this-is-Chrystal? We got a little lost." A pretty red-head joins her at the window, giggling still at something that must of been said inside of the stretch. "Hey!" She cherps obnoxiously, "Is this Chrystal?!" Aurora just flicks her eyes in a lazy roll at her, leaning back some to let her friend do what she will. Already, camera flashes start from seemingly no where at all..

The drummer's eyes move from the club towards the limo, blinking at the long haired girl, cracking a smile as well, "Yes."

Turning away from the girl’s as their attention is taken from him by the limo, Oz’s head tilts a fraction to the left as the window rolls down. Well, well... what do we have here? “Yah, love.” He chimes in after Rich answers, accent seeming a tad heavier than normal. “This is tha place yer lookin’ for.”

The redhead flicks her lashes in a roll - as if waiting for Rich's response was -painful-. Oz's added answer does cause both she and Aurora to pause some - two pairs of eyes settling on him for a moment. "Uhhh - /thanks/." Leaning back, and thusly forcing the little princess to lean back as well, she presses the button to roll up the window once more. After a moment or two, the door swings open with the ginger haired girl at the lead. She steps out, confidently whipping about her hair. She's followed by an Asian girl and then another blonde before Aurora actually exits the vehicle. All scantily clad, though Aurora the most tastefully so - and all in their late teens - giggling and falling upon eachother as if the party began well before they came upon the nightclub. But that's what happens when you get lost. Aurora actually conducts herself rather well, linking arms with the other blonde as they move away from the limo. Giggling and going on about irrelevant inside jokes among the camera flashes and paparazzi field-day that soon occurs. Both men are forgotten as the cluster moves around he and Oz - squawking amongst themselves as they split momentarily to get around them and to the entrance. Of course, /they/ don't have to stay in line - as plenty of the people in the waiting line point out. They're with Aurie.

Rich watches the gaggle of girls make their way into the club before looking over to Oz, "Sometime, that's gonna be us gettin inta clubs without tha wait... only... no boobs an' gigglin' and dresses an shit."

Watching the girls enter with a thoughtful expression, Oz nods, only halfway listening. “Hm...” Shall we test something out? Yes. Let’s. Motioning for Rich follow him, Oz pushes through the crowd trying to get in after the teen sensation with ease, a skill left over from his last life. Ignoring the bouncers for now, the Irishman attempts to simply enter, though he doesn’t seem surprised when he’s stopped. On the contrary it’s like he’s expecting it. Immediately grabbing the arm that was thrown in front of him before he can be pushed back, Oz twists the bouncer around, jerking his arm up behind the guy’s shoulder blades, near breaking it. “We’re security for tha group.” He informs, before pushing the guy away, quickly walking into the club. Hopefully, Rich was able to keep up.

The last in her /gaggle/, Aura catches some of Oz's attempts - turning back to peer over her shoulder with only faint interest. A smirk forms over her pouted lips, though, at his man-handling the bouncer before she throws back her head in bouncy laughter. *Hilarious*. Soon enough after, the blonde linked to her is giggling along with her as the move into the club.

Rich does see the motion and indeed does follow. And being that he lives at a school that does train teams of mutant shock troops to battle terroristic activities of the brotherhood, is it any wonder that what's left of resistance by the bouncer, being that as a feeble grab attempt is easily avoided? Wow that was a long sentence. And so, Rich also makes it into the club.

Noticing the laughter of the girls, Oz offers his own cocky grin as he passes. “Alright there, love?”

Aurora continues to giggle, wetting her lips and then pursing them as she sloooowly nods. Still, cat-like amusement remains over him trailing in after her success. Her companion doesn't seem all that interested in the man, though - tugging on her arm to try and get her to dance, "IIIIII'll give you the signal if I need anyone beeeeaaaat up," Aura offers sweetly, shifting her eyes with mock-deviousness and winking before her friend wins out and she's pulled back into the group of girls.

"It's like they're fuckin' marines or somethin'," Rich observes, giving a smirk as he watches Aurora wander off, "No girl left behind an' all that shit..."

“Obviously not too much like marines if they need one of us to beat someone up.” Oz chuckles, glancing over at Rich. “Not seein’ anythin’ loony, are ya?”

"My mindscape's like a nightclub," Rich replies, "The bouncer at the door is checking ID and only letting the interesting ones pop in for a brief visit. So, no more fuckin' penguin dreams but there are a few good wet dreams in there..."

It's not long before Aurora's little group is on the dance floor. Dancing is like second nature to them by now, two of them being background dancers anyway and Aurora with her training day in and out. It's only what's in the back of Aurora's mind that has her worried. She can feel it.. the light tickle of her telepathy trying to take control again. The hair-line fractures in her mental stability spider-veining up and out. She continues to dance through the slight dizzy spell, eyes closing momentarily as she forces herself to ignore it. If she can't see it. Maybe it can't see her.

Smirking, Oz chuckles again, before starting to head towards the bar at the other end of the dance floor. “C’mon. Let’s see if they got anything good to drink in this place. Might as well enjoy it now that we’re in here.”

Rich nods, walking to the bar as well, "Yeah... been itchin' for a drink." And with that, the bouncer in his head kicks out the dirty dreams... so he can enjoy another vice. Alky-hol!

Aurora arches her body around along with the beat - her hands winding up the back of her neck and flipping her long, hay-colored hair into the air. She hardly sees it coming.. but then that's what happens when you just ignore things.. Her body grows lighter, as if gravity has lifted.. and suddenly she's not in it anymore. She's at the bar.. She wants a drink.. She's following just behind the man who pretended to be her body guard. But no... The crowd seems to swell some with some commotion on the dance floor but there are far too many people to tell. Somewhere deeper into the club, a group of girls struggle, helping a girl - probably completely smashed - to the bathroom to try and splash some water on her face.

Turning slightly back towards the dance floor as he takes a drink of beer, Oz’s eyes narrow at the slight commotion, though he doesn’t exactly rush to investigate what’s going on. It’s not like it’s actually affecting him. Though, it’s somewhat possible it eventually could.

For one who has a bouncer watching the nightclub that is his mindscape, it's no wonder that there are some flaws with the security. You see, this bouncer was only told to keep other people's dreams out. It didn't say anything about pretty girls. So in she is allowed. However, the presence of the obviously newcomer amongst the regulars does cause enough of a stir. Rich puts in his drink request, smirk becoming a frown as he turns, looking around for the source of the prying eyes. The commotion draws his attention for the slightest of moments but with the large gathering, it's hard to tell why. He shakes his head, "So... I'm thinkin' once we get Diego up ta speed with us, I should be good for some gigs."

Aurora starts to panic. She can only make out Rich's muffled voice. But she knows what he's saying. /She's/ saying it, too - she wants him to look back towards that commotion. What's going on? Oh, God.. that must be her. That's her over there. But she can't tell him to go get a better look.. or to go help. She's simply stuck. If she had a body, her heart would be pounding hard now.. but she doesn't. Forcing herself to concentrate. To soothe her mind. She works at getting away from Rich and Oz.

