There's A Ballet Being Fought Out In The Alley

[Allena Delarue]

Allena was strolling precariously down the streets of the now somewhat dilapidated town near the school. The entire atmosphere wasn't particularly safe any more--the massacre, while leaving her untouched, relatively anyway, had dismantled her feelings of safety in the school and it's surroundings nonetheless. It was like the innocent were coming back to rape her comfort zone, now that all was said and done and they hadn't come out the victors. Revenge was a seedy bitch.

There was an unsettling noise coming from the alley, and she wasn't particularly keen on checking it out. It sounded painful. She didn't want to get involved, but as she got further away she determined that it wasn't a human noise, and it wasn't so much a ghastly reminder of a tortured soul either. No, this pain sounded alive, and unfortunately cute. Her maternal side ate at her, although she didn't exactly like kids. But again, this didn't sound particularly human, and so she decided to tackle the situation.

With due distance, of course. There was no need in getting herself hurt in the process--being charitable wasn't particularly common for her, particularly when she turned out the worse for it.

Creeping back toward the corner she checked the spooky, dimly lit town. Dusk was oncoming, and quickly. She wanted to get inside ASAP, but of course distractions ruled her petty orb of existance and she figured that a few more minutes yet wouldn't kill her. Hopefully. Besides, the sun wasn't completely gone yet, although it was well on it's way.

Her cold, white, uncovered fingers ran along the rough, grimy sides of buildings. The sandy feelings of the bricks were repugnant to her, but it made her feel more safe if she could walk nearer to something more concrete than air and darkness. Granted, it was also a good way to get cornered. But she tried not to think of that.

When she got to the edge of the corner her fingers curled over the side of the brick she couldn't see. She listened for a few moments yet, then peeked her head around. There wasn't anything visible there, but there wasn't anything paranormal there either. At least she didn't think so. She was tempted to walk in closer, but she wasn't going to do it alone, if at all.

[Damien Renton]

Damien decided that it was okay to be a complete pussy. Creeping around dingy Hogsmeade made his nerves on total edge- and that's saying quite a bit after taking a good hit just moments before.

He was sneaking about out in these parts for one reason: waiting for a package to restock his stash[es]. Otherwise he wouldn't be caught dead out on these streets alone.

The screech of a banshee sent Damien sprinting down the street, away from where he previously was. Thankfully, to his knowledge, no one else was around to witness his ridiculousness- that of running down the creepy street, tie flying behind him. Who would have known that junkies would run so fast.

Damien's mind started to sketch him out. He started hearing everything, seeing things he knew weren't really there. He imagined Inferi spotting him and running after him like criminal psychos escaped fresh from the asylum.

Officially scared like a little bitch, he decided to say fcuk it and return for the owl in the morning, when it was bright. The sun was setting and withing five minutes it would be hidden below the horizon.

Suddenly, he felt his left foot get caught on a broken piece of a two-by-four, and he went down, arms jetting out to try and help to break his fall. He felt his wrist twist and he grew infuriated at his clumsiness and pain.

Bringing himself back up to his feet, black pants dusty and cradling his wrist. Swearing under his breath, he have a quick look around. The presence of a blonde girl make him jump back like a cat who just got the shit scared out of them. However he started to recognize the shape and squinted. "Wot the FCUK are you daeing here?" He whispered harshly, mainly due to the fact that not only could she have witnessed that whole embarrassing scene, but she scared the shit out of him. "Have you gone mad?" Damien Renton

[Allena Delarue]

Allena was about to turn into the alley when a voice caused her to recoil quickly, smacking her left hand painfully against the rough brick wall behind her as she spun around. Her hair flipped over her shoulder and stuck in a few discreet places to the bumps on the wall, which caught whatever they could wrangle, including hair and now the skin on her hand.

She yelped and then hissed in pain, metamorphasizing from a dogged-like reaction into an unhappy catlike one. Whimpering as she reverted back to the dog in herself she calmed herself, though her heart was still racing. Her left hand, which was now bleeding on the knuckles where it had scraped the wall, bringing it in to her chest. She recognized the jackass who'd done that to her, though she hadn't really been paying attention to his (lacking) grace, or even (more lacking) manly-ness. She was being self-centered and self-absorbed, as per usual, and hadn't been watching anyone else fail.

