Morningstar Manor

He'd managed to avoid her for an entire week. The text messages and voicemails had done the trick forthe time being, and he knew they would. Laura wasn't the clingy sort, so if he told her he was busy she'd leave him alone.  He didn't expect it to last, she was too much of a pistol to not show up here demanding to know why he was acting like a dumb asshole, but he'd deal with that when the time came. 
He was already starting to miss her a little bit. 

Anastasia was down in the gym on the tredmill in a pair of retro blue running shorts with white stripes going up the side and a white tank top. There was a look of sad concentration on her face as she ran mile after mile and thought about her husband. What he'd accused her of, how much merit there was to it, and all the accusations that she could have thrown at him, but didn't.
She sighed as she cleared the eight mile mark, breathing heavy and sweating as she finally turned the machine off and sat down, pressing a bottle of cold water to her forehead. She should think about something good, like what she wanted to do with her new studio.

Niles lay on his back under Piglet in the garage, changing the oil. His white t-shirt had grease splatters all over it and his hands were black, but he didn't care. He liked taking care of his girl. She was distracting in a good way and loved him unconditionally as long as he took care of her. All women should be so simple. Then again, if they were that simple he'd never hold interest. 
He sighed, wishing he were as simple as his car too.

Isabella sat in the Mocha in a cream colored sweaterdress, her cell phone in front of her and a blank expression on her face. She'd gotten a call from her father of all people. She hadn't talked to him in over seven years and he'd call to tell her that her mother was in the hospital with some sort of kidney infection. She marveled at how he still sounded the same. It was a voice she hadn't heard in several years, but she could still pick out of a crowd anywhere. She missed him. She worried about her mother. Pinching the area between her eyes, she took a sip of coffee and pondered what she should do.

Smith sat on a bench in the conservatory in a grey t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans, hiding out in there mostly because he figured it was the last place anyone would look for him. His cell phone was opened and he'd just finished listening to Laura's voicemail for the fifth time.
She'd called him sweetie. She'd sounded understanding. Fuck, he hated doing this to her. To them.
With a weary sigh, he decided to text her back: Busy all weekend.

Bea was out in the garden with Pippa, huddled into a long, grey, grandpa-looking fuzzy cardigan. It was almost longer than the black slipdress that she'd been running around in all day. She'd been in a creative frenzy, working on fixing the final draft of her second comic. She'd only been reminded to come up for air when Pippa had let out a yowl that she'd come to understand as "take me the fuck outside before I shit on one of your shoes." Bea loved her shoes, so she didn't fuck around with that.

Declan was up by the pool again in his white linen shirt and olive green swim trunks, mostly because it was emptier this time of year and it let him get out of his apartment and still smoke. He had a lot to think on, so he did, letting the curls of smoke waft up toward the ceiling.

Olivia had been wandering the halls. She walked when she was upset, and she was definately upset now. Had been since Monday. The Manor was big enough for her to suitably work out all her neurosis without freezing her ass off, which she would definately do outside. She huddled into herself, pulling the sleeves of her pale green sweater into her palms and crossed her arms over her chest as she walked.

Hey, it's me. No Tai Chi tonight. I just don't have the time and I don't know when I will again, so don't count on me. I'll let you know.
Bye.

Smith sat alone on his couch, a line of beer bottles lined up on his table and a half-full one clenched in one big fist. The dead soldiers made a little half circle around the plain, brown box that had shown up at his door today. He'd thought what he'd found inside had  been a joke.
As far as threats go, it'd been one of the least creative and most cliché he'd ever recieved.
It didn't make it any less serious or frightening though, once he'd taken it to his boss and they'd figured out what it meant.
They weren't threatening to harm  him. They were threatening kill Laura.

Niles was in the garage, wearing his usual jeans, green converse chucks, and a tight, black thermal shirt, wiping down Piglet with a soft towel. The slightly cooler weather of today had reminded him that winter was on the way and he needed to get her ready. Usually he would have just flown south and stayed down there but...Well...There were a lot of reasons he wasn't leaving anymore. He'd reserve that contemplation for another time.

Smith was out in the garden, pacing back and forth in dark pants and a dark blue long-sleeved t-shirt as he waited for a call from his boss. He'd followed Laura to work today and had gotten the license plate of the guy that was following her, although he hadn't seen the man clearly. it was a problem he wanted handled right away, as although he was 'retired' and had his days mostly to himself, he wouldn't be with her every second. 

