All I heard was the honking of horns.
It seemed like every driver within a twenty mile radius packed themselves and their vehicle of choice into the streets of this overcrowded city and i swear, every single one of them had their hands glued to their horns as a chorus of beep beeeeeep hrrrrnk beeeeeeeep beep beep hrrrrnk beehhrrrrnk erupted into the air in a cacophonous audial trainwreck. I didnt remember much, but what i did remember was the fact that this usually didn't bother me so much. Yeah it's obnoxious, nobody likes that much noise, but i usually just blocked it out into white noise.
not today.
today the sound was so unbearable i almost screamed, almost jammed some foreign object into my own ear canal in the hopes that it would dull the sound, even just for a minute. There was no solace, no reprieve from the barrage of noise! It was everywhere, so thick it was nearly tangable and so stifling that i may as well have been chained to a wall.
and the smell...great scott, the smell... some of the things i picked up were good smells, glorious ones, even. Hot dogs, hot coffee, some kind of cinnanmon-sugar encrusted, deep fried confection, a hot sandwich. Then there was the other spectrum, the overwhelming stench of a woman's cheap perfume, cigarrette smoke, the undeniable smell of pot on a young man's clothing, someone's B.O., the throat-burning exhaust from all those tens of millions of cars... everything mixed together in a disgusting hodgepodge of nostril-assaulting misery that once again came on much stronger than i ever thought possible. there was no way i was the only one noticing this, was i? everyone else here seemed so content, was i really the only human being in this whole city that saw anything wrong with the scenery?
perhaps i was. nothing had ever been the same since i came to, arm crunched under a stone and mouth caked with dry, powdery dirt and sand, in the middle of what had to be a small backroad somewhere in the middle east. I dont know why i was there, i dont know how i got there, but i was there and i had the feeling i wasn't supposed to be. There was something darker about that scene, something more macabre, but it escaped me every time. Later, after i got up and went as far from that place as i could, i second guessed the idea that i didn't belong. After all, i woke up in a military uniform with a set of dogtags around my neck. Maybe i was a soldier? I had to be....it explained everything. Still, i couldnt imagine how i could ever allow myself to be a soldier. I couldn't kill another man, enemy or no. the idea alone made me sick, how could i bring myself to actually do it? I wasn't entirely sure how that all worked out. Especially since the information on the dogtags seemed...well...odd. it had my name, but then it had some odd alpha-numeric code, the title of which was SERIAL NUMBER. Below that was a name, Norman James Caldwell. who he was, i didnt' know, but somehow it was familiar, like deja vu occurring after a distant and hazy dream. Again, though, the connection eluded me.
i promised myself i would figure that out later. Right now i had to figure out how i got here in New York. Since i woke up on the bench of a bus stop nearly fifteen minutes ago there'd been lapses in my memory, and that was one of them. I did remember lifting a pair of jeans from a store that had to be in Europe, somewhere, and snagging a black carhartt jacket someone accidentally left in a coffee shop. Luckily for me, the previous owner had a lot of money in there--at least fifty bucks. I forgot how i ended up with the shoes...probably a similar story.
All the noise and smells was overwhelming as i stood, frozen by my own confusion, in the middle of a sidewalk that could have easily been a human river with the way peple moved constantly through it. I held my left arm carefully against my chest so as not to bump it--i can't be sure if it was broken or not but it sure hurt the instant i came to-- and looked around me with wide, green eyes. Where was i supposed to go? Where exactly was I in the city? What on earth was i going to do next?
Great Scott, what happened to me?

Just a few minutes. She had a few minutes to rest. Practically falling against the wall of the building she stood beside, Portia let her chin fall against her rapidly rising and falling chest. Her stomach growled and her. She cursed back.

"I don't need you complaining at me right now!" Her voice was barely above a whisper but the fear and violence behind it were enough to frighten a homeless man from entering the alley. Looking up toward him, her eyes widened. Well, one of them widened fully, exposing the honey-brown iris set against the bright white. Her left eye widened as far as it could, showing only the lower half of her eye. Her sight was hindered, only being able to see three-quarters of the world surrounding her. A childhood accident she couldn't remember. Something burned against the side of her face. A bully? An abusive parent? Portia never knew and she couldn't remember that far back. The scar, though, made everything difficult these past two days. Portia knew she needed to maintain a strict vigilance but with an obvious sight defect, they always had the upper hand. Her heart beat faster as the homeless man continued to back out of the alley. He looked frightened of her. His hand, dirty and grimy from never being washed, began to lift as the sun started to filter onto his body. Portia shook her head, wildly tangled black hair brushing over her black hoodie. He was telling them. They had people out here. His head turned just a bit and he nodded. Portia cursed loudly and turned and took off with a new strength. Her sneakered feet carried her like the wind down the puddle ridden alleyway and she took a sharp turn to the left, disappearing down another alley.

She never disappeared from them, though. They had eyes everywhere, that much was obvious. Her legs pounded and throbbed with ever flowing blood. Sooner or later she would wake up, in her bed, with her shaggy, mixed breed licking her cheek. None of this was real. It was a perpetual nightmare she couldn't escape from, that was all.

"Wake up. Wake up. Wake up!" She growled, her breathing raspy but controlled. Jogging every day, even sprinting here and there helped her maintain a good pace. Portia had learned just yesterday to never look back. You tripped. You got caught. These men wanted her. Their eyes called out for answers she didn't have. They would torture the words from her lips, but she knew nothing!

Do you know this man?

No, I've never seen him before in my life.

There is no reason to lie, Miss Knoll. We just want to know where he is. Has anyone contacted you in the last twenty-four hours?

No! I've been at work! Why are you here? You're going to make me late!

Miss Knoll, you need to stay calm. We know you've spoken with him. He wouldn't make contact with anyone else but you.

Get your hands off of me!

Miss Knoll, you're going to have to come with us.

No! Get off of me!

The scene played like a bad dream in her head and Portia realized that no matter how much she told herself this was just a horrible nightmare, it would never really be that. Grinding her teeth together, she continued on her run, exiting the alley and entering the crowded sidewalks of the city she knew and loved. Her one good eye scanned the crowd for the men in their gray suits, ear pieces, looking so obvious. She couldn't see any, but that didn't mean they weren't there. Slowly, as nonchalantly as possible, Portia began to unzip her hoodie. If she discarded it, they wouldn't know to look for a woman wearing a bright blue t-shirt and jeans. The zipper was halfway down. It felt like an eternity, until she ran right into someone. Her heart nearly stopped, knowing it was them. This was it. They were going to take her. Their eyes filled with violent tortures, ready to make her talk about something she wasn't aware of. But when her face turned up, she was greeted by a face she'd never seen before, until just two days ago.

He's the guy in the picture. The thought bounced back and forth between her skull.