She was only able to blink at the newcomer, and now bite her lip as she cradled her own hand. A few more seconds of silence lapsed, unstopped, as she tried to come down from her field of terror enough so that she could at least begin to articulate something. "I didn't know zat it vas not appropriate to be in town," she stammered, weakly.

Frowning, she continued and looked around a bit. "Come. I do not like being out in ze dark and now I 'ave a wound to tend to, s'anks to you. Ve are going inside." He didn't get a choice. Now it was dark, and she didn't wish to walk the streets alone. Well, not dark, exactly, but it would be in only a matter of seconds. Or minutes. Some time that was too close for comfort.

And even a jackass's company was better than no company, particularly when that jackass happened to be male.

She took him by the wrist, forgetting the noise in the alley, and dragged him to the nearest reputable pub. She flung the door open and pulled him inside after her. "Sorry," she added, a bit more settled now that there was light. The people inside didn't even look too shady--a good choice on her part. "I do not like to valk alone after dark." At this point she was looking embarassed, and only now did her company really sink in.

Damien Renton. The accent was reminder enough, as were the harsh words, but it hadn't really registered until just now.

"Eugh..." she said, dropping his wrist like it was on fire and then putting her hand on her own wrist, covering the lasserations on her knuckles with extended fingers. "Eugh, now zat ve are 'ere, vould you like a drink?"

[Damien Renton]

"Well, it's not exactly something Ah would suggist-namely after dark," the girl's voice sounded awfully familiar, but he couldn't pin it at this point in their conversation. Adrenaline was making his eyes hard to focus, and the comedown of his heart beat forced him to be slightly distracted.

She spoke again, blaming him for her injury- an injury Damien had no idea of- and he was about to come back at her with the accent became blatantly obvious. Allena, of course- French accents in Hogwarts were all too common, after all.

The next thing he knew, she was grabbing his wrist and practically dragging him along. Did she know whose wrist she was holding? Damien hoped so, namely because she was a crazy broad if she was dragging along some random man in Hogsmeade!

That thought was awfully unsettling to him- his ex girlfriend, a girl who he wouldn't complain if she wanted to get back into an exclusive relationship, dragging along random men to a bar. Great. Another thing to be pissy about later.


"Who does aroond here?" He said, stepping into the bar with dim lights and a surprisingly warm atmosphere. He looked over at her to confirm his suspicious, and she dropped his wrist like it was something horribly disgusting, and he gave her a leer. "A drink? I'd much more prefer my owl to return. However..." It was rare that Damien would drink without having to warn Gage to be on "accidental overdose due to bad mixture" watch- which needed to be abbreviated eventually.

His system was far from clean, and the sickness was coming within the next few hours for sure. But it also rendered the half life of morphine lower, and he might be able to get away with a few alcoholic beverages. He nodded, loosened his tie and walked to the bar and pulled out a few coins. "Uh...firewhiskey, and wotever she wants."

So he felt like being nice. It was more of the fact that he didn't want to deal with any awkwardness, so it was easier if he just paid. Plus Allena, although she could care for herself, seemed to be on the traditional side. The last thing he wanted was some stupid squabble over a few coins. And if he could get Allena drunk, he'd have no problem paying for it.
Damien Renton

[Allena Delarue]

Allena nodded a bit, granting him that at least. "Eugh, oui, I suppose you are correct in zat," she said, reasonably enough. They had arrived at the pubish setting without incident, although once they got there he seemed a bit leery. Perhaps that was just her, though. There were certainly less aimicable he could be saying, and for that matter, doing. He could have just turned and left, but instead he remained close.

And, what was this? He was being gentlemanly enough to offer-albeit not directly, but still- her a drink? In the midst of that she neglected some of the other things he said, the rhetorical questions and what not. She was a bit puzzled about the owl, though, and tilted her head a bit like a small, confused animal.

"Your owl?" she questioned, befuddled. Could his owl not find him indoors, or await him at the school? As far as she remembered, he was involved with some shady things, but she didn't think they were too bad. Perhaps they'd worsened, or become more serious.

