He’d planned for a night on the town with somebody he’d started to fall for, which wasn’t normal for him at all. The Mesmer didn’t do ‘love’ all that frequently, but he’d certainly thought… He sighed, realizing that he must have been wrong, because if he had been right, he wouldn’t have been standing alone on the side of the road. He was dressed in his best, leather-clad nonetheless. Kicking the edge of the street’s pavement with the toe of his combat boot, he muttered to himself, “Bloody emotions… Knew they ‘ad to be useless…”
The sound of a woman’s voice caught his attention, causing him to turn as her hand brushed over his shoulder. A slight sigh escaped his lips as he replied, “Ello.” He had to think about the question, dark brown eyes flickering through a series of moods before he finally said, “Yes, I’m al’ight… Just a bit lost, I s’ppose.” Shrugging his black-clad shoulders, he told her, “Got left ‘ere after a bit of an argument.”
His accent jarred a little, British and a different kind of harsh than she was used to. His emotions jarred a little, too, this close. He wasn’t lying, exactly, so much as telling the usual half-truths most people tell to protect themselves and bandage over hurts. Little white social lies. “I’m sorry,” she said, hand dropping. “That sounds awful.” It was hard to pick out too many details in the streetlights, but he was tall, with spiky dark hair, dark eyes, and a sardonic cast to his face, heightened by his clothing and stance. There was a funny kind of edge to his emotions, too; something — well, different was all she could label it as. She’d encountered that edge before, but it was so rare. She’d never been able to find out what it meant. “Where are you trying to go? I can probably get you there.”