:Open:

The pale glow of moonlight shed its light on Maynard's face as he sat in the comforting silence of his empty penthouse apartment. His mind was trapped on the subject of time, which seemed everlasting for a man with gift of technology flowing through his veins.

Thin lines of smoke drifted off the tip of the cigar hanging between his lips; he savoured the robust flavour. His hollow gaze that viewed the world from a distance had settled on a white mask made from ivory resting on a stand near the window, it had been a token given by his maker.

Maynard flicked his cigar over the ashtray before moving over to the window; the cigar glowed red as he inhaled and his hands traced the edge of the mask that had found its way into his dreams of late, haunting his memories and reminding him of the decisions he had made.

He tore his attention away from the forsaken object; butting out his cigar he threw on his heavy wool overcoat; it was time for air.

The night air was crisp; he could already see his breath forming in the form of vapour. He shook his head in a vain attempt to rid his mind of the images of that horrid mask.

"Could you spare a dollar?" Maynard was caught off guard by the ratty looking homeless man that had wedged himself between Maynard's apartment building and the adjacent complex.

Maynard reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a single dollar bill; he crouched down near the vagabond so that he could see him eye to eye.

"Will this dollar earn you happiness; or will it simply be another cent toward the poison that keeps you ill but alive?" Maynard dropped the money into the man's lap.

"You're an empty soul; drink your sorrow" Maynard didn't bother to use his gift to torment the man; he was already living in the hell that Mr. Ashworth was learning to call home.

It was cold. The kind of cold that made every breath rise up like a spirit no longer fettered in flesh. It was the kind of weather that made Lori's well of electricity itch. It wanted to move while the moving was easy. Lori, on the other hand, bundled into a short trench coat and itchy sweater, did not want to move.

Nestled near the window of a small diner, inside was preferable on all fronts but one. Entertainment around the dive was severely lacking at this time of night and Lori just wasn't ready to head on home to hobo-ville. There could be a big red man still snuggling in her stolen sheets, and she really preferred to rest in peace. Alone. If she let one man cuddle her all night long that severely cut down her options. Lori liked options.

Options meant not hiding in a dingy dive peeling the yellowed linoleum off the table and blatantly ignoring glares from a disgruntled minimum wage waitress. Just hot water for her personal tea bag was apparently the wrong order. Options meant going outside and thereby circumvented her physical inertia. Pale blue eyes trailed along the cold and mostly empty streets. Didn't look too promising out there, but one must never judge a street by it's current content. It was similar to the ugly book saying except more thug life.

She cracked her knuckles and slid out from the pleather booth seat. No tip necessary since 15 percent of zero was still a big fat whopping zero. The doorbell jingled as she exited and Lori graciously ignored the not-so-subtle grumbles from the graveyard shift crew. A little shiver ran from the base of her spine and followed all the way up to her shoulders. Cold. It made her jumpy and quick to zap.

Following her feet, Lori didn't have to go far until she spotted one of New York's finest hobos taking a tip from from a sophisticate. What a prick. He bent down from his high horse to hand out piss money. Lori shoved her hands deep into her pockets before stepping around the steam from a sewer and crossing the street to heckle.

"Well, ain't you a benevolent soul?" As much as she'd rather chew right through this one's self-importance, more flies were caught with honey rather than vitriolic words, subtle sarcasm aside. Lori was all smiles and good will on the outside at least.

Maynard had turned his back on the homeless man; preparing to let the man vanish into the darkness that filled his past, clouding his memories’ and making him forget the insignificant. However he was held in place by the seemingly virtuous looking woman that had approached his pathway.

"You misconstrue my actions; he is but a hollow soul filled with sorrow" Maynard shifted his position to better face the woman. "Barely clinging to life; he's dead; time just hasn't claimed him yet" despite the nature of his statement he conveyed his words with an extremely calm demeanour.

The glint in his blue eyes displayed curiosity; it lasted for a brief moment before disappearing behind the cloudy haze that made him extremely difficult to read. His hands rested in his coat pockets; the left clenched into a fist while the right held the ornate pocket watch he often carried.

"Do you pity this perverse man?" his tone remained casual; "The damned cannot be saved; pity is wasted upon them" a tiny smile crept across his face as he turned away and continued down the street; he hadn't given much thought to the woman once she had left his sight.

A puzzled expression crossed his features as the sound of heavy footsteps resounded at his back; he wondered briefly what sort of footwear made such a noise, turning on his heels he came to face the woman one again.

"Seeing that you're choosing to follow me, I'm Maynard" He rested a hand on his chin, stroking his stubble as he looked the woman over.