"Oh my god..." Looking over her shoulder she made sure she could still not see anyone. "Oh no." What did she do? They wanted her because of him. Should she just turn him in? But what would they do to him? Portia wasn't a selfish being. She would never leave someone to be hurt. But then she'd have to keep running if she helped him. No... she would either way. Because Serendipity was being a mean ole hag, she'd brought Portia right to the man she knew she should have never met in person. Now they're ridiculous allegations had proof. It didn't matter now. They'd both have to run.

"I'm being followed because of you." Portia whispered in his direction. Grabbing his wrist, she began to pull him across the street with the heavy crowd also moving to the other side. Hopefully he would go with her. They had to get out of here. "Please, come with me."

(whoa whoa, this is a closed thread, Ohhhhhalibaba.
As for my one approved partner, I'll get a post up soon, Im losing wifi)

Sorry. I'll go ahead and delete that post then. No hard feelings? :)

(You're good, my fault for not clarifying in the topic)

The revving of a nearby engine, the infernal honking, a telephone conversation debating the addition of salad to dinner, a baby crying. All of it hit me at once and swirled into a disorienting hurricane of noise. I felt like i literally had no room left in my brain to think, even. it was loud, obnoxious, none of it made sense and all of it, all at once, begged for my attention, for my focus.
Forget GTMO. The government should send their terrorists here.
In the midst of all this, i somehow remembered that, according to Dante's Inferno, the inscription above the gates of Hell read, "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here." The more this phrase bounced around in my already crowded mind, the more i was convinced it would be a fitting description for my current location. On one of those little green signs, it would read, Welcome to New York City! Abandon all hope, ye who enter here!" Either that or it'd be scrolling across the screens and electronic banners crowding Times Square.
Despite the fact that i was outside, the space around me felt very tight. People...there were so many people walking briskly past as if all of them were on a mission of utmost urgency. Skillfully they wove in and out of each other without so much as bumping a single shoulder. Crap, they made it look easy. Not only that, but the tall buildings overhead and a severe lack of anything resembling a horizon made me feel like i was trapped in a box like a mouse in a scientist's maze. We were all mice. I was just the one who forgot how to find the cheese.
A hand came in contact with my skin, slender, feminine fingers curling around my wrist. The movement surprised me, so much so that i didn't hear the first thing out of her mouth (how could i anyway? there was too much other noise to begin with..). Instead i just saw her lips move and then, as if i no longer owned my own body anymore, i saw myself move. I moved so fast without even thinking that at first i wondered if the movements were indeed my own. Twisting my arm in an arc towards her thumb i pried myself away from her grip, jumped back a step and, as one hand almost raised as if to strike her, the other moved towards the pocket of my black Carhartt jacket. My fingers never felt the inside--there was a zipper in the way-- but it wasn't until then that i noticed there was something hard nestled in there. While part of me wanted to know what it was in the hopes it would help me figure out who i was, some deeply rooted and primal instinct told me i didn't want to.
Immediately i decided that was a poor decision. I'd strained my injured arm and pain was now shooting through it, throbbing like Thor's hammer itself was beating down on it in rhythm.
I froze, looking startled, then my expression shifted to guilty. She asked me to come with her...but why? In response, for a while anyway, all i could do was just stare at her stupidly like i was an actor who'd forgotten his lines. Wait a minute...what did i just do? I began to process the last second or two and understood then the strangeness of what i'd done. "Oh..." was all i could sputter out at first. "I-I'm so sorry, I--you startled me and...and..." i hesitated, my mouth just floundering open in desperation for words. "I'm sorry, I cant be here right now, I can't think, i can't...cant'...function! There's so much going on and i can't hear myself think even, i need out of here!" It turned into something of panic rather quickly. "I need somewhere quiet, i need out! Get me out!" I decided then without a doubt that i had one ugly case of claustrophobia. Great.
Part of me wanted to maintain composure, to act like everything was just fine and move on, but for the sake of my own sanity, i just couldn't. i just had to let it all out, and ohh, i let it out alright. It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to know that something here was terribly, terribly wrong.

Their eyes were everywhere. Well, not their eyes, but the eyes of almost every person surrounding the two. People passed by watching with eyebrows arched, lips pressed together, heads shaking to and fro. He was attracting attention. Portia tried to figure out what was going on. Nothing seemed to be making sense anymore! It frustrated her and her blood pressure rose up heating her neck, ears, and cheeks. The skin by her collarbone broke out into bright red hives and she cursed through her teeth. It was like she'd touched him and he had an instant nervous breakdown. Breathing in through her nose and out through her clenched jaw, Portia recollected her thoughts and gripped his hand this time. Maybe that was more friendly? He'd certainly jerked away hard enough when she'd grabbed his wrist.

"Ssh, just follow me. We'll get you someplace quiet. Just, shut up for a second, okay?" She'd been rather harsh but Portia didn't really care. She was being chased down by some psycho detective/agent men and he was the guy they were accusing her of knowing. Finally across the street, Portia stripped herself of her hoodie and threw it at a homeless woman. Hopefully her stench was strong enough to cover up her own. Walking down the sidewalk, she made her way into SoHo, which was a bit thinner in the crowd department. People were starting to get back to work so restaurants were clearing out; shops weren't as full up; and the police weren't as worried about keeping an eye on the suspicious people mingling with the rich folk. Portia's one honey eye hadn't spotted a suited man for a few minutes. That certainly didn't mean they weren't close by.

Keeping a tight grip on the stranger's hand (what had they called him at the apartment?) Portia couldn't see him from the side. He could have been doing anything and she wouldn't have noticed. The deformity to her eye, the one that was being hidden by her mane of black hair, made it impossible to have peripheral vision on the left side.

"In here." It was an internet cafe. A pretty shitty one, but she had to go someplace she'd never been before. Yesterday she went to one of the many internet cafes she enjoyed and they found her in only a few seconds. Portia rarely went into SoHo. Her cleanliness despised the hippy atmosphere, hated the greasy food, and certainly wouldn't be caught dead in half of the clothing the boutiques sold. This cafe just added onto her list of things she hated about the little world inside the big city. It smelled of stale coffee and a little of soured milk. The computers were outdated by a year or so and the screen savers were cheesy, horribly crafted 3-D fish. Finding a booth with no computer in the darkest part of the cafe, Portia sat down and pointed to the seat across from her.

"Whaddya want?" A waitress asked, walking up to them with no pad or pen. Her hair was dreaded, she smelled of B.O. and her skirt was stained with coffee or tea. Portia cringed inside and sneered up at the waitress.

"Just coffee. Nothing else."

(haha! about the worst place she could have taken him to...XD bwahaha.)

