Roscoe ducked his head, rain dripping off the rim of his hat and onto his nose. He grumbled under his breath as he darted between trees and whatever other protection he could get from the rain. In most cases, Roscoe didn't mind the rain; he found it soothing. But after he'd been kicked out of the home of another boyfriend and it was pouring down rain on top of him, he started to get annoyed. The fact that his jacket had been left behind and he was wearing some of his nicer clothes did not improve the experience for Roscoe.<br /> <br /> After darting past a few destroyed warehouses, Roscoe managed to dart under a small overhanging that was still attached to one of them. Grumbling under his breath, he took his hat off his head and shook it a few times. "And this one was my favorite, to," he muttered.<br /> <br /> Roscoe let out a sigh as he looked out at the rain and up at the sky. When he judged that it wouldn't be slowing down anytime soon, he sighed again, doing his best to stay under the measly shelter he had found.<br /> <br /> After waiting in silence for a few minutes, he saw someone stumbling in the rain with a flash of lightning. Roscoe tilted his head curiously as the man darted towards a broken down warehouse nearby. He contemplated the sight for a moment before deciding it was just some lost drunk and went back to staring at the ground, sitting down against the wall. He closed his eyes for a minute, before jolting upwards again at the sound of things crashing in the warehouse the drunk had stumbled into.<br /> <br /> Roscoe jumped to his feet quickly, his hand instinctively going to the small dagger on his belt. His instincts were telling him that he should run in the other direction and avoid trouble, but his curiosity got the better of him and he approached the warehouse as quietly as he could, peering in to see that the drunk man had fallen over, then seeing another figure come over and help him up.

Onyx instinctively raised her crossbow as she jumped to her feet. There was no doubt that someone was here, but what they were doing here was a completely different story.<br /> <br /> Her eyes darted back and fourth as she scanned the warehouse, looking for signs of what could presumably be an attacker. She hadn't exactly been leading the most legal of lifestyles, and there was usually someone looking for her. The warehouse was low key, but she now she wasn't entirely sure it was low key <i>enough.</i><br /> <br /> As scared as she was, she realized in a very short amount of time that her 'attacker' was no more than a passing drunk trying to escape the stormy weather. As he stumbled and tripped over a pile of junk, she dropped her crossbow onto the pavement, which made an incredible amount of racket.<br /> <br /> She ran over to the man's side - she normally wasn't compassionate, especially not for drunks... But something about him screamed vulnerable, and she knew all too well what that life was like. <br /> <br /> She cleared her throat quietly and asked him "A..Are you alright sir?" Her accent was thick, but her english was decent enough. She helped the man to his feet, and walked him over to the pile of boxes that she had been sleeping on. <br />

Rain. Buckets of it. That's what was coming down on Petya's internal parade...as well as on his head. He was in the midst of a case, of course...a major one. So he was doing tonight what he always did when he felt he was handling his job in a sub-par manner...getting drunk.<br /> Or at least he had been doing that for the past couple of hours. Now, he was walking home a miserable, cold wreck because the bartender had kept his keys.<br /> <br /> <i>Of course it would rain when I had to <b>walk</b> home</i>, he managed to drudge up from his fuzzy thoughts, registering something other than numb hatred for the rain...not that self-pity was much less bleak. Glancing up blearily, the scrawny fellow's amber eyes swept over the exterior of a dilapidated warehouse nearby. In a sober state, he'd never consider approaching the building...then again, in a sober state, he wouldn't have to walk in this torrential downpour at all.<br /> A deafening crash of lightning steeled his resolve - or dissolved it altogether - and he made a dash for the awning of the warehouse, which did little good. Worming his way into a door that had fallen askew from its hinges, he simply stood shivering, cursing in both Russian and English beneath his breath...staring into the dark through rain-fogged glasses.<br /> <br /> After several moments of relative silence (other than his ragged breathing), the bright flash of a lighter being struck caused Petya to jump and stumble backward. He could tell the lighter's holder was startled too...but didn't dare to move. In his inebriated state, his only reaction was to freeze...both physically and mentally.<br /> A few seconds ticked by before he had to release the breath he was holding. Stepping back toward the door carefully, he managed to somehow trip over a few scraps of wood and metal, falling hard to the cement floor and causing an awful ruckus and getting tangled with some sort of equipment in the process.