Night's Omen

Cynthia had quite taken a fancy to the crying girl routine. Year after year, lover after lover, she had used that one trick more than any other to draw them in and trap them - like a venus flytrap, if you will. She stayed just out of sight so that they'd have to hear the sound of her sweet sobs, though she did use some of her power to make her cries mostly unheard by women. Cynthia had no use for them - they would have no conception of how to treat her, fawn on her, adore her... not like a man could.

She used this trick now, pallid fingers pressed over full lips as she made herself cry. Tears rolled down her fine cheeks, some of them dropping to the ground, while others splashed on her black cover-up. Her hair was allowed to hang straight, a fine honeyed hue, and it covered just enough of her face so that you'd have to actually approach her to see her well.

Which, of course, was the idea of this game.

Her eyes in this light appeared large and brown, Bambi eyes, as her former boyfriend had called them. They were red from the false tears, of course, but even that illusion could be changed with the batting of her long, dark lashes, which she did quite well, I might add. But at the moment, she was content to choke out little sobs, sobs that said, "Oh, won't you find me? Won't you rescue me? Won't you take me home with you?"

And so, the blonde vampire, who men would say was 18 only because they knew it was wrong, absolutely wrong, to state or even think otherwise, stood, just in the shadow of the alley, covering her face as her shoulders shook lightly.

Bad Cynthia. Bad, bad, Cynthia.

Little did she know, but she was wasting her energies in making herself look absolutely and irresistibly helpless.  Connor couldn't see a damn thing, so she could have been making faces at him the entire time she whined and sobbed, and he wouldn't know the difference so long as he didn't hear a change in her sobs due to it.  His ears had gotten sharper and better at distinquishing other sounds rather quickly, and that was probably the only reason he even knew she was there.

He had a cane that he unfortunately needed if he wanted to go anywhere alone, and he had to use it to ensure that he didn't walk into a wall or anything.  It's other, unintentional, purpose ended up being that it let Cynthia know he was there before he had the chance to say anything, since he ended up bumping her foot with it.  Not that she didn't already know he was there, being a vampire, but he didn't know that.

"Sorry about that," he apologized, feeling a bit stupid for having bumped her with it.  "Are you alright?  Why are you crying?"

Cynthia quickly rubbed her eyes. Blind or not, this was a role the girl was absolutely born to play. She inhaled sharply as he spoke to her, trying to gather herself up and "pull it together", as any normal girl would do when someone happened upon them crying in secret.

"I'm sorry, I just... My dad died a few days ago, and things are kind of hard right now. Oh, you don't need to know all this," she said, trying to laugh it off. Her voice was so hurt, so alone.

She sniffled a few more times and then took a deep breath. "I thought I was doing okay, and I guess it sort of caught up with me. There's so much to do now.." she trailed off. Now that he was gone, of course.

Cynthia's father had been gone for 300 plus years, but this was one story she didn't ever get tired of telling - her daddy dying was the most convincing thing she'd ever tell you. It was also the only true thing.

"Oh, damn," he murmured when she spoke, completely unaware that this was his second encounter with a vampire since he'd been blinded.  Damn him and his 'White Knight' complex.  It was seriously going to get him killed.

He sighed and leaned against the wall, having used his hand to actually find it, and he was caught.  He couldn't just walk away and leave this girl here crying.  "I'm sorry, that really sucks.  I wish I could say that I know what you're going through, but my dad died when I was much younger, so I don't really remember him.  You must really miss him."

Yeah, he wasn't the best at this, but he was trying.  He was better at killing things than talking to young girls when they were crying.  "Could I...ask what happened?  You don't have to tell me, but if you don't mind?"

She nodded, and then slapped herself mentally and spoke. "Ye-yes, I do miss him. It's just really hard, is all," she said, trailing off into silence about this. She let it sit in for a moment, and then began her little schpiel:

"He was driving home with my mom and they got hit by a drunk driver. Mom is still in the hospital, but the doctors say it doesn't look to good - and dad, well, they said he died on impact." She took a shaky breath again.

"I do-don't have anyone, really. Our family is all so spread apart that we didn't even have a funeral for him - I just had his body creamated and sent back to his home town. Mom.. she's next."

She sobbed again, and put her hand over her mouth to steady her tears. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let's get to the part where you take me home!

He sighed in sympathy for her, only able to think about just how badly that sucked.  And here, he'd been feeling bad for himself because he couldn't see, and all the troubles that came with it.  He felt like he had little room to complain after listening to that.  And what was worse was that he really didn't know how to comfort her.

He reached out slowly, seeking her shoulder in the darkness that was his world anymore, and when he finally touched it, he gently rubbed at it.  He hoped the contact would help comfort her, at least while he tried to figure out what to say.  "Damn.  What happened to the other driver?"  He was betting the guy survived.  That was how it usually happened, the idiots getting away without a problem while the good people suffered.

"Do you have any relatives in town?  Staying with you or there to see your mom, or anything?"

The other driver? Ah, Cynthia hadn't thought that far. She leaned into his touch, shoulders shrugging as she silently shook off the last of her sobs for the moment. She placed a hand on his - so frail and cold.