I was slipping out of touch with reality again when once more i felt physical contact. Her hand on mine. Again I jumped, my whole body jerking faintly in something of a frightened twitch like a dog startled out of a deep sleep by a slamming door. I tried to pull back but it wasn't as easy this time--her grip was strong and my arm was still screaming with pain. Still, though, my right hand moved fast as lightning up to the pocket of my jacket. Why? I didn't even think about it, i just sort of did it, like it was what i was supposed to do. This time i managed to take hold of the zipper. Should i pull it down? I wanted to find out what was in there...but maybe...maybe I didn't. No. not now. I had other things to focus on now. "Aaah!" i whimpered in pain, still trying to tug away from her. Who was she? Maybe...maybe she knew me? At that point curiosity allowed me to follow her to...wherever she was taking me. Still, i couldn't help but be a little nervous.
"Do you know me?" I managed to ask finally. "Please, tell me we know eachother..." the tone was something almost desperate, pleading. If i had something to go off of, some kind of grounding point i might have been able to handle the whole situation better. Part of me hoped. The other part, one that resided deep within me, reminded me that hope wouldn't do much good at this point and screamed for me to turn around and run away from this woman. you can't trust her, it told me.
But what other option did i have?
The girl led me into a sketchy part of town and that alone was enough to make me want to turn and run back to the bus stop where i woke up. There was so much noise there and yes, there were unholy smells, but this place....this...while the noise was reduced, no words could describe the horror of horrors that infiltrated my nose. What puzzled me, though, was her reaction. Sure, she might have wrinkled her nose a bit but from what i could tell, for her, it was manageable. Whatever was polluting my airspace was a far cry from manageable. And i thought that was the worst of it. I thought, how could this get any worse?
I just had to ask.
In we go to an equally sketchy internet cafe and this cloud of stagnant, stale air came rushing at me with the force of a freight train. Burned coffee, turned milk, the cheap soap they used to mop the floors probably an hour ago, a film of dirt that covered almost everything, and, the unholies of unholies--Body odor. It seemed that every patron in the cafe was rank with it as if they bathed in a liquefied form if it each morning. I mean, i imagine i hadn't showered in a while. Honestly, i dont remember my last one. Then again, i dont' remember anything. Either way, i imagined that i probably carried a bit of pit-stank but this....this! I couldn't even begin to fathom how someone could honestly smell that bad and be okay with it.
As we sat down, my stomach twisted. A growl reminded me there was nothing in there to upchuck if it came to that. A waitress came by and i just held my breath, as difficult as it was for me to do so in such a panicked state. She asked the girl what she wanted and then turned to me with one raised eyebrow, like actually asking me the same question wasn't worth her effort. "Water," i managed quickly. As soon as she was out of sight i fixed my eyes on the girl across from me. Who was she? What did she want with me?
"Do you know me?" I asked again. "I need to know...'cause...'cause i don't remember anything. No, three things, and my name, too. But nothing i know is helpful. One minute i'm in Iraq, the next in London stealing clothes and now i'm here! Why am i here? A-and i dont know why i was in iraq exactly, or london, even. I dont know why i'm here, i dont know who i am, i dont know anything! And everything is so loud and i'm inches from vomiting right now, and my arm, crap, my arm is killing me, and somehow i know there are two exits in this building and six windows and only one security camera, and in total there are eight people in the building. Why do i know that!? I dont want to know that, but it's the first thing that comes to mind when i enter a room! And then you come along and just up and grab me without a word of explanation and to be really honest i'm scared out of my mind right now!" Though my voice was quiet the tone was intense and i ranted almost as fast as a gossiping woman. Had my mood been better, i might have cracked a joke about it. I took one, slow breath and again just stared at the girl across from me.
I just dumped a truckload on her. Smooth.
"And...aahh man...I'm...I'm so sorry i just did that to you; just threw all that at you at once...as you can imagine the last ten minutes have been beyond stressful and...um....c-can we start over? Y'know, before i throw up and make an even worse first impression?" By sheer willpower and force i collected enough of myself to be somewhat civil, managing, "Hi. I'm Ace Matheson." When i spoke i averted my eyes, mostly out of embarrassment. My reflection in a scratched up napkin dispenser caught my attention. Okay. So i was a dark haired man with a dusting of stubble on my chin and green eyes. And...apparently i had a white (and i mean really white, like mountain snow) lock of hair, up at the top and slightly to the right, just on my hairline. Why it was there, or even if it was natural, was beyond me. My attention turned quickly back the situation at hand, however.

Portia stared, wide eyed, at the man sitting across from her. He spewed out words and somehow she was able to catch every bit of it. Portia was indeed a good listener. Many knew her as such; and she never forgot any of it, either. All that he said was getting filed away, nice and neat, in her mind's library. When he'd finished, Portia kept silent, gazing intently at him, watching his body language and the movements on his face. That was how she could tell if someone was lying. Something in their faces always gave the act away. The waitress came back and plopped a plastic cup full of ice and water in front of Ace. She plopped a white mug and a decanter of coffee in front of Portia. She left without ever looking them in the face. Apparently she had better things to worry about than her customers? The coffee was warm and extremely bitter. She would have asked for sugar and creamer, since none was on the uneven booth table they sat at, but it would have been too much of a hassle.

Looking back at Ace, she clasped her fingers around the ceramic of the coffee mug. He'd been practically all over the world and only remembered two places other than New York City. He was clearly not aware of what people were after him, if they were even after him as well as herself. What would she tell him? And how could she tell him without freaking him out even more? She had to do something, though. Portia was well aware of their assailants and she couldn't just feed him to the wolves. Sighing, she took a sip of her nasty coffee, just hoping it would keep her energy levels high. Crashing right now would be a travesty, really.

"I'm Portia Knoll." Looking at his arm she decided what her next move would be. Standing up, she slid into the booth seat beside him and reached up to unzip his jacket. "If your arm is hurting you so bad, we should check it out. Let's get this offa you." She waited a few more seconds for his approval, but filled up the awkward silence with words. "Look... I have no idea who you are. I just saw your picture two days ago when these pyshos came to my apartment asking me if you'd contacted me. They were really adamant about it, got a little rough with me and scared me off. I ran, they chased. Bumping into you just now... I know they saw and I know they really believe whatever lies they're telling themselves now more than ever. I saw the look on your face and I just... I couldn't just leave you there for them to find you." Sighing, she looked down at the table top. "They got pretty physical with me and I could only imagine what they would have done with you. If I got in your way, than I'm really sorry and I'll just turn myself in, let you do whatever you want. It was an impulse and it felt right at the time."

(sorry it took me till now to get to this, been kinda a crazy day. and sorry if this turns out a bit short, sometimes i really connect with certain characters and i'm currently very in tune with another of mine, so i'm trying to get back into Ace--it's been a while.)