Declan sat in the Mocha at a table by himself wearing a brown leather coat with a white v-neck t-shirt underneath, a red and white striped scarf, nice fitting jeans and brown boots. On the table in front of him was a large cup of coffee and the proofs for the latest shoot his new girl had done for Smashing. He was torn between two of the shots, attempting to decide what would be the cover.

Anastasia stood in line, wearing a black and white dress and red heels that matched the belt on her dress, preparing to go to her first class. She felt alright dressing up as today was her bi-weekly lecture day and that always made her nervous. She was looking over her notes, cursing silently as she shook her head. Artists learned by doing, not by listening. She couldn't tell the dean that though and this 'lecture twice a month' shit was giving her a complex.

Bea sat just outside of the Mocha's windows in the garden wearing a long gray tank top, skinny black jeans and a pair of gray flats, sipping coffee and muttering at Pippa as the puppy paced back and forth, frolicking and chasing it's tail and anything that moved instead of going poop, which was really what she'd brought her out here to do. "C'mon, baby. Please? Poop! It's too eaaarrrrllllyyy for you to be this excited," Bea said to the puppy, then sighed to herself as she was ignored once again. Although she couldn't help but smile at her puppy's cuteness.

Declan sat at a table in a white v-neck t-shirt, well fitting jeans, black boots, and a black jacket, checking stock quotes on his iPhone. He glanced up every now and then at the people that walked by, taking in the women, his mind subconciously always scanning for something great, and even...Well. He looked at the women and that was it. Or so he told himself.  Shaking his head, he turned back to his stock quotes, smiling when he saw that he was up. The world's finances might be taking a shit, but somehow Declan McNamara kept coming out on top. Dealing in tasteful pin-ups was such a good business.

Isabella sat in an overstuffed chair wearing a bright red dress that was just loud enough for a Monday morning and her typical severe black heels. Before her there were several pages of the New York Times scattered about and there was a wrinkle of concentration and worry between her brow as she took in all the new news concerning the mayor's grandson's "untimely" death.

Niles was sprawled out comfortably on the couch, wearing a black t-shirt, a pair of his usual jeans, and a brown vintage hat. Sometimes you just had to wear a hat, you know? And it wasn't like it made him look like Gilligan, he thought to himself as he flipped through the pages of Smashing, completely unaware of the blonde, beautiful girl that stood only a few feet behind him, flickering in and out of view and looking at him with longing and sadness.

Olivia was also in line wearing a long-sleeved, short gray sweater dress and a pair of purple shoes, digging through her oversized purse for her cell phone. Why did she have a purse with so much room if she kept losing shit in it? She could hear the phone beeping from somewhere in the depths and was thisclose to going all Ally Sheedy a la the Breakfast Club and dumping the thing right here, embarassing items be damned. 

Smith sat in the back corner of the Mocha looking entirely out of place in a light tan suit that he was couting the seconds until he could remove. It was the monthly 'report to your boss for bullshit day' for him, and yesterday he'd gotten a phone call from his boss saying he was tired of seeing him in black all the time and when he showed up he better be in something that could make him look like a gentleman. When Smith had told him he didn't have another suit, this was sent over. Personally, Smith thought this suit made him look like a fruit, maye even a fruit from the early seventies, but that was all likely just a part of his boss' plan.

Smith sat in a rather silly chair, made even more silly in contrast to the big, tough looking man sitting in it. He wouldn't usually go out of his way to sit in such a chair, bright pink and over stuffed with smaller pink polka dots, but...Well...It was a waiting chair in the dressing room of a high end lingerie store.
Laura was behind the door directly across from him and who knows? She might invite him in again. It made sitting in that chair entirely worth it.

Bea sat alone in the Mocha in a tiny red t-shirt that bared an inch or two of midriff and some super low rise skinny jeans, reading over some fan mail that she'd just picked up from her P.O. box. She had a signing to go to tomorrow, and she hadn't checked the P.O. Box in a few weeks. Signings usually meant fans asking her if she recieved this or that, so she thought she'd probably better get caught up on it so she wouldn't have to lie tomorrow. Her fan mail ran the scale from funny and charming and creative to downright creepy. She seriously did not need to hear how many times someone had masturbated while reading Stiletto. That shit was just not right.  As she flipped through the stack, she saw a letter covered in stamps, which meant it had traveld a long way, likely overseas. A quick look at the return address confirmed her suspicions and she smiled. Eli.

