Florence Nightingale [Victor/Ade Casual] DONE

[rocky]

That bartender had been entirely too amused, Adrienne thought shrewdly. She'd gone to Jack's bar looking for Victor. The morning before he'd caught her rifling through his wallet and her flurry to try to conceal the fact, she had dislodged his I.D and a credit card. She'd found them underneath George, who had been most uncooperative in allowing her to retrieve them, upon reflection. She had given him the day to notice and come back for them, and when he hadn't, she had decided to make it a mission to track him down.

Finding Jack's bar hadn't been an issue. Getting into it at 9:30 in the morning had been, however, and when she'd finally gotten the boy inside to come to the front door he had been quite openly disdainful. Behind him she could see he was rolling barrels and taking stock. It wasn't until she'd asked for Victor that his attitude had changed, but not much. He'd gone from open disdain to obvious amusement. Maybe Victor had a lot of women looking for him first thing in the morning, who knew?

It had taken a good bit of convincing to wheedle two nuggets of information from the bar-boy, after that: where Victor lived and why he wasn't at work.

Sick. No doubt from sleeping all night in damp clothes, on her uncomfortable couch. After she had made an excellent job of aggravating his sinuses with pepper spray. Ugh. Adrienne decided at once that she didn't trust this moron with his boss's credit card and that she probably owed Victor at least some sort of courtesy call... to see he was all right.

Which was how she had ended up on his door step, ringing his buzzer. She'd stopped at a little deli on the way over and collected two cups of soup -- one chicken and one vegetable, in case he was more of a hippie than he looked -- and she had them tucked precariously under her chin as she waited for him to answer.

"Victor?" she said, as it crackled. "It's -- um. It's Adrienne. You left some um -- YOU LEFT -- CREDIT CARDS AT MY HOUSE AND I BROUGHT THEM."

She raised her voice as the buzzer began to crackle over the top of her, irritated.

"Can I come up?"

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor had been a wreck the last couple days, not daring to step out--I mean, even if no one else knew he was a serial killer, it wasn't exactly a morale booster to go around with a runny nose, killing whores. So, instead, he'd stayed inside, putting together a cat skeleton he just happened to have around like it was a puzzle.

He hadn't been aware of what was missing from his wallet, and so was surprised when Adrienne called on him. Warily, he told her to come up, and then rushed to put away his cat skeleton and anything else that might alarm her, such as the number of crime scene photos pinned to the walls of his bedroom.

When the place was finally presentable, he looked down at his attire. Pajamas.

"Umm..." The living room-area was just off the bedroom, through an archway. Living alone, there really wasn't a need for doors; when he was doing something secretive, he closed the curtains.

Victor made his way into the living room and sat cross-legged on the couch, covering up with a blanket so that only his top-half showed. That was how normal people spent the day when they were sick anyway, instead of hunched over a cat skeleton.

His door was unlocked, so all he had to do now was wait for her to come up.

[rocky]

Adrienne didn't bother to knock a second time, she'd gotten the impression it was open, and that was all the information she needed. She breezed into his apartment as though he owned it, and was completely unfazed by his couch-bound, pyjama'd appearance. She fanned the two cards out between her fingers and held them up in an explanatory gesture, offering him a rueful sort of smile.

"Your Neanderthal bartender told me where you live, I hope you don't mind," she said, in a manner which more than suggested that it didn't matter whether he minded or not. "I brought you some soup."

Adrienne wasn't particularly organised in her life, but she did know how to take care of people -- she was nurturing, in her way. She set the two cups out and gestured at them.

"Chicken, or vegetable. Spoons?" The last was phrased as a question, and she looked up at him, and then around his apartment. The act of looking around and taking it in was enough to slow her down.

It was simply decorated -- blue, and sparse in comparison to Adrienne's apartment which was a mishmash of things she'd collected over the years, her furniture had sentimental value, none of it was a set, and more importantly she wasn't nearly so meticulous or tidy in her living space.