This woman handled my news dump extremely well. I expected her to maybe splash her hot coffee in my face, maybe just up and leave, or perhaps she would scream for someone to call the police. No. No, she didn't do that. She just stared at me for the longest time, eyes wide like they were trying to read me. it was then that i wondered once more if we knew eachother. i wanted nothing more than that. i wanted one friend in this world, one person i could fully trust. I wanted it to be her. She looked normal enough, she looked like she could balance out whatever weirdness i had.
She introduced herself as Portia Knoll. I grabbed at straws trying to remember that name, somehow, but there was nothing. My heart sank. the water, cold and wet in my hands, lay untouched until now as i drew a tiny sip from it. Immediately i gagged. Not that there was anything wrong with the water, that was about the only decent thing about the place. But i was so on edge already with adrenaline and with all these nasty smells assaulting my nose, it was hard not to lose control. I just pushed it aside for now--id want it later.
Portia stood and came to sit beside me in the booth and reflexively i tensed away from her. I hated how jumpy i was, like everyone was out to get me or something. I had to take a serious effort just to breathe and remind myself she was just a person. A stranger. not a danger. Slowly i eased up and silently wiggled out of my black Carhartt jacket with her help. underneath that was a charcoal gray, long sleeved, waffle knit thermal and carefully i tugged up the sleeve of my left arm to reveal a heavily bruised forearm. Though it was black and blue, it appeared to be in one piece, albeit violently injured. "I don't think it's broken...the bone is probably bruised but i think it's whole...geez, it hurts though. It needs some ice, i bet. I'ts awful swollen."
And then she proceeded to tell me about these men that roughed her up that were after the both of us. Me? Why me? As strange as the whole idea sounded, it didn't seem absurd. That's what caught me. No, it wasn't familiar, but it wasn't....impossible. like there was some other missing piece of information that would make this whole situation viable. but that missing piece...what was that?
"These people....you dont know who they were? or what they wanted?" From that point on, an instinct took over me, some hidden part of me that didn't seem...me, and yet it was. It was the same part that counted windows and heads when i entered the building, and now it wanted to know everything. "Tell me all you know. what were they wearing? where did they meet you? A-and i appreciate the help. Goodness knows i needed outta there. I...i can't think in all that noise. Doesnt it bother you? i mean, it's crippling..." i shuddered. "Thanks. I could use the company."
it felt good just to talk. really good. And yet...i kept feeling like it was a bad idea.
why?

When he exposed his arm she almost thought that maybe he didn't remember anything because the bastards that were chasing her had already gotten a hold of him. Was he just playing games with her? Or had they beat him up so bad he'd suffered from short term amnesia? This still wasn't making any sense. All she did was nod at his suggestion for ice and turned her one honey eye to the room, hoping the waitress would see her. She was nowhere to be found, but hopefully she'd be back around. Before she could say anything about how crappy the help was around here, Ace started bombarding her with questions. It felt all too familiar. A familiar feeling she didn't look back on fondly. Portia moved back to her seat and wrapped her fingers defensively around the lukewarm stoneware. She couldn't meet his eyes. His questions were too much, too fast, and too suspicious. Portia felt like she'd been dragged into the middle of something much bigger than her. She was just the tech person at the paper. She didn't have many friends, and what friends she thought she had were journalists who had no time to spend with her anyway.

Portia couldn't think straight. Turning her eyes up to Ace again she listened as he continued on. He made was trying to relate to her. All the more reason for her to trust him, right? No. Portia may have been in desperate need of human contact since she was something of a hermit in her laptop infested apartment, but she knew deception when it was presented to her.

But the look on his face made it seem sincere. He really did appreciate her help. She maintained eye contact with the brown liquid in her mug.

"The noise doesn't bother me that much. It gets pretty bad sometimes, but I just turn up my music." Rubbing the scarring on her face, which was always sensitive to touch, Portia shook her head and growled. A sudden wave of emotion rose up inside her, panic, fear, confusion; this was ridiculous! "Look, I don't know what's going on! You're confusing. I'm confusing. This entire situation is confusing!" Turning her wide eyes, as wide as her right one would go, up to Ace she frowned deeply. "Those guys were in trench coats, those silly hats from the 1940's mafia and they acted like friggin' cops! But they were asking questions relentlessly! They barged into my place without my permission and without a warrant! They broke one of my computers! When one of them grabbed my arm and threw me into my kitchen chair I panicked! I grabbed my work bag and darted. If I hadn't tased one I would never have gotten away." She rubbed her scar again, hiding it beneath her palm and the thick mane of black hair from her head. Taking in a deep breath she clenched her fists and then pressed her pink lips together hard. "They mentioned something about a missing journalist. I work at the New York Times and I haven't heard of any missing journalists. They showed me a picture of you before they started breaking all my shit. For some reason they insisted we'd met before. That if I had any files on my person or in any of my hard drives pertaining to you or that woman that I was going to jail for a really long time. The bastards wouldn't listen! I had to run away!" For a moment, Portia thought she might cry. Her breathing was fast and labored and her eyes stung. "And now that you're with me, I'm probably really going to go!" Covering her face, Portia fought with everything she had to keep calm, but the sudden realization of her situation hit her hard.


((Quite alright! And I'm sorry about the huge lull. It was really crazy!))

(it's all good!)

I slipped back into the black carhartt jacket again, finding it's canvas material a comfortable weight. I remembered stealing it from a coffee shop in London, probably a starbucks by the atomosphere--i knew it was never originally mine. Yet i liked it, it felt good, it felt right. It was about the only thing in my life that did. Everything was upside down, nothing was clear and nothing was simple. How could anything be simple at a time like this?
I sighed and pulled the brass zipper up as once more the unfamiliar weight in my right pocket pressed at my side. What was that? The more i asked myself that question, the more i had this growing feeling that i didn't want to. That, of course, only made me want to know more.
Curiosity is a fickle beast.
I decided it'd be best to leave the item there...for now. Portia mentioned that the noise wasn't unbearable and i almost laughed. I mean, this was the big apple! It was the most claustrophobic, cramped, noisy, and chaotic place in the entire universe and the very thought of walking out the doors of this hellish, forsaken cafe seemed unbearable and utterly frightening. My green eyes turned to her in something akin to shock. "Doesn't...bother you? H-how? Even sitting here--a-aside from the awful smell, which is pretty close to making me vomit right now--i feel like this cafe is like a rock concert! Every time that man across the room taps that bloody space key on his laptop....i-it's like i'm in a fish tank and that guy keeps tapping at the glass. And there's this guy in the back, in the kitchen. he has these keys that keep jingling every time he walks around and it's driving me nuts...you're telling me you don't notice those things?" Now that i'd come out and said it, the whole thing sounded really bizzare. Heh, i mean, really bizzare. Who hears the clicking of keys, amidst everything else, from across the room? People with autism sometimes heard ordinary sounds but magnified until it drove them crazy, but just judging how i was interacting with Portia, i couldn't be autistic. No, it was something else. But honestly, something was off, something was different about me that set me apart from anyone else in this room. But what?
That was when Portia unloaded about her experience with these brutish intruders. While none of it made a whole lot of sense, some pieces fit together...sorta. After a minute of thinking, i just sorta blurted out, "They're not cops." Boom, out it came without any decision to say it. "They're....They're like the FBI but not official. They're private investigators but the elite type. I....i dont know how i know that but i do. Geez, who knows that kinda thing? I..." before going on i sat in silence for a minute and cycled back through the information she'd given me. her sudden burst of panicked emotion unnerved me. Not only was i dealing with a whole host of things myself, there's something about emotional females that, to me, is really intimidating. My way of handling that was trying to bury my own crap and feign some stability. To my surprise, i managed. I dont know how because inside i was screaming and my hands were still quivering. But...if a part of me wondered if i'd been trained to do that...that's sure what it felt like. yes, i had this itching feeling that someone spent a lot of time teaching me how to BS my way through an ugly situation. Who, how, and why?
Finally i said, "I'm not a criminal. I don't know how i know, i just know. So you're not in danger of being arrested because of me...and plus there's warrants and stuff. these guys may not be official but they still have to play by the books to...book you. But...i'm not so sure everything they're saying is all lies. People don't rip homes apart and traumatize people for lies, not like that. Doesn't mean everything is true but...the question is, what is, and what isn't? And...do you know the name of the journalist? Or anything? Listen...i dont know you. i dont know much of anything right now and i'm inches away from just snapping and falling into a mental breakdown because all of this is really frightening. And i get the feeling i dont handle stress well. B-but regardless, somehow you're screwed up in all this, whatever THIS is, and if i am too...i guess we should figure this out together. And..." i quieted a little, finally taking a full mouthful of ice water. This time it didn't threaten to come back up, so i sipped at the plastic cup again. I ran my hand through my short dark hair, finding that i could probably use a shower. That, i'd figure out when things slowed down. In a shy, quiet voice i said, "And it just feels good talking to someone. Just...i dont know. it's a little calming to just sit here and take everything swirling around in my head and get it out, y'know?" I gave a small shrug.

