- "You ever feel so cold.... so broken, beaten and alone?  
   You ever feel the weight shift off your chest... 
   The ground breaks beneath your feet and you fall to the unknown?
  You ever feel so cold? You challenge fate and break a bone?
   You ever feel so disconnected?  Leave a message atthe tone...

  You feel the pressure building
  You feel the world ignite fire
  You feel the my touch it's chilling
  You feel the kiss of my desire 
  You feel the knuckles cracking
  You feel the night implode 
  You feel the pressure stacking
  You feel the overdose....."  

The grungy dude with the long hair settled the microphone back in it's stand.  The silent cacophony of music was deep as the set finished.   Three dozen drunks shouted their approval.  It was Kurt Cobain meets the bravery in a shitty little rock band called Broken Harmonica. They weren't going anywhere.  They were kitchy for the crowd, but it was all white noise static to Cassandra.  She was on the rooftop.  The sunlight lasted late into the day.  It was already 8:27 and it still wasn't fully gone yet.  Rays of light still touched the top of her stone.  She was sitting flat on her ass.  Her legs spread out in front of her in a V shape.  There was a bottle of beer in her hand.  She was half drunk when the change took over.  

She spent the last 12 hours in a drunken stupor.  That was the one thing she hated about this bar.  On Friday nights they hired the local talent.  Bands like this one and they were loud and choppy and they couldn't sing for shit.  It's a hellava thing to be frozen in place while someone tries to make your ears bleed.  As far as crappy bands went this one hadn't been half bad.  Not that she had noticed.  The dust started to shift on her stone prison.  Gradually she was pushing bits of fallen rubble away and climbing up to her feet.  Her back was stiff.  What the hell was she thinking getting trapped sitting straight up against the side of a chimney?  It had been a week since the party, and Cassandra had mostly moved on.  

A ghost of a memory still lingered in her mind, but getting drunk was a one size fits all problem solvered.  Alcohol didn't care what you were upset about.  It was just always eager to help.  Cassandra stood up and tossed the bottle over the roof ledge.  It crashed in the alley sending a cat yowling away and bumping into a trashcan.  Her eyes were hazy and blood shot.  Her yawn and stretch exposed her fangs as she looked around at the dark sky.  There were stars out tonight.  She looked at them thoughtfully, before shrugging it off and jumping off the roof.  She dropped in a hero pose on the trash dumpster beside the building.  Short drop, but she didn't feel the need to stretch her wings.  She didn't want to stretch anything.  Everything hurt.  She hopped off the dumpster and walked inside.  The people here were not kind too her, but at least they accepted her as long as she paid the tab.  

The truth was, she had been bombed almost all week.  She wasn't loaded.  She was a street rat drifter with no real roots anywhere.  She stole sometimes.  Lifted a wallet here, picked a pocket there, pawned things.  She stole cars and sold them to suckers, she had a few bookies.  She pretty much kept her finger in any dirty pie that would offer her quick and easy money.  She was good at it.  She was not a good person.  She had never claimed to be.  She wasn't the type of person who believed they deserved romance, or happiness, or anything like that.  So that's why it hurt to find something that caught her off guard and then just fly away from it. 

Cassandra took her usual spot at the end of the bar.  It was the shadowy part of the bar where the overhead light was burnt out.  It was dark and quiet and usually no one bothered her hear.  Everyone seemed to crowd around the stage at the front of the bar, or around the tvs and the lively conversation.  She wasn't here for lively conversation.  She was here to forget things.  "The hard stuff Lenny."  Cassandra told the bartender.  His name was Leonard.  She knew damn well better to call him Lenny, but she was already in a mood.  She was hungover and chasing the hair of the dog that bit her....  "Hey beautiful.  You into bad boys?"  The bartender put the drink down in front of her and eyed the situation carefully.  "Pass."  She not only didn't bother to answer him in a complete sentence, she didn't even turn to look at him.  "I've been locked up before for breaking hearts.  Im looking to become a repeat offender."   Cassandra turned on her stool to look at him.  She looked him dead in the face and reitterated. "Pass."   "Baby don't be a bitc"  That was as far as he got before his hand twisted to the side.

Cassandra had dug her claws into his wrist and twisted.  She broke his wrist and kicked him in the chest.  He was surprised that he stumbled as he sailed backwards.  He fell into the bathroom door.  He was howling in pain.  Cassandra turned back to her drink as if the matter was finished.  She had her back to the stage, not caring what happened to her, but not putting up with anyone's shit either.  She heard the heavy footsteps coming.  The rest of the band was coming to avenge their lead singer.

The smell of their weed stained breath sent a dull static through the back of Eisen’s neck. He exited out Jeremy’s window, another warm body he tried to woo into giving him life. The feeling of being alive. If only for just a moment. Eisen tightened his zipper, tied the right shoelace of his vans, and clambered down the fire escape of a guy he had fucked, but who ended up being so stoned he fell asleep afterwards. The dude hadn’t lasted long at all. Eisen was still high enough to fall if he didn’t focus, but decided to leave since he overstayed his welcome.

