Demons in the Details|Adrienne/Victor, INACTIVE

[rocky]

"Victor," she repeated his name, as if committing it to memory. "I'm writing an article," Adrienne admitted, with a roll of her eyes, as she thought about it. "On feeling safe in the city. You know, with these murders going on, my boss thought it'd be a bloody marvellous idea for me to experience the atmosphere first hand."

She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from smirking, and it was obvious when she spoke again that she was more amused than apologetic:

"So, I'm sorry. I blinded you in the name of research."

He hadn't said anything to the idea of going to her apartment. She took his lack of protest as consent and started them in that direction, leading him carefully through the park. She was sort of glad he was there, in a bizarre way -- not that he was going to be any good to her, blinded, if anybody else decided to sneak up on them, but she'd always found the park eerie at night.

It was different in central Manhattan, it never really got dark. Here it was creepy.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Her last comment got a chuckle out of him, which was followed by a coughing fit. "Well, good to know I'm burning for a cause. And you'll have something interesting to write about." He forced a smile. "Your boss sounds like a douche, if I may say so."

Usually, Victor wasn't this vulgar, but it really was the only way he could express his anger at the moment. There wasn't any use in being angry any more, even if he was; she was trying the best she could to help him. If she cared to, she'd soon find that he wasn't like this all the time.

God, he hoped she didn't care to. Brat.

"Exactly where do you live, anyway?" he muttered, thinking aloud. He didn't really want her to answer the question; he was content with silence. The park was nice for silence, especially here and especially at night. He didn't find it creepy like she did...maybe it was because he didn't have anything to be afraid of. What would he be afraid of, anyway? Himself?

[rocky]

"My boss is a douche."

Adrienne was always this vulgar, and it rarely occurred to her to curb her potty mouth. Not unless she was being professional, and even then it frequently managed to get away from her. She tilted her head to look up at him; he was taller than she, especially as she was in flat shoes. It was difficult to get the sense of what signals he was giving her, she couldn't tell if he was starting to come around a little or not.

"Exactly where do you live, anyway?"

"Murray Hill," she said, with a shrug of one shoulder. "It's about five minutes, if we take a cab. Longer, if you want to not enjoy the scenery."

They had reached the boundary of the park and she guided him into the street and then paused. She had reason enough to recognise that he might not want to go to her apartment (though most people didn't turn her down on that score), but she wasn't prepared to leave him in the street, blinded and helpless. She was selfish, but not heartless.

"Or I can get you back to your place, if you need to get home. Those are your options: my place, your place, or the hospital."

[JACK THE RIPPER]

"Understandably," he started, "I'd rather not be alone half-blinded. So your place it is." Victor didn't even bother acknowledging the hospital suggestion; he didn't like hospitals, especially if he could take care of the little problem himself. They asked too many questions...he hated questions. To be polite, he added, "If you don't mind, of course."

With an internal groan, he thought of the situation he'd stuffed himself in to. Now he was sure he looked as though he was eager to get to her apartment, and she probably figured that they'd end up sleeping together. That was all women seemed to think about; sex, and then they'd call it love. Ah, there was another thing he hated about women; that thing, love. People seemed to be so convinced of it's existence despite the quite conclusive evidence against it.

He sighed, thinking that perhaps he wouldn't mind a little attention, especially from a pretty girl. Pretty in the split second he saw her before he was blinded. The last time he'd been in a woman's home was last month...when she dragged him out of a party, which he had actually been enjoying. He didn't even have time to catch her name before she'd forced him into a taxi.

Victor could tell that he was being led out of the park. "If you don't mind, I'd like to take a taxi, then," he said in response to her telling him where she lived. He would ask about her boss later, as he was genuinely curious.

[rocky]

To her credit, Adrienne hadn't started thinking about sex yet -- which was probably a record, for her. She was more curious about why he didn't want her to see where he lived. Wife, probably. It usually was the case, and if he was out in the park this late at night, he had also probably been with someone not his wife already. What had he said? That he had 'terrible insomnia' -- yeah, right.

Whatever. It had nothing to do with her whether he had a wife he cheated on or not. She was certainly in no position to judge -- always a mistress, never a bride.

"If I minded, I wouldn't ask," she told him firmly. "Come on."