In the midst of her own personal breakdown, Portia still couldn't help but listen to Ace as he spoke to her. With her face in her palms, she dug her fingernails into her hairline, ears perked up like a cat's. He could hear keys jingling in the back? Portia tried to listen for them but was unable to hear anything except the coffee brewing just a few feet from them and the way the ice fell around inside the cup that Ace kept taking drinks from. Then he told her the guys who'd laid hands on her weren't cops.

"FBI?" She moved her hands back to the table top, her one eyebrow curving upward into her forehead. How did he know? He kept telling her about them. Things she couldn't figure out; things only those guys should know. But what screwed the whole thing up was that while he said all this, the confidence of it was blended together with confusion. He didn't know what he was saying but Ace was certain he was right. Portia couldn't help but be horribly intrigued in what was going on with him. Sure, she was scared to death of whatever situation she'd been drug into, but something in the way he'd told her she wasn't going to jail made her believe him. He was certain of it. Ace wasn't a criminal.

"Um... no. No, they didn't say anything about who she was. Just that she had been missing for a long time. I can't remember..." She rubbed at her face again. "I'm sorry... I wish I could remember. I've been doing nothing but thinking of my next move, not what moves I've already made." For the life of her, Portia couldn't think of the little things about their unprofessional visit to her home. They tore up her things, pushed her around, and asked mostly the same questions over and over again. She couldn't think of any of little things. When Ace started talking again, she suddenly felt small and insignificant in comparison. Hadn't she realized that all this centered around him anyway? He's was the one who was in real trouble here. They were looking for him and she just got stuck in the middle of it! How stupid! How incredibly selfish of her. Letting her face go she looked at him and bit her lower lip, a sign of embarrassment.

“If it feels good, than we need you to get all of it out.” Her voice was low, less emotion and panic in it now that she started formulating the plan they needed. She’d already said everything she knew, now they needed to know everything he knew. “Start as far in the beginning as you can go. Whatever you can remember might help us out with all this.” I took another drink of my coffee, but it was cold by now. Where was our waitress?

"Nuhno, not really FBI. They aren't govvies but....i guess i dont know how else to describe them. A private faction of sorts. that's really all i know. Geez, and i dont even know how i know that...this is all so twisted," i said with a short, nervous laugh. Twisted was about the only way to describe any of this. I felt almost like i was just some tiny part of a game and two malevolent little children were moving all the pieces against me, against Portia. Yes, that was it. This had to be like some kind of game of Risk, and Portia and I were the one solitary lump of blue plastic standing between total world domination of red pieces. Our options were limited, as were our resources, and our backs were now against a wall.
The question was, how would we roll with the dice we were given?
Portia began trying to answer my odd questions, but without much luck. Why i asked those in particular, i wasn't sure. I mean, aside from the fact that, according to them, i was somehow involved, why would the details matter to me? And yet i wanted to know them all--and not because i was extremely interested in the details. No, it was more like i needed to know them in the same way a soldier needs to know his surroundings to be aware and keep himself safe; like it was pertinent to my survival or something. Regardless, she couldn't remember details. Heck, i couldn't blame her. I wouldn't exactly take a bunch of high brow, uptight investigators barging into my place and harassing me, either. "No, i get it," i told her. "Details are the first thing to go down the drain in a stressful situation like that. I have a feeling we'll figure that out as we go, though. No...more than a feeling. I know we will."
Portia then asked me to tell her everything i knew, all the way from the beginning. This i responded to with a sigh and an expression akin to one of someone eating a lemon, though more thoughtful and speculative. "The beginning? everything? Geez, where do i start? Okay...the very beginning i suppose. I know my name is Ace Scott Matheson. I'm twenty two and my birthday is in june...on the eleventh. That's pretty much it as far as the facts. There are other things i can speculate--like i think i could be a soldier because i have these dogtags," i said, hooking my finger around the metal chain and lifting the tags a little. "But then again, they're just...odd to me. I have a serial number and there's another man's name on here, Norman J Caldwell. See, it says it right there, PO: NORMAN J CALDWELL. The name sounds....familiar...ish. but i dont know anything about it. And more than just that, i'm just not the soldier type. I couldn't kill anybody, y'know? the thought of it just...i-i couldn't. so why would i be enlisted? A-anyway, um....as far as what i remember....hm...what do i remember....?" I sat and thought about it long and hard as i shut my green eyes and tried to focus on nothing but my memories. This was difficult at first with that bloody writer across the room and his bleeding space key and it's constant, tickity tickity tickity CLACK! tickity CLACK! (i was nearly ready to walk across the room, scream something profane and throw the wretched machine out the window, but i curbed that inclination) Somehow, though, i managed.

My mouth is so dry and dusty that all i taste is sand. a scowl wrinkles across my face as i try to spit it out in vain--it's too fine and spitting alone just doesn't cut it. A pain and pressure radiates from my arm; the source is a grapefruit sized rock--no, piece of...brick? Wincing i push it away and try to sit up. I find that my clothes are drenched, literally drenched with sweat and my forehead, though dusty, is slick with it. My hair feels muddy. The heat is sweltering and i quickly wonder why i'm wearing long pants and tan leather lace up boots, not to mention a vest and long sleeved shirt. I quickly realize i have no choice--they're a uniform. Digital camo. I stand up and take a look around to find that what once appeared to be a brick structure now lay in pieces and ruins. There's a smell in the air...the smell of smoke and the sulfuric and metallic scent of an explosive agent. I look down at my feet and there are four figures lying eerily still in the sand, some bloody. None of them move an inch, none of them are breathing. I already know they're dead. I'm overcome with a sense of fear and panic as i begin to realize i don't know what i'm doing here...