"He lived. He was fine. Not a scratch on him," she said, a shaky breath. "The police are having trouble charging him because they said the reports were messed up... so he might just get away," she trailed off. "He killed my daddy and he might just get away..."

She started crying again. Really - how could you not love this girl? She turned to Connor, unexpectedly wrapping her arms around him and burying her face into his chest.

"I'm so sorry, I just need this right now, please don't think I'm crazy," she said, voice muffled into his shirt.

Oh man. Poor Connor. Cynthia was the real thing, right there - she'd done this so many times it was like brushing her hair in the mornings.

"I don't have anyone - nobody is close. My family is all in Italy - My dad, you see, was in the airforce, and his family is all dead, so it's just my mom..." she trailed off. She was alone. Totally alone.

Oh, won't you help me, mister?

This would have normally been the point where he blinked and tried to figure out what the hell to do, but blinking was out of the question, and he really didn't have much in the way of choices as to what to do.  She was clinging to him, crying these great big tears all over him, and he wasn't going to be getting her off unless he actually pried her away from him.  He wasn't that mean.

"Shh, it'll be okay," he told her, though how he knew it was going to be okay was uncertain.  It just seemed that, no matter what, things always worked themselves out.  At least, for normal people.  It didn't always work out for hunters.  That wasn't relevant to this situation, though.

Or so he thought.

"Where are you staying?  I'll walk you home," he told her, rubbing her back as soothingly as he knew how with his free hand as he felt her tears soaking into his shirt.  Poor guy, she was just way too good at this.

Ah, there it is, she thought to herself with a smile. She was careful not to break her wounded bird dance, though, and stood back a little bit, shrugging her shoulders.

"I'm staying in a hotel right now so I can be closer to the hospital. I try to visit my mom as often as I can, but all these people keep calling me, asking about the house, legal documents.. it makes my head want to just explode!"

She took a deep breath, making it obvious she was trying not to cry again. "I would really appreciate you walking me to the hotel, though. Is there any way I can repay you for your kindness?"

It was soooo cliche, but it always worked.

"Where are you staying? I'll walk you home"

Ah, there it is, she thought to herself with a smile. She was careful not to break her wounded bird dance, though, and stood back a little bit, shrugging her shoulders.

"I'm staying in a hotel right now so I can be closer to the hospital. I try to visit my mom as often as I can, but all these people keep calling me, asking about the house, legal documents.. it makes my head want to just explode!"

She took a deep breath, making it obvious she was trying not to cry again. "I would really appreciate you walking me to the hotel, though. Is there any way I can repay you for your kindness?"

It was soooo cliche, but it always worked.

He smiled reassuringly at her, shaking his head at her question.  "Nah, you don't owe me anything.  Promise.  So long as you don't mind walking a little slower."  Unfortunately, he didn't have the full knack of walking around without being able to see.  He was a hell of a lot better than he'd been at first, but still not perfect.  Right then, he was pretty good at not running into things and people, and he could move at a pretty decent pace, but he also wanted to remember exactly where they were going so that he could make his way back.

Getting lost would be a really huge blow to his pride.

"Do you need a minute to straighten up?" he asked, unable to see, but aware that teenaged girls didn't tend to be fond of walking around looking a mess.  She'd been crying pretty hard, so she probably wanted to recompose herself.

She brushed her hair back from her face and wiped at her eyes, allowing the illusion to clear itself away fully. Ah, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, that sure was the cheeky little blonde now! She reached out and gently took Connor's hand.

"No, I can go slow. Thank you so much," she said, voice all sugar and honey. She batted long lashes at the blind man, just because, and stepped closer to him to shield herself from the cool of the evening.

"I'm really glad you stopped. I just couldn't contain any of this anymore.. I mean, gosh, there are a lot of psychos wandering around this city." She spoke so innocently and whatnot that it would just break your heart.

Psychos. Like her.

"Believe me, I know," he muttered in a low tone, thinking of Tabby, of course.  Lots of psychos.  He just didn't know he was walking one home right then.  

"It isn't a problem, I don't blame you at all," he assured her, smiling as she took his free hand, and following her lead.  He was mentally trying to make a map of the city, so he had to pay attention.

Cynthia didn't know how she felt about the blind man just yet - he was kind and strong, she could tell, but could he take care of her like she needed? She walked in silence for a few moments, fingers tapping at his hand to an unheard beat in her mind, before finally, she tried to engage in some normal conversation.

"So, what do you do?" she asked casually, trying to gauge how and what she was going to do with him.

As they passed people on the street, it tickled her to know that they would occasionally get a second glance from people. Cynthia was doing her best to appear at least eighteen at the moment, but still, some were able to see through the makeup and innocent smile, and make their own opinions.

Whatever. She was three hundred damned years old. She could do what the hell she wanted.

He was, of course, completely oblivious of the looks they were getting as they walked down the street.  Really, it shouldn't have looked that awkward, since for all they knew, she could have been a young girl leading along her blind brother.  People were so odd.

He didn't hesitate at her question, aware that hesitation only looked suspicious and he'd gotten this question often enough in the past.  "I'm into security," he said simply.  It was close enough to the truth that it didn't sound like a lie, and it didn't explain what he really did.  

"So, you're in high school, I guess?  What grade?"