Olivia was laying on a lounger up by the pool in a black bathing suit, going over a topic list for her show tonight. She didn't have any guests, so that meant standard banter from her and lots of listener phone calls. Those were actually some of her favorite shows as she always seemed to attract crazy and listener phone calls often turned the show into a weird version of Loveline.

Declan was also in the mocha, standing in line in a deep v-necked t-shirt, a pair of jeans, a blue jacket, and his mother's sacred cross necklace. He was lamenting the fact that he couldn't smoke in here, and would probably have to go drink his coffee out in the Garden if he didn't find anything to distract himself from the urge. To pass the time in the seemingly endless line, he had a look around, smiling amicably at anyone he caught looking back.

Smith was down in the gym shirtless and in black work out pants, a  bruise riding high on his jaw from an encounter last night, beating the crap out of the punching bag like he'd refrained himself from beating the crap out of the guy last night. Sure, he took Tai Chi classes with Laura, but that didn't settle his nerves quite like some good, old fashioned ass beating.

Smith had decided to be spontaneous. That's what women liked, right? And if he was planning on keeping Laura around, which he definately was, he figured he should start treating her like a proper girlfriend. 
So, dressed to the nines in a pair of perfect fit, non-holey jeans and a dark blue button down, he knocked on her door with a bouquet of elegant white flowers that had made him think of her clutched in one big fist.

After a specifically draining and stressful day at work Laura drove home trying to stop thinking about how she could have saved the gun-shot wound patient. She couldn't get the bullet out even if she did know exactly where it was, and she couldn't stop the bleeding even though she knew exactly where it came from. Her ability did not make her a miracle-maker and that frustrated her to no end. She hated it when she knew what the problem was but couldn't do anything about it.

When she got home, she grabbed her cell and sent a text to the man who had had a knack for providing excitement in the past. At least Smith's company would distract her, she thought, hoping that he wouldn't be busy at work.

Im not Jesus and that sucks. Need a distraction and I think youd be pretty good at that.

Anastasia sat in the garden, a content smile upon her face as she snapped pictures of random flowers and summer foilage before it was all gone. Her anniversary getaway with Trevor had went extremely well, and she was starting to feel good about her life again.

Niles was in the garage with Piglet in a dirty grey t-shirt and a pair of battered jeans with grease up to his elbows as he looked at the cars innards. Something just wasn't right, and he had to figure out what it was. He worried about that car like it was his child. 

Isabella sat down in the laundry room, dressed casually for once in a plain white tank top and a pair of short black shorts. Her flip flops lay on the floor discarded from where she sat on top of the washer, reading through the New York Times. 

Smith sat alone in the Mocha in a pair of black work out pants and a white tank top, hiding a very uncharacteristic bout of chuckles behind a Chuck Palahniuk novel as he watched someone that had been sent to watch him tuck and roll across the lobby, as if he wouldn't notice it. 

Bea was up at the pool again in her silver bikini, her iPod on but turned down just incase anyone talked to her. Before her sat a to-do list where she lay on her stomach, her feet crossed at the ankles behind her.

Laura was driving through the City in the evening after a day at work in the operating room. She felt like she needed to relax a little after the close-call surgery, however, so she stopped by a small convenience store near the City centre to get a couple of beers, a newspaper and milk for the morning. With the drinks in a platic bag and the paper under her arm she stepped out of the store a moment later and when she was opening the back seat door to put them into her car, she stopped, and smiled. Laura recognized Smith some way down along the street stopping by the street lights and then going accross.

She closed the car door and wondered what he was doing or where he was going - and realized that she did not know very much about him. How did he spend his days now that he was retired? He had been oddly quiet about it in his inconspicuous way. Laura bit her lip, locked the doors of the car, and decided to follow him, just for the heck of it. Maybe she could join him for whatever he was up to, or just say hello and invite him over for a beer later on.