Adrienne took the lead, her arm looped loosely through his, and headed up the road to where there was an intersection. The street ahead was busier, and it wasn't long before she was hailing a cab. It pulled over and she quickly realised that getting him in there blind wasn't going to be easy, either.

She decided the least intimate was was for her to go first and pull him in by his hand. It meant the most minimal of touching, from her point of view, but sadly, from the cab driver's, it looked rather cosy.

"Ah, you have been in the park for a romantic stroll, I see," he said, with a thick, unidentifiable accent. He spoke his English well, however, so well it was as though it had all been rehearsed. He twisted in his seat to look at them, hardly taking in that Victor was clearly impaired.

"It reminds me of my wife and I. We were so very much in love, and we came to America and I told her --"

"Murray Hill, please," Adrienne interrupted him, rather bluntly. "187 East 34th Street."

"East 34th," the cabbie repeated cheerily, and looked at Victor in his rearview mirror. "She wears the pants, ah? That's like my wife, ah, though she has not got such an interesting choice of hair colour I must say..."

The cabbie's voice trailed away as though he had run out of words.

Adrienne rolled her eyes and sighed audibly. She dropped his hand as soon as he was settled, and looked pointedly out of the window. Shut up.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor grumbled back at the driver, "Orange isn't so uncommon sir, is it? Just a bit vibrant." He didn't even bother to mention that they weren't married or even acquainted. He leaned back in his seat, taking out the handkerchief from earlier and taking care of his nose again.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, in that space that was gleeful at his own expense, where the fun and not the pleasure in killing was rooted, he was thoroughly amused that he was being mistaken for her "better half".

"Ah, you have been in the park for a romantic stroll, I see."


Oh, yeah. Definitely. His heart had really fluttered when she looked into his eyes and sprayed that pepper into his face. This one was definitely a keeper. I mean, how could Victor beat a romantic night of being mistaken for a rapist and the searing pain in his face?

[rocky]

Adrienne turned to eye Victor, as he commented on the colour of her hair. Oh, that's how it was, was it? Fine.

"We're getting divorced," she told the cab driver flatly, leaving him faltering and struggling to find something appropriate to say. Adrienne supposed he wouldn't complain much when she didn't bother to give him a tip, then.

Miraculously, afterwards, the journey seemed to shorten, as though the driver's discomfort was directly linked to the amount of pressure he was putting on the accelerator. They arrived in a timely fashion, and in an awkward silence.

"$8.50," he mumbled, and Adrienne gave him nine exactly, along with a pointed glare.

"Come on, darling," she added, and grabbed Victor's sleeve to pull him out of the taxi. She waited until they were situated on the street and the cab had pulled away to let him go and look for her keys.

"You can have the kids, but I'm having the cat," she muttered sarcastically. Where the fuck did she put her keys?

[JACK THE RIPPER]

"Dammit," he muttered tersely. "I quite liked the cat." Victor's tone was extremely serious, but it was evident that he was trying not to crack a smile. Probably still pouty from the pepper-spray thing.

He tried to stay close to where he heard her voice coming from, a bit skittish. Any rational human being would be a little frightened that something unexpected might happen while they were blinded. Namely, drifting into the road and getting hit by a car. Victor usually trusted his senses, but he was not all there with the pain in his face, so he figured he would trust hers instead.

"I have to say, that was well-done," he told her, referring to the little...situation...she'd put the cabby in. It took effort to make him laugh, but it took her none; the moment she'd said, "We're getting divorced," he'd had to grit his teeth to keep from cackling.

With a sudden jerk, he felt himself being pulled up a staircase. That, he didn't like, as it took awhile for him to feel out just where his foot was going. Why did she have to live somewhere so high up? This was inconvenient for the moment, to say the least.

[rocky]

Adrienne found her keys and unlocked the door, smirking, as he finally seemed to dredge up a sense of humour. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, after all. She led him forward, ignoring the elevator, which was frequently in disrepair (and she didn't trust it -- she'd been stuck in it once before with her elderly neighbour, Mr. Kraut, who was eighty-six years old, toothless, and utterly silent, like a ghoul. He'd hissed at her and bared his gums and Adrienne had been trapped in the corner for two hours. She was certain he had urinated in there. She was now well acquainted with the stairs).

