TIMING: current SETTING: downtown SUMMARY: Wynne is bothered by strangers. Zane hates standing by.
Wynne seemed to be in a constant pursuit for anything. Distraction, information, escapism, consolation, rest — any kind of noise would do, as long as it wasn’t entirely unpleasant and engaging enough. The house they lived in - not quite home yet, not as it stood - was not serving enough purposes, so they were out. Fresh air. Late night. Lights reflecting in the somewhat wet asphalt. Wynne liked watching the cars, the way people navigated the start of nightlife. They considered a bar, for more stimulation and exposure.
Thoughts were - as they often tended to be - interrupted before they were able to finish them. A group of men towering over them, prodding questions following. Where they came from, if they had been here long, where they were going. And maybe the men didn’t mean much harm, but Wynne saw danger behind every corner and suspicion in every bit of curiosity. They were warned of this, by the elders and mentors and their parents, even. Out there, they’d say, there were dangers lurking. People were distrustful of what they didn’t know, and none of them knew Protherianism: because if they did, they’d be with them.
Evasive answers met intrusive questions and Wynne could feel tension rising. With a closed storefront at their back and little wiggle room, all they really felt themself capable of doing was give mild replies and try not to drown in the echoes of previous lessons. "Really," they said, "I'd really just like to get to my car now." Not that they had one or (legally) knew how to drive one.
—
Zane had been quick to get tired of the night out some of the peppier vampires in the community had planned. Most of the time, he enjoyed their company but around so many strangers and alcohol, the vibes were... overwhelming. Of course he'd gone along with them, not wanting to miss out and experience the crushing FOMO he was so very prone to but around 11 PM, he was good. He'd done some people watching, even tried to start a conversation with some interesting looking (hot) people at the bar but they were either way too drunk or way too sober and his foot ended in his mouth at around the fifth sentence exchanged.
So he walked home. Aside from the noisy stragglers making his head whip every which way and making it impossible to finish a thought, it was nice. Almost tranquil, which the house seldom was with all the visitors and the ER was certainly not a place for tranquility. This was almost as nice as a run, just with more distractions. And this evening, something... bad. The nursing sixth sense for noticing when shit was about to hit the fan wasn't perfect but it did draw his attention to the crowd of men surrounding someone, barely visible in the throng.
"Everything good here?" he asked while carefully stepping closer before considering whether interfering would be a good idea. Zane knew that things could go sideways in a second, case and point every stab wound that came to the ER, but he had some immunity to being stabbed now, right? Not that he was looking forward to it but still. With his most pacifying smile, he closed the rest of the distance between himself and the strangers, regarding the worried looking one in their midst with an even kinder smile.
—
For a moment they were certain that one of them was sniffing the air. Outsiders were strange, that much had become too clear to them the moment they'd fled the estate and entered whatever big-bad-world this was supposed to be — but that didn't mean Wynne wasn't still often put off by their ways. The deep inhale made them grimace, their face betraying their unease more than their words could. This reminded them of their first weeks away from what had once been home, seeing danger in every face they saw and being proven right from time to time. They still mourned the money they'd lost in Lincoln. At least they didn't carry all their cash around any more. (Bank accounts, it turned out, were quite handy!)
How glad they were, then, when a new voice popped up. Wynne, who lied so very often, opted for truth. "Could be better," they said, gaze passing the people in front of them and attempting to fall on yet another stranger. In moments like these, they sure missed knowing everyone in their life. "Just trying to get to my car." Again: there was no car. But Wynne had learned in a previous instance that it was better not to mention that they intended to walk home.
They didn't want to point fingers, didn't want to say that they thought the men had ill-intentions — Wynne did tend to sway towards paranoia. Besides, being accusatory was far from in their wheelhouse. Some of them stirred, though, gazing at the new member of their party. "It's getting late, and all."
—
Judging by the expression on the men's faces, they weren't happy about Zane's appearance and consequent interruption. The curly haired one (maybe if they were open to new friends they could give him some tips for his own unruly hair, usually just kept at a tight shave for that exact reason) confirmed Zane's suspicion that these guys were not just old pals all having a quick catch up. "Well, if your car's nearby, I might be heading in the same direction. I'm Zane-" His introductions were cut off as the nervous stranger was gone from his line of sight, obscured by who seemed like the drunkest of the men stepping way into Zane's personal space. 'I'm sure the three of us can handle taking this young lady back to her car, can't we, boys?'