Or maybe he was just more paranoid.

"Vodka, s'il vous-plait." Low calorie, tasted like shit, but it got the job done. And what with 67-odd calories per...ounce, was it? She couldn't remember exactly, but something like that...it was usually a safe bet. For her, anyway. She kept herself sidled up next to him, standing as close as she could get without it being awkward or forceful. The people inside looked clean, for the most part, but she was still uncomfortable with the unfamiliar faces.

She took her own drink when it was given to her, smiling and nodding a thank you to the bartender. "S'ank you for ze drink," she said, with a mock air of formality and, perhaps less mockingly, a certain air of flirtation. "Vould you like to sit at a booth or linger at ze bar?" Booths were more private, but perhaps private wasn't what he was going for.

Her hand hooked under his forearm-the one that wasn't holding his drink- as a way to remain connected to him innocently and, also, to make up for her repugnant reaction before. Despite popular opinion, she did have a bit of a heart, and perhaps a bigger conscious, if only slightly. Smiling up at him she wanted to ease over potential awkwardness that she'd instilled previously with kind and even affectionate gesticulations.

[Damien Renton]

"Aye, my owl," Damien said, downing half the glass as fast as he could but soon decided that it was, indeed, not a novel ideal. He felt like if he dared hiccup, fire would come jetting out of his mouth like a dragon. He did not want to take this risk.

"You know aboot my owl. Heroin doesn't grow oot oaf my ass." Nor does cocaine, xtc pills, various pain killers and any other downer-inducing ingredient. If they did, that would be most odd and rather interesting. He'd make a fortune, for he wouldn't be spending his profits on drugs, or wasting his product on himself.

But drugs weren't falling out of his ass, and trying to fish them out of the toilet if they did wouldn't be pleasant. In fact, it made him gag slightly just thinking about it. Feeling rather weirded out at his disturbing ass-drug thoughts, he was glad when Allena's voice penetrated his mind.

"Aye, Ah dae wot Ah can," he said, the firewhiskey heating up his face slightly. "And a booth would be quite-" Damien held in a hiccup, his chest heaving slightly. "-quite fine."

He felt her hard snake around his arm and he was surprised by her affections; although he was weary to not take them to heart, really. Maybe she already had a few drinks in her, after all. It was hard to tell.

He slid into a booth, pulling her in the seat with him. Well, if she wanted t be smiley and touchy, he could do that too. Taking a few more gulps, now trying to get drunk fast, he turned over to her and forced a small grin in return.

"Wot rendered you in such a good mood taenicht?" And if she said that she got laid, he'd roundhouse kick her to the face and possibly then drop kick her, then punt her into the Shrieking Shack. He was a bit sensitive tonight.

[Allena Delarue]

Allena nodded, former thoughts confirmed. For a brief moment of deranged logic she thought that he might have given it up, but apparently not. Obviously this was not the case, but it was something that she should have had more knowledge on beforehand. Her father had told her numerous times that he'd stop, but then again...Damien hadn't ever made a serious mentioning, at least not recently, of stopping. Why would she have supposed that he might have gotten smart?

Oh, right. Because heroin doesn't let you get smart.

She tried to smile, lamely, and nodded in response. "No, I suppose it doesn't," she commented, her words conflicting with her action. She noticed this herself--sober, for the time being-- and furrowed her brow, looking perplexed by her own actions. Almost immediately she began to feel bad for the poor fcukers who weren't inside her head and had to figure things out on their own.

A slight giggle surfaced when he hiccuped, her fingers tightening around her glass to prevent spillage. "I am glad you agree. Ze bar is kind of, eugh, gross." That was an understatement. She'd made an attempt to ignore the bar, not touch the grimy wood surface, because she knew what kind of people's hands had been on it before. Men's hands. Men who didn't bathe often, who didn't wash their hands after going to the bathroom or otherwise touching themselves. Lascivious, dirty men.

Ew.

She shuttered at the thought. But she was pulled down into the seat with him, and she maintained her closeness even after she got settled. The skirt-wearing days of Hogsmeade's past were gone, and she was wearing modest jeans, sneakers that she could walk--even run, if need be-- in, a comfortable sweater well suited for the dismal weather.