Maybe he had OCD. No wonder he hadn't been at all comfortable at her place -- that would be an OCD sufferer's nightmare. She looked back at him and waited.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

"Your Neanderthal bartender told me where you live, I hope you don't mind."

Victor chuckled. He wondered how many random women had come up and asked his employees where he lived, and how many of them had actually attained the information.

"Chicken, or vegetable. Spoons?"

He actually hadn't been expecting her to bring him soup. People...actually generally weren't nice to him, probably because of how introverted he was. When people were nice to him, they either wanted a raise or wanted to get him in the sack. Or both. He was certain that neither applied to her.

"Chicken..." he said slowly, and then sat up straighter, thinking over the spoon situation for a moment. "Spoons are on the far left, second drawer. Second drawer." In the third drawer was a rather large, questionable knife, and the first held part of his cat skeleton.

Besides those two places in the apartment, no place but his room held any evidence that pointed to him as a criminal, and the things in his room were well-concealed. Behind him, in the living area, there was a full wall devoted to bookcases, not including a large window in the middle of it. The bookcases were mostly full, books of all sorts up there, from medical journals to Charles Dickens.

The apartment was very expansive, a living area and entrance in one corner and kitchen in the middle, like an island; a dining area was in another corner; an archway in the living area led to a hallway, which led to the bedroom and bathroom. It was a big place for someone as alone as Victor to live. A family of four could have easily fit, had there been another bedroom.

Victor was a little uncomfortable with her here, but decided that he would have to get over it. He finally had some company, even though his house had been invaded, and at least he could tolerate her. It probably helped that she hadn't tried flirting with him too heavily yet. Still, he looked a little confused, like he didn't know what to do with her presence.

[rocky]

"You're welcome," Adrienne said cheerfully, and found the spoons without uncovering the cat remains. She opened the chicken cup and took it to him, passing it to him with the spoon sticking out of it. It was steaming and hot, still.

She turned and collected the other cup for herself, and dropped on to the couch next to him with an air of comfort that was excessive, given their level of intimacy thus far. But it was Adrienne's way: once she knew somebody, she knew them -- at least, assuming she didn't dislike them.

"Cheers," she joked mildly, and pretended to toast him with the soup, and then couldn't help snickering, just a little: "Jesus, you look like shit again," she said, amused. "You have no luck, Victor Griffiths. No luck whatsoever."

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor allowed her to toast the soup, though his expression was a bit hollow. Who was this woman, coming into his house, strutting around like she owned it...eating soup...? What was this? Things like this didn't happen.

"You must think I just perpetually look like shit," he said, eating some of his soup while watching her closely. Something really was off-putting about her...

"And I'm more lucky than you would believe." This made Victor snicker the tiniest bit. Evading the police for upwards of fifteen years...that is what most would consider having a great deal of luck. He certainly hoped he had that luck, because he would need it, especially if he were going to keep carrying on these killings.

[rocky]

"I'll choose to interpret that as being because you met me," Adrienne said, stirring her soup and watching him. He looked sick, and she had confirmed now that there was no-one taking care of him.

"Even if I did get you with pepper spray. I'm starting my article by the way -- I was going to ask you what it... felt like. If you had to put it into words?"

Yes. Pretend she was doing thorough research. That was a plan.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor coughed a little, looking into his soup. He didn't like looking like shit; if the outer shell was damaged, then everything on the inside was liable to get damaged too. It was all in the pride.

What had happened since he met her anyway? Nothing good; he was pepper-sprayed, got water dumped on him, got cuddled, and then caught a cold. And now she was in his apartment.

Maybe she did have to go.

"Well," he began slowly, looking up at her, "it felt like this intense burning everywhere in my face. Like everything inside my skull was tingling, burning." Victor snorted a little (which actually was impossible, since his nose was stuffed), remembering one of his mental breakdowns in which his face actually melted while he was looking in the mirror. The screaming that followed was hard to explain to the other people in the apartment.

Victor half hoped that she wasn't here for just research. As ashamed as he was to admit it, he was human, and she was gorgeous, no matter what infernal nuisance she'd been.