He drifted the streets, disgusted with himself for setting his expectations higher than he needed to. His hair a mess, his body still restless. A woman walking four dogs rushed past him on a sidewalk lining a few open restaurants. If he was being honest, homicide was something he’d be willing to consider right now. A fight even. Or any form of altercation.

He was just so fucking tired. Ever since inviting Demon to the party, he barely squeezed out of a lawsuit. It did cost him his reputation and Maggie spread the word such that aside from a few loyal customers, his shop had been empty the whole week.

His friends left him out to dry as well, busy with travel or work or other relationships, that he resorted to strangers for attention. The one stranger that had been on his mind, however, had remained a stranger. He still had the smell of the dingy bar address she left on the roof in his nostrils.

Subconsciously he made his way there for the fourth time this week, just to see if she’d show up. Eventually, Eisen knew he’d have to move on. But when? He wasn’t sure.

He arrived just in time for a performance to end and made his way to the bar. There, on a barstool, sat a woman with a familiar shade of blue as her hair. And a few irritated men were headed her way.

In Eisen’s slowed vision, he acted on instinct. He sat himself on a barstool and pressing his mutation into the ground, spatially locking all four band member’s outfits in place. They stood in succession, wanting to beat on the girl, but Eisen knew better. It was Cassandra… with the powerful wings and tail. The one who left her mark on his lips.

All they could do now was stand in bewilderment, their clothes forcing them to halt. Cursing up a storm. 

The whole week had been a blur.  She had stopped at many bars, not just this one.  She dusted the bar stools and sat down and it was home for the night.  Whatever she made, she spent on amber colored amnesia.  It wasn't that she wanted to forget him.  She wanted to forget feelings, knowing that they were there was biting at her under her skin.  Making her itch.  It wasn't possible.  Dude was gone, and it was probably for the best.  She had a bad habit of ruining things.  The blackwater bar was her home for the evening.  It seemed everywhere she went someone had a problem with her.  She didn't have a problem with anyone.  She really just wanted to exist and be left alone.  Come two or three o'clock she would stumble out.  Fly haphazardly to the abandoned apartment building and crash on a dusty couch.  Snore until the light crept into the windows and cemented her there until night.  

It had been her ritual.  And the douchey lead singer had only been the second fight she had this week.  Not that it was much of a fight.  Cassandra could handle herself.  It wasn't self defense classes and it wasn't crav magaw.  It was bitchiness and determination.  She was ready for the first blow, a cheap shot from behind when she took a long sip of her drink.  The blow didn't come.  She turned on her stool expecting to get punched in the face.  Maybe the asshole had just wanted to watch her surprise as she fell to the floor.  But what she hadn't expected was Eisenhower.  She froze there.  Her cool, calm collected manner disappearing as if it were never there.  For a moment, and a very brief moment at that; her eyes flashed purely black.  

A blip of rage coursed through her at seeing him.  But that was gone as quickly as it had came.  For a brief second her first thought was; after all this time you find me?!?  Dude just let me kill myself in peace.  But that isn't what she really wanted.  She didn't want to die one shot glass at a time.  She wasn't sure she wanted to feel shit either.  She had spent her entire life denying she had emotions, and then when they decided to force their way to the surface, she spent the last week pretending they didn't exist.  All that came flooding back in a moment.  She felt like she had in fact been punched.  Right in the fucking stomach.  Cassandra stood up from the bar.  

She wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her blue leather jacket, and stood on wobbly legs.  A lot was going on.  Things had to be addressed.  She looked from Eisenhower, to the fuckwads who had came at her.  Cassandra's tail whipped around, almost playfully.  She walked up to the men who were rooted to the floor.  She walked up to them.  It wasn't much of a confrontation.  It was the blink of an eye.  There was a pale skin colored blur of movement.  Flash of vibrant blue. A tail wrapping around someone's neck and slamming their face into a jukebox.  Screams and panic.  And then it was over.  It only took a few seconds.  She moved quickly, decisively, but not with super human; or mutant speed.  It was settled with finality.  Cassandra stepped over the bozos that were writing on the floor.  She walked up Eisenhower.  She smiled at him.  It filled her whole face with soft warmth.  She licked her lips, as her tail swished back and forth happily behind her.  She was a blue devil.  All she was missing was the horns.  The smile quickly disappeared and she threw a balled fist aimed directly at Eisenhower's nose.

Eisen chest burned like a stone cold fire was being stoked; he wasn’t sure whether it was of love or hatred, desire or disgust. At himself or her.

As Demon dispatched the band members one by one, and the grip of his mutation lessened bit by bit, her growing momentum mesmerized Eisen. She was a woman of intention, and though a little crude, this was the same woman who had shown him so much bark before and at the same time, the softest kiss.

He hadn’t seen her in this form before, though by her looks and demeanor, he was in no way surprised. How her tail, her arms, her legs, her form, screamed predator. Hunter. Beast. Mauling the members like a tiger pawing at mice. Taking no time to breathe, even as she turned to him.

