Solomon R Kitsner's Story

Solomon Kitsner stepped out of the café with a fresh roll and took a sip of his tea and a bag full of groceries. It had only been a week since the contract with Corbaire. Solomon had payed off the money lender, bought back their house and hired a crew to move everything back in and clean the place up. Corbaire used his time to purchase a penthouse as well as make some business calls concerning stock prices. Corbaire had purchased several hundreds of thousands of stocks in several key businesses involving resources and technology.

Solomon walked across the street to a restaurant and sat down with his grocery.

"Excuse me, Sir," came the voice of a waitress. "You can't come here witho-" Corbaire looked at the girl dropping his shades down. He smiled with no signs of arrogance and he stood up and looked down at her. He was a little taller but it was more of a pressure that he exuded as he calmly placed a a hundred in the palm of her hand followed by another, and another.

"I do apologize but if you could be so kind as to take these to the kitchen and ask them to make me a fresh vegetable soup with these ingrediants," he said as stopped putting money into her hand and handed her the bag. "I will give an equal amount to those in the kitchen that assist you as well as giving you more when you deliver it." To Corbaire the girl was at best plain in appearance, but he noticed Solomon's interest. It was quite small but Corbaire knew it was because Solomon had never had the time to actually strike up a conversation with a girl before. Corbaire liked Solomon's work ethic and was amused at best, by his lack of experience.

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Corbaire withdrew after the waitress left after delivering the soup letting Solomon get his body back. Solomon tried to the soup.

Solomon tried to hold back his bulging eyes. Corbaire had warned him about keeping his head collected. The soup was delicious.

'See, boy?' said Corbaire mentally smirking. ' This is going to be your new life.' Solomon enjoyed the soup as he kept his eyes open and watched those that walked along the street. Solomon had promised to help those like him, demons as well as contractors. So their plan was to spend the days outside and observe those around them trying to locate any others. Solomon, with the help of Corbaire had picked out several suits and phones, IPad, rolex , as well as got Solomon cleaned up with the help of a barber.

Solomon and Corbaire watched the streets as they enjoyed the soup.

A gun shot pulled Solomon away from his soup as he stood up and tried to discernn the direction.
'It was too the left,' responded Corbaire. He was aware of Solomon's tendency to help others, and knew he if stopped him from doing this he jepordized Solomon helping other contractor's and demons.It wasn't a big deal. Corbaire had Solomon take precautions in case he was in any danger.

The screaming was easier to follow. Solomon stopped by an alleyway as he saw through the window that there were two armed men near the entrance. Corbaire's calm washed over Solomon as he became aware of the holstered gun in his vest. It was Corbaires idea to give Solomon protection. One of those ways to protect him was a firearm. The second approached right behind him. One man and one woman. The man was dressed in white shorts and a festive yellow shirt and the woman was wearing denim pants and carrying a large designer bag that Solomon had bought for her. The man and woman were ex-military body guards that did not come cheap. They moved forward to get a good look at the situation.

Solomon watched when the back door of the restraugnt bursted open. Corbair's senses seeped into Solomon's
'They're contractors,' Solomon looked at them wondering if they would come towards the street and run further into the alley.

His feet hitting the floor matched the pulse of his heart; loud and fast. Epinephrine was released into his body and clocks began ticking backwards, just by the seconds. He was running through air; and the only thing he could feel was the heat of animosity, the thin wrist around his hand, and the queer pickling feeling that arabesqued across the back of his neck. Rory's free hand wrapped around the doorknob, world in black and white, key points highlighted in red. Text that read 'Avoid this' and 'Go this way' blinked underneath the faces of guns and exits. These were all characteristics of panics, but he was not afraid, instead he used the responses of his body to stay focused on his goal - getting out of here, and making sure that these hunters don't follow him.