“’Bout damn time.” Oz answers. “Shouldn’t be too hard getting’ any shows by that time, since Halloween’ll be close up. Or hopefully it won’t at least.”

"Hey, ain' my fault 'bout tha dream viewin'." Rich mutters, glancing to the bar as the bartender sets the drink down. The hand reaches over to grab the drink as he continues trying to shake the feeling of being watched. The regulars in the mental nightclub are wary, and the bouncer opts to distract them by bringing in a random dream involving rockstars throwing baby dolls at unsuspecting fans. "Tha' hell?"

All at once, Aurora comes back to - blinking hard and letting out a groggy mumble as she swats away at the three faces crowded around her. She moves to stand, stumbling to the sink. Sink. She's in the bathroom. They brought her to the bathroom, good. With effort, Aura turns the faucet water on - cupping her hands to capture the water before splashing her face. Fear and frustration overwhelm her as she turns to stare in the mirror. Why is this happening? The girls chatter, coddling over the princess as she recovers. Making sure she gets whatever she feels she needs. It's their fault she's out in her fragile condition, anyway.

Shooting Rich an odd look as he takes another drink, Oz quirks an eyebrow at the drummer. “Problem?” He asks. “Bouncer lose control?” Dream version of Oz break in?

"Ii-" The glass slips, fortunately it doesn't fall far as his hand hasn't pulled the glass away from the bartop. Likely a good thing as it's not just the glass that falls. His entire body goes limp as he collapses to the floor. No grace to the descent, just flat down to the ground. Rich becomes aware of the sensation of cold water on his face... no wait, not his face... someone else's. And why the hell is he in the girl's room with the little girl marines from earlier? Seeing Aurora look back at him he gives a mental eep of surprise. What the hell? This isn't his mind!

Aurora combs her fingers through her hair, taking in a few deep breathes - her chest heaving as she takes a slow step back from the mirror. Still wide-eyed, the singer stares at herself squarely in the eyes. She has nothing but contempt for the person looking back at her. Carefully, she wobbles back, leaning on the redhead as they exit the Lady's Room and move to exit the club. Aurora glances around from person to person but doesn't spot her body guard or his friend. Not that it matters.

The commotion around the bar at Rich faints isn’t quite as big as it was on the dance floor a minute ago, though it’s certainly big enough to warrant people across the club looking over, wondering what happened. Moving as soon as the fact that Rich just – fainted? – registers, Oz pushes people that are crowding around a few steps back, before kneeling down next to the fallen drummer, frowning. Reaching out to shake Rich’s shoulder slightly, Oz gently slaps one of his cheeks, seeing if he can wake up on his own before telling anyone to call 911. If no one has by now, anyway.

STOP This crazy ride! I want to get back in my own body please!!! And soon Rich gets his wish upon the image of opening doors. His eyes start to open as he lets a groan of discomfort from hitting the floor just a few moments earlier.

Letting out a small breath of relief, Oz leans back. “The fuck was that about, mate?”

Rich doesn't answer, instead sitting up to grab the bar ledge for leverage onto his feet. He glances to the door, "She left."

"/Who/ left?"

"That girl..." He replies, taking a few steps towards the exit before stopping, a hand coming up to rub the side of his head, "Head hurts..."

“Well, yah, you just fell from a barstool to the damn floor.” Oz answers sarcastically, following after Rich. “Ya ain’t got a concussion, do ya?”

"Nah," Rich replies, "Jus' caught offguard. Frost's gonna kill me."

“Wimp.”

Fri, 21 Sep 2007 01:18:37 GMT

Been an eventful week. Moved out into my own place. Lost a guitarist. Found a even better guitarist. And Rich'll be able to play gigs soon. All in all, seems like my luck is finally shaping up.

Moved into Bridget's apartment buildin', up on the third floor. Ain't met any other neighbors yet, but it's not exactly like I'm wantin' too anyway. I'm fine with all the people I know now, and I ain't exactly gonna be tryin' to meet more. Sunset asked why I moved into a apartment in Hell's Kitchen when I coulda got a better place, but I prefer it here. I don't feel comfortable in a fancy place, and I'm sure I'm not wanted in many. Sides, the Kitchen's gotta lot of stuff I like.

Diego's about as much of a God send I've ever seen. She knocked out being our new guitarist and Angelika's new roommate. (I know she acts annoyed that I just told Diego she could live their without asking first, but I know she's happy about having a new roommate. She's not good at living alone.) With Diego learning the songs quick, and Rich being up for playing in a few weeks, we should be able to play shows soon.

'Bout damn time.

Log Catchup

Fri, 21 Sep 2007 00:50:44 GMT

Log. September 13, 2007. Salem Center - Notes n Rhythm.

Sitting on one of the larger speaker boxes in the soundproof room at the back of the store, Oz has one leg dangling over the front of the speaker, plainly ignoring the no smoking rule. Having decided to call a meeting of Recalibration – what’s left of it at least – Oz was the first one to arrive. As it were, the meeting is only gonna be between him and Rich. Seems Callie is too sick to get out of bed and travel all the way out to Westchester, even though Oz had to nearly fight the girl into not coming. Talk about devoted.

Being that Rich actually lives in the area, he's not far behind Oz. Carrying a sizable box into the room he moves over to Oz, "Hey. Cupcake?" He opens the box, showing the cupcakes which are now spelling 'Happy it day'. Well, at least he was offering cupcakes... not calling Oz one.

Eyebrow raised, Oz stares down at the cupcakes for a moment. “Happy It Day?” He asks, looking up at Rich, obviously wanting an explanation for this.

"I ate the 'R', Canvas ate the 'B', and I shoved the 'h' on another student." Rich explains, "Have one. /Please/. I can't eat them all."

Smirking, Oz takes the cupcake with the T on it, setting it to the side for now. Common sense tells him that cigarettes and cupcakes probably don’t mix. “Did you win a grand prize at some school bake sale or steal someone’s birthday cupcakes?”

"Canvas made them for me," Rich replies, looking to the 'Happy I day' slogan. "Was threatenin' ta make me more an' put me in a diabetic coma too."

“...She threatened you with chocolate?” The Irishman repeats, before smirking. “Not that scary of a bird, is she?” Leaning over and putting the cigarette out on the bottom of his boot, Oz stuffs the filter in his pocket. “I keep thinkin’ you still got the same birthday as Mike did. Guess I ain’t got used to the whole rebirth thing, yet.”

"S'okay. Ain't used ta gettin' things for tha' birthday," Rich replies, "'Defin'tly not from exes. An she was actin' all off an' shit an' hell, I let her listen ta tha tape on tha' sound system while practicin'... Kind've day o' being off guard fer tha both of us, eh?"

Apparently, talking about the band might not happen for a while. “Whatdaya mean, actin’ all off?” Oz asks, leaning back against the wall. “And yeah, girls got a thing about giving presents to people they know. Apparently it’s a big deal. Remind me later, and I’ll get you a bottle of something.”