"You misconstrue my actions; he is but a hollow soul filled with sorrow" The Brit, or British impersonator-- it was hard to tell at this point, turned to face Lori and for once it was Lori who was surprised. Not only was this stranger a handsome man, but there was something more going on behind those eyes. "Barely clinging to life; he's dead; time just hasn't claimed him yet"

"And a poet as well." Though that utterance seemed more a personal comment than actual conversation. "You misconstrue my words. It's called sarcasm and we it's quite common here in the States. One dollar isn't nearly enough for more poison. Seems there are classier ways to expedite the process." Unless, of course, it was the actual melancholy that the British poet enjoyed. Lori took a step back and assessed the man with a discerning eye. She wouldn't put it past him.

"Do you pity this perverse man? The damned cannot be saved; pity is wasted upon them."

The homeless man just seemed to watch their tennis-like banter with mild interest. He didn't seem insulted in the least that they spoke of him as if he were not only an abstract ideal but also as if weren't even there to witness their conversation.

"Do you think me weak for sympathy?" It was an honest enough question since the very idea was laughable. It was an interesting estimation on this man's part. He was quick to judge that a nubile, young woman alone at this hour of night was so innocent. Perhaps it was the eyes. The eyes were good for lying.

Wait. He was already a few paces down the sidewalk. That dirty hooker! He gave her something to think about and then walked off! Like she was done with him even if he weren't... 'Wait.' Lori increased her pace, her steel-toed boots flapping noisily against the concrete.

The man turned and again Lori was struck by his very presence. But it wasn't beauty or interest or intelligence... it was metal. Not a static plate or pin from surgery... metal that flowed like liquid. No wonder she hadn't recognized it from the beginning. It was subtle. He seemed puzzled, and Lori probably echoed his expression perfectly.

"Seeing that you're choosing to follow me, I'm Maynard"

"Not Edgar Allan Poe?" She raised an eyebrow teasingly at Maynard. "I suppose not. He's no where near as..." She paused mulling over her word choice. "interesting."

"Lainey." She supplied just as plausible a name as Maynard. She'd shake his hand if he'd offer. Maybe the metal in his veins would even pull toward her natural magnetic field...

While the girl lacked a certain finesse that he enjoyed in a woman he did find her banter to be entertaining enough; the tips of his fingers played with his cufflinks while his eyes, shadowed by the street lamp's light, accessed her.

"Forgive me if I assume you're a liar; it seems to be common among the citizens of the country" slow and deliberate steps brought him in a circle around Lainey; his bold eyes took in her form though it was not out of desire.

"Interesting, I must agree" he walked past her again reaching into his coat pocket he removed a cigar. He placed it between his lips and sparked the end with a match from his other pocket.

He inhaled a deep breath, something he had been told to avoid when savouring a fine cigar but the smoke never seemed to bother his lungs. With a sigh of comfort he glanced over his shoulder at the woman.

"You're not here to kill me; if you wanted to do that you'd forgo this conversation I would think" he paused and positioned himself leaning against the building at his back.

"So what is it you want?"

"Forgive me if I assume you're a liar; it seems to be common among the citizens of the country"

She shrugged. It hardly bothered her to be assumed a liar. She was that and worse. "Forgive me if I think you pompous, seems to be a side effect of the accent." He circled like a shark and she did well to stand very still. She watched his eye movements and assessed from there.

"Interesting, I must agree" He pulled out a cigar and the need was naked on her face. Nicotine. She shoved that craving down and away. Cigars were not lady-like, even if it was like smoking five cigarettes at once. She watched the match flare to life, her face back to it's usual shrewd observational state. That was one satisfactory pull. Damn him.

"You're not here to kill me; if you wanted to do that you'd forgo this conversation I would think" He leaned, cool as a strategically retarded cucumber. Obviously Lori wasn't physically threatening, why did she ever expect people to believe it? Even if she hadn't been pulling a sweet Mary Lou-Who, at least Lori knew that everyone was a potential threat. Metal-vein Maynard was no exception. Who was to say that his mutation ended there?

"Efficiency has its place, as does stimulating conversation." Lori appreciated professionalism, but really... there was so much more fun to be had in life.

"So what is it you want?"

Well, he asked. Not kindly, but he did plainly frame the question and that prompted a plainly built response. "Your veins run with ferromagnetic material. l want to know why."

The source of his metallic blood wasn't exactly a secret; though he had never brought it up in conversation before it wasn't something he felt the need to hide. He removed the cigar from his lips and flicked the ash from the tip; the glow of it caused thin shadows to form masking his features slightly.

"My blood is rich with machines; machines that serve to keep me healthy" he wondered briefly how she could tell; but the answer was rather obvious in a way.

