It was four days past his birthday, edging into the desolate vague of the time just after sunset when everything runs blurry images, short nights, and too much heat and he was coming from Toronto.

Alex wasn’t entirely sure where he was going, or what he expected himself to do, but he was leaving, maybe just because it seemed like the sort of thing the person he was trying to be ought to do, like sending Christmas cards and giving a few coins to the heroin addict sleeping in the bus stop.

It didn’t matter that there was probably nothing for him where he was going, just like it didn’t matter that the Christmas cards would rest on the mantle for a few days before they were thrown away, like no one bothered to care that the money would only go for more drugs, not a hot cup of coffee and a much needed sandwich.

Alex had a list of things he would have liked to do before he left, which always seemed to fall into the no man’s land of his To Do List, lost in the perpetual fogginess of “when I get around to it” and “one day I’ll have time.” They were caught in the April of the bulletin board that hangs in his bedroom, though the calendar clearly stated it was no longer April but July, with sprawled phone numbers and the scrap of paper that said Mom needs you to get Groceries!, and the note from his grandmother informing him that he must Attend duel enrollment Meeting– Thursday 3:00 PM, no easier to ignore then the shouting children from the neighbor’s home through thin walls but ignored nonetheless.

They were never taken care of and sometimes Alex thought he ought to have made a list and worked his way down it. He’d have liked to live in an ideal world where the ultimate goal of visiting Rome had equal weight in possibility to remembering to do his homework. He’d have liked the idea of not leaving Toronto to be as possible as buying laundry detergent, like remembering to carry a flask of coffee and sandwiches in the bottom of his book bag, to give the man at the bus station something useful for a change.

He was seventeen and floundering when he stepped onto the bus, with thirty around the corner of the luggage rack and fifty as he stepped off of the bus to find himself in a city called Bayfield.

The young man had a worn out book under his arm. The knees of his jeans were patched, so threadbare that the pants themselves seemed to have gone beyond beloved and moved on into nearly see-through, and he had the same quality, as if you are looking through him. He looked tired and lost and he had only gotten off of the bus because it was the last stop before they looped back around to go back to Toronto, and he most certainly didn’t want to go there. He stood in the middle of the sidewalk like a lost, invisible child.

The nights were long and growing cold as summer began to move into autumn. The canopy of leaves that the trees formed over the path of this small side street were beginning to change colors and soon they would fall and he would no longer have a roof to shield to sky from his view as he lay on the bench and tried to let sleep come. God willing, he hoped he wasn’t still sleeping on the street by the time full autumn rolled in.

The full moon was drawing closer. Alex could predict this not because he had ever had a passion for astronomy. Alex could sense the moon filling up through an internal, inexplicable tie to the lunar cycle. He wasn’t sure entirely how the connection worked or how it was formed but he could sense it as though it was always with him, riding close in his heart.

Alex was becoming distracted by this sense of being tied to the moon. It was as though he could feel a string tied to some place within the core of his body that ran in a straight, unbroken line directly to the moon and as the moon grew fuller, this string grew more taught until he could swear that it would yank whatever it was tied to out of his body with such force as to rip himself apart.

He was trying to plan his next move. Alex had packed his bags and caught the first bus while his only present thought had been that he must get away from their, far away, as quickly as he could. That meant that he had packed minimal clothes and items into a duffle bag and a worn book bag and had fled his home without a second thought on the matter. It wasn’t until he was six hours away that he had lowered his book and stared down the isle of the bus, realizing that he had no game plan at all and was now…he didn’t know how far away from home.

And now the cycle was distracting him, was out to get him…again.

Alex leaned forward until his patched elbows connected to his knees and he buried his face in his hands. The boy groaned his despair and desperation into his hands.

He looked homeless, and essentially he was, in his hand me down clothing and sleeping in a curled ball on the bench every night, a duffle bag tucked beneath with it’s strap wrapped around his wrist and his book bag serving as a lumpy, hard pillow. It had been two nights since he had stepped off of the bus onto this street, two nights that he had slept on the bench. It had been so casual the first night. He had trudged down to the bench and collapsed, too tired to care. The second night, however, had been terrifying. Every noise made him jump, every sound made him look around. What if he were jumped? What if this got him killed?

Tonight, his despair was simply too much to care. He needed a plan.

OOC: bump? Anyone?

Niyati strolled along. She was in the mood to grant a bit of Luck. This was common of her, to strut down feeling a tad like some omnipotent God, bestowing good days on those who she so should chose. And she supposed that she did have some right to feel this way (although she gathered that omnipotency would be extremely boring) since some diluted blood of Lady Luck did flow through her.

