For the last few months she’d been making it by with little to no problem and little fear on the campus grounds, finding her way easily with touch and sound even in the middle of the night. Once she’d found that bench earlier and sat down though… Well… things got a little hazy directional wise after the first ten minuets there. So with a little resignation Grace lay back on the bench, burrowed herself deeper into her thick black coat, crossed her booted feet at the ankles and settled in with a cigarette to wait for campus patrol or some other helpful person to come by.
She could have pressed the small gray button on the small gray box in her pocket that would send an alert to the nearest police station that she was in some sort of trouble (A paranoid “my daughters moving away!” gift from her mother) but who in gods name wanted to deal with that sort of embarrassment, being picked up, driven home, and walked up the stairs of her apartment, it they could really help it.
Hell…. every one got lost now and again…the fact that she was only blocks away from said apartment grated on her a little but… well she could deal so she simply stayed on the bench, sucked in nicotine and waited for the sound of foot steps or breathing or hell even the contemptuous sound of campus patrol sighing as they slammed there doors, thinking her just another drunk, or even some of those drunk, rowdy people, at least they could more or less point her in the right direction.
And she lay there, holding the cigarette to her lips with paint stained fingers she mused that perhaps she should have reminded her instructor that no, she didn’t want to stay after class to finish up work that could be done tomorrow, no, she didn’t enjoy the only mildly threatening way she’d pressed for that extra work to be finished and no, she wasn’t going to be able to clean up the class room afterward because due to poor lighting and no sunlight, by the time she left, she would be completely blind.
With a soft growl and a bit of obligatory wiggling she came to the conclusion that the woman, while passable with water colors, was shite with oils and a witch to boot and there for should have been booted years ago from any position of power with impressionable and vulnerable young minds…I mean really…her poor class mates with there impressionable and vulnerable young minds.
With a slight smile after her over indulgence in adolescent behavior, she lit another cigarette and breathed in the smoke…feeling the edge of the day slowly slide off and the cold become more bearable as her body adjusted to the temperature. She flicked away her first bit of ash, opened her eyes and stared up into something that had once been beautiful to her but was now muted and dark like everything else and wished to got for not the first or the last time that she could still see the stars.

Michael had stayed late the night, wandering the campus as he often did. It helped him take his mind of other things, as he silently watched the stars, his mind only filled with thoughts of how beautiful the night sky was.

A stick cracked beneath his foot, startling him slightly and causing him hop away from the area. He shuddered. He could always appreciate the beauty of the night, but it spooked him. Ever since his sister was kidnapped. He knew he was being a baby, but as a 23 year old man he wasn't completely oblivious to what could happen in the night, even to someone like him. That was why he almost yelped outloud when he saw her sitting on the bench. He hadn't seen her there before and wasn't paying attention to where he was going. He had almost bumped right into her when coming up from behind her. She seemed as if she were busy and he was about to leave when he recognized her...from one of his classes.

"Hey, not lost are you?" he said teasingly, only joking around.

"You know, those are bad for you..." He mentioned as he saw the cigarette. His Irish accent was strong, so if she did know him it would be easy to distinguish his voice.

He didn't ask if he could join her. It wasn't his way. He merely sat down next to her and dropped his bag to the ground, making himself comfortable. He hoped he didn't make her uncomfortable by doing so. If she asked him to leave, he would say comply and take off. After all, he was intruding, but he remembered her face because of her artwork. She was really amazing. He wondered why, though, that she was on campus so late. Something tugged at his stomach telling him he was missing something important about her, but he couldn't bring it to mind. So he only sat and waited for a response from her, negative or positive.

She’d been a little bit startled by the sharp sound of a branch cracking but had been listening to the sound of feet for a while now anyway. It was easy to attach that sort of sound to the romp of boots and heavy breath. Someone coming up the path…about damn well time some one came along, she was starting to get cold.
As the person got closer Grace could distinguish more about them, from the way the person moved she swore they were male, a thought that was confirmed a moment later as she heard a touch of voice added to a sharp intake of air (she had startled him…how cute…) and the sudden sent of men’s cologne. She continued to wait quietly, listened to him speak and shifted only slightly as he sat down, rearranging her legs to make room for him. She made a soft snorting sound in the back of her throat and took another long drag of her cig, blowing the smoke out in his direction.

“Yeah…and so is talking to strangers….”

She punctuated the remark with another deep drag of smoke, carelessly flicking ashes to her side.

“As for being lost…well…”

She sighed then, actually having the decency to look sheepish.
She sat up, curling one arm over her knee and the other over the backrest to balance herself, staring in the strangers general direction, her lips lightly quirked to one side as she thought.

“ Your Michael...Michael Something or Another, aren’t you…? Your in my modern applications of expressionism class…I think…from Dublin if I place the accent correctly.”

She frowned slightly then sucked in more smoke as she continued to think, her eyes slightly unfocused as she tried to land them on what she assumed was his face.

“And what are you doing prowling about at the hour…?”

Michael smiled at her coy remark, but didn't say anything back. He wasn't offended when she procceeded to blow smoke in his direction. He waved it away, shaking his head slightly and chuckling softly.

"Well, you know who I am, so you aren't much of a stranger then are you, Grace? Yes, I am in your class, don't really know why though."

He frowned, "I am going to school for something entirely different. I guess I have always liked to work with my hands...and I have a talent for it I guess. You though, you do amazing work."

