Damn it, she'd spent three weeks in the heart of the city and still couldn't find her way to the stupid post office. Why couldn't there be a UPS store at her beck and call?

Avril Pahner was in very much of a hurry. The artist had to get her painting in the mail inside the hour or she'd lose her sale. She was depending on this one, too, to pay her bills. It was a large piece, this time, for the lobby of some guy's company in a city she couldn't recall at the moment. Oh well, it was written on a piece of paper in her portfolio--the very large case she was dragging with her that held her soon-to-be paycheck.

She was not in a good mood, either. Not only were her snakes not behaving, threatening to break out of her strict hold and reveal her to everyone on the sidewalk, but her mother had called earlier the day before and begun complaining that Avril had set the gods against them.

Her sister Eva was twenty six and just had her third child—the first boy ever to be born into their family. Their mother and aunts and cousins(all female and none of them planning to settle down any time soon) blamed her for this anomaly. Avril had the poor misfortune to want a man to have and to hold and break the family tradition of reproducing without a husband. Apparently their family wasn’t meant to find love and her wanting to do so had angered whatever deities lived in the world above them. It wasn’t that she believed her mother and was worried about some impending doom, rather she was pissed off that everyone believed Avril to be the reason for her nephew.

She had a very old family that dated back to the myths and legends of the Greeks and Romans(she didn’t care to remember which, it didn’t matter to her). There was no way to deny it, though. Everyone in her family had the defining mark of a mass of snakes for hair(the ones around the waist had finally disappeared a few generations back) that the Gorgons had been known for centuries ago. Avril’s happened to be colored a light yellow that only snakes seemed to capture. Her eyes were the same tone as theirs: an indistinct brown.

She mulled over these thoughts as she hastened in the direction she vaguely remembered going the last time she had to mail something large. The crowd she was weaving through was thick and it pushed her short five foot four frame against the buildings they walked past. This also pushed her against any doors she passed and as she was nearing one of them it swung open, forcing her to leap into the crowd to avoid being hit. She jumped too much, though, and overbalanced before taking more than a few steps. She toppled over and her portfolio landed in the gutter. She tried to grab for it, her hat was askew and people were stepping on her pea coat, preventing Avril from reaching her painting. Mud got on her jeans and no one seemed to take much notice of the girl.

“Ouch, damn it! Stop that!” She hit her head roughly. Those stupid snakes had tried to bite her! A few people turned to stare as if she were crazy before they hurried on their ways.

Oh no, this was not turning out to be a good day.

A graceful, long-fingered hand reached down towards the muddy portfolio, grabbing it by the side. The portfolio itself wasn’t in bad shape, and as the tall stranger examined it with critical eyes, the mud slowly began dripping off, leaving a clean and dry folder in its wake.

The stranger tilted his head to the side, bed-mussed hair falling over the smoke-colored glasses shielding his eyes. He smiled softly, all white teeth and danger. Slowly he made his way to the fallen woman, standing in front of her, blocking the sun. He was wearing a long dark coat, and although logically the end of it should be encrusted with slush and dirt, it was as charcoal black as his hair. Underneath said coat, was a black t-shirt that read in simple white letters: ‘Peace’. This was paired with unremarkable black denim trousers and biker boots. He stood tall, his sinewy frame, by some miracle, not getting tossed about by the swarming crowd. His smile grew as he looked from the folder in his right hand to the girl on the pavement before him.

“Hello there…” He said in a soft almost cooing manner, his voice rich and deep, like dark chocolate. He looked to be about twenty, but such a subject is debatable. “Drop something?” He asked, raising a dark eyebrow and dangling the folder dangerously between his fingers. He laughed softly, almost playfully, before extending his left hand towards the girl.

(( Don't worry, he won't be cruel!...Yet. ))

Avril stopped dead when she heard that voice, that low rumbling voice that made her heart flutter. She hoped against hope against hope that he had not just witnessed her 'self-discipline.'

Looking up, she saw just what sort of body belonged to the voice. It was a very nice body from her point of view. But then she saw what was held loosely in his fingers.

"My portfolio!"

Her face broke out into a brilliant smile that could make even her face seem fit for the silver screen. It's amazing that she could get so blessed over such a simple thing. She immediately took his other hand, figuring that he couldn't be too bad and she'd like to get to know him a little better.

This was what she came to the city for, right? Exposure to real life and men that you didn't just hit and run away from. Love.

Sanguis pulled the young Lady up without any trouble, facing her perhaps a bit closer than was completely necessary. The strange thing was that he didn't let go of her hand, he held on to it gently, holding out the portfolio for her to take. He was still smiling, eyes roaming over the young woman behind his glasses.

"It seems incredibly important to you..." He commented thoughtfully, as if he were taking mental notes. "What's in it?" Useless question, of course. He already knew. Slowly he let go of her hand, his own warm and dry, before reaching up and pushing his glasses back over his head. His eyes, the one thing he couldn't change, were red like the snow was white. The very height of its color, it seemed.

A blush crept to her cheeks at the close proximity and her mind silently groaned when his hand slipped away. It left her own hand feeling cold, alone and naked.

Then his voice sounded again, flowing through to her very core.

"In my portfolio? Oh, only a canvas I did on commission for this guy's company." Canvas, right, that meant that she needed to be at the post office.

"Holy Zeus! Fuck, I have to get to a UPS store or something in a half hour or I'm dead! Can you believe it?" she asked, her cheery face asking the same question when she looked at the stranger, "I moved to the city three months ago and I still can't find my way ar..ound..."

Those eyes. They were so...captivating...What an unusual color, too. For a moment that seemed to last for hours she was lost in them, drowning in them. Someone bumped into her again, forcing her out of her reverie.

She steadied herself and shook her head, looking back at him.

"Would you mind helping me?" A happy plead.

Sanguis listened calmly, choosing not to commit to the conversation until he knew how much fun he could have. He tilted his head to the side, like a sweet and curious puppy. His charming smile sprang to life once again. Seems he figured out exactly how much fun.

"I'm not one for philanthropy," He said with a small shrug "But...I'll help you, if you help me." His tone is just enough to be suggestive, but not overtly so. "Besides, I have a soft part for artists."

As she was trying to balence her portfolio get her disobedient snakes under control, her fluttering heart took a start.

If you help me.

There was just something on the edge of his voice...she wasn't quite sure if it made it uncomfortable or not, and it confused her. But of course, she wasn't going to get anywhere in her love life if she clammed up in a hole when she wasn't sure about something.

"Is that so?" she said with a coy smile, "How soft?" and she began walking in what she hoped was in the right direction.