Trying to not stick out so much, she wore her hair in a purposely sloppy bun, and jeans and a baggy teeshirt. Of course, bangles, all thin and bright colors to match the casual look, coated either forearm. And somehow still managed to give off that tinkling sound.

She would never ever be a good sneak.

Niyati had her eye on one boy in paticular. On the young side, dirty looking. Too young to be sleeping on a park bench.

Well, maybe not sleeping. The poor thing was jumping at every honk of a horn. She approached slowly, trying not to surprise him.

"You're going to give yourself a heart attack young man." She chided softly, tinkling voice not menacing in the least. She'd know he was in really bad shape if that made him jump.

Alex isn’t exactly too young to be sleeping on a bench, many much younger children are homeless. He is too nervous for this to have been anything but his first time sleeping on a bench. Homeless people just aren’t this nervous about what might happen, they’ve grown used to the sounds of the night, to the loneliness.

Alex had still been holding his face in his hands when she had approached him and despite that she had approached slowly, he startled nonetheless. People had been passing him all evening without a word to him or a glance at him, why should those slow footsteps have been anything other then another person passing him by?

When her voice rang softly, Alex startled almost violently, whipping his hands away from his face, his back straightening, his silvery blue gaze showing just a little too much white around the edges. His gaze swept up to her and he breathed again, he hadn’t realized that he had stopped even for a moment, and he slumped back until his shoulders met the benches back and his butt barely stayed on the edge of the seat.

“That would be a bad thing, eh?” He managed a smile but it was very half hearted. “Sorry, didn’t see you coming,” he played off his shock.

Maybe young wasn't the word. Too innocent. In Mumbai, beggars clammered in the poorer parts of the city. Children the majority, but there was no pretence to innocence or naivety in their eyes. Gave one a coin and they all crowded, pushing, pulling, almost violent.

Here, they might start talking to you about a sister you didn't have, but they where calm, cool and all together less...urgent then the one's in her home city. Almost as if they had resigned themselves to this life. Maybe it was the cold that sapped away their hope.

Niyati gave the boy a smile, without pity however. Pity helps no one. It only serves to make the receiver feel worse. She's curious as to his story, but she knew it was far from her place to inquire. So far, she was just a strange lady off the street.

"It would. I bet you're hungry." She crossed her arms loosely. "How about some dinner?

Perhaps it's a will to be kind to someone, to chalk up a good deed. Maybe she just doesn't like seeing someone so unused to that life trying to adapt. But whatever it is, the young man was just offered dinner by a total stranger.

"I'm Niyati."

There, not a total stranger now.

Something sapped away Alex’s hope but it wasn’t the cold, that much is certain.

He shivered slightly, despite the still warm air that clung to the end of summer.

Maybe a heart attack wouldn’t be such a terrible thing after all, he thought, his mind wondering inward to the beast that he could feel curled there. It shifted, realizing that his attention was on it, and he brought his mind away from that thought as quickly as he could, withdrawing from it as if he’d been bite.

“That would be a very bad thing,” he agreed with his own statement. It sounded almost like a nervous habit to do so.

“Hungry?” Alex dropped his eyes to the ground shamefully. “I’m starving,” he admitted. Indeed, he hadn’t really realized his hunger until she’d mentioned it. He rummaged in one of his pockets and withdrew his hand with a crumpled bill in it. “I’ve got money,” he told her, as though he were defending himself from accusations of being homeless, however homeless he might be at the moment. “I just,” shrug, “forgot.” Forgot what? To eat? Yeah.

“But,” he added quickly, “I’d like the company…if you have the time. And if you’re hungry too,” he added. A frown creased his eyebrows. “Niyati,” he repeated, then hesitated. Alexander Lutz had gone missing twelve days ago. Already he was hearing reports with his name announced across the radio. Already he had cut off his long, beloved hair, already he had ditched his old, favorite book bag and his gym duffle bag, trading them for newer items. But none of that changed the fact that Alex was being looked for.

“Alucard,” he said, sticking his hand out towards her, using the first name that came to mind. It was a good name, a strong name, and it was the name of the main character in the last book he had read.

Niyati gave a slight shake of her head. The boy could save his money for some other meal. Or soap.

"I'll get it this time."

The boy seemed utterly lost. Down on his luck. It would be so easy to grant him a few hours of good luck, but it wouldn't be worth it. She didn't think he was planning on taking any big risks anytime soon. Although she knew her skill had the ability to snow ball, it tended to affect larger things no matter how small they started out. And yet again, she knew him hardly at all. She had once granted someone so young good luck. They'd become reckless upong realizing everything seemed to be going their way.