"Oh I'll remind ya," Rich assures, not about to let the prospect of free alcohol for him be forgotten, "I said thanks fer tha gift and looked all moody. Anyhow she smiled when I let her listen to tha practice recordin'."

“Well, yeah. Any girl’s gonna smile when you give ‘em a private concert.” Reaching up and mussing up the back of his hair, Oz looks thoughtful for a moment. “Speakin’ of. Was wantin’ to ask you if you knew anyone who could replace Derrick, or if we needed to go recruitin’ or whatever.”

Rich frowns, "Not offa tha' top o' my head. If I did I'da suggested 'im 'fore playin' a tribute role o' myself in tha club in order ta get Derrick." Yeah, /that/ was not a fun thing.

Oz gives a somewhat sardonic grin. “Told ya working for her would end up in trouble.” He comments, before sobering, frowning a bit. “Fuck. I hate this part of getting’ a band together.” He’d much rather play than look for someone to play with.

"Kinda figured it would," Rich mutters, "Me playin' like my ol' self, hangin' next ta tha likeness of my ol' mate... was gonna happen... didn' think I'd be so wonked out not ta notice though." He shrugs, "But we needed a guitar player. An' jerk or not, ya gotta admit Derrick was good at it."

Oz shrugs one shoulder. “Good as he was, he was also a whiny little fuck half of the time too.” He remarks. “Let’s avoid that next time around, yeah?”

"Which is why /you're/ looking this time," Rich replies, giving a smirk, "Unless you don't mind another minor on the roster, I'm not travelin' tha proper circles ta recruit."

Smirking, Oz shakes his head. “Nah. Be kinda hard to call you Little Drummer Boy anymore if you ain’t the youngest, wouldn’t it?” Seems nicknames never die, no matter what the life. “’Sides, considering you can’t go into any good places to scout out without going all second sight, that leaves only me up for it anyhow.”

The drummer gives a smirk, "Little drummer boy, yeah but I still got more than tha other two." Ah memories. "Pays ta be tha kid attimes. Tha' sight thin's gettin' better. Least now I know where tha dreams end an' my mind begins..."

“Think you’ll be able to start playing at gigs soon?”

"So long they ain't at hotels or apartment complexes." Rich answers, "An' I still got tutorin' ta deal wit' it so nothin' outta state yet."

“Nah. Tourin’ won’t be for a while.” Oz shakes his head. “Not for another year after we start playing around here, I figure. Get some fans here, make some EPs, wait for all the people around here to send our music to people around the world illegally. All that good stuff.”

"Yay piratin'." Rich murmurs, "So long as we ain't gonna go Metallica on their butts."

Oz scoffs. “Do I look like James Hetfeild?”

"Nah, just wanted ta fit a jab in at Metallica in there."

Chuckling, the lead singer hops off of the speaker box, making sure to not knock the cupcake off. He may not like sweets as much as his former headmates, but he likes ‘em enough to not pass one up when offered. “Meeting adjourned, then.” He remarks, grabbing the miniature cake.

"Alright," Rich replies, "See ya at practice."

Log. September 15, 2007. Hell’s Kitchen - West 46th Street Apartments – Hallway.

This is probably one of the easiest moving in sessions in history, considering Oz pretty much had nothing to move in with. Except the TV and the whole setup, but he bought that on the way over. Seems like those stocks Bridget set up for him aren’t able to grow much. Now just to tell the rest of the building... Or, at least, the one other occupant of the building he knows. Grabbing the few keys he had made to go to the place, Oz walks out of the apartment, not bothering to lock it behind him. He’s only going down two floors, after all.

Oz's timing is sufficient being that Bridget is neither at the lab nor on patrol. How on earth that girl manages so much on the plate is baffling. Motorcycle helmet in arm, the female having returned from an enjoyable ride for the sake of riding is now unlocking her door.

Oh, for the day when his bike is repaired and up and running. Not bothering with the last set of steps, Oz jumps them, looking up as he lands, giving a roguish grin as he spots Bridget.. Well, if him jumping the stairs wasn’t noticeable enough as it were... “Hey, love.”

Bridget's head turns to the greeting, a slight smile on her face at seeing her boyfriend, "Hey." She glances to the stairs, "Visiting someone else?"

Snorting, Oz shakes his head. “Since when do I seem like a social person?” He asks, before holding the keys up, jingling them for effect. “Movin’ in.”

An eyebrow archs, "In this building?"

“No, the one three blocks down. I just decided to come in through one of the third floor fire escapes.”

"Considering how often we do it for real I could take that statement seriously."

Smirking, Oz motions for Bridget to follow him, turning to head back up the stairs. “C’mon. I’ll give you your key when we get up there.”

Bridget cracks a slight smile as she relocks her door, "Couldn't bear to be away from me eh?" She moves towards Oz, giving him a peck on the cheek as she reaches his side.

Turning his head to place an actual kiss on Bridget’s lips, Oz’s smirk widens as he pulls back. “I’m two floors above ya, not right next door.” He answers. “You don’t have that much power over me.” Yet.

"Still, of all of the apartment buildings in the city, you chose mine." Bridget winks, "Not a coincidence."

"Yeah, you're right." Oz admits, before sighing. "I really like that bar down the street. Figured being closer to it would be easier than stumbling all the way back to Beacon."

Bridget's smirk fades, but doesn't go away completely as she quickly jabs Oz in the side with two of her fingers, "Liar."

Moving away from the poke, the Irishman glances over at Bridget. “Guilty as charged.” He answers, moving to get one of the keys off the keyring. Handing it to her as he stops in front of his door, opening it. “Sorry ‘bout all the boxes.” He says, sarcastically. “But turns out I got a lot more stuff than I thought.”

Bridget gives a slight laugh, glancing inside, "Take in mind the majority of the stuff in my apartment CAME with the rent. You have about the same amount of stuff I did... not counting clothes."

“And I don’t even have many of those.” He answers, stepping back to let her enter the apartment first. Oz’s point of view about clothes is simple. If you pretty much just have nothing but copies of one outfit, you don’t have to care about matching anything up. Unless it’s something fancy, and then he’s just screwed.

"We'll have to take you shopping to fill up your closet sometime," Bridget murmurs, entering the apartment, finding a similar layout to her own, "Sorry I don't have a housewarming gift..."

Smirking, Oz walks in behind her, closing the door. Oh, the things he could say to that. As it were, he picks the most mundane, and only says half of it. “I know something you could give me.” That’s actually the first half of all the thoughts.

"Oh wait! I know!" Bridget grins, pulling away to pull out her wallet, "How about an amusement park?"

Okay, that really wasn’t what he was thinking of. Damn. But he’ll bite anyway. “As in Coney Island, or?”

"I met an amusement park owner who was looking for someone to design roller coasters for him. He gave me sort of a buy one get one free coupon to check out his park." Bridget replies, "Thought we could check it out."

