Paris pushed around a cold cup of coffee with right hand. Delicately, with one finger she pushed it away from her and then to the side and back towards her. A continuous circle, the coffee inside long forgotten. There was no sign, she could loiter and she did.

Dark circles formed under her eyes. If one where to gaze into them they would see hopelessness, sadness, regret or maybe nothing at all. There were times when Paris would say that she would never be miserable, but that was before she died. She wasn't herself, only a fraction.

The waitress had long gaven up on her, passing her a knowing smile as she passed the table time and time again. It was late, around 2 in the morning. Paris wished she was in the country, in the bushes, changed and without a possessed arm. She couldn't change into a werewolf now, not without giving the arm weapons. She already found out that the arm was dangerous. maybe if she ignored it... No not possible.

Paris continued to push the cup around, head leaning on her shoulder. So this is depression... How... depressing...

The arm itself, left to its own devices, had curled into a soft half-arc at her left side. As time passed, and with a noted indifference to her or its surroundings, it bent slowly across the girl's lap and now, as Paris shifted and worried her coffeecup, its weight eased gently onto her stomach. It was a non-confrontational move, almost comforting - the sort of stance you see on women suffering cramps or pregnancy. Fingers eased around the other side, touching at her rib-cage through the cloth, fingers offering the press of focused body heat.

Shad decided it wouldn't hurt to have real food tonight. If Monroe's counted as real food. Maybe something like... Oooo. A burger and some fries. And a milkshake! The fund he had been saving up had grown in a large amount recently, him becoming accustomed to looking for change and bills left without an owner on the street. Didn't skip a coin. Even pennies were worth something. If you watch the pennies, the dollars will take care of themselves...

Ten dollars today. A handful of coins and a five dollar bill. Food. The door bell dinged as he slid inside and scanned the crowd. A fat man joking and laughing at the bar, and a girl. Staring at her coffee. Shad knew that girl! What was her name... P something. Patie? No... Petunia? God no... Pa... Paris! That was it. He took a step towards her booth, looking her over again. She looked sick. Holding her side. Not sipping her coffee.

"Hey Paris... You mind if I sit down?"

Refering to the whole empty bench across from her. Hands in his pockets, hidden by his old and odd looking cloak. Jeans and sneakers were visible from under the hem. Everything else, including his wings, was hidden from view.

Paris looked up from her coffee-less stupor. She looked at the boy for a second, she knew him... From the park. She couldn't put a name to his face. She had been to stressed lately to think of much. "Nice to see you... Have a seat." She smile half-heartedly and her voice was less then enthusiastic. She shuttered as her left arm moved, always aware of it but helpless in stopping it.

A line down her side, fingernail blunt and hard in warning or aggravation. The knuckle of the ring finger cracked audibly.

The boy took his seat across from her, watching the arm. Cramps? Ewww... Cramps... And knuckle popping. Just like yawns, this infected Shad into popping all the joints he could, as silently as he could, under the table. Finger, finger, finger, wrist, ankle, a few toes... It was sickening. Bad habit, but all the same.

"Er... You ok?"

She sure didn't look ok.

Paris cringed everytime Shad cracked a finger. It reminded her of her problem, her arm. As if she needed more reasons to be depressed the fingernail along her side made her jump. She gritted her teeth. "No. But I don't want to talk about it at the moment." She decided to change the subject. "How have you been?"

Slow slide of fingers down her side, hip, thigh, ending curled in her lap pressed against the fragile innard of her leg.