[rocky]

"Ooh," Adrienne grimaced. "All right, all right!"

She held up her spoon to stop him, and then gestured towards herself before she dunked it back into the cup, shaking her head. She was acting, largely, but the guilt was real enough.

"Guilt-trip noted!" she said, and laughed a little. "I gave you whiskey, and soup. What more can I do to make it up to you?"

She pouted at him, just a little, and gave him a coy look over a slightly raised shoulder. There wasn't much that was attractive about being loaded with a cold, really, but she wasn't finished trying to charm him yet. His reactions were so muted it was frustrating. So far he hadn't shown anything but disinterest in her.

It was practically unheard of.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor granted her a warm smirk for her effort; she was cute, this Adrienne. He wouldn't mind a little fun with her, but he was just... blah today. Which was not like him.

"I gave you whiskey, and soup. What more can I do to make it up to you?"

"What've you got?" he asked casually, deciding to give her a little slack. She was in his house and it didn't look like she was going to be leaving without him literally kicking her out...he really didn't have the strength to do that.

Victor raised the steaming spoon to his grin, watching her with his head down and his eyes raised.

[rocky]

Adrienne set her soup aside and ran the tip of her finger over her lip, to make sure she wasn't covered in soup. She narrowed her eyes a little, raising an eyebrow. Was he being suggestive?

Adrienne was in two minds about Victor. On the one hand he had been... almost distant, and he hadn't been giving her many signals to suggest he was interested in her. Adrienne fed on attention, so it was unlike her to persist if somebody wasn't keen on her, she much preferred to be harassed than ignored. On the other, there was something distinctly different about him, and she didn't know what it was.

Curiosity was what he had in his favour. He was an oddity. Handsome, distant, brooding -- she hadn't met anybody like him before.

She shifted towards him a little.

"Well. We should make you feel better... don't you think?"

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor raised his eyes from his soup a moment, actually quite stunned, though it didn't show. She was that easy? Well, for all he knew, she was a common slut! She protected herself, he guessed, from the near-empty box of condoms in her bathroom, but one could never tell what was floating around.

Though, he was quite sick...and Victor may have been a monster, but he was still a man...and damn, she was gorgeous. He decided he would act innocent, like he didn't catch her drift:

"Well, I'd like to get better, yes. Obviously."

If she was looking for fun...his idea of it was more reminiscent a bloody rape scene than regular sex. Maybe she'd wise up and run home right now. He half-hoped she didn't.

[rocky]

"When I'm sick I like to watch atrocious daytime television," Adrienne said, and shifted up so she was beside him, legs stretched out. "Ricki Lake is good for what ails you. At least then you can feel psychologically healthy -- comparatively."

She reached over him for the remote and turned his television on fully as though she had just moved in, and then began to search the channels for something appropriately ridiculous.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor turned so that he was half-facing the screen, the same smirk still on his face. He silently doubted that he had less mentally wrong with him than the actors pretending to have problems on daytime television. Well, he would let her try to find someone. At least now it looked less likely that she would move in for the "kill" right away.

A documentary on Ted Bundy came on the screen, and Victor raised his eyebrows. He always had enjoyed looking into other killers, and Bundy was one that was close enough to him; perfectly charming on the outside, but obsessed with death and women...and the deaths of women in particular. He glanced at Adrienne. Perhaps she'd decide to stop there.

[rocky]

Adrienne would have changed the channel again (she had zero interest in Ted Bundy, if she was honest, she had a hard time even recalling the difference between he and Charles Manson) but she caught Victor looking across at her, and she paused to glance at him.

"What?"

She raised her eyebrows, remote dangling from her hand. The documentary continued in the background, but Adrienne wasn't paying it any attention. If she had she might have clued that there was now a distinct theme to their meetings. She had been out researching an article on the atmosphere in the city after recent murders when she'd sprayed him. The article in his wallet had been about them, too. And now he had reacted a little to a Ted Bundy documentary. It was just as well she wasn't more analytical.

She bit her lip and regarded him quietly.