“Guess I’m the buy one.” Oz states, before running a hand through his hair. “Sure. Let’s go.” What could go wrong?

Log. September 16, 2007. New York City – Funworld.

'Funworld: A World of Fun'. That seems to be the slogan on a handmade sign that one of the employees has made in a ticket booth near the entrance of the park, which shows through the freshly cleaned window. While a lot of money and effort seem to have been put into keeping the park clean (at least for an amusement park: there is still the popcorn, shattered candies and general dirt that appear at all amusement parks. The clashing music in the background from the various rides and attractions add to the festive mood that seems ever-present at this sort of place. It's a sunny sort of day, where there is no threat of rain. To some, it's unpleasantly hot, but to many park-goers, this is just the way they like it. Quite a few people mill about, but it's nowhere near crowded, most of them seeming happy to be there (aside from the child here and there who got spooked by a creepy clown). Arcade is one of those people milling, and he seems more than happy to be there. His real intent, though, is to return to his hidden base of operations, buried beneath this park, so he is hurriedly making his way to an exit to the 'basement' that isn't seen by any people. So far, with a busy day like this one, this task just frustrates the assassin.

Not here to get to the basement but more get a feel of the amusement park is a Bridget. And she's brought a friend. Having purchased a ticket, she leads Oz into the park by the hand, "How do you like Roller Coasters, Oz?"

“’Bout as much as I like alcohol.” He replies, shrugging one shoulder. They’re one of the few things Oz likes about amusement parks, as it were. Along with a few of the games, and the food. Though, Oz on cotton candy can’t be considered a good thing.

Frowning as he sees one of his other secret passages being blocked, Arcade spins around on his heel. To an observer, it would look very much as though he's trying to find a lost child or something, the way he moves. He doesn't notice Bridget and Oz entering the amusement park for now, even though he is still close to the main entrance.

"Great!" Bridget chipperly replies, tugging Oz towards the ride Arcade so much recommended, "We have our first stop decided then." She starts heading towards the coaster, her pace somewhat slows as the familiar figure of Arcade comes to view.

Speeding his walk up a bit until he’s alongside Bridget, Oz rests one arm over her shoulders. The smirk that was on the verge of emerging fades however as he notices the paramedic slowing her pace, Oz giving her a questioning glance.

Snapping his fingers, Arcade smiles. 'Aha', the expression on his face seems to say, 'I've got it.' Even when nobody is paying attention to him (or so he figures) or when he's not out to kill someone, he still seems to have a certain degree of showmanship to his actions, everything he does seeming rehearsed and yet enthused. He starts to walk off towards the tent with the arcade machines.

Bridget looks to Oz, noticing his curious look. "Oh... that would be Mr. Cadenski. The owner of the park." She explains, nodding towards the Arcade walking towards the arcade. "The one who gave me the coupon."

Quirking an eyebrow, Oz looks over to the park owner. “He always act like that?”

Kids walking into the tent Arcade was heading into has him turning on his heel and walking away, still frustrated. But only in the way that a person becomes frustrated with games. He then notices Bridget and Oz. He doesn't recognize Oz, but assumes he's the friend she was talking about before. The park owner-slash-assassin walks toward the pair, then, and raises a hand at the pair. "Good to see you came. You seen anything you like so far?"

"He's a tad eccentric," Bridget murmurs to Oz before seeing Arcade spin around once more, giving a polite smile, "Good afternoon, Mr. Cadenski. You caught us just after we got in so we haven't had a chance to look around yet. But, we were thinking of riding the roller coaster you spoke so much about the last time we chatted."

Not being able to stop a smirk as Oz fully takes in Arcade’s appearance, he nods in agreement with Bridget. “Ayuh. Looks pretty brain bustin’.” He adds in, glancing at the roller coaster.

Arcade doesn't much care if people are amused by his outfit. He only wears it because it fits in with the theme of his assassinations: amusement. The assassin looks over to the large, seeming death-defying roller coaster: the Brainbender. He smiles and says, "Here, come with me going there, and I'll even let ya cut in line." Don't let it be said that Arcade doesn't care about his guests. Or that he does care about his paying customers.

Although only one is paying. The other had a coupon. Bridget glances to Oz for a moment before looking back over to Arcade, "Well, sure, Mr. Cadenski." Ok granted he does set off alarm bells in her head, but still, skipping the line's good.

Eyebrow raising at the offer, Oz doesn’t question it. After all, why would he? He probably would have found a way to cut when they got there anyway.

The assassin starts walking towards the roller coaster, not bothering to glance over his shoulder at his guests/customers. He just assumes they're coming. He pulls a cigar out of the jacket pocket of his suit and places it between his lips, asking the other two, "You got a light?"

Bridget, who is sans bookbag this time around since rides are rather picky about what you can bring on them, some places not even allowing a waistpouch which in all essences stupid since that's flat out attached to the body and in some cases are more secure than the pocket a person carries a wallet in. (Not that this RPer has had to deal with that but yeah...) Bridget shakes her head apologetically, "Not me."

Almost immediately plunging a hand into his jeans pocket – Oz surprisingly left the duster at home today – he pulls out an old and weathered, though well taken care of Zippo. It lights easy, Oz holding it out to the so called A.R. Cadenski. “Never go anywhere without one.”

The man barely even needs to look at the flame to light his cigar, "Thanks, pal." Arcade puts the cigar in his mouth and contentedly starts smoking it, still walking towards the coaster. "So you guys lookin' forwards to any of the other attractions I might have here? I can give you directions to those ones, too."

"As said earlier, we just got here," Bridget replies, giving a smile, "We haven't had a chance to look around and I've never been here before so I don't know everything that's here."

“I can tell ya the ones I’m not goin’ on, if ya got ‘em.” Oz butts in. “I ain’t going on any of those spinnin’ teacup rides, or whatever the hell they are.”

"Well, I meant attractions that are common to most parks like this. We have some that are unique to here, but there are many of those you commonly see, as well." He looks over to Oz and says, smiling pleasantly, "Yeah, we've got those. And no, I'm not gonna direct you to one if you don't want to be. Don't worry. You're here to have fun, not puke your guts out in a teacup, right?"

"Oh, and anything like the generic pirate ship ride that just hangs upside down for so long that there's no physical force keeping you in the seat" Bridget adds in to the list of no gos, "Hate that type. Hurts like crazy." She shrugs, "Other than that, I'm open to a lot of rides. Mainly roller coasters."

“Not so much worried about puking than breaking something.” Oz mutters. “Though if ya got anything that goes upside down without pain, I’d be up for it.” Not that a little bit of pain is gonna throw him off of anything. “And that spaceship ride thing that spins around at about three hundred miles an hour and plays really loud rock music.”

"Don't like those, huh? No problem," says Arcade to Bridget. He chuckles and says to Oz, pointing off towards the ride he refers to, which can actually be seen a little ways away over some of the tents selling food. "That what you're talkin' about?" Beat. "Almost there, just a little more ways." The line behind the Brainbender is becoming visible. It might just explain the non-crowdedness of other sections of the park.

