elseworldexiles | Times Square

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Times Square

In a tired part of the city
Hiding from the fast talk
Watch 'Don't walk' to 'Walk'
Easy when you're dreaming
Staring at the movies
Standing in a circle,
Laughing at the wrong time.

If alcohol could take me there.
I'd take a shot a minute
And be there by the hour.

Take a walk around Times Square
With a pistol in my suitcase
And my eyes on the TV.

By day, the junction of Broadway and Seventh Avenue dazzles all the senses. By night, the senses are electrified. Anything could happen between Sixth and Eighth Avenues, from West 40th to West 53rd.

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Marion is standing on the far corner of the Square, looking at all of the lights. She's a little bit away from the library - only a block or two. Right now, she's caught up in the awe of it all. There is a temptation for her to flip back the viel in front of her face and look at it unprotected from the people passing her by. Though she's lived here all of her life, she can't recall ever having been here by herself before - in fact the times she's been here at all are countable with ease. Her purse is held firmly in her hands, arm through the straps and hands on the bag itself.

Her father would be so upset with her but her interview went well and she's feeling giddy with it.

As she's staring at the lights, a man in a hurry collides with her, knocking her down. Marion falls to the ground, still holding on to her purse, tightly. The man doesn't even stop to appologize. There is a sharply inhaled breath as she can feel she's skinned her knees through her stockings. The sting of the scraped skin is suddenly lessened by the thought of having ruined the expensive item of clothing.

And the disapproval of her father at her having left the library unaccompanied.

This city is populated by miscreants of all descriptions. From all he's witnessed, only a small percentage are like himself...honest. It's the majority of the people here that has him enjoying himself, those well dressed and primped demons who are almost begging him to teach them a few lessons.

Case in point. Even had he been the one to try such an obvious tactic with the naive target now lying on the ground, he would have at least waited to liberate her of her valuables as he apologized, making sure she was all right. As it is, he can at least salvage the situation.

He's suddenly behind her, helping her to her feet.

"Sind Sie gut, mein liebes?"

Marion finishes standing up, with unexpected help, She starts to pull herself away from him but then she gets a look at the person helping her up. She should be stepping away from him. She should be pulling up her wall of isolation around her self.

He's.... He's....

Her gloved hand remains in his as she says, wide-eyed, "I'm... I'm sorry. I don't think I understand?"

He's already had enough of a look at her to be interested so there's not need to be blatantly obvious about looking her over again while she can see. Instead, he gives her a slow smile.

"I asked if you were all right."

He's ... beautiful.

Marion smiles up at him through the thin veil she's wearing over her face. "I scraped my knees." In fact, there is a thin trail of blood sliding down one of her legs that she hasn't yet noticed.

Nor as she noticed that her hand, in her torn glove, is still reasting in his hand.

Before any of that registers, it registers that she's staring at him. Not only that but her response must have sounded... childish. A blush rises quickly to her cheeks.

She's perfect! Innocent! He hasn't dabbled with one of those in years.

He smiles again, then kneels down to have a look at her knees, one of his hands wrapping gently around the calf of her leg.

"A little of the right attention, and you will be just fine. The stockings, I am afraid, are lost." His accent is thick European.

The only reason she can tell his eyes lift to look at her is because he lifts his chin as well.

Marion cannot ignore that touch and gasps at the contact between his hand and her leg. The blush deepens in color as she tries to carefully pull back from him. "I'm sorry. Thank you for helping me but... I... I have to go now."

His hand is very warm. She's suddenly very worried she will hurt this handsome man.

Oh, Poppa is going to kill her for ruining the stockings. Especially if she comes home blue.

He straightens to stand before her, very much in her personal space, that smile still in place.

"Kurt."

Swallowing, Marion looks up at him, not so very much as he isn't that much taller. Of course, she's always been taller than average. She should be leaving... Walking away. Right now.

"I'm Marion. Thank you again," she says, offering him her hand.

He takes her hand, lifting it to place a feather light kiss to the back of it before tucking it under his arm with another smile.

"Sie sind willkommen. It would be remiss of me to allow you to walk away unescorted after such a fall." Did that smile just become a grin? Hard to tell.

"Other unsavory sorts may take advantage of this situation."

Marion takes a few steps with him before she stops cold.

She's staring at her hand, at the skin visible beneath the thin leather of her glove. The blush, the color, drains from her face as she looks, her gaze slowly dragging across him to look at his face.

"I... didn't hurt you." There is confusion in her voice as she looks back town at the torn glove and then to his hand. It might well occure to Kurt that every square inch of her skin is covered. Or was before some of the fabric tore.

He stopped when she did, but it's what she says that lifts his brows and brings that smile back.

"I was not aware that you had tried."

Oh, he had noticed her mode of dress. It might be that he even somehow managed to look at the labels and could tell you who made them.

In a rash act, Marion pulls off her glove and places her hand against his. The soft fur there explains why she hadn't noticed the contact instantly.

And nothing happens.

Nothing at all.

Except Marion faints.

He catches her easily, somewhat confused. Typically they faint as soon as they get a look at him, not a good ten minutes after. Oh, well.

They're starting to get some looks, however, so he gathers her up into his arms, giving anyone looking a rueful grin.

"Too much to drink."

Then promptly proceeds to walk away with her. He finds a small fountain nearby where he sits, propping her up against him. He takes advantage of this situation to get a good look at her.

Lovely. Even out cold, she doesn't change. Interesting.

It takes her a small bit to wake up. The nearness of the cool water helps. As she stirs, she murmurs something, almost curling in toward him before her last memory comes to her.

Marion sits bolt upright, turning to look at him. "You can't be real."

He gives a low chuckle as he brushes a strand of hair out of her face.

"I have been accused of such before, but I assure you I am flesh."

The last word is a bit drawn out.

The flinch away from him isn't something she thinks about conciously.

"I touched you. I touched you and I didn't hurt you." Even through the veil the glimmer of tears is visible.

"I h-haven't been able to do that since I was twelve."

Where has she been? A convent?!

The veil is bothering him at this point so he lifts it slowly out of the way.

"I am just full of surprises. Marion."

Marion looks up at him, the tears glittering like crystal in the corners of her eyes. Carefully, she reaches out and touches his hand again. Her figers stroke against the softness of the light fur on his hand and her unguarded expression is one fitted to a much more intimate moment than this.

The noise of the people aroud them brings her back to herself. "I'm sorry. That was... very forward of me. I..." Her throat works as she tries to swallows. "My touch hurts people. Everyone. Except you."

From the expression on her face, she's torn between being terribly embarassed by her own actions and becoming entirely caught up in the sensation of touch.

This is almost too easy. I have no idea what she is talking about, but I'll be damned if I'm going to let that stop me.

She wants to know what it feels like to be touched? He is more than willing to show her. Those odd fingers of his brush over her cheek.

Only his father knows what the look on his face means...well and a few lovely ladies back in Germany.

"If you say so."

Marion trembles beneath his hand, her breath catches in her throat. Her eyelids flutter.

"Kurt. Really. I hurt them. Like... Like you're blue. I pull people into my mind through my touch." Her voice is breathless.

He smiles again, then suddenly stands, holding out a hand to her.

Marion accepts his hand, standing up with him. Even putting her hand in his is so thrilling.

Once more he tucks her hand under his arm, keeping her close.

"You should smile, my lovely Marion. If you have received a blessing, then be grateful, not shocked."

As she finishes standing, the sting of the cuts at her knees causes a momentary frown. "Oh, I am grateful. I am." Not even the ruin of her stockings and the money they cost is able to pull her too far down.

"I'm sorry, Kurt. I ... must look a fright."

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