"How can you tell?" He had his theory but it still served his purpose to flat out ask; he took another long drag from the cigar as he lifted away from the wall and came to stand a foot away from her.

"They mend my flesh; a gift granted by my Government to ensure my service didn't end too abruptly" he took a long look into her eyes, finding them nearly as difficult to pierce as his, that intrigued him greatly.

Maynard continued down the street, but this time he waved his hand offering her the chance to follow, "We may as well walk as we talk" smoke billowed from his lips as he enjoyed his treat.

"Now that you know, are you satisfied?"

"My blood is rich with machines; machines that serve to keep me healthy" Machines? Machinery implied... mechanism. Moving parts and intelligent design and, well, not generally something found in nature. Even highly evolved nature.

"How can you tell?" A direct question even though the answer was all too easily implied even from the nature of how she framed her question. It was all in the diction. Except that Maynard had presented a bit of a conundrum. Did she assume he was mutant (and thereby assume that it was safe to reveal herself) now that she supposed the machines to be of less than evolutionary origin?

Somewhere along the line their proximity had increased and Lori found herself surprised again by the closeness. She must have been more tired than she realized to miss his movements. At least now she understood his pull... and she could pull back. It was tempting. So tempting to try and pull at the things. There was no way for her to discern any difference between the ... machines. That was why she had thought his very blood had metallic properties. Well, in a way it did.

Lori realized her eyes had wandered, tracing the veins and arteries where the blood and machines pooled most. "I'm a scientist." It was best to temper lies with truth. Or truth with lies. Honestly at this point it was hard to remember what was and wasn't real. She knew physics, that was real enough. She also assumed the name Emily almost as often as her own. Did that make Emily any less Lori?

It was the most philosophical thing she'd thought of in a long time. That pissed her off. She hated philosophy. Lori wanted concrete answers. Perhaps the path to concrete answers was paved with concrete answers of her own?

"A scientist with an affinity for metal." Diction. It was all there in the spaces between if Maynard cared to hazard a guess.

"They mend my flesh; a gift granted by my Government to ensure my service didn't end too abruptly" She met his gaze pound for pound (no British money pun even intended!). Briefly she wondered if he had machines in his eyes. Surely he did as blood traveled there, but it must have been trace amounts of metal. That also brought up questions of size and manor of repair or replication and if an electrical shock would disable a machine meant to mend.

"We may as well walk as we talk" Lori considered asking him to extinguish his cigar. It made the inside of her cheeks and lips itch. But he so looked like he was enjoying it. Instead Lori fell into a pace next to him: 3 steps for his every 2. Being short had it's drawbacks as well.

"Now that you know, are you satisfied?"

Lori frowned and balled her hands into fists inside of her jacket pockets. "No. The more I know, the more I know that I don't."

Taking one last puff from the cigar between his lips he held the smoke in his lungs for as long as he could before exhaling. He tossed what was left over his shoulder into the street before resting his hands on his hips; eyes settled on her youthful face, admiring some hidden quality about her he had yet to identify.

"An affinity for metal?" he repeated in a curious tone.

The depths of his mind began to piece together her puzzle; his theory had formed and he was safely assuming that there was far more to the blonde then what appeared gracefully before him.

"I'm an aristocrat with an affinity for the sorrows of this world;" his right hand outstretched absently to brush a strand of hair away from Lainey's face that was obstructing his view of her eyes.

"You mask your interior well," he said with a small grin.

They continued down the street; the high buildings only grew taller as they moved deeper into the interior of the city, the bright lights of a night club offended his senses for a brief moment as they passed. The manner in which the doorman had eyed him had left him slightly irritated; without consideration of the fact he marched on.

They came to halt at the entrance to a small pub; it was a much classier joint in comparison to the neon exterior of the nightclub they had passed by.

"An affinity for metal," he repeated though it was no longer in the form of a question. He leaned closer so as to speak in a lower tone, "So you're a mutant much like me; care for a drink?" he raised a brow but slipped inside before she could answer.

He sat at an empty table near the window and ordered a scotch on the rocks.

"An affinity for metal?" Hands on his hips, he was a saucy little thing curiously parroting her words back for her confirmation. Lainey nodded. She had a big time affinity for metal. It was called magnetism. And because of the well of charge she carried inside of herself there was always a certain level of attraction that Lainey exuded. It had nothing to do with looks and everything to do with science.

"I'm an aristocrat with an affinity for the sorrows of this world;" Sorrows, eh? Light blues flicked back and forth as if 'Lainey' was reading something invisible. Aristocracy implied that he was better in some way, by blood or birth. Lori wondered if that was a hint at his higher evolution that strangely enough did not include the metal in his veins, but the "sorrows of the world."