It's raining. Hard. Umbrellas and peacoats of varying colors, cuts and sizes pass my soggy form without much other than a passing glance. Two women pass me, one is laughing and the other is telling a story. Her accent is unmistakably cockney. A shiver racks my spine but already i have a plan to avoid hypothermia as a sign for starbucks enters my view. I glance down at my newly shod feet and find that the size sticker is still taped to the leg of my stolen jeans. with a small smirk i pull it off and stick it to a wall before entering the coffee shop. There's some money in my pocket and somehow i know it's the british equivalent to about three dollars american. I smile nicely and ask the barista for hot black coffee when something strikes my attention. A black jacket, fairly new, draped across the back of a chair. The owner had only a minute ago walked into the bathroom...he wouldn't be back for a minute...i take my coffee and decide to just grab the jacket and leave quickly. As i put it on outside, i find that it's warm and there's a bill in the pocket. Fifty bucks. American.

I blinked as the whirr of a coffee grinder brought my attention back to the present. With a deep breath i told Portia, "I woke up somewhere in the middle east with my arm under this rock, and there was apparently an explosion. I remember not knowing why i was there, how i got there, then i remember seeing four bodies....dead bodies. Soldiers. I was in a uniform too...and i think i just started running. And then...then i remember being in london, and it was raining super hard. I remember stealing this jacket from some tourist in a starbucks," i said, tugging on the black canvas. "From the bits i remember, all the clothes i'm wearing right now are stolen. I found fifty bucks in the jacket pocket and..as far as i know, that's all i've got to my name. And next thing i know, i find myself in new york. once i figured out where i was i nearly had a mental breakdown from the stress and just all that bloody noise, and then....you came along. That's all i clearly remember. Like i said, there are things that i know like...as a gut feeling but there's no memory tied to it. Like i know i'm not a criminal, but i dont have any evidence to support that." I sighed again and ran my fingers through my short hair. This was just sounding more and more twisted by the second.

Nodding, Portia tapped the pads of her fingers against the table top, then stopped, remembering what Ace had said about all the noise. It was still weird that he could hear all those things but she had to believe him. If she didn't believe him, she wouldn't have anyone. Curling her fingers into each other, she rested her chin on the knuckles and thought about everything he said to her. The middle east. London. He had to steal everything he was wearing... It made sense that he was a soldier and that all the noise bothered him. Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome had a lot of symptoms and loosing it when there was too much noise was one of them. Looking him over as he sat there, Portia tried to decipher the different reasons for all that was happening.

Perhaps he was some kind of experiment made by the government and now some private mercenaries wanted him for themselves?

You watch too many movies, Portia. Shaking her head mentally to that notion, she continued on. But nothing came to mind. Maybe finding out what they wanted wasn't what they needed to do. Maybe they hadd to find out what Ace needed to do first?

"Was there anything left for you where you were sitting when you woke up here? No package or letter or something?" Looking around him, standing up a little to get closer, Portia searched him. Maybe something was sticking out of a pocket? "You should check everything. Your pockets, your shoes. Maybe someone wanted you to figure things out on your own?" Portia plopped back into the booth seat and wished that her coffee hadn't gone cold. Even the carafe the waitress had left was freezing by now. She was getting frustrated. Why would someone do that? She was sounding like an ass. No one would leave him in the middle of New York City to start a scavenger hunt for his memory... Would they?

"I sound as crazy as you, right now." She stopped, thinking she needed to put her foot in her mouth, but instead laughed. "I guess we're both nuts. Might as well be nuts together, huh?" The last thing she wanted to do was piss him off. Portia wanted to help him and hopefully in the mean time she'd help herself? It didn't matter now. They just needed to solve this twisted puzzle.

((Sorry so short... I wasn't entirely sure what else to write. :P))

(it’s all good!)

Portia just sat there mulling over what I’d told her. Oh, she probably thought I was insane. I mean, she probably knew that much already, but the more I talked I’m sure the more she figured i was deep in the looney bin. I was starting to wonder myself…. Finally she turned to me and asked if anyone had left me anything. I just shook my head. “No, nobody left me anything. I mean, I had some really basic gear…a vest, a helmet, one of those camelback things…I think I ended up taking most of it off because it was so hot…Come to think of it, I didn’t have a weapon or anything, not even a knife. Now what kind of soldier doesn’t carry a weapon on duty? And another thing, there’s nothing about my blood type on these tags, no division or company or anything like that. Just my name, birth date, a serial number, and Norman J Caldwell. I don’t really know much, mostly I’m going off gut instinct here but…you can’t tell me that’s normal. No, I know it’s not. But then where does that leave me?” I let my head fall into my sweaty palms with a deep and exhausted sigh. “This is a giant puzzle and I don’t even have the corner pieces to start with, y’know? I have these weird, misshapen parts in the middle and in no way do they connect. Like London…why would I go to London? Of all the places I could have gone, why oh why did I go to a big city if I can’t stand all the noise? Do you see what I mean? It doesn’t add up, none of it! A-and here, why would I go to New York? I obviously don’t have a home here—I woke up on a bus stop bench. So what brought me here?” I knocked back the plastic cup again. More and more I began to find the cool liquid somewhat soothing, particularly after recounting my experience in the deserts of the middle east and remembering the inherent dustiness that seemed to blanket everything. It was probably the one part about this miserable little café that wasn’t crawling with grime or some unpleasant smell. Surprisingly, the water carried no underlying scent of even chlorine, even to my sensitive nostrils. Must be clean, I thought.
When Portia suggested I check my pockets, I first thought that would be a good idea. Even though these jeans were stolen, maybe I’d stashed something away in there that could reveal something about myself. For all I knew, there could be a cell phone in there, or a drivers license or something—I had been so in tune with everything else that I failed to notice if there was anything in my pockets. Then…the thing came to mind. Whatever that object in my right jacket pocket was, it once more poked at my mind, tempting me to pull down that little zipper and figure out it’s secret for myself. But just that thought made my stomach growl with a threat to upchuck from all the adrenaline it brought. Did I really want to know?
No, that wasn’t the right question. The question was, did I have any other options or better ideas? My answer, painfully, was no. Great.
“Pockets, yeah, I forgot about those. I guess I should check..” I twisted in the seat a little so I could shove my hands into my jean pockets but it was all in vain. Nothing. “Nothing in there…” Slowly I unzipped the left pocket in my jacket. I smirked at what I found but the expression lacked depth or warmth. I took out a fifty dollar bill. “That’s a nice find…from what I remember, this was stolen with the jacket. But not really helpful…I guess….guess there’s this other pocket here…” my hesitation was obvious, maybe too much so. Still, I forced an unsteady hand to pull down the little brass zipper and then slipped it inside.
What I found surprised me, terrified me, and made me sick all at once. With a short, stifled gasp I recoiled my hand and forced the zipper up again as I worked really hard to fight away a gag. No…anything but that…I glanced to Portia as if I was about to bust up in tears and I thought I just might. It wasn’t just the object itself that bothered me. No, rather, it was the familiarity of it that struck fear into my core. The minute I touched it I knew all the specs, all the little attributes of the object including a particular scratch. I knew it was mine.
It felt like a good five minutes before I trusted my voice enough to try and speak, though it was probably less than that. I just looked up at Portia with eyes that screamed ‘help me!’ and said softly, too softly for anyone not sitting in Portia’s seat to hear, “Portia…please don’t freak out on me…I…I have a gun. What’s worse, I know it’s mine. What business do I have carrying a gun? I….there are only a handful of people who carry pistols in their pockets and…if I know I’m not a criminal….what the h--- am I doing with a firearm stashed in there?” I clenched my teeth for a minute before blurting, “I’m gonna be sick…I’m gonna throw up…I’m—“ Like a gazelle I jumped up from the booth, jumped over a wayward chair and bust forcefully out the front door with the deftness and skill of a hurdle-sprinter, only to step aside and let loose all the water I’d just downed in the past few minutes onto the sidewalk. Way to go me.
So, in about half an hour of being awake, I found myself in a miserable and unfamiliar city without much memory at all, ran into a woman who then informed me that both of us were being pursued by some insane faction of PI’s who were bent on bringing me to justice for some obscure crime I probably didn’t commit, and learned that I carried a gun.
Awesome. Juuust great.