Laura groaned half-asleep when the alarm went off at 7:30. She slammed the alarm off and lied in her bed yawning. Getting up felt impossible, until she remembered why she was so tired this morning. Because of the escapades in the wee hours there now was a naked man in her living room. At least she hoped Smith was still there for his own good, but considering the amount of blood he had lost and the whiskey he had drank, he was most likely still drooling on the pillow completely out of it.

Laura got up and found a cardigan from her closet to replace the blood-stained robe she had had to bin. Just as she opened the bedroom door, she heard a snore. Yep. Smith was still there, and he was fast asleep on the futon in her living room. Laura let him sleep and took a quick shower, put the coffee on, and went to find some proper clothes. Black skinny jeans, high heeled strappy sandals and a thigh-lenght white shirt with a wide black belt would do today. She grabbed a clean towel and her first aid kit, and went to wake up Smith.

She sat down on the edge of the futon mattress. "Smith? I need you to wake up for a bit," she said and gave him a gentle shake holding his shoulder.

He really hated it when things went wrong. Seriously put him in a bad mood.
Blood oozed from a knife wound in his side, causing his shirt to stick to him and him to feel a little fainter than he'd like. He coudln't go to the hospital though, not after what'd just happend. He thought he was past all this fighting and killing shit and was just there to observe now, but what was he supposed to do when someone pulled a knife on him?
His knuckles were busted and a bruise rode low on his cheek, but they were surface damage. The gash in his side needed to be taken care of and quick. 
Pondering the perks of attempting to stich himself, he realized he couldn't. There was no way he could reach that far back on his ribs and...Fuck.
Laura.
Laura was a doctor and his friend. He could trust her, right?
Maybe not, but as the world started to spin from lack of blood, he realized he'd have to.  He put a jacket on to cover the blood seeping from his shirt as he made his way into the manor and  got on the elevator, going up to the sixth floor. Leaning against the door frame for support, he knocked and prayed she was in.

Tai Chi was something else, Smith decided as he ran a towel over his torso and head, mopping up sweat. He hadn't expected to sweat that much. Did they turn the heat up for it or something? He'd have to ask Laura later.
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. There'd been lots of scantily dressed women in the class and he'd been the only guy, but he hadn't really caught himself looking at anyone but Laura.

Laura grabbed her apartment keys and left her apartment wearing grey skinny jeans and a white top with strappy high heels. She went up the stairs to the next floor and found the door 7121. As far as she knew, it should have been Smith's door. If it wasn't, she could have an interesting discussion with a stranger, so it didn't really matter. She knocked on the door sharply with the knuckles and waited.

Smith was in the gym, shirtless but still lookng mostly clothed to to his excessive tattoos wearing nothing but a pair of low- slung black gym shorts. He was punching the hell out of a punching bag, working through those anger issues the one shrink he'd ever seen had told him he had, and glad to be away from all the wagging tongues in this place today.

Anastasia was standing in line in a casual grey dress and a pair of black flip flops with a camera around her neck and a sketch pad under one arm, looking up at the menu. There was a wrinkle in between her eyebrows and her lips turned down at the corners in thought that had little to do with the menu before her.
 
Niles was sprawled out on one of the couches, apparently blatantly ignoring anyone else's wish to have a seat,  in a vintage black t-shirt and a pair of low slung, worn out, ripped and gutted jeans and green converse sneakers. He was holding a battered book in his hand, presumably reading, but he might have been using it as a clever ploy to have a good look around. One never knew. 

Smith was sitting at a table with a muffin wrapper in front of him and a half empty cup of coffee in his hand, wearing a grey v-necked t-shirt and a pair of aviator sunglasses that hid his eyes. It might seem strange that he was wearing sunglasses indoors, but Smith had only woke up a few minutes ago and more than a little hung over. Even dimmed by the Mocha's interior, the sun was still a bitch on his eyes.

Smith walked into the first bar he stumbled across, wearing a battered pair of jeans, and white t-shirt that showed the parts of his tattoo that covered his arms and hints of the ink beneath the light fabric. The Slaughtered Lamb sounded entirely appropriate, and entirely ironic to him.
So, he strode in, glad to see that this wasn't one of those places where people did anything other than eat and drink. A regular pub.

He scratched at his closely cropped black hair as he selected a seat at the bar and sat down, perusing the area for something or someone interesting while he waited to order his drink.