Petya stared at the two of them with a blank, almost indifferent expression as they bristled at and then backed off of each other, his head between his hands. Finally, as the confrontation seemed to trail off and end, he stood with an exasperated sigh. As Onyx turned to offer him a cigarette, he held up one hand as if to stop her before she bothered.<br /> <br /> "N-no. I don't smoke." He paused, glancing from her to this new fellow and back. "Look, I don't know who either of you are or how I managed to be unlucky enough to find you both...but you are reckless."<br /> He reached up to rub at his temples again, taking a deep breath before continuing in a low voice.<br /> "You," he said, pointing at Onyx. "Screaming about how you're going to shoot him. He could hear us outside that door, and this is a fairly well-trafficked industrial area. That will get the cops called and all of us in a hell of a lot of trouble."<br /> He rounded, then, on the newcomer.<br /> "And you. That snide remark about your 'style?' It's not cute, and it'll get you shot." He sniffed, straightened, and shook his head roughly before side stepping the two and meandering a bit shakily for the door.<br /> <br /> "You're both sloppy and careless, and you won't last long here if you don't cut that poop out," he called back over his shoulder...and somehow, even now, it didn't sound like an insult. More like fatherly advice. "Yell and scream all you want, but when you get caught, I don't want to be here."<br><br>(OoC: Ahaha, poop is the censor. Way to ruin my tense mood!)

---

Onyx let out a huge sigh, both in relief and exhaustion. "Two strange men in my warehouse tonight? What next?" She lowered the crossbow and decided that this man really wasn't much of a threat.<br /> <br /> "Sorry for my quick reaction... Women in my situation have learned that men can be horrid creatures." She glanced at the floor for a moment, contemplating her past. "ANYWAY, why don't you come in? The weather is definitely not going to get better anytime soon and I've got all the time in the world."<br /> <br /> She picked her jacket up off the floor and wrapped it around her shoulders. <i>Just my luck, two seemingly nice men magically appear before me in one night...</i> This thought amused her. <i>One of them seems like a complete work addict, the other is gay. Hmm.</i> She grinned to herself a little and lit a cigarette. <br /> <br /> "Do you smoke?" She offered both the men a cigarette.<br /> <br />

Roscoe slowly lowered his blade when Petya approached him, talking like an idiot. <i>Well, he's definitely not a threat,</i> he thought, rolling his eyes as Petya rambled on. Roscoe raised his blade again when he realized that the other figure had seemed to disappear. He quickly got to his feet, the blade held out in front of him again.<br /> <br /> He glanced between the boxes cautiously, waiting for her to pop out from behind one of them. He was still caught by surprise when she walked right up to him fearlessly, holding a crossbow and threatening him. Roscoe jumped slightly, turning to face her. "Okay, I think this has all been a big misunderstanding," he said nervously, his eyes staying focused on the crossbow. "I'm only here because I was kicked out of my boyfriend's house," he started simply, trying to keep himself calm. "I was wandering around and came across this warehouse. I'll admit, I was eavesdropping on you two," he muttered. "I was about to leave and I tripped on something and came tumbling in here," Roscoe finished.<br /> <br /> He stood awkwardly for a moment, before deciding it would be in his best interest to put the dagger away again. "I swear to you, I was not sent to kill either of you," he said as he straightened his hat on his head. "That's not really my style anyways. I mean, why would I go out and kill someone in this outfit?" he asked, grinning slightly.

Onyx was quickly shaken from her moment of emotional distress by a figure outside the warehouse. She watched as the shadow of the man fell over and drew a blade. She looked up at Peyta, who was clearly startled and decided that he wasn't going to be of much use in this situation.<br /> <br /> Onyx regained her sense of self, snapping back into her old ways, and her old self. She slunk back quietly to her pile of boxes while Peyta weakly attempted to defend himself with his words.<br /> <br /> <i>Sweet talking doesn't get you very far when you're being confronted with a knife, moron.</i> She thought to herself as her hands grazed the concrete. Her eyes never left the figure; she had learned that one second of carelessness could mean death - she'd seen it all before.<br /> <br /> Her hands finally met the cold steel of her crossbow, and she lifted it up and loaded it in the blink of an eye. She was good with this weapon, and it showed.<br /> <br /> She tore off her jacket and marched up to the trespasser fearlessly. Her arms were definitely feminine, but they were toned. The lacy gray tank top she wore fluttered in the breeze, but her facial expression was set like concrete - a strong furious scowl that looked as though it could move mountains.<br /> <br /> "YOU THERE!" She yelled at the armed figure. Her crossbow was raised, loaded, and ready.<br /> <br /> She caught a glimpse of Peyta sitting himself down into the chair she had provided out of the corner of her eye. She grunted in frustration. <i>Great.</i><br /> <br /> Her attention now turned to the intruder. "If you don't explain to me what you are doing here THIS INSTANT, I will shoot you. Don't think that because you come here with a knife that it means you are brave." The anger in her voice was evident. <i>I don't take this from anyone.</i> Her mind was intent on reminding her that she was Onyx Zelena, and she never lost a fight.