He noticed, though he tried to meet her gaze, that hers was slightly unfocused, not much of direction to it. That was when it clicked and a flush rose to his cheeks. He felt stupid for not noticing before. He shifted uncomfortably. So it was entirely plausible that she was lost. He hoped he hadn't sounded inconsiderate.

"Prowling? Well I don't know much about that, sounds suspicious to me," he winked out of habit, an amused tone in his voice, "Perhaps I was exploring the grounds. I had no where else to go. I like to stay around and watched the sky. It gives me inspiration. I was just about to head home. Would you like me to walk you back to your place? The night isn't safe for a pretty lady such as yourself."

He was trying to be helpful, without being too obvious about it. He admired her talent, either way, and to spend a few more minutes talking to her would be nice anyway.

She let out a slow breath, the cigarette in her hand momentarily forgotten and burning to ash, when one couldn’t see, they started to experience things differently in other people. In shifting movement, the pitch of their voice and the way they breathed could betray thoughts and emotions otherwise well hidden when you were focused on a face. In this case it was a slight hitch to his breath that gave him away. He knew…or had just remembered…ether way, besides a mildly embarrassed tone to his voice he didn’t seem to betray anything else…and she could approve of that.

“Well painting can be done with the hands…perhaps your expressing some deep seeded creative spark?”

She smiles wickedly at him.

“It’s that or you have a thing for the artsy ‘I’m so tortured’ types…. expressionism seems to attract that.”

She again put the cigarette to her lips inhaling deeply to smooth frayed nerves before puffing it out in a slow breath, letting the smoke coil over her lips a moment before being blown away. He seemed sincere enough, even if he seemed a little over eager. But then again, most men their age were that eager in one way or another. He didn’t make her stomach twist in warning; he didn’t smell ‘off’. She’d let this one stick around awhile if he chose. She took another quick breath of smoke before snuffing the butt and flicking it away into the near by grass.

“As for my art…?” She shrugged “ It’s the way it comes out…people have to much trouble letting it out onto paper, there would be many more good artists in the world if they pulled there heads out of there communal ass and just let it go…”

She sighed and languorsy scratched at her scalp, pulling the long mass of it up only to dishevel it and let fall back down in a tousled, tangled mess before sitting up fully, swing her legs off the bench and settling them on the ground before turning to look as best she could at him, her face quiet in a little intense.

“And what makes you think I need an escort Michael…?”

Michael watched her silently, glad that she couldn't see that he was staring. She seemed much more alert without her sight then most seemed with it. She seemed very aware of her surroundings, and much more trusting than most, probably because she knew that there was nothing to be afraid of. Michael was a wuss and even he would admit that.

He liked her teasing smile and smiled in return, listening to her voice as she spoke. Michael had always been more of the silent type, someone that everyone came to talk to. He would rather listen to her talk then talk himself, so he was glad that she wasn't shy.

"Aye, I agree," he said chuckling softly at her remark, "A lot of people think too much and care too much about what other people think."

He shrugged as well, "I think it should be about appreciating the beauty of who you really are. If art is supposed to be a window to the soul...well then...why not let it be that way?"

Michael stopped, not even sure if he was making any sense at all. He realized that he tends to ramble whenever it gets late and he had had a long day. Not to mention that he also found out that Aspen had landed herself in the hospital a few days before. He sighed aloud. He had to go visit her soon.

His attention went back to Grace. She had sat up all the way and now seemed to be watching him intently.

"I just told you," he said playfully, "The streets of Demaitre aren't safe this time of night for pretty girls, so I figured I could walk you home. Plus, I wouldn't mind the company myself."

Sorry about the late post! Comp desides it hated me for a week.

She watched him quietly for another moment before letting the smile back onto her lips and shaking her head.

“Damn it boy, you feel like a puppy to me…”

She stopped for a moment and thought about it then turned back with a slightly sheepish smile.

“ I’m sorry…I think that came out sounding wrong…”

She sighed and scratching at her scalp and turning her hair into an even bigger mess, a little at a loss. Most people weren’t this open…this…soft…she supposed. He felt like all of the edges in him had been ruthlessly padded and buffed down as much as possible. It took her a little off guard as there was very little predatory in him, something she wasn’t used to and she wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not but for now it would suit her needs well enough for now.
She got carefully to her feet, adjusted her coat and slung her bag over her shoulder with a soft thud of finality before turning and looking in his direction.

“Well then? Were the bloody hell is McKenzie Street?”

Michael watched her intently for the few moments of silence, waiting on an answer. When the smile crept back over her face, her lips curving up delicately, he felt a smile come to his own face. He had always liked making people smile, something he had a rather hard time doing...ever since his father passed away.

He cleared his throat, about to say something, when she did. He had never been one that could just sit and enjoy the silence. He couldn't help it. He grew up being social, and he had always been that way. He didn't really understand what she meant by puppy, at first, but he did like the look that came over her face as she apologized. That sheepish smile made her vunerable, not at all like the tough exterior she had been putting on since he had been talking to her. He liked that.

"It's okay, darlin'..." he said softly, putting on his best western accent.

He watched her as she scratched her head, tousling her hair more than it already was. An amused grin lighting up his eyes. She was cute.

He stood up when she did, always being the polite gentleman. And he laughed when the world hell slipped out of her mouth. He didn't know why, maybe it was the tone in her voice, but at first she had caught him off guard...now he felt slightly more comfortable with her.

He held out his arm and took her hand, placing it on his forearm and from there set off down the street. He knew it must have seemed an odd gesture, but he figured it was better than holding her hand.

"Right this way, m'lady."