Out the door and into the alleyway, his shoes skidded across the gravel, throwing him off enough for his hand to release it's hold on Chriselle. He wore are scowl on his face, regaining balance but losing composure. His irritation was chalk screeching against a chalkboard, fingers curled and eyes pernicious. Sparks attacked the floor below him, he was losing grip of the power within him, and Neberius would do nothing to prevent him from setting fire to everything around him. How he wanted to turn the air into flames, however that would kill the tattered girl as well, and in this rare occasion Rory displayed restraint.

Another flick of the wrist, sudden and without concentration. His fire was not controlled, it burnt on fuels of emotion and passion, having no defined shape and having only one purpose - to burn everything in its path. Tails of red and orange engulfed his hand, his skin made of translucent gasoline. They trailed up his wrist, not leaving behind scars nor blisters, as if it was nothing but a trick. For him they were gentle animals, never to harm him, and their smoke filled his lungs with warm invitation. They jumped, digging their claws into the wooden door, running through wood and into the shop. Turn everything into ash, leave nothing behind. If the innocent were to die as well in the fire, then let them pass away as well. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, yet their lives weren't taken in vain. They were his sacrifices; sacrifices to a hungry boy who wanted to play God, giving their lives to hinder the three that looked towards tearing off his wings.

Rory grabbed her wrist again, and he held onto the hope that she wouldn't run away from him. He had protected her, right? She wouldn't be afraid of him, not so soon, a lot of people made deals with demons, they could stay like this for a little longer, he had no reason to worry. Don't worry, don't scare her, not now, don't worry. Those words repeated themselves in his head as he pulled her along, upsetting loose rocks as his feet pushed away from gravity repeatedly. Behind him were the sounds of screaming people pushing their way out of the cafe and the crackling noise of flames licking at everything they could fit their mouths around.

They past a small group of people, his eyes staring at the man that seemed to be the center of the ring of adults. He couldn't have been too much older than himself; he had a face of youth, kind features, the type that lonely women often pinned for, their proclaimed knight in shining armor. But Rory knew that appearances meant nothing of how morally good someone was, his eyes narrowed as they past by the group, rushing towards the other end of the alleyway. For their own sake, they better be a couple of bystanders, and not people that wished to get in his way. If they were, he wouldn't hesitate in ridding their flesh from their bones as well.

Again, his hand found its way around a doorknob, heating the metal until it destroyed the lock. Still, as he pushed her inside the building, he didn't utter a word. Giving one glance back to the buildings far behind him, the fire in the distance, he went inside, satisfied when he didn't see either of the hunters chasing after them. To say the this place was in bad shape would in an understatement. Frayed red rugs and coffee stained light brown wood, the old floral wallpaper smelled of mold, cigarettes and was peeling at the corners. There were spots in the ceiling from water and the floor creaked under his feet as he walked through the old apartment building. It was dim, with flickering lights that blinked on and off, dying and coming back to life again. It would have to do for now. He sighed and pulled his hood over his head, a wave of self-awarenesss hitting him, making him feel vulnerable and exposed. He didn't say anything, eyes locked onto looking forward, into the blinking lights and amateur oil paintings of rhododendron flowers.

Solomon knocked on the door where the two contractors had entered.

"Uhm excuse me," he said quietly not wanting to get too much attention over in this alley. He looked down at the entrance as the body guards seemed to causually be on the phone and reading a newspaper keeping an eye out for any trouble. "I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time. I was hoping you two were doing alright, but more importantly. I was wondering if I could help you with anything. I know what you both are." He stated and he left the words in the air so that they would sink in.

Solomon was careful around the handle seeing as it still gave off quite a lot of heat. One seemed to be able to manipulate fire. He took out his phone and started to text. He had practiced to write with one hand but it was a slow process. Luckily it seemed the two inside weren't excited to talk to him. He pressed 'send' and soon one of the body guards phones beeped. The male read it and nodded to the female as he left walking down the street.