Maynard felt the need to tuck away a loose strand of hair. High and bobbing pony tails just couldn't contain everything it seemed. It was curious to Lori that he chose such an intimate gesture. Wasn't it Americans that were all up ons and the Europeans that thought that was odd?

"You mask your interior well," He was smiling the smile of a cat who had swallowed a canary, and Lori wasn't entirely sure he had earned that observation just yet.

"Oh? You think you see right through me already?" She tucked her own errant strands of hair this time and rolled her eyes. Brits.

Honestly, Lori wasn't entirely sure why she was still following him. She was tired from interrupted sleep and a bit cranky from essentially getting chased out of her own bed. The cold made her exposed nose and ears burn red and Lori was unsure of what to do to kill the time before dawn. But Maynard seemed to have a course laid out already. Maybe that was why she followed. He didn't even hesitate at the youthful, jumpy places. Instead he chose something more... age appropriate.

"An affinity for metal," It was no longer a question. Maynard seemed to have worked a few things out in his mind as they walked in companionable silence. "So you're a mutant much like me; care for a drink?" Lori closed her tired eyes and shook her head in disbelief. The one thing she did not imagine herself doing was downing any more alcohol tonight. When she opened her eyes, he was gone. So much for being a gentleman. Chivalry was truly dead if even the aristocracy wouldn't hold a door open for a lady.

Lori pulled at the heavy door and walked past Maynard's table to lean up against the bar area. She gave the bartender a god once over, he was a stout fellow who looked like he'd had his share of the bar's wares before, but tonight he was on duty and that meant sobriety was a necessary evil. Lori scanned the glasses and the general organization of the place. It wasn't her bar and wasn't her standard, but it was respectable enough for a drink at the very least.

>"You health inspecting or you gonna order something, Darlin'?"

"This gentleman here is paying for my Spiffed Cosmopolitan. If you have Absolut Citron that's my fav. Don't forget the jigger of Triple Sec."

Lainey turned on her rubbery heel and took a tired seat across from Maynard. This wasn't her first drink tonight, but she'd killed her buzz long before she'd made it here. "Tell me more about your sorrow." Lainey unbuttoned her outer coat and generally made herself more comfortable. She had time as long as Maynard did.

With his glass raised Maynard wafted the sweet aroma to his nose, savouring the rich bouquet of scotch; it had always been a favourite of his, something that soothed every bit of his being.

Maynard paid little mind to the conversation taking place between Lainey and the plain looking bartender; paying for her drink was nothing to concern his attention with. However as she retrieved her drink and strolled over in her grotesquely large footwear he couldn't help but convey his curiosity with a stare.

As she seated herself across from him he folded his hands neatly together; the stoic expression seemed flawless, a mask he wore well.

"I don't assume to be so bold to suggest that I can see through you my dear; while I pride myself on my perception you're far too curious a puzzle to dissect in such a short time" it was complimentary but by his tone it was clear he wasn't attempting to flatter her.

Her question pulled his mind away from its toiling; he absently traced his fingertip along the rim of his glass while considering her words. At last he smiled in that unique manner of his and turned his attention back to Lainey.

"What a rich word that is, sorrow" he spoke it aloud as though he were sampling it. "My sorrow is incidental; it's the sorrow that finds everyone else I concern myself with" he took a sip of his drink, expressing his enjoyment with a heavy sigh.

"You said you possess an affinity for metal, surely I've drawn my conclusions about you from that; if you had to wager a guess at what my statement meant, what would it be?"

Lori waited with the patience of a statue for her drink.
>"Man, I be yous one of those Starbucks ladies who asks for no fat, no whip, and all that crazy shit."
"Bet you're one of those bar tenders that doesn't like getting tips."
His mouth shut so hard that Lori heard his teeth click. He finished shaking her drink and pouring it. He garnished it with a whole wedge of lime which was fine by Lori. She sipped her drink testing his skill.
>"Some tips just ain't worth it."

'Lainey' shook her head with a small smile on the way back to her seat. Her first order of business, after asking (well, telling really) Maynard to tell her more about himself was to devour that lime wedge. Sour was an especially delightful taste that didn't come along too often. She ate the lime wedge like one might eat an orange slice. The acidic treat made her well of charge feel that much jumpier. She would have to try something with the metal in this man before they parted ways.

Maynard seemed to wait impassively until Lainey seemed ready for supplying her full attention. Greedy, greedy.