---

"Russian," he replied with a nod, leaning on the chair she offered but not actually sitting. He noticed she seemed immediately uncomfortable with his question and stuffed his hands into his pockets to keep from nervous fidgeting on his own part. His expression was sympathetic and attentive, with a calm that belied the nervous energy and confusion still stumbling around underneath...no one beat a mafia lawyer's poker face.<br /> He listened as she continued, nodding and averting his eyes after a bit to stare at some far away space beyond the floor. It was clear he was still paying attention, but he seemed to be off in his own thoughts at the same time.<br /> <br /> Glancing up as she concluded her story, he was likely as horrified by the tear as she was. It wasn't as if he didn't feel for her, but he was a natural people pleaser...being a people pleaser had its pros and cons, but the thing you never needed was someone who needed <i>you</i>. Even if you didn't know them. Petya winced inwardly, his sopping wet tail swaying in clear discomfort behind him as he tried desperately to work out the appropriate way to respond.<br /> In all the confusion, a headache had slowly crept into the background of his thoughts, distracting him just that much more. So it probably didn't help him react particularly well to the sudden din of yet another clumsy passerby tumbling into the warehouse.<br /> <br /> Yelping out a quick stream of curses, he turned quickly to face...whatever new enemy had decided to come stress the overworked alcoholic into a stroke. Studying the figure in the mud, Petya rubbed his temples, trying desperately to ease the dull throbbing behind his bloodshot eyes. When this new fellow's hand began to dip for what Petya assumed would be some sort of weapon, he reacted in the only way he knew...he began talking. A lot.<br /> "Whoa-whoa, there, buddy!" he exclaimed, jumping at the sound of his own voice echoing off the cement and metal building. Holding up his hands with the palms out shakily, he cleared his throat before continuing. "If-if you're going for a gun or something, you might want to hesitate just a second. I'm not exactly important, but I sure as hell can have you in lock-up in two shakes of a lamb's tail. I don't want that, you don't want that, no one wants that. So just. Hold up, yeah? No need for any of that."<br /> With that, he sat down heavily in one of the available rusty chairs, groaning. He seemed almost oblivious to the danger in front of him, now...despite the inner alarm bells of panic only increasing his impending train wreck of a migraine.

Roscoe got as close to the warehouse as he dared, peering into it curiously. He watched as the drunk was helped up and over to a pile of boxes. He strained to hear their conversation, grinning as he started to lean in slightly. In the process, he nearly fell over and had to quickly grab something to keep himself standing. Luckily, he managed to steady himself and let out a slight sigh of relief. <i>Maybe I should just get out of here before I get myself hurt,</i> he though bitterly, brushing his hat off and placing it on his head again.<br /> <br /> When the two stopped talking, Roscoe turned to start walking away, but he perked up again when he heard the woman's thick accent again. Curiosity got the better of him and he peered around the corner of the warehouse again. As he listened, he leaned in further in an attempt to hear them better.<br /> <br /> After a few moments of this, while he continued to eagerly listen, Roscoe didn't realize just how far forward he was leaning and he tripped over a scrap of wood on the ground. He tumbled forward into plain sight, finally landing flat on the ground with his face in a puddle. He winced slightly as he sat up, then let out a small sound of disgust as he wiped some mud off his cheek. Shortly after he remembered exactly where he was and looked up at the two people standing in front of him, his hand already reaching for his dagger.

"Peyta, hmm? Sounds European! I like it!" She smiled warmly at him and noticed there were two rusted chairs beside them. She pulled them into place and motioned for him to sit down.<br /> <br /> He caught her a little off guard with the obvious question: What WAS she doing here at this hour by herself?<br /> <br /> Onyx laughed nervously at his question. "Well... How do I say this..." She looked him in the eyes and her face grew serious. <br /> <br /> "I... Well... I'm homeless." She looked at her feet and suddenly felt very foolish. She managed to find the courage to continue with her story, despite feeling embarrassed. "I have been for quite a long time - since I was ten. I tried to function in society but I could never get anywhere... I did school for a while but had to drop out because I couldn't afford it... I had work but it was degrading and awful. I knew I couldn't carry on like that..."<br /> <br /> She didn't want to remember those times, but something about this man made her comfortable... She knew it was foolish. He was drunk, looked rich, and seemed very caught up in his own world.<br /> <br /> She sighed heavily and motioned around. "So, this is where I've been living on and off for the last few months. It's not the best, but it's a roof over my head. Sort of." She glanced up at the hole in the roof and shook her head.<br /> <br /> "Seems I'll have to find someplace else soon, because a couple more weeks and this roof will be totally gone. It's just scary because I really have nowhere else to go." Much to her horror, a tear slid down her cheek and though she did her best to hide it, she had a feeling Peyta had seen it. <i>I'm such an IDIOT!</i> Her thoughts screamed at her as she tried to regain her composure.