"Bad experience with one of those ship rides," Bridget murmurs, glancing to the line, "Most popular attraction here?"

Glancing over at the pointed out ride, Oz nods, watching as the door lowers, letting out the passengers and a burst of rock music. Not being able to stop a grin as he recognizes the familiar vocals, the Irishman laughs after a moment. Talk about coincidence.

"By far. It's the reason lots of people come here, not too surprisingly. Like I told you before, it's a masterpiece." The assassin grins and sighs, smoke coming out of his mouth and nose as he does so. He looks towards Oz and says, hearing the man's laughter, "You got a good joke that popped into your head? Do share it." The three are now walking past and parallel to the line, towards the entrance.

Bridget cracks a grin, having an idea of what caused Oz to laugh but opts not to field this question. Best let Oz explain.

Yeah, this isn't something that can be sanely explained. "Inside joke." He answers, with a smirk.

Admittedly, Arcade never really expect sane explanations for anything. Just entertaining ones. He shrugs and says, "That's too bad. I would've loved to be laughing now, too." He gets to the head of the line and says to the attendant, "My friends here would like to get on the next ride, asap," gesturing to Oz and Bridget. Some of the people in line look confused as to why the attendant opens his gate to let them through, and others a bit angry.

Well on the bright side, /they/ don't have the memory to remember her. Particularly since Bridget's not at all looking to the crowd to grant that lovely view. Plus, if any of them do want to cause an issue with that, well.. oh well, unlike the bookbag, Bridget /DID/ bring the suit.

Oz isn’t much following Bridget’s lead, but he’s not as paranoid as she is. Turning to shoot the angry folks an annoyed glare, he mutters under his breath. “Bloody whiners. Ain’t like he’s shutting down the whole damn ride just for us.”

The angry folk only possess the anger of a person who got cut in front, so it takes little time to wear off. The roller coaster finishes its run, and many passengers step off, most of them enthusiastically talking about how scary that was, or how thrilling. Arcade gestures towards it, after all those people have left out of the appropriate gates. "Here ya go. First choice of seats go to you."

Bridget smiles, "Thank you." She looks over to Oz, "Front?"

“Front.” Oz answers, before smirking. “Ever made out on a roller coaster?”

"Yes. But I don't think you were askin' me," says Arcade, chuckling, and tapping his cigar so that the ash goes into a nearby waste receptacle. He leans next to the attendant's booth and says, "I'll wait here for you to come back," before opening up the gate and helping people towards the coaster himself, the attendant waiting by the ride to make sure everyone is strapped in right once guided there.

Bridget's cheeks flush. Not because of what was asked. Ok. Yes because of what was asked but more because of the timing of said question. She doesn't answer Oz's question as she starts to get seated in the front.

Smirk widening at Bridget’s blush, Oz follows her to the roller coaster car. “Didn’t answer my question, love.”

Other passengers are guided to their cars by Arcade, while Bridget's and Oz's is left to them. Many of the passengers behind them would be quite unhappy to know of the possibility of watching public displays of affection for the duration of the ride.

"I can't believe you said that in front of him." Bridget murmurs, "And I'm not going to start right now considering the duration of the ride observed does not seem all that sufficient."

“You’re the one who said I should act like myself around you.” Oz replies. Yes, it’s all Bridget’s fault. “And besides, I’m not asking for a whole session here. Just on the drop.” He’ll say please if he has to.

As everyone takes their seats, the attendant goes by and makes sure everyone is strapped down right. He's well-trained, as Arcade wouldn't have his clients having a sub-par ride on his rides. As a man who values fun over almost anything else, he doesn't much like ruining other people's. So the young man is very good at strapping people just right: tight enough for safety, but loose enough not to cause anyone discomfort.

Bridget scoffs, "Oz /Apollo/ Delaney, just how easy do you think I am? The most you may get is a kiss."

Eyebrow raising, Oz frowns. “What /exactly/ do you think I’m askin’ for?”

The attendant finishes with the passengers, ending on Bridget and Oz, mumbling a 'enjoy your ride' before heading on back to his booth. Over the intercom, Arcade says, "Keep your legs and torsos inside the roller coaster at all times, and don't try to readjust those straps. They're there for your safety. Now, have a blast." And with that, the coaster starts up, moving slowly up the sharp incline just ahead of it.

Bridget frowns. Oops. "So, you just want a kiss then?"

“Pretty much, yeah.” He answers, glancing up to the top of the incline. “Better decide quick though.”

The coaster reaches the peak of the incline. The drop looks almost straight down; what better way to get the acceleration needed to bring the rest of the ride underway? It slows slightly as it just reaches the peak.

Bridget's eyes need not look to the front to know what is about to go on, the slight deceleration, the lingering pause. She sighs, "Oh what the hell." With that she reaches a hand over, tilting Oz's head towards her as she kisses him as they go over the top.

Smirking, Oz ignores the screams of people behind them and the drop of the coaster, deepening the kiss. Does this count as a score, considering it’s Bridget?

As Arcade had earlier indicated, the coaster really is a masterpiece: the whirls, turns and loops are engineered to give the impression that just by riding this machine, people are narrowly escaping death. Arcade leans still against the attendant's booth, and comments a bit sadly to the young man working in it, "You know how much more thrilling these rides would be if they weren't safe?" The young man's only response is giving a puzzled shrug to his boss.

Considering what she initially thought Oz was talking about when he asked about 'making out'. It's more of a truce. The speed of the drop is not overly long, evidenced by when Bridget's lips leave Oz's, her head turning to watch the scenery that they /heh/ waited so long to get to witness. "WOOH!"

Oz is a mostly silent observer for the rest of the ride, though it’s not that he doesn’t enjoy it. He’s just not a screaming type of guy. Though a few laughs do escape on certain loops and turns.

Eventually, though, all good things must come to an end. The ride is quite long, but nonetheless, it is finite. The coaster starts to slow down once it's finished it's tour of the tracks, stopping suddenly once it's arrived back at the beginning.

Bridget's grinning like crazy despite the minor whiplash effect of the cars stopping and the harnesses having to stop them the milisecond later. Damn she loves coasters. "That was great!"

“You’re welcome.”

The attendant hits a button at his stand that undoes all the straps for the passengers, so that they can unload quickly and efficiently, getting ready to give the next batch of customers a turn. Arcade heads towards the exit gate, waiting for his guests to take their leave of the coaster after him.

"Not you, you doof." Bridget states, laughing as she proceeds to get up from her seat to get off of the ride, turning to look to Oz. "The coaster! It was great!"

Oh, poor girl. She’s in denial. “You keep telling yourself that, love.” He smirks, hopping off the coaster and following. “One day, you’ll realize the truth.” Oz = Ego.

Arcade continues to wait at the exit, not really having all that much better to do. He has no murders scheduled today.

"You should be saying that to yourself," Bridget retorts to the clone rocker, moving towards the exit.