"I'm alvays in a good mood in good company," she replied complacently, even slipping a compliment into there. Indeed, she was surprisingly pleased with her find. God, she could have done so much worse. Secretly, she didn't honestly think she could find much better. But of course she would avoid feeding his ego and "neglect" to tell him this.

"If you vere a 'ufflepuff it'd be a different story."

[Damien Renton]

Damien was beyond confused with her actions, even more so since she slid in next to him and stayed just as close s she was before. What was wrong with her? Was she high? She had to have popped a bean. Maybe she had his package!

She even complimented him! Blinking slightly at her, he found himself at a loss for words. It was something he was undoubtedly not used to, not alone anytime really recent. But he wasn't the most compliment giving either, so it wasn't like he could talk.

"A Puff Am am nae," he said, distracted as he looked into her eyes. Not in a cute romantic way- more in a "is she high, are her pupils dilated?' way. Swallowing and feeling self conscious himself, he picked back up his glass and continued drinking, feeling his stomach slosh back and forth, heavy with liquid.

"Why are you being sae nice? Did you find my parcel and help yerself? Or are you in need or a good lay? Because, Ah'm sairy dear- but you are being exceptionally pleasant." To test her said pleasantness, he put his free hand on her upper thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. Not a rough one because god forbid she broke a bone or something.

"You need tae eat more, you know." Perhaps it was a buzz kill statement but he was just ebing honest, and it slightly worried him. "go order a burger or something. Naething gay."

[Allena Delarue]

Allena was amused with his confusion. He wasn't very good at hiding it, and appeared to be searching out her lies on her face. But she wasn't lying, not really. Not enough for even her to perceive, to say the least. She sighed a bit, letting her smile diminish, the crow's feet-which were only apparent when she smiled, and even then only more noticibly on her left eye because she'd tripped and fallen onto the corner of a table when she was young, leaving a nasty cut that had to be stitched, and thus an impression.

"Thankfully," she said, again lackadaisically. She rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head no. "I do not like needles, you know zis." Yeah, she was squemish. An unforgivible was no big deal, but needles--not her thing. "And anyvay, I vas not ze one 'oo got mean." This wasn't meant to be a jab at him, but it may have come off as such. "I mean, ve just didn't get along. It vasn't you or me," but, really, it was more him. Or so she liked to think.

Laughing a bit, she squeaked as he gave her upper thigh a squeeze. Swatting at his hand playfully, but not really in such a way that would make him withdraw, if he was sensible, she shook her head at him. "You're dirty," she said, wrinkling her small nose at him, tapping his hand with her index and middle fingers as a poor reprimand.

Her smile fell a bit when he told her she needed to eat more. "I do, yes, but I cannot. Vhen I get older I vill. But now is not ze right time. Once I get ze center position in ze Company, I can, eugh, eat your, eugh, 'amburgers." She paused, "Or not, because I do not like 'amburgers. I'll eat somes'ing, I guess."

[Damien Renton]

"Ah know you dinnae like needles, but Ah've goat more than jist needles in there." Damien informed her nonchalantly, fingers making small patterns against the denim of her pants. He was not pleased when she told him that he was the one who got mean- it made him sound bitter.

Which he slightly was, no doubt. But he didn't want her to know that! "Ah did nae such thing. You- you goat mean. And pompous. And rather cantankerous. And thinner." He had to throw in the latter adjective for good measure, even if it did prove her point, more or less.

"Ah am nae dirty!" He snorted in laughter, but his hand stayed put. "And yer one tae talk. Yer more perverted than half the guys Ah know. And you really like c0ck- and there is naething wrong with that."

Her food excuse was the same, and just as stupid as before. "Get a veggie burger than- eat some chicken wings, anything. Shite, Ahd be content if you ate a fcuking sandwich. And nae a gay little girl drink- something with some guts. Nae...vodka and water."

He leaned more into her once he took another few swigs of his drink, praying that the drunkenness onset would start very, very soon. On her as well. However, then they both had to get back to the castle. And the small inns around here were rather unsettling.

