Another bright day, and Ty again found himself roaming the streets of New York, up to no good. Sure, his life was pretty well in order now, but something was still missing. He needed the rush, the thrill of doing something stupid for no other reason than just because he could. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket, hood pulled over his head to keep warm.

Icy blue eyes scanned the streets as he was looking for something, anything--"Holy..." His eyes got big as a jet black corvette parked next to a nearby curb, and the guy got out. He bit his lip, watching the guy as he put his keys in his back pocket.

Nimbly, Ty turned and followed the guy, brushing past him with his shoulder.

"Hey! Watch where you're going!"
"Oh, sorry sir. I wasn't paying attention," he said politely, then turned back around.

Taking the newly stolen keys, he unlocked the magnificent car and got behind the wheel, putting the key in the ignition and firing it up.

"Ohhh yeah...you and I are going to have quite the time..."

How interesting, she thought, watching as the ginger-haired male approached the car. She really did not usually stare at people, and the brush between the two men seemed innocent enough, but there was not much else to look at. Lately, she was taking more to walking during daylight, despite how much most people irritated her. As long as they did not touch her, though, or barely spoke to her, she could tolerate it. Back home -That place is not your home- in Georgia, the worst that could happen when you walked alone was a cat call or a police officer driving up telling you that you needed to get back inside. Wasn't that sweet? He thought you were underage. Or a hooker. Ew, backwoods hookers. We've seen enough of those, haven't we? They don't even dress like prostitutes. They're the little girls that lived next door, sixteen-years-old, at that apartment complex. They acted like your friends. What did they do again? Went door to door while the one's nineteen-year-old boyfriend was locked up, telling the old men they'd do anything for a little money? 

Memories of the place she grew up caused her to argue with herself sometimes. The part of her she named Malice, the identity she hid behind, the part of her that was more fierce than the Danielle she had been, was feeling a lot more dominant today. She still was not sure if she was schizophrenic, it did not feel like it. Malice had been a choice, someone she created so she could escape everything she hated. The mental arguments annoyed her a little, but that fiercer side was always making good points and she always gave in, never regretting any choices she made based on those decisions.

Malice moved swiftly, once she was sure that the man who owned the vehicle was out of sight, doing her best to catch up to the red-headed guy before he could slip away, but trying not to look like she was actually in a hurry. Her own paranoia made her believe people were always watching, judging. She at least wanted to look normal if her suspicions were ever true. In one hand, her pocket-sized pad of paper rested, in the other she was working a pen to scrawl out a message while keeping her eyes ahead of her. The handwriting was a little sloppy, she did not normally write without looking. Some of the letters came out larger than others, the words unevenly spaced and definitely not between the fine blue lines. But as she opened the passenger door and slipped half-way into the vehicle, she handed the pad to the man, none-the-less.

"What's up? Do you know that man?"

It was all Malice could think to write in that short amount of time between seeing him open the door and put the keys in the ignition. Her main thought process was which door to approach. There were enough police shows on TV where people just took off while the officer was talking at the driver door. She was grateful she did not have heels on, or her purse with her. Her ID -Danielle's ID, not mine.- and her coin purse she kept everything except change in were safe in one of the pockets of her jacket. The back had a large hole cut and stitched from the middle to upper half of her back, where underneath it her tendrils could barely be seen wrapping forward around her torso and back, if she leaned forward enough and if anyone bothered to stare hard enough to figure out what the charcoal-colored things were that were attached to her body.

Malice's heart was racing a little, but she hoped her face hid it well enough, a smirk on her lips and a semi-knowing look in those grey-ish eyes.

Ty was enjoying the roar of the 'Vette's engine way too much. Then, he got an idea. Let's see what kind of person owned this bad boy, hm? Removing his black, studded fingerless glove from his left hand, he put it on the wheel, focusing.

"Oh you dog..." Ty replied with a chuckle. "You know how to live the life, don't you? Speeding...women...money. Some people have all the luck. Then there's you...you speed, taunt cops, and you baby this car more than you do your wife. You don't deserve it," Ty said, lecturing the man even though no one was in sight.

"****!" That is, until he saw the notepad and the girl half-way in the car by now. Such was the downside of his mutation. He read the paper, then blinked, looking at the girl.

"Where the hell did you come from? Don't answer that. I know a bit about the kind of person he is, where his priority is, that he's a very materialistic man, but know him? Not exactly." He looked over her shoulder, hoping the guy wouldn't come back any time soon, hoping this girl hadn't seen the switch. Or if she did, he hoped she was the type of girl who was quicker to hop in for a joyride than to turn him in or try to play hero.

When he seemed surprised, it caused her to jump a little, freezing in place as he said what he had to say. The hand with the pad of paper went to her lap as she sat the rest of the way into the passenger seat. She was not entirely sure what she should do, just let him go or ride with him. It would have been pointless if she jumped in just to jump back out and look stupid. So, she pulled the seat belt over shoulder and chest, clipping the buckle into place. At least she could try to keep him from getting into more trouble than he might have already gotten in by taking the keys and car in the first place.

"Well, go for it."

Malice kept the pad between thumb and forefinger, once she was sure he had read what she wrote, but she could not think of any safe way to communicate with him while he drove, when or if he finally actually took off. So, she just sat quietly and looked him over a couple more times, taking in the person that was currently in control. Red hair, boyish face, the look of someone who could be a smartypants if he wanted to. Well, this could be fun, right? Learn to enjoy something every once in a while. You don't always have to be so cautious. Yet, even as she told herself this, her right hand tapped the seat belt on her waist, to reassure herself that it was there.