Pausing to light a cigarette, Oz exhales a stream of smoke, before answering. “Already /know/ the truth, pet.”

"How did ya like it," says Arcade to the couple, grinning. He still has his cigar from before (the main reason he didn't come on the ride), though he is in the process of putting out its flame. "She really is a great ride, huh?"

Unfortunately for Bridget, Oz isn’t a mind reader. “Yeah, was fun. Better than most I’ve been on.” But he does have common sense, though you can take his reply how ever you want.

Arcade nods and says, "I'm glad you liked it." He's only a little bit peeved that it's only considered 'better than most' and not 'stupendously amazing' or somesuch. "Well, I think I'm gonna get out of your hair. If you guys see me around here again, be sure to say hi. I might bring you right to the front of the line again for something."

"I loved it," Bridget replies, beaming, "And thank you Mr. Cadenski. For the admission coupon and for letting us get to the front of the line."

“Can ya get us into the front of the Gravitron line?” Oz asks. Hey, if Bridget isn’t gonna try and take up on that offer, Oz is.

"Yes, I can. I'll give you something to give to the attendant there. The line-up shouldn't be too big, so he won't have any problem putting you in right away." The assassin pulls one of his business cards from his front pocket, asking, "Either of you got a pen?" He smiles at Bridget and says, "My pleasure. If you ever decided to take a part-time job working with me here, you'd be able to come here free all the time." He still wants to recruit her, but he adds, "But I'm betting not even that bribe will be enough, hmm?"

Bridget is sans backpack, there is no pen to pull out. "As tempting as that offer may be, Mr. Cadenski," Bridget replies, giving an apologetic look, "My plate is already full and my current projects have priority."

Curiosity perking at the mentioned job offers, Oz doesn’t ask just yet. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a pen either. No duster, so he only has the essentials, which are smokes, a lighter, and an apartment key. “Sorry. Unless you can write with cigarette ash.”

"That's fine and fair," says 'Mr. Cadenski' to Bridget. He thinks silently for a moment at the failure of the other two to produce a pen. "One second. I'll go ask him," he says, gesturing to the roller coaster operator, leaving to allow Oz and Bridget a few moments of private conversation.

Bridget glances to the departing figure before looking away, smile fading to a slight frown. Eyes glance over to Oz. "A tad eccentric," She murmurs in explanation once she's sure Arcade isn't near enough to hear her.

“A /tad/?” Oz repeats, flicking the ash form his coffin nail to the ground. “Guy’s loonier than a mentaller bin.” And that’s a lot of loony. “So, feel like goin’ on the spinnin’ ship? Might get to hear another one of my old songs.”

Arcade stands in front of his employee's booth, motioning with a sense of urgency. The bored looking employee slides a pen to his boss, who starts writing on the back of his business card.

"Isn't he?" Bridget replies. Although there is a question mark in that statement, Bridget doesn't expect an answer. It's rather implied, "First time we met he tried to offer me a job here."

“Doin’ what? Can’t see anyone offerin’ you a job to operate rides or sell cotton candy.”

Arcade starts walking back, business card in hand with all the writing on it. Only a few more moments left for talking behind his back!

"Designing rides," Bridget replies quietly, "Oh, here he comes."

Throwing that’s left of his cigarette to the ground below, Oz exhales a last stream of smoke. “Find a pen?”

"Yes. Here," says Arcade, handing off the business card indicating for the person operating at the Gravitron to allow the holder the ability to move to the front of the line if they so desire. Magical!

Yay. Bridget looks to the card, "Thank you again, Mr. Cadenski."

Gee, what is it they say in Megaman? You got a flippin sweet pass card! Or whatever. Woot. “Awesome. Now, c’mon. If we get there and wait for just the right time we can piss off about 20 people all at once.”

"And now I'm gonna say goodbye. I've got some things that I need to get to." While Funworld is all good and jolly, he has preparations to make in Murderworld. Arcade waves and says, "Good to meet you, pal." He doesn't know Oz's name, but doesn't really care to ask; nothing a side project for Ms. Locke won't clear up.

Isn't Oz such a catch? So considerate! Bridget gives a nod to Arcade, "Okay. Take care Mr. Cadenski."

Log. September 17, 2007. New York City – Central Park North.

Night falls like a broken venetian blind, with a clatter and thunk, the light disappearing behind the monolithic buildings and then even the slivers of horizon. This, unfortunately, means that Diego is getting cold. She sits on a bench in Central Park, her acoustic resting in its open case, right by her backpack. The young woman tugs over the backpack and, muttering to herself, begins to rummage through until she finds a obviously second-hand or otherwise salvaged thermal blanket that she wraps around her shoulders. She sticks her tongue out in the direction of the sun's former position, then adds a flipp'd bird for flavor.

Oz prefers nighttime. That might just be because he mostly sleeps all day, or because the Gods of Music, Women, and Booze hold them in their good graces more at night. Though, it seems that lately it’s just the Gods of Women and Booze bestowing their favor on him. Lighting a cigarette as he continues along the path, the Irishman slows a bit as he spots the girl on the bench, though he doesn’t plan on stopping and talking until he spots the guitar. “You play?”

Diego gives Oz a beady-eyed look, "No, I use it to thwack dipshits upside the head," she says, nose wrinkling slightly, "What the fuck do you think, I lug this around to jack up my biceps?" she extends an arm and clasps her bicep by way of illustration.

Smirking, Oz feels a tad of respect for this girl. “I gotta say no. Doesn’t look like you can pick up much of anything with those.” He snarks back, mostly on instinct. Pausing to inhale another lungful of nicotine and tar, the singer’s nostrils flare as he exhales the smoke. “Probably just found it here and ain’t felt like movin’ it, yeah?”

Diego peers at Oz with her weird yellow eyes, then slowly lets her lips curl into a smirk, "Well, it's not like you've got proof either way, huh?" she says, "Okay. Okay. Need proof? She scootches over and pulls the guitar from its case, showing it a delicacy and care that is surprising when contrasted with her sharp demeanor and reckless bluster. She sets it across her lap and carefully touches at the strings, "Whaddya want? Wanna make a request, or do I have to dig into my brain-files?"

Close to telling her to surprise him, Oz changes his mind the second before the words leave his mouth. “Know anythin’ by Black Mariah?”

Diego screws up her mouth to one side, squinting at some point low in the sky where, apparently, she stores her memories. "Uuummm... a teeny tiny isty bitsy bit. Think I have a couple of their songs in my collection, thrown in there. Got a song name for me?"

“Ya know ‘Learn the Hard Way’ by any chance?” Figured he ask about one of the songs he doesn’t plan on remaking. Not that that’s too long of a list, as it is. Oz isn’t one who fancies getting marked as a cover band.

Diego bites her tongue, then stretched her fingers out in a sudden preparatory motion and delivers a quick riff, almost in fast motion, rapidly hammering on and pulling out to deliver a smooth flicker of notes. "That the verse riff?" she asks, head tilting, a little birdlike.