[Allena Delarue]

Despite a few run ins, mostly paternal run-ins at that, Allena found that she knew relatively little about heroin. Yes, she'd dated the addict next to her, but needles made her squemish and she hadn't exactly found many times when she wanted to watch him while he was getting his fix in any way, shape or form, and thus she wasn't exactly an expert at the various methods.

She frowned when he rattled off a laundry list of things that she should probably be ashamed of, and although that wasn't the exact feeling she got--she wasn't sure if she knew what that feeling was like, except for one or two events with people who she shouldn't have been with, and only one of those times was really extreme--aka, getting caught by the teenage daughter who looked only a little younger than herself.

But she didn't like to think about that. It wasn't her most flattering moment.

"You certainly know 'ow to make a girl feel good," she mumbled, sarcastically, and looked into her iced glass, shaking it in her hand a bit before taking a drink. Had she put a little more oomph into that drink it may have seemed dramatic, but now it just seemed well timed. In her opinion, anyway. She had, admittedly, gotten thinner, but that was something of a direct result of breaking up. Not that she was depressed, but rather she had more time and less monitoring.

Her cheeks flushed red as he admitted, in this quaint little pub, that she liked c-ck. "Damien!" she cried, feeling rather embarrassed now. "Please!" She jerked her leg away from him, her cheeks rosying. Distance was not put between them, mostly because her ass had made a comfortable, warm little indent in the seat that she didn't wish to part with, but she crossed one leg over the other to get the point across.

He continued to dispel little painful and, she suspected, ill-meaning suggestions in her general direction. Her joyous mood was dampened, slightly, and she didn't smile. Sighing, she leaned forward for her drink again and took another, smaller sip. Fortunately for her, it was easier to get drunk on an empty stomach. This meant that, at virtually any point in time, she could get drunk without having to actually consume copious amounts of alcohol.

It was a mixed blessing and came at the cost of her health, but she supposed that she wasn't really going on the healthy route anyway.

[Damien Renton]

It became apparent that Allena was upmost unhappy with his behavior. She was a prude little wentch. It was one thing to be tactful but it was another thing to be a drag. So she liked cock- God forbid she openly admit it. It wasn't like he screamed it over to the bar tender.

"Wot? Did something change? You munching on carpet now instead?" What a horrible effect the wrong answer to that question would have on his ego. As far as he knew, he was the last guy she actually 'dated'- fcuked, probably not.

She jerked away from him and thankfully the fast drinking of the liquor rendered him slightly buzzed, otherwise they'd probably start another famous btch-fest at each other. So instead he snorted again and removed his hand, hoping her thigh felt awfully lonely now.

"When did you become such a prude, sensitive wee cnut?" Stopping himself from continuing, he remember how being called a 'cnut' to most people wasn't a good thing. In fact, to even lower-class Scottish girls it wasn't a good thing. But he was used to talking to the boys, and the noun of 'cnut' was used for good or bad people.

"Ah mean- ughhh Ah mean lady," he corrected himself in quite a shitty manor, but it was a fauxpaux she'd have to get over. As if she wouldn't be used to it, honestly. God only knows what she has said to him in French before- it all made itself work out.

"Can't you jist let loose and injoy yerselv? Stop being sae prissy!"

[Allena Delarue]

Allena sighed, wrinkling her nose as he made a somewhat gross analogy for what she could be doing. "No," she said, shaking her head, "I 'ave not. Its...gross." She imagined that it was gross even for boys to do--not to say that she didn't enjoy it, but she figured that it was probably not the most pleasant of things to do. Actually, it was probably one of the more unpleasant sexual endeavors that she could think of.

"It isn't zat it is not true," she said, trying to find a good way to articulate herself while she got a bit fuzzier, though she refused to let the drinks stop coming until she was sufficently drunk. Damien could refrain if he wanted, but she was going to be sticking with him for the evening whether he wanted her to or not. It wasn't often that she was able to drink while school was in session any more, what with her not being able to come to town and get drunk alone, and so she was taking advantage of her situation.

Leaning toward him a bit and lowering her voice, she set her drink down and spoke softly. "I just do not need all of zese people to 'ear about it." A pause, and then, "It is not safe to be a drunk girl in a bar of maritally dissatisfied men." Now she was assuming things, but in all honesty she believed that she was more attractive than any of their wives, and especially more attractive than the nothing that some of the wifeless men came home to. It was just a rule of thumb.