A gun? Why would he have a gun? But then again... why would he have amnesia? Why would strange government type guys in suits be chasing them around? Why was she afraid for her life if she left Ace's side? There were a lot of why's and other strangeness going on... What did a gun add to that? Not much. At least, not to Portia anyway. To Ace, though, it was a totally different story. Instinctively, when he looked at her she wanted to reach out and hug him. His eyes cried out for some kind of desperate help. All she could think to do was cradle him in her arms and rock him to sleep. Ace wasn't a child, though, so it wouldn't help. The help he needed was something different, something stronger. As he stood up, claiming he was going to blow chunks all over the place, Portia thought quick, left a few dollars on the table and stumbled out of the booth behind Ace.

Thank God. Portia thought selfishly as she exited the cafe. She'd just missed his vomit episode, which would have definitely made her want to vomit as well. The young computer tech wasn't really great with bodily fluids. Blood, spit, vomit, and all the other nasty things that came out of humans just made her stomach twirl around and jump inside her torso. Just knowing that he'd finished puking made her have to turn around, hand to mouth. Taking in a few deep breaths, Portia finally found her footing again and looked at Ace. He was pale from top to bottom. She could see his pulse beating wildly in his temple, and the way his hands squeezed to make his knuckles turn white... She had to do something. They had to find something to help them. Taking the few steps to close the gap between them, Portia rested her hand gently on his shoulder.

"Ace," she spoke softly, not really sure what to say, but hoping the right thing came out. "Let's go find a really cheap hotel. A really cheap, clean hotel, and get cleaned up and get our thoughts together." Trying to find his gaze, she smiled a little, pride gleaming in her eyes. "I wasn't dumb enough to leave all my work at home. I have a netbook with me. We can start doing a little research on these bastards. Find out what they want." Of course, the first thing they would do is research Ace and who he was. Then they'd find a connection between him and this journalist. Perhaps they'd even find out how Ace and she were suppose to know each other. How Portia had been caught in the middle of it.

Oh please, let them figure something out.

"Come on. We can do this." Letting go of his shoulder she held the hand out for him to grab onto. Portia wasn't familiar with this part of town, but there had to be some kind of Holiday Inn around that kept up on regular cleaning.

As I knelt there on the sidewalk of soho, I felt like whatever life I had was crumbling down around my ears. A gun! Who knew what that meant!? As far as I knew, there were a small handful of people who carried around hand guns--gangsters, police and other  law enforcement, freelance assassins, and texans. Frankly, Texan was out of the question....so what did that leave me with? I began to mull over the details of my twisted life to find some semblance o an answer. My senses were immaculate, beyond human; every part of me was so acutely tuned I to the world around me it was almost too much to handle. I came from Iraq or some middle eastern country over there. I decently knew my way around London. I had some association with a man named Norman Caldwell. Somehow I had a connection to a disappearing journalist and this girl who was scared out of her mind by this whole mess. Oh, and the topper? I carried a bloody gun!
Portia touched my shoulder and suggested we find some motel where we could perhaps do a little research in peace, away from sweaty waitresses and caustic exhaust fumes. Frankly I needed that. I was in, even if it was only for the chance to shower.
I gave a distracted nod, not trusting my still turbulent but empty stomach enough to open my mouth at first. deep breaths, ace. Deep breaths. finally I felt in control enough to say something in a shaky voice. "yeah...yeah that sounds good. Just get me out of this d--- place....off these bleeding streets..." 
She offered me her hand but I shook my head to it. I didn't mean to be rude, but the idea of having anything closed around any part of my body nearly put me over the edge. Already I knew I had an ugly case of claustrophobia and stress seemed to worsen it. "sorry," I told her. "claustrophobia...even my shoes are getting to me right now. There's just so much going on, im just so...bloody terrified and confused and--" I clenched my mouth shut again to avoid dry heaving but kept walking. I was silent for a while as I just tried to calm down, take a breather and gather my composure a bit. Finally I looked to her with something of a laugh but with tortured eyes and said, "maybe I'm James bond?" it was meant as a joke, but more seriously I added, "I mean, I have these...instincts, this little part of me that tells me what to do, tells me to count heads and windows when I walk into a room. It tells me you could be one of...them, but I dont believe that. It tells me all sorts of things that just dont make much sense in a normal context, and why?? Why would I have that instinct? How? None of it adds up...y'know? But that's what it is--it's like James bond is in my head, telling me what to do. It's just crazy and messed up...all of it." I shook my head, wanting nothing more than to disappear in the steam of a hot shower and forget about life for a minute. Just one minute...
We rounded a corner and down at the end of the street was a motel, a bright, cheery place that feigned fortune rather well, though by the clientele alone, I knew it wasn't a luxury place. Not trash, no, it had some decency to it. It looked about like what we needed--clean, cheap, and not outrageously busy. Finally, something goes right...
"that place looks good," I said softly. I didn't trust myself to speak at anything more than a raised whisper or a murmur--any louder and I might have revealed just how frazzled I was by this whole mess with my quivering voice. "I say...we spend a night there, but just one--monseur Bond says it could be dangerous to stay in one place too long. Anyway, we stay the night, shower, do laundry while we still can, and see what google can tell us about our waking nightmare...."
I walked inside the hotel to find the lobby was a wee bit dingy, but nothing more than the high traffic areas of any normal house. A woman at the front desk greeted us with a smile as we approached.
"hi, what can I do for you?" she asked.
It took everything I had to front a smile despite the fact that felt and looked like h---. "I'd like a small suite for one night. Something with two beds or a bed and a futon or something. We'll pay in cash when we leave."
She typed on her computer and then smiled back up at us again. "looks like we've got one available. What name will it be under?"
"Scott Mcalister." I blinked a little at how quickly and effortlessly that came out. There was hardly any thought in that, it just...came. Did I have some kind of alias?
"thanks mr. Mcalister, here's your key." she slid it across the counter, I picked them up, and that was it. Was it really that easy? Apparently.