Grinning, Oz nods. “Ayuh. That’s the verse riff.” Flicking the ash and what’s left of the cigarette to the ground, Oz lights another, before offering the pack out to the guitar player. “Guessin’ you ain’t in a band.” He says, coffin nail in the corner of his motuh moving with his words. “Ain’t no good band out there that lets their members sleep on the streets.”

Diego shakes her head, "Fuck addictions, man. Nothing but sublime fuckin' need can motivate me," she says by way of refusal. It's not an indictment. If anything it's a reminder to herself, something to do with personal discipline, "Nope. No band. Just rolled in from Boston. Turns out people don't watch their bus tickets too close, and the Fung-Wa gets a little lax with security sometimes," she gives a toothy, unabashed grin, "Is this conversation leading somewhere or are you just one lonely bastard?"

Smirking, Oz tucks away the pack of Marlboro’s. “Impossible for me to lonely. Insanity won’t let me be.” He says, grinning to show it’s a joke. Or maybe it’s not. Hard to really say with Oz. “But yah, it’s leading somewhere. My lead guitarist decided he wanted to drop out on me and the rest of us ‘cause he wanted to sell out. See where I’m goin’ with this?”

Diego tilts her head further, almost perpendicular to its usual position, "What?" her head slips back to a normal positions, "That you should have sold out when you had the chance? That you want a space on the bench too, cuz you were evicted?" she gives a wicked grin, "Sorry, chum. Plenty of other benches. And this blanket doesn't get shared." She's not serious, of course. Her whole voice is laden with irony.

“I never sell out when I have the chance.” He answers, running a hand through his hair, pushing his spikes in even more disarray. “I’d much rather prefer to earn my fame, not win it through a music channel’s battle of the bands.” Shaking his head to move from that topic before he starts getting pissed off, Oz gets back on the previous topic. “But as wonderful as all those guesses are, was actually gonna ask if you felt like becomin’ a lead guitarist for Recalibration.”

Diego gives Oz another one of those piercing looks, then nods, "Sure," she says, almost offhandedly. Still, however flippant, she immediately starts packing up her gear putting away the guitar, wrapping up her blanket. However she may hide her enthusiasm, she is wasting no time at all. "Where do you have your base of operations or whatever? Anywhere I can sleep?"

Victory. Grinning, Oz nods. “My sister’s got a spare room.” He answers. Lovely how he doesn’t even consult Angelika about it first, but she owes him a favor anyway. “I’d offer you my couch, but I don’t see my girl liking that too much.”

The girl gives a cackle, hard to call it anything else, and, after slinging her backpack on and picking up her guitar case by the handle, uses her free hand to land a friendly, but rather hard, punch on Oz's arm... assuming he doesn't dodge out of the way. "Even if I promise not to jump you in the shower or nothin'?"

“Promise all ya want, doesn’t mean you’ll keep it.” He replies, smirking. Not moving away from the punch, Oz quirks an eyebrow, rolling his shoulder slightly. “Nice arm.” He mutters, before jerking his head towards the exit of the park. “C’mon. I’ll walk you over. You might get distracted by all the prettiness of the place she lives in.” Not that Beacon is the greatest place in the City, but compared to a park?

Diego gives another snort, something she seems pretty good at, expressing a combination of amusement, contempt and dismissal without seeming like /too/ much of a jerk. She is smiling, albiet in a smirky fashion, following Oz, "I'm pretty much immune to beauty. Spent too much time in Atlanta. Cured me of it."

“Where exactly have you been?” Oz asks over his shoulder. “Might as well entertain me and tell me some stories on the way there.”

"Uh, from Atlanta up the coast to Boston, then over here," Diego says, "But that took me any number of years. Really, it all blurs together. Just doing odd jobs, shit like that."

“That is an extremely boring story...” Oz trails off, before turning to Diego, scarred eyebrow quirking upwards. “What’s your name, anyway?”

"It's more interesting, like, in anecdotes and whatnot," Diego says with a shrug, "But as a whole, no. Anyways, I don't give it all away on the first fuckin' stroll. Gimme some time. Gotta keep a mystique, you know what I'm saying," she gives that toothy grin of hers, "Name? Diego. I guess you'll hear the rest later, but I'd rather you get used to that one, because you bet your ass that's what you'll be calling me if I'm gonna be in your band."

Letting out a bark like laugh, Oz nods. “Diego. Gotcha.” He replies, before telling his given name. “M’Oz. Only thing I go by, unless you’re pissed at me enough to use my whole name.” Oz smirks. “But I ain’t tellin’ ya the rest yet, so you just gotta wait to hear it from either of my sisters.”

Diego nods, "Good. I like being able to, like, set names on our own terms. It's bull we get named before we can even say our names, let alone, like, decide if it's a good name for us. But I guess that's just unavoidable, right? Whatever. Good to meet you, Oz," she sticks out her hand to shake, even as they walk.

Diego nods, "Good. I like being able to, like, set names on our own terms. It's bull we get named before we can even say our names, let alone, like, decide if it's a good name for us. But I guess that's just unavoidable, right? Whatever. Good to meet you, Oz," she sticks out her hand to shake, even as they walk.

“I more of gotta live up to my name.” Oz answers, with a somewhat mysterious grin, taking the offered hand for a shake. “What was it my sis told me about my name? ...I think she said it means strength and dark defiance. And my middle name is after the God of Music, so I definitely gotta live up to that one.”

"What, is your middle name Jimi?" Diego says, arching a brow, "Or are we gonna have a, like, theological debate here."

“Jimi ain’t the God of Music, man. Admitted, he’s good, but Morrison beats him out for the title.” Oz scoffs, before shaking his head. “Nah. Parents took a more Greek spin for it.” He answers, before grimacing slightly. “Apollo.”

"/Fuck/ you, and /fuck/ the Doors," Diego says, brightly, seeming pleased that Oz is willing to contradict her, "Fucking show-off bullshit and front man sex appeal. Fucking showmanship. You fucking follower. Do you, like, even listen to music?" Her harangue is cheerful, even gleeful, and far from serious.

“If I didn’t know better, love, I’d say it sounded like you got some unresolved sexual tension towards me.” Oz answers, if not somewhat cocky about it. “Sorry, but I’m one of the few frontmans who don’t cheat on their girls.”

"No problem. You're not my type anyhow," Diego says with one of those snorts, "So what, you're not a cheater... so I guess we aren't doing just punk rock or some shit. That's good. Too many power chords and I droop like a parched daisy. A really bored parched daisy."

The singer laughs. “No worries there. Dun really know what to label us as, but I think I left a tape at Angie’s place when I moved out. I’ll tell her to give it to ya when we get there.” Oz answers, before pointing at one of the apartment building’s ahead. “Almost there anyhow.”

Diego examines the building as it rises up before them. She smiles broadly, "No shit. Hot running water. A /shower/ that's not in a youth hostel. I /like/ the life of an obscure musician living with his sister."