As he took the glasses - bent and scratched to hell, even if they didn't actually break - he made a small, sad sound under his breath. Poor Petya was blind without those spectacles. Luckily, he had a spare pair at home, but that would mean a long trip, squinting through the rain...<br /> Pocketing the useless lenses, he managed to huff out a little laugh. It sounded slightly cynical in nature - and mostly self-directed - but he shrugged it off quickly enough.<br /> <br /> "Poland? That...yes, that sounds about right," he mumbled the last part, more to himself than anything. An ear for accents was part of "the job;" it never hurt to test your abilities. As she stuck her hand out, he instinctively returned the gesture with a friendly grip and nod...completely oblivious to her scrutiny, but still managing to polish off the social norms easily. Mingling was second nature, although this was a very odd situation for it...<br /> <br /> "Peter," left his mouth before he had a chance to think. The Anglicized version of his name had also become something to which he had become acclimated...much to his own discomfort. Stammering quickly, he corrected his slip. "Er, or Petya, rather. Either one works, really."<br /> <br /> After a momentary pause, he glances again at the pile of cardboard.<br /> "Why are you out in the rain in this warehouse, Onyx?"<br /> Why mince words? He was...well, he was still buzzed and cold and wet. And it seemed an obvious question, at least to him. If it was rude, he had no idea. He didn't mean in in any derogatory way - if anything, he spoke with concern underlying his blatant curiosity - but whether or not that was obvious is hard to say.

Onyx smiled slyly at the man whom she had just helped. "It's no problem, really... I was here, you fell, and that's all there is to it..." She trailed off with a flirtatious wink.<br /> <br /> She studied him. He was handsome, and well dressed. His clothes were a little damp and somewhat wilted looking due to the weather, but other than that he looked quite presentable. She caught herself staring, and quickly looked away... He looked like a busy man. Surely he would want nothing to do with someone like her.<br /> <br /> She noticed he was having a hard time seeing, and she soon realized why - she shifted her foot and heard a strange sound. She was standing on his glasses! She bent down to pick them up and handed them to him, trying not to stare again.<br /> <br /> He asked her a question... About her accent, of course. She'd heard it hundreds of times, but somehow the way he said it was... Different.<br /> <br /> "P...Poland, sir. I am from Poland. I was born in Krakow and raised by my... Father." She grimaced a little at the word. That scumbag could hardly be considered a father to her, but she smiled through clenched teeth and tried to forget about him.<br /> <br /> "I... I'm Onyx, by the way." Her usual smile returned, and she quickly wiped a paw on her jeans and outstretched it for a handshake.

Petya's eyes blinked open bemusedly as he was not seized upon and bludgeoned by some unknown assailant, but helped to his feet. The inebriated lawyer stood easily enough once free of the debris he'd managed to land under. Squinting through the darkness in the warehouse, he studied her face in quiet surprise before clearing his throat.<br /> <br /> "I'm, um, I'm all right. Thank you," he managed to stammer out quickly and quietly, seeming rather confused and quite embarrassed by the whole encounter. He rubbed at the quickly-forming bruise on the back of his head with a small hiss of pain before checking his fingers for blood. After finding none, he nodded, seeming to be thankful for that small good fortune. <br /> <br /> Stopping just short of the assortment of boxes in the corner, he used a patch of light to study his clothes. <br /> <i>Dress slacks? Covered in mud and...and god-knows-what. 40-dollar shirt? Ripped and a little bloody, oh lovely...</i> He sighed as he let his arms drop to his sides again in resignation that he was just going to be dirty and wet and bruised for now. The adrenaline rush of being "attacked" had shocked some of the edge off of his drunkenness, and now he seemed more tired than anything.<br /> <br /> "Er, thank you for..." he trailed off, gesturing vaguely toward the area where he'd fallen. Glancing back up at the young woman - whom he could barely even see in the dark warehouse - he seemed to register her accent for the first time and roostered his head to the side almost comically.<br /> "Where are you from? If, uh, if you don't mind me asking, of course," he quickly corrected...never one to step on toes.