"I'm not sure what that whole thing in that café was about but I have a feeling it had to do with you. I'm not only willing but able to help you." He wondered if he should tell them why it was that he could be trusted, but too much information is never a good thing in the wrong hands.

The sensation of skin against skin, hardly there, but enough to throw him off guard. His breathing ceased, stuck in his throat, or maybe his lungs had collapsed because of the contact. Her fingers against the back of her neck was gentle, not like the hands of people that had dared to get this close before. For a fleeting moment, Rory had thought it hadn't happened at all, just a trick of his mind. Rory turned and faced her, facial language surprised in parted lips, that sealed together in a thin line when he noticed her embarrassed reaction.

Chriselle spoke in mumbled apologies, despite them being unneeded. He reached forward and grabbed onto her right hand, moving his own fingers against the mark on her skin, barely tracing it. This was easier than telling her that he didn't mind what she had done, instead he wanted to show her that he was okay with it, even if might force her to reel away from him. Rhythmical knocking broke the scene, and Rory dropped her hand, eyes narrowed towards the door and feet hitting the ground with hostility. Flames licked at his outsoles, threatening to eat away at this building as well. They disappeared as soon as they came, leaving only burns on the floor.

He reached towards the door, heart pounding with rage and violence, prepared to waste away the present nuisance. Someone had seen them, had the audacity to follow them, comfort them. To Rory, it was clear that the owner of the voice had a death wish. If he was feeling so suicidal, then he would bless him with a homicide. "I'm not only willing but able to help you." He froze, arm outstretched, and flames disappearing. Blood that had rushed in his ears had drained away, unable to control his body anymore, paralyzed.

"I advise you to hear this man out." The voice of death and persistence spoke to him, preventing him from dropping another body so soon today. "He may be able to actually help us. Behave." Rory stumbled forward, using the door to prevent himself from falling down, knees shaking briefly before he regained his composure. He glared at the floor, the malice directed at the voice in his head. He didn't like this, but if he disobeyed, then Neberius would only take over, and he didn't want the demon to do so right now. Not when he still had some time to himself left, and he opened the door.

With narrowed eyes, Rory looked at the man, recognizing him from the street. "Then say something of use. How could you help us?" He demanded, stepping away from the door entrance, allowing some space for the man to enter the desolate apartment. He glanced over to Chriselle, and then returned his attention to the man. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now." Voice low, whispering and callous, his gaze was unrelenting. This man must be playing some sort of game, stuffing cards up his sleeves, none out of good intention. He didn't trust him at all.

"Well to be honest, I have the resources to keep you hidden and living quite well."

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now," came the voice from the other side of the door. Solomon sighed as did Corbaire. Neither of them liked hot heads. They chuckled slightly at the unintentional pun. "Listen the longer I stay out here the worse it is for all of us. Either let me in so we can talk or at least let me get you two further away than just the other side of the street."

Corbaire had explained things about the Hunters but hiding across the street seemed like a .... horrible idea. If they can track you randomly then across the street was not going to help.

"Look i have a place uptown and it should be far enough away." Solomon started to explain. "I am not saying you have to stay with me. I'm simply saying I am here to help if you ever need it, and right now I think you need it. I can get you both some money and a place to stay of your choice and you can contact me whenever you need some more money or have some sort of request."

"Is that a good enough reason?" he added for good measure as he stepped away from the door and looked at the flower dressed body guard as his limo pulled up in the middle of the cross way between this alley and a perpendicular one behind the building

Rory's palms and the pads of his fingertips were callous, rough compared to her own. Though they weren't the daintiest and smoothest, her skin wasn't comparable to the raven's own. Chriselle stared at their clasped hands rather than his eyes; she wondered if he was telling her that it was okay to come in contact with him. It was okay for her to touch his skin. But, despite his unsaid explanation, Chriselle remained a bit wary. They were 'friends', yes, but being friends came with trust issues. She knew that her own problems were going to get in the way of her new found friendship, and by the looks of it, Rory had his own little secrets as well.