"I don't assume to be so bold to suggest that I can see through you my dear; while I pride myself on my perception you're far too curious a puzzle to dissect in such a short time"

"A wise recant." Because women don't like to think of themselves as figure-out-able. She sipped her drink again. It was a little heavy on the Triple Sec.

"What a rich word that is, sorrow. My sorrow is incidental; it's the sorrow that finds everyone else I concern myself with" He drank and sighed enthusiastically. "You said you possess an affinity for metal, surely I've drawn my conclusions about you from that; if you had to wager a guess at what my statement meant, what would it be?"

That earned him a tired smile. 'Way to not answer the question, maestro.' Not only did he not answer the question, but he re-postulated it to her so that she would reveal her thinking processes. Lainey stretched and took her time with the motions as she formulated a response rather than a snippy comeback. He asked for an opinion o his statement and she mentally reviewed his words. All that she could recall.

"The word incidental implies concurrence, accompaniment rather than a major part. Your obsession with the drab could be interpreted as an unnatural draw to emotion-- though you only seem interested in adverse emotions, of course that could be... personal preference." her eyes flicked over his clothes, posture, and expression, "I've already hazarded a guess that your self-acclaimed aristocracy was mutation-related rather than actual high class though you seem to have money to waste. However, if you were really high-class, I would think you'd have better manors." She quirked her brown at him unrepentantly and took a sip before continuing.

"Essentially you haven't provided me with enough information for me to know what you really do. You've only given me a side-dish, as it were."

It pleased him to listen to her carefully worded speech; she had enthralled his attention with her vocabulary and brought a smile to his face, it had been ages since he had enjoyed such fruitful conversation. He finished the remaining scotch in his glass before jingling the ice against the glass to signal the bartender he would like another.

"What a fine response," his tone was genuine at last; as his drink arrived he slid it across the table into his left hand.

Once the bartender was out of earshot he leaned a smidgen closer just in case someone else might be eavesdropping. "I find you interesting, so I'll share the truth with you" he paused for a moment taking a second to look into her eyes as though searching for something; "My birth right allows me to govern all of the negative emotions in the spectrum, among other things."

He sat back in the booth and savoured another drink of scotch; "I bet you're itching to play with my blood" the words dripped off his tongue as though he were welcoming to it.

The desire seemed rather apparent in her eyes, much like a bug bite begging to be scratched his blood seemed to beckon to her. "I'll indulge your desire, should you manage to carry out the rest of our conversation with such delightful poise"

He was pleased. She was secretly pleased that he was pleased, but it was an internal victory. Her exterior remained tiredly aloof and so not amused-- that wasn't hard to pull off considering she actually was tired and to consciously smile felt like it was going to take effort on her part. And this was a recreational visit. She shouldn't have to do anything she didn't want to.

"I find you interesting, so I'll share the truth with you" He probably thought himself generous. Instead, he rather made her out to sound like a Jacob's ladder or some other deceptively simple toy that only appeared complex. Lori was no optical illusion, but she leaned toward him conspiratorially anyway. This explanation had better be good.

"My birth right allows me to govern all of the negative emotions in the spectrum, among other things."

Among other things...? He was teasing her, surely. It was easy to identify if you were the one typically doing the teasing. "How deliciously malcontent of you. I hope your sorrow brings you joy." That came out a bit more snide than she had intended so she settled back to sip at her drink and Maynard nursed his scotch in a similar manner.

"I bet you're itching to play with my blood"

'Inside or out.' She mentally confirmed, but only let her do do the talking this time. It was a hunger that the weather didn't help. Cold made the formation of magnetic fields and the flow of electrons easier. It was begging to come out even though her relative levels were below average.

"I'll indulge your desire, should you manage to carry out the rest of our conversation with such delightful poise"

That earned him a derisive snort. "I beg indulgence of no man." Repercussions were almost more fun than the actual act. Giving permission was like taking the color out of art. "And I should think the poise would digress should I indulge in enough drink." Her blue eyes were already locked on her invisible target. She formed a magnetic field near his scotch hand.

The stronger it was and the longer it stayed, the more she felt the metal pool there. It was more real, easier to see and manipulate. She lamented briefly that she did not have the control to puppet his entire body, but she didn't need his entirely body. Just his drinking hand.

Her eyes flicked up to his. She wanted to see his reaction as she raised the invisible field that would inevitably pull his hand with it. Would he struggle? Would he test it and there by her? Retaliate even though he supposedly would to indulge her desire? Lori manipulated the one magnetic field like a crane. Up the arm would go assuming he didn't struggle, toward his face it would go. It would stop just out of easy reach of his lips. Say the wrong thing and one rotation later, they could be ordering a replacement scotch and Maynard would need a change of pants.