His heart pounded in his chest, and if he weren’t so high, he would have lunged at her himself. Wanting her not to hurt the innocent, though he didn’t really care about the members. He cared about her. Not needing to lash out like a tiger with a thorn in its paw.

Then she stopped in front of him, and put on a disarming smile. One he knew not to trust. And as she stepped out with her left and led with her right, he knew the punch was coming.

So he took it. The punch straight to his face, but turned so it wouldn’t connect to his nose, but to his cheek. He wanted it, the fist connecting to his jaw. He stood his ground, however, and felt the pain ring through his face, strain the muscles in his neck. The warmth of Demon’s fist connecting with his cheek.

Then he reached out and placed a palm on her arm, pulsating his mutation through her clothing so she couldn’t move without ripping through her clothes. He took a moment to let the pain register through his face, his vision still blurry.

Then leaned in and pressed his face against hers, busted lip against her snarl-bearing maw. To return the kiss that had been lost in transit.

Then, in Cassandra fashion, he pulled back and turned to face one of the angry fans that leaped in to avenge their new favorite band. Who threw a punch upwards, while Eisen went low and performed a leg sweep. Which he then placed a foot on his chest, pinning him down.

”This place is a shithole.”

Through his slow vision, Eisen could see the bouncer headed their way, probably to escort them kindly out.

The bouncer was a big guy with cornrolls and a sneer that looked like it belonged in the Salty Spatoon.  Cassandra gave him a sneer right back.  He stopped advancing.  She spread her wings.  They ripped through the torn flaps of her jacket and knocked beer bottles off the counter.  Some people gasped.  Most weren't surprised.  They knew she was different.  She didn't flaunt it.  Not here.  Not where the tab was always open and the bartender was generally tolerant of her broody shit-sour face most nights.  Not only was Cassandra a regular but she threw business this way and that.  She heard of odd jobs and heists around the city.  Being a statue around New York had it's perks.  Some folks should be careful where they talk.  And the mobsters of New York, well, they tended to be loose lipped around statues for some reason?  Who the fuck knew.  Maybe what they thought of as carved marble reminded them of Italy.  "Reggie, we're leaving."  Cassandra said.  

She felt the kiss shockwave through her.  Felt it and dismissed it.  It never registered.  She knew there was more trouble and her adrenaline was baselining in her temples so hard she had a migraine.  But when Reggie the bouncer stopped advancing she had a moment to process.  He found me.  She thought.  The thought was so utterly terrifying that she blinked a few times.  Staring down at the floor and seeming to see her hands for the very first time.  Not only did he find me, he fucking looked for me.  Cassandra wanted to be in straight up denial over that fact, but here he was.  Someone had cared enough to find her.  Someone who had seen her beneath the mask she wore for self protection.  Someone who had dipped their finger into the untapped well of her swirling emoitons.  Ugh.  She realized her body was no longer stiff.  Whatever it was that Eisenhower had done, and she still didn't fully understand what it was he did; was gone.  

"You looked for me?"  She wasn't entirely happy with how surprised and touched her voice sounded to her own ears.  She wasn't used to being vulnerable with people.  She wasn't used to feeling happiness, humility, flattery or fear.  They took over.  Marching through her brain like a marching band and confetti streamers all by shot out of her ass.  She was smiling.  Without even being aware that she was doing so she was smiling.  She turned red.  Cheeks blushing.  The moment was somewhat ruined by Bill the man behind the counter.  "Take your Demon shit somewhere else.  This is a respectable joint.  I don't care if you throw the boys some work.  They can find work elsewhere, you aint welcome here no more.  And no more using my rooftop.  If i catch you snoozing up there again baby, i'll push your ass over the edge and watch you break into a million pieces."  Cassandra turned an angry glare at Bill, but she had no leg to stand on.  Her ear to the ground, pulse on the city bullshit was only worth so much.  She was the guy you went too when you needed a big score and you needed to know what kind of criminal shit you could get into around the five burroughs.  She used rooftops and alleyways to eavesdrop and blackmail.  She was a blackmailer, a con artis, a pickpocket and a thief.  She was a good person, a scared person, a desperate person and an ally.  

Her attention turned to Eisenhower at least.  She was finally able to force herself to his gaze.  His cheek looked like that had stung a little.  She brushed her fingers over the mark lightly.  The soft touch and caress you'd expect from a lover.  It was sympathetic and kind.  Unlike the rest of her.  "Come with me.  Let's blow this place and go.  I will tell you everything, and then you can decide if Im worth all this to you."  Cassandra's wings fluttered lightly as if sitting stagnant was uncomfortable for them.  She searched Eisenhower's eyes.  What she was hoping to find was trust.  He had no reason to trust her.  Hell, she had just suckerpunched him in the jaw.  "I like you.  I like you enough not to be pissed you just got me band from the only bar in the five burroughs that will let me run a tab.  Please Pause?  I just need five minutes."  Right then everything seemed to hing on his reply.  Her bleak future, your ability to tolerate New York at all, her fragile ego, and your capcity for violence.  It all teetered on a razor's edge.  She was waiting to breath.  Waiting for him to breathe hope into her surprisingly bleak mentality.