The knock at the door startled her, snapping her back to reality only to see that Rory had headed back to the old door. His footsteps were angry, flickers of red and orange light at the soles of his shoes, leaving blackened marks against the damp and creaking wooden floor. She herself was a bit annoyed at the sudden presence of another, as the girl had opted for staying alone with Rory for the time being - at least until the next morning. Perhaps he would let her go by then; but she had a feeling that it wouldn't be that easy. "I'm not only willing but able to help you." The voice at the other side of the door did not startle either teenager, but it did cause both of them to freeze abruptly. Chriselle simply was surprised that anyone who had followed them wanted to help them - afterall, Rory had just burned down a small cafe and probably killed a few innocent people as well. She thought that whoever it was only came to arrest them, or bring them in, or something that was of the norm in their situation.

She stood farther off, only hearing snippets of their conversation until she stepped forward. Her footsteps were nothing like that of her partner's, for they were nervous and shaky, cautious and careful. Her eyes peered out from underneath dark lashes, observing the man slowly. "...You...want to help us? Why?"

Dust hung in the air, lingering in an atmosphere thick enough to drown in. Rory inhaled his spite, biting down on the corner of his mouth in attempt to focus on building up his fragile mental wall. He could feel the curved fingernails of time and destruction; the self-interested of the demon inside him, chipping away in attempt to gain hold of the reigns. The man in front of him was perplexing, and complexity wasn't a trait often admired by him, not when it displaced itself in a way that could become hostile. Was the man planning on pulling the rug away from underneath his feet, to undermine him? His gaze glanced to Chriselle for a a split second, returning to the man who had claimed to be on his, their, side.

Or, was Chriselle on his side instead, making this out to be a constructed charade? "...You...want to help us? Why?" Rory pressed a hand to his forehead, pain splitting inside his mind, turning him numb. He had no reason to trust either of them, both too variegated, and conflicting arguments bubbled inside of him. Chriselle had claimed to be his friend, and now this man was making the same statement? He had helped her, but had done nothing for this man. What was his reason? The boy's glare faltered, and his consciousnesses slipped away in a smoke that smelt of paranoia and dangerous doubt.

Without flames came the smell of burning coals, smoke from the soul of a creature neither human nor God. Rory's eyes opened, eyebrows relaxed, smile pleasantly arrogant with straight posture. Though it was Rory Chamberlain's body, it was not the owner that was in control. Another piloted in his place, a voice who had lived too long and simultaneously not long enough. "I too am shrouded with a flicker of ambiguity, sir." His voice was course, deep and held no stutter, only confidence and eloquence. Eyelashes obscured him for a moment, stepping forward in smooth, thought out movements opposed to the behavior nature to his host; impulse, running on deceitful emotion and malice.

Neberius turned his attention to the girl that Rory was so curious of, lips curling in false fondness. "We all have our reasons, and they will reveal themselves to us at a better time. For now, let us accept his offer, and leave this repugnant hideaway." He looked away, stepping out of the building that had once housed humans with dreams, only to be crushed by the weight of reality. He stopped to stand directly in front of the man, mere inches away, eyes studying him for any sign that would warrant his execution. "Only a foolish coward would turn down the offer of who could prove to be a powerful alley." His words carried a hint of humor, mocking one that couldn't see them or hear the words spoken. The farce continued in the chuckle that exited his throat, the noise of amusement and footsteps hitting the walls between them.

He stopped beside the limo, pushing the fringe of his hair away, only for it to fall back. Neberius sighed, he would have to do something about the mess Rory had turned himself into, and get him into more respectful clothes. "I am waiting." He announced, looking to the man and woman, both that had made agreements with those like himself. His tone held no anger, or impatience, as if he could stand here waiting for all eternity. His pale hands slide inside the pockets of Rory's jacket, shoulders held back casually. This could have gone better. However, beggars cannot be choosers, and he would make do with what was presented to him.