It took every ounce of energy Portia had to maintain some air of control. Her skin was even tensed up as they began walking in some direction, any direction but the one leading to... wherever they didn't want to go. Who started a week off like this? Who started a journey without any idea of where they were going? Apparently she did... and apparently Ace did as well. And who knew, he could have done this millions of times before and never remembered a single thing. She kept looking up toward him with her one honey colored eye, trying to catch a glimpse at his face, to see what he was feeling. He still looked sick and terribly scared. Portia was too. She couldn't believe any of this was happening and yet here she was, walking beside a man she met only an hour ago, trying to get her life back in order... and his too.

The hotel wasn't scuzzy like the internet cafe; not like much of SoHo. They were probably out of that part of town by now, they'd been walking for a while. It was a good thing Ace had been keeping an eye out because Portia had been paying better attention to the way her sneakers skid across the concrete. Her body felt weak all over and holding her head up was a task proving difficult. Ace wanted a shower, Portia wanted a bed. She hadn't been able to get any real kind of sleep on a park bench or in a dirty alley. One or two bums had been kind enough to share a piece of cardboard with her. Thinking back on her last two days, Portia realized she must smell awful. There was no way her clothes were clean and upon further investigation of her fingernails... yeah, she was pretty disgusting. Robes would be needed so that she could wash their clothes. Even though Ace seemed clean enough, he would need to wear clean clothes as well. A good ole fashioned bar of soap and good beating would clean them both right up.

It was really nice when Ace took the reigns and spoke with the receptionist. The young woman had been afraid he may not be able to do much until he was able to get his bearings. But he handled himself quite well... Much like a spy, really. Scott McAllister? Who was that? Where did that name come from? Her one eyebrow lifted and she watched the woman behind the counter hand over two keys. When Ace turned around, Portia was actually smiling. Checking the room number, Portia began heading in the direction they needed to go.

"That was slick, Mister Bond." Her smile was genuine as her amber eye peered up at him with a humorous twinkle. Laughing softly she grabbed an elevator and escorted them both to their floor. It was all a self-explanatory layout and so finding the room was easy. Right smack dab in the middle of the floor, next to another room, possibly empty? There was no way of knowing right away. Why was she worried about that anyway? Trying to get the shudder out of her spine, she turned the key in the lock and opened the door. It was a large room (he had asked for a suite) and the two beds looked unbelievably comfortable. Off to the left was the bathroom, all the amenities right there. Robes, towels, soaps, and even some toothpaste. Fantastic!

Portia plopped her satchel down on the writing desk provided just in front of the two huge windows, whose view wasn't much of anything. A parking lot and the side of a business building. It didn't matter. Portia would be sleeping in doors tonight.

"How are we going to pay for this?" Portia suddenly asked, turning to look at Ace. "You have fifty bucks and I'm sure my credit cards are being watched." She sat down on the bed and then couldn't help but to lay down completely. If she was worried about the money, it wasn't apparent. Her body was finally getting a chance to loosen up. But no entirely. If that happened, she'd lose all control and fall into fits of angst. That was better saved for a moment alone.

"Mister Bond...yeaha, see what i mean? I dont even know where that name came from, that name. It was just there, right there on the tip of my tongue and i found it effortlessly. Still, the only familiarity it has is...well my middle name is Scott. Maybe Mcalister is somebody else i know? my mother's maiden name? I don't know. How the bloody h--- would i know? Still, i really honestly dont know how i managed to just do that like i did. Like, it was just so natural but i can tell you right now, every part of me is exactly the opposite. I'm such a mess...more than i think i'm showing at the moment. That might be hard to believe 'cause...well i won't lie, i look like h---. I feel a lot worse. But there's this....this...i don't know what it is inside of me, this....instinct. And it's so strong, Portia. Enough that i can't help myself, i can't shut it off. I'm constantly in tune with everything y'know? Every time i hear footsteps down the hall or someone shutting a door in their rooms i pay attention. It's not even important but i have to pay attention to it, consciously tell myself it doesn't matter and only then can i ignore it. Every bloody detail is screaming for my attention all at once and--" I cut off sharply and shut my eyes. Deep breaths Ace. in, out. in, out. I needed to gain some control fast before i spiraled into oblivion. It amazed me how quickly i could go from manageable to the brink of insanity...just like that. Something told me, however, that this wasn't a new issue. Maybe it wasn't so drastic, but the more i thought about it, yes, in stressful situations i tended to ramble, and anxiety was something i had to occasionally battle. Good to know.
"I'm sorry," i said after a minute. I'd stopped in the hall and just stood there for a minute as i slowly took large breaths. "I'm so sorry, i do that. I remember now, i ramble on like a teenage girl," i said with some dry laughter. "I'm ok. I'm alright....that must be our room there, i assume?" i said, quickly wanting to move on from my episode to matters closer at hand. We walked in and, just as i expected, i counted windows, doors, any cameras, everything. i did a quick sweep of the place, opening every cabinet, door and looking in every nook, and only then was i satisfied. Curse you, James Bond....
Portia asked the question i'd been wondering since we mentioned the idea of getting a room for the night. Money, money, money. She was right, we had no real way to pay for this and getting money wasn't an option. That's when Bond spoke up. I looked at Portia very seriously, but with much certainty as i shook my head and said, "No Portia....we can't pay for it. So....we aren't. That simple." Funny how okay i was with that answer. "We'll take one of the back doors out and leave at some obscure hour. We dont have any other options."
I purposely avoided the bed because i knew, the moment my buttox touched down on that mattress, however springy it may be, it'd consume me and draw me like a siren into a world of nightmarish sleep. No, i needed to shower and clean up first. "Kay, gameplan," i said, trying really hard to avoid a silence where i'd be caught alone with my own thoughts. "I need a shower, we both need clothes washed. I saw two robes in the bathroom, we could use those. and then when we both shower and whatever, let's do some research. I think....having a set task would help me a lot right now. I'd rather not be alone with my thoughts, you know? Those are dangerous things," i half joked with a wry smile.