The fourth floor wasn't all that high up, anyway, if you weren't eighty-six. It took them longer than usual to navigate the stairs, Adrienne wasn't sure if she was supposed to go ahead or not -- it was difficult to keep hold of him when she was above him, but then it was difficult, too, to walk next to him and help him forward.

She was looking forward to rinsing the crap out of his eyes so he could take care of himself, there was a reason he had gotten custody of their imaginary children, and it was that she was utterly lacking in any degree of patience.

She opened the door to her apartment and immediately had to let Victor go, to put both hands on her dog's enormous head and force him back inside.

"George, no! No! SIT DOWN."

George made no attempt to obey her, and managed, if it were possible, to do the exact opposite -- he jumped up, put one paw on each of her shoulders, and made vocal his approval that she was home. His tail thumped hard against a coat stand that wobbled dangerously, and Adrienne had to walk him backwards as he was, to keep it from falling over.

"Ugh, all right -- come in --" she said vaguely, over her shoulder. "Just -- close the door behind you, so he doesn't get out."

Her apartment was open plan, so the kitchen area was visible and divided by a counter. In the middle there was a couch, a television set, and a fireplace that most certainly did not attach to a chimney. The place was eclectic -- there were books everywhere, self help books that were blatantly unread, trashy romance novels with pages so curled it looked as though they had been in the bath (some of them had), and stacks upon stacks of ridiculous horror films like Plan Nine From Outer Space, and The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms.

There was also a fair amount of laundry strewn around, and the first thing she did was grab a bra and fold it up to stuff it down the side of the couch -- until she remembered he was blind.

George had already gone to greet their guest, though he did it with less enthusiasm than he had met his mistress; he was a jealous sort, and accustomed though he was to strangers in the apartment, it didn't mean he was pleased.

"Right, um -- right. What are we doing? Bathroom. Wait there, a minute."

Adrienne turned and slipped across into the small bathroom, mostly just to make sure there wasn't anything horribly incriminating in there, like an enormous gob of blue hair on the soap, or worse. While she was in there she ran a brush through her hair and slipped it up into a ponytail. She had the idea that this next part was going to be rather wet.

"Do you want anything to drink? I suppose we should just get your eyes rinsed out, first," she called through, vaguely aware that they had crossed into some uncharted territory where things had gotten surprisingly intimate (he was in her house) but they still barely knew one another.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

"Probably should take care of the eye thing first," he called from his uncomfortable position pressed up against her kitchen counter, where her dog had parked him. Victor could never figure out why animals hated him so much, but they always had, especially dogs. He had grown bitter toward them because of this, so that he would only tolerate being in the same room with a house pet.

Not to mention the terrible memories it brought back. The one time his mother had decided to step up to the plate and give him some sort of companion, she'd brought home a teacup chihuahua; even when she was trying to be a good mother she failed, unfortunately. The little thing had pissed everywhere and nearly bit Victor's ear off a number of times.

She'd named the little demon Killer, thinking that might make Victor like it more. It didn't. Actually, being nearly 15, he had hated that dog not only because it was violent toward him but because he looked ridiculous when he was forced to walk it. Eventually, his mother gave up and allowed him to neglect Killer until the little thing had mysteriously disappeared one winter evening.

But now he was faced with something quite a bit larger than a teacup chihuahua, and with quite a more impressive bite, he guessed. George glared at him lazily, though Victor couldn't make it out. He only knew that the dog was standing at attention, slowly backing him into the counter. He felt as though he should say something about the situation he was in, but figured it might seem rude. After all, it was her dog, and she probably harbored some sort of affection for it.

Victor slowly inched away from the counter, standing next to the dog a little awkwardly. He thought that he should probably bridge the awkward gap, but didn't dare pet it. He had had enough bodily pain for one day.

[rocky]

"Right."

Adrienne rooted around until she found two clean towels -- one to shield him with in the first place and another, to let him dry himself off with when they were finished, and then moved back through into the main room.

"George!" Her scolding voice was enough to make the dog grunt and look in her direction. "Let Victor out of there, move. Scoot! Go on! Get!"

It took rather more shoving than a trained animal would need to get George to leave Victor alone, but Adrienne was eventually able to find a glass jug and fill it with water from the kitchen sink. It was heavy, and she had to use her free hand to support the bottom of it.