"I do not need to be 'it on, or worse yet, come down ze street alone and 'ave someone recognize me, God forbid. You do not need to vorry about such s'ings--I do not s'ink many men come in ze dark looking to you for sex-- but it is not a, eugh, safe feeling."

That kind of covered his second question as well. Had they been in the school, she wouldn't have minded the comment so much. The surroundings made her uncomfortable though, particularly recently. She allowed the 'c-nt' comment to go unnoticed, or at least unmentioned. Over time she'd become desensitized to it, and that lack of sensitivity lingered even after their relationship had packed up and moved away.

"I vill enjoy myself if you promise not to say s'ings zat can potentially get me raped," she said, the smile creeping back to her lips as she took another sip. She hadn't meant that her getting raped was something to smile about, but rather that she was just teasing him now. She was even half tempted to put his hand back on her leg, but decided that that was overcompensation and instead just uncrossed her legs, maintaining past closeness.

[Damien Renton]

"Gross?" Damien laughed. "Ah'm jist not one for foreplay. Unless it's on me." It was a double standard he enjoyed immensely- if he got drunk enough, or if a girl really pleaded with him, it'd happen. Otherwise, he was a more or less straight to the point.

A bad and unfair double standard- it was much like how Christian Bale was gay for making out with Ewan McGregor in that movie yet Ewan McGregor...just wasn't. Then again, you didn't see Ewan running around in a gay cowboy costume in a different movie either, now did you?

"How dae you know these men are even married?" Wow, she was judgmental. Not that it wasn't anything that he didn't know before. She had odd standards. She'd date a well known junkie but didn't like him to even mention her liking cock. It wasn't like he screamed it! "I merely said it, in an even tone! It's nae like inyone heard me!"

No, he didn't have men coming up to him in the dark looking for sex. He hadn't come across Christan Bale coming up to him.

He rolled her eyes at her acting like a drama queen. Like she was going to be raped. Unless it was by him. And that certainly wouldn't be rape. At least he didn't think so.

Finishing his drink, he looked over at her and decided to move his arm around her instead of going right for the goal, which was in between her legs. "Wot are yer plans for the night? You gracing me with yer presence?"

[Allena Delarue]

Allena rolled her eyes but humored him nonetheless, relenting with a smile. "I noticed," she said, but kept her grin on nonetheless. No need for him to think she was being an overreacting psychopath, again. Granted, sometimes she -was- an overreacting, overbearing, over everything psychopath, but she just figured that everyone else could just deal with it and then forget it. She also swore it was genetic--her mother suffered the same thing.

Or maybe she was just being a woman. Yes, that was probably it.

"I don't 'ave to," she commented, "Zey just -look- dissatisfied. Do zey not?" They did, in her very biased opinion. Maybe that just came from the fact that she'd just become accustomed to the look of a satisfied man. Usually, anyway. She aimed to please, at any rate, and thus tried to get generally positive responses. Of course this didn't -always- happen, but it happened enough for her to grow accustomed to seeing it.

"But you said it 'ere. I vould not 'ave cared if it vas anyvere elese--we've probably 'ad zis conversation before. But 'ere? I'd prefer it if zese men didn't 'sink I vas a trashy 'ooker. S'anks." Sarcasm unfortunately doesn't seem to work so well with a French accent, but she was hoping he didn't mock her for it. It wasn't her fault that she couldn't get rid of it.

Allena was admittedly surprised when he put his arm around her, but she certainly wasn't going to complain. Intrigued, she looked at him with an arched eyebrow but also a smile or a smirk--it was really up to him to pick which he prefered. "Yes," she said, not having had made any plans for the night. She had originally been planning on going back to the castle, but she'd lingered in town too long and now was unable to go back without fear, even with Damien.

If they did venture back to the castle, his arms were going to have fingernail marks on them. She liked to play victim now and again, and certainly enjoyed feeling protected. And, as of right then, she couldn't think of much better of a person to play the role of her protector than Damien--save Gage, maybe, but only because he was jacked.

"You do not 'ave plans zat I am interrupting, do you? Ozer zan you're package?"