They'd ended up dead.

Another one of Niyati's 'small blunders'. And therefore, she'd charged herself with being more cautious about the luck she gave out and for how long. Although even she, as stubborn as she was, tended to slip up and gave it too casually once in a while.

This would not be one of those times.
"You eat meat then? A burger good?" She inquired as she took his hand, and shook it firmly with the accompaniment of bangles tinkling.
"Alucard. Seems familiar." But she couldn't quite place it so she let it drop for now.

Alex’s…Alucard’s…lip twitched in the corner, dragging it upward into a half smile. “You said ‘this time,’” he said, as though she couldn’t possibly have known what she said and exactly how she had said it. “Implying there will be another.” He isn’t exactly fishing for any promises or details, more like clarifying what exactly she had said. He has a bad little habit of pointing out when people say things that they don’t, or aren’t sure, they mean.

He ate red meat alright. Ever since he had…gotten infected, Alucard (it was getting easy fast to think of himself as Alucard) had been drawn more to red meat then ever before in his young life. Always before he had liked chicken and the occasional burger. He doesn’t think he’s had chicken in three months.

He’s also noticed with each burger he orders the meat bloodier. He’s attempted to curve this appetite but so far is failing miserably.

Instead of denying meat and burgers, he gives into it and nods feebly. “Sure thing,” he replied. Her firm handshake was meet by a loose hand. Teenagers aren’t really designed for handshakes, more like hugs for females and a good slap on the back for males. Besides, suffice to say he’s had a rough twelve days and his manners aren’t exactly up to par.

“Mum named me after a character,” he replied almost a little too quickly. He added a shrug that was more like a mere lift of the shoulders to make his hurried excuse more casual. He stood and slipped the strap of his book bag over his shoulders, then bent to lift the strap of the duffle bag, letting the strap slice a diagonal line across his body. He stood short for a boy his age. Beside her, he felt like a child.


OOC: sorry, that post came out terribly...harry.

Niyati gave him an appraising look and nodded.

"That I did." But she didn't seem like she was about to elaborate. It wasn't a long ways off to a little diner. Just down the rest of the block and across the street. On the corner was The Green Spot. Nice enough without being pricey.

"We'll go just up the street." Niyati pointed to indicate what she meant, but she supposed the boy seemed intelligent to figuire where they might go himself. Of course, she had a habit of underestimating everyone's capabilities. Which was probably why she was continually surprised by people.

It was a warm night, for Canada. And she had to admit, their summers got near Indian summers, but most of the time it felt like a mild winter for her. Even after five years of living here. It was a slow adaptation.

Alucard. Yes, it'd been in the blurb of a book she'd picked up for a moment in a bookstore recently.

She began walking, slowly, with her head turned to the boy, waiting for him to catch up. Or protest.

Niyati gave him an appraising look and nodded.

"That I did." But she didn't seem like she was about to elaborate. It wasn't a long ways off to a little diner. Just down the rest of the block and across the street. On the corner was The Green Spot. Nice enough without being pricey.

“That would be nice,” he said when she did not elaborate. He didn’t ask anymore questions. Alucard shifted the bags around on his shoulders so that the strap of the duffle was not cutting against his neck and he turned to see where she had pointed. He just nodded. What was he going to do? Disagree? He didn’t know anywhere in this city they could eat, unless it meant wandering the streets until he came to a bistro or fast-food place or food stand.

To the boy, while the weather wasn’t cold yet, it was cooling and it was no longer hot. He’d lived in one part of Canada or another all of his life. He knows what to expect of the weather.

Alucard took three quick steps to catch up with her long strides, then fell into place beside her, silently.

She was perhaps, innately nosy. Curious to a point. And there where several questions she was wanting to ask, but she wasn't entirely sure she wouldn't be rebuffed. And perhaps doing so would be Alucard's full right.

"How old are you?" She asked instead of the other, more prying questions.

Why are you on the streets? Have you run away from home? What are you planning to do?

But of course, she left them alone. Not only did she completely agree it was most likely none of her business, but Niyati didn't really want to sound like a social worker. She wasn't a shrink, she was an Historian.

It didn't take long to reach the diner, and she chose a booth for them so his bags wouldn't prove to be too much trouble. The menus where already on the table and she slide one out of the metal thing that held them.

Resting her elbows on the melamine table, she flipped it open, although she pretty much knew what she wanted.

Cheeseburger and fries. And a glass of water.

"What do you want? Money in no object." She joked. The most expensive thing on the menu was 11$ for a large all dressed pizza.