The thing about writing was that one couldn't always accurately read tone, so the redhead couldn't pinpoint whether this was supposed to egg him on or if it was a dare. At least, he wasn't sure until she got in the car and buckled up. Judging from the notepad, he assumed she couldn't speak, which would make conversation while driving somewhat one-sided and bothersome. At the same time, he wondered how he always managed to get himself into these situations where his car theft seemed to get him a passenger--and female at that. Something Tses definitely wouldn't be happy about. She was right, he really did need to find a guy to hang around with; he was faithful, but in her position, he'd be jealous too. But now wasn't the time to think about that. Time was of the essence, after all.

Throwing the car into gear, he stomped the gas and squealed tires leaving the parking spot. Skillfully, he weaved the jet-black Corvette in and out of traffic, navigating to a nearby road he knew was open--his favorite spot to joyride. AND this baby had a full tank of gas. Perfect.

Once the city turned to an open almost country-like road, Ty slowed the car down to a more comfortable--and legal speed before pulling over a ways off the road. "So, tell me," Ty inquired once he was sure it was safe. "Do you always jump into cars or do I just have a knack for making people want to start trying that?" His smile said that he was half-joking, but he did have to wonder why so many women were trying that these days...

Trying to play it cool, as if it did not scare her to be driven at high speeds, her face did its best to pull off a calm look while her right hand hid next to her leg, gripping at whatever fat it could on her outer thigh. At least, this person seemed to know how to control the car. For the most part, she was always afraid of riding in any vehicle that did not have multiple passengers. Like, buses for instance. The drivers of these buses, if reported for doing something wrong, get fired. But when you have a psychotic boyfriend that likes to burn rubber for no reason at all, despite not knowing how to correct the car before it goes half-way into a ditch and busts up the bumper, well, anyone could learn to fear car rides. But, no. This man seemed to be able to control it and the fear was not quite as strong as it was way back when. She almost felt safe.

When he pulled over and asked if she normally hopped into other people's vehicles, her cheeks began turning a little pink. Her right hand found the pen and she looked at the pad, wondering how she should word her answer.

"No. Just wanted to see what happens when someone's car gets hijacked."

Some people liked to take cars and sell their parts. Some liked to drive until they totaled them, or the police caught up. Some were stupid enough to park them in their own drive-ways. Malice did not actually know much about it. She wanted to be honest, but a large part of her was wary of showing any kind of emotion to this new person. He's a man. He's also wild. His eyes look truthful, he even has a friendly boyish face that, if you hadn't caught him doing this, you would have never believed he could do anything wrong. Not on purpose. Don't trust. So, she could not bring herself to let him know that she was worried that he might kill himself. Or break the car. The mean half of her was more worried about the car... For whatever reason. She always disliked people but she did not like to see them get hurt. You're the most indecisive, confused person I've ever met... I didn't meet me, though. Why do I talk to myself like this? Shut up!

"I'm just really curious, I guess. Do you do this often? How many chicks have actually tried this before? Seems a bit dangerous." She squinted her eyes a little bit, trying to think of something better to say. But more questions would just be awkward, she supposed.

Ty chuckled, reading the notepad. "This is something I do to unwind. For fun. I know, it sounds crazy, because it kinda is. I don't know how to build a model boat, or fix a car, or play the bass, so I stick to what I know." He chuckled, not going into details about his past, after all he didn't know this girl, and his life story was not one for just anybody to partake in.

"Yeah, it's dangerous, but that's the rush in it. That pumping of adrenaline, your body breaking out in a cold sweat as your heart races and your brain keeps wondering if this one will be your last ride." Looking at her, he gave another smile. "It's a short list, but you're not the only one on it. I say I've had a total of five different women ride with me when I do this, but you're only the second one I don't know to jump in on a whim. That, I'd guess is more dangerous than what I do. Not that you have anything to worry about. You're in good hands. Ty Fisher."

It took a bit of willpower to keep a straight face and not snort. If she did not think that she could handle herself, she would not have come. Malice did not have a lot of training with her tendrils, but she practiced gripping with them at least two times a day, for about an hour each, just to make sure she had enough control over them to work them in case something bad happened. There was this urge she always suppressed, where she kind of wished she could get the chance to use them more often, but really she never got the chance. You should try working out more. You're so skinny. With more toned muscles you could take care of yourself better. And the stronger your body is, the stronger the tendrils can get without hurting your back. She liked the idea. She owned some hand-weights, but they were only 3 lbs each.

She also did not feel like a car ride would be the end of her. After everything she had put up with in her short lifetime, she could not imagine a vehicle causing her to cease to exist. She always imagined something dramatic happening. But then again, no one ever expects to die in an accident.

Danielle leaned back against the seat and relaxed her shoulders a bit, looking around and taking in the scenery. "Well, what's next?" Pausing a second, her mind wandering, she thought to add, "What year is this thing, anyway?" Maybe he would enjoy showing off his car-smarts.

Ty smiled over at her, reading over the paper. "Usually I just drive it til I figure it's time to bring it back. Sadly it usually runs out of gas on my way to return it, heh. I'd say this baby's a year or two old, tops, making it...'12, '13...honestly I'm no car expert; I just know how to hotwire one and take her for a spin." He gave a shrug, then a mischievous grin crossed his lips, a twinkle in his icy blue-hazel eyes.

"Hang on to something. Time to see what this baby can really do." He threw the car into drive, stomping the gas and taking off down the open road. 50 miles an hour....60....70...80...

As the meter climbed, Ty's grin got bigger. At 120 Ty let out a "YEEEEEEEEAH!" removing all doubt that he was most definitely born and raised in the south.