"Grab my shoulder," she told him, and nudged against him, so he could find her easily. "He's gone, it's fine."

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor breathed a sigh of relief when the dog finally backed off, followed by a few more coughs. He wasn't entirely certain what she was planning to do to him, but he figured that it would be best if he took off his coat. A set it on the counter, which was about the closest thing he could make out.

"Grab my shoulder. He's gone, it's fine."

Victor fumbled for her shoulder a bit, but finally found it and laid a hand over it hesitantly. Even he was uncomfortable being this close to her, wishing that he could just do things for himself now. But he went with her anyway, knowing that it would just be for help...hopefully.

Offhandedly, he asked, "What time is it?"

[rocky]

"About 2:30, I think," Adrienne said, unable to see her watch. It had been close to 2am when he'd accosted her in the park, she was just thinking about calling it a night and going home unscathed, cold, and frustrated.

She supposed she had made it home unscathed, cold, and frustrated -- just with an unexpected accessory. She led him carefully into the bathroom and set the jug down atop the cistern, dropping the toilet seat so it was completely closed, and she could perch on the edge of it.

"Okay. I think -- I think if we do this backwards, sit down, and tip your head back?"

Mrs Callaghan, next door, with a glass pressed up to the wall, was sure something quite different was going on. Adrienne positioned Victor so that his back was to the bath and pressed on his shoulder, to urge him to squat down and tip his head back.

Then, she covered his neck and chest with one of the towels. She had no idea what she was doing. She might have been better to show him the sink and let him see to himself, for God's sake, but that would take longer, and it would mean the stuff was on his hands and splashing around all over the place.

This way it would wash clean out and away.

"Ready?"

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor allowed himself to be led away, throwing a fierce glare in the general direction of the damned dog. He wouldn't let himself kill the girl, but if the dog crossed the line...

"About 2:30, I think."

He was genuinely surprised at this; he'd entered the park a good six hours earlier. Victor never did notice, as the people around him did, how deeply he could fall into thought. He had a whole world hidden away up there, where he was praised for his work; they loved him and urged him to do it again. A psychologist might say that this longing was rooted in his childhood, of course, and of the lack of intimacy with his mother.

He had never been to a psychologist.

He became aware of being forced to sit on her bathroom floor, and he figured that was the tub behind him. Victor allowed her to put the towel on him and leaned his head back as had been instructed.

"Ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," he muttered, and then took a deep breath.

Her attempt to flush out his eyes was a failure. Well...not a complete failure, as she succeeded in flushing out his eyes, but considering that she also managed to get the water all down his front...

He gave a noise of alarm after he realized what had happened. The whole jug of water had been emptied on him...and he could actually see, now, the damage it had done.

[rocky]

Adrienne didn't know what had happened. She inched forward with the jug and realised too late she had over filled it, and there wouldn't be a way to pour it slowly unless she emptied some of it. Her toe snagged on the bath mat and she slipped forward, lurching with it, and the damage was done.

There was too much momentum to stop it, and all she could do was aim the jug vaguely in the direction of his face and hope for the best as she stumbled with it. The water hit him in the face with a wet slap, and then a slosh of excess rolled out of the jug and poured itself generously over his chest and crotch -- there wasn't a bit of him on the trunk of his body that hadn't been soaked.

Ade made a sort of strangled cry in her throat, though it was less over how wet he was and more because the floor was soaked, and her chucks were slippery. She skidded around for a moment and then her legs slid out from under her, and she landed with a painful thump on the tiled floor, her backside protesting bitterly.

She had been hit by a car, earlier in the week, and she had two suspiciously paddle-shaped bruises on her rear-end to show for it. Nobody believed they were from being hit by a car.

For a moment she was stunned speechless. They had landed facing one another -- his back to the bath, hers against the toilet, her legs beneath his.

There was a pregnant pause before she started to giggle helplessly.

"Sorry," she said, and cleared her throat, then pressed the back of one hand to her mouth in a vain attempt to contain herself.

When it became apparent that he was not so amused she bleated "Sorry! I'm sorry!" despite the fact that it was patently obvious she couldn't keep a straight face, and then she reached to pass him the spare towel, as though it were a peace offering.

The gesture may have been more kindly received if she hadn't been biting the inside of her cheek to hide her smirk.