“More like the life of a musician who just moved out of his sister’s place. The only reason she’s got a free room at the moment.” Oz laughs. “But there’s plenty of hot water. I know that for sure.”

"Thank fucking god," Diego says, casting her eyes to the heavens in supposed thanks, "I promise I won't make a pain of myself for your sister. You, on the other hand... you /know/ it's war between us. Front man and lead guitar? Ego combat from here on out. Hope you can stomach it. Cuz it's gonna be solo city if you don't hold me back."

“Grew up with two insane sisters. Pretty sure I can take you.” The Irishman grins, walking ahead of Diego to open the door to the apartment. “And ask anyone that knows me, and they’ll tell you that no ones got a bigger ego than me. Think Bridget calls me Egotist as a nickname sometimes.”

"And I'm an only child," Diego says, smirking. This is technically true, as far as she knows, "This is gonna be fun." She steps into the apartment, guitar case in tow.

Log. September 18, 2007. Westchester - Notes N' Rhythm Music Shop.

The music shop is only semi crowded at the moment, most of the usual patrons either at work or school, though there are still a decent amount of slackers. Not that Oz really cares, more caught up in tuning the shiny new candy apple red electric guitar he’s got in his hands at the moment, and listening to Calie play out something random across from him. Again ignoring the no smoking rule, the singer glances up from his guitar, looking at the blond across from him for a moment. “Is that an actual song, or are you just fuckin’ around?”

Looking up, the spiky headed blonde smirks, before shrugging. “Fuck if I know.”

If not, we could use it," another voice suggests from near a drumset that is in the process of being put together, "Sounded good didn' it?"

The girl who prefers to be called Diego barges into the shop, her everpresent backpack and guitar-case ensemble present, as ever. She looks clean, though, her hair sleeker, her skin's tone coming from the sun not from grime. She looks around, clearly uncertain if this is the right place, but upon spotting the familiar figure of Oz she smirks and shoves her way through the ne'erdowells. "Hey," she glances at Rich's construction project, "Tell me he's setting that up. I'm not /that/ late, right?"

Giving a small grin, Oz shakes his head. "Nah. You ain't that late." He replies, holding the guitar out Diego's way. "Just on time, as it were." Yes, that is meant for her. "You listen to the songs I gave you last night?"

Of course, any type of response is cut off by Calie speaking up, sounding close to estatic. "Holy shit. Some God finally answered my prayers about rescuing me from all the testosterone."

Shooting the bassist a more amused than annoyed look, Oz scoffs, before replying in a teasing tone. "Yeah. Cause you were so in danger of drownin', ya dyke."

"You're just pissy 'cause your sister likes me more than you."

"Yeah, jus' settin' up," Rich murmurs, "Had ta bring tha' set from tha' dorm an' that ain'-" He pauses as he peers over the set to the newcomer, "... Hi." He grins, waving a stick in greeting, "Names Rich, nice ta meetcha."

The new girl takes the lovely red guitar, actually looking sort of stunned as she feels its weight in her hands. She gentle slips the strap over her, lets the instrument hang before her, fingers brushing the strings, very gently pressing, then tugging. She gives the lowest string a single small twang, head tilting. At once her hand moves up to touch the tuning knob... then it falls away. She grins at Oz, "You don't tune half bad," she says. She thumbs at herself and performs an introduction, "Me Diego. Me guitarist. Me want heap big solo," she examines the blonde bassist and grins, "Shit. Two girls? Yeah, now no one is gonna take us seriously. At least we'll get fanboys. All in favor of playing indie rock?" She doesn't wait for the rejection vote. She nods to Rich, "Hey. Drummer. Cool."

Pointing at herself, Calie finishes the introductions. “Calie. Bassist.” Pointing to Oz she continues. “Oz. Lead singer slash jackass.”

“Oi!” Looking up, Oz looks thoroughly offended. “If anyone is the jackass, it’s him.” He defends, pointing to Rich. “And if I gotta be anything offensive, I’m the damn womanizer.”

"Yes. Drummer. Cool." Rich replies before glancing over to Oz, "Nah, we're both assholes an' womanizers. Can't take all o' tha credit, Oz. You're tha one with tha' girlfriend."

"So that's two women, two womanizers. The tour bus is gonna be fun, huh?" Diego says, tossing her head slightly, "'course we have to get that far, huh?" her grin is wolfish, "Aim for the stars, the worst that can happen is that you miss and die in the cold inky black of outer space. Which is better than a cubicle job, at least," she looks around, "There an am... Oh, goody," she snags a cable and follows it to an amp, plugging herself in. The speaker gives a small stutter.

“Correction. One of the women is gay, and one of the womanizers would be castrated before he could do anything to the woman left over. Whether by his older sister or girlfriend, or both, it’s hard say, but it would happen.” Oz states. “Feel free to have fun with the Little Drummer Boy all ya want though.”

"Congrats Diego, ya still get ta be the only girl, girl in tha band. Well, that'd still be interestin', just diff'rent..." Rich's eyes rest back on Diego as he sits down behind the set, "Oh before we go on, how d'ya feel 'bout doin' tha dew?”

"Hey, hey, who's to say I'm not an aspiring member of Lez Zeppelin myself?" Diego says, glowering at Oz. Her brow arches at the nickname 'little drummer boy' but she doesn't comment... yet. Her eyes turn to Rich, "Do the what in the whonow?"

"Ignore him." Oz sighs. "He's been askin' 'bout everyone that. Remember how I told you how our old guitarist left for some MTV Battle of the Bands thing?"

Calie takes over at this. "It was called Dew Circuit Breakout, or something like that. Rich thinks he's being funny asking it like that. I think."

"Had ta play a fuckin' tribute band fer weeks just ta recruit that fuckin' jerkoff an' he left for that," Rich mutters, glancing over to Oz, "I tell you what that jerkoff told me?"

Raven makes a face, though what about, the joke, the sellout, the very idea of Mountain Dew, is uncertain. She turns the volume on her amp down low and starts plucking at the strings of her guitar, listening to the sounds she produces and smiling with satisfaction, one ear still reserved to listen to the conversation.

"No. But do I even /want/ to know?"

"Lets jus' say he ain' happy with me gettin' 'sick'." Rich mutters, frowning. He sighs shaking his head, "Whatever. Let's play. I am in tha mood ta beat somethin' with these sticks. 'How long' sound good?"

Diego's face brightens at the mention of playing, and she stretches her fingers, setting hands upon frets and strings in anticipation, "On your mark, Rich," she says, whole frame poised and still, ready to adopt the beat he sets.

Smirking, Oz hops up from the speakerbox he’s resting on, offering a hand to help Calie up. Moving to grab a nearby mic stand, setting it up, Calie setting up her own guitar, both also wait for Rich’s countdown.

Rich nods, cracking a grin, "Right." The sticks lift up, one flipping in the air before being caught, "On three." Two cymbal taps are given and that is all that is needed before the group sets off into practice mode at an energetic pace.