Zane gave a dry smile - only an idiot would mistake this offer for genuine kindness, especially with the way the supposed "young lady" was being eyed by Mr. Beer Stench's friends. Really, heightened smell made Zane feel almost drunk (or so he assumed since the feeling was not familiar to him) just from the fumes seeping out of the man's mouth and the few inches of space between their faces didn't help. Now Zane wasn't confrontational by any means but if it was between setting boundaries or leaving this young stranger in the hands of the three idiots crowding them…
"Mind taking a step back, buddy?" he asked with all the politeness he could muster right about now, still trying to catch a glimpse of the one he was trying to extract from this situation. Maybe they'd make a break for it and Zane could just leave without any kerfuffle. "Besides, I'm sure they don't really need anyone to walk them to the car. Two good working legs and all, it seems." The man snorted and before Zane could fully suppress his eye roll, the 'leader' of the pack was shoving at his chest. The surprise of the shove forced Zane back a step, mind registering how quickly this might escalate under the cacophony of drunken laughter. 'That far enough for you? Get lost, buddy.'
–
There was such downright rudeness in these corners, Wynne found. While some of the Protherian's methods were considered cruel, at least there were no instances like this on the estate — and they would feel morally superior about that, if it didn't make them ill-prepared and the continued existence of their former community wasn't up in the air. "I think," Wynne began, forcing themself to remember that they had once been someone worth listening to, that there had been a power in their voice, "I can decide that for myself. I'd like to go with him."
But no matter how much they try to force bravado, there's trepidation — the way they're being looked at making their skin crawl. Wynne wished to be no one, a whisp of a person, passing by with little notice. Observer, fly-on-the-wall, whatever metaphor would fit them best. They did hope their eyes didn't betray desperation to the one called Zane, but as things escalated with a shove against a chest, Wynne felt their stomach sink. This wasn't quite what they wanted, either: a helping hand was nice, but getting another in trouble? Wynne swallowed, moved forward. "Come on, that's enough." There was little force in their voice, but it was there, at least.
Three fingers were laid on their shoulder, pressing them back as well. Wynne had come face to face with violence before, most of it with a purpose and some of it with none at all. They preferred the former category, the kind that had occurred at the estate: violence with explanation and honour. And while there was no violence yet, not truly, they felt it hanging in the air — and it was the mindlessness of it, that made their chest tight. There was a flutter of their heart, a thick swallow. "We'll both get lost." It almost sounded like a question, but Wynne still pressed on, for the gap created by the leader-like man.
—
The stranger, seeming so small amidst the men who, granted, weren’t the biggest but just the pure essence surrounding them made Zane feel immensely protective. They were speaking up now, which was good, hopefully helping to deescalate the situation. Zane had been chosen as the safer option, which was good but also probably born out of immense desperation. He wouldn’t hang around this person longer than they wanted him to but if given the chance, Zane would definitely walk all the way to their car and make sure the doors were locked before he left them.
They were stepping up now, almost in the middle of the tense stand off that had formed between Zane and the man. There hadn’t been much need for Zane to fight… well, ever and consequently, he was not very good at it. He’d seen the others back at the community show immeasurable strength but that had to be from years of training, making them able to harness it so well. Zane wasn’t really willing to test his out here, in front of strangers and a few onlookers who didn’t bother to stop and check if this precarious situation was alright.
“Sounds good to me,” Zane agreed, hopeful that things would diffuse as soon as the pair of them could walk away. A careful hand reached for the younger one’s shoulder, almost waiting for some nonverbal consent before gently leading them closer to him and away from the crowd. He’d just barely started turning when cigarette stained fingers were pawing at the one he’d made it his mission to protect. Without much thought, Zane pushed at the offending arm, going for the elbow to make sure he didn’t hit his undeserving companion. The other man howling in pain when Zane’s forearm made contact with the pit of his elbow… not what he’d been expecting. Not what the man’s friends had been expecting either, their eyes narrowing and sleeves being rolled up.
“You feel like maybe briskly walking back to your car?” he said under his breath with a tight squeeze to the stranger’s shoulder.
—
With every step into the world outside of that they’d grown up in, Wynne found duality. Dread and hope. Comfort and unease. People who were kind and people they were not. How they wanted to be hopeful! To see all the good they came across and latch onto it, to let their eyes get misty and their vision rose-colored. To approach all they didn’t know like a mystery worth unfolding. But there were moments like these, where everything seemed awfully dark, and the elders seemed right, and their ignorance like a trap they set up for themself. What was hope but another set of teeth in the bear trap they threatened to get stuck in?
But then Zane reached for their shoulder, his touch a change from what had been threatening to reach them before. Considerate, gentle. Kind. While their instinctual reaction was to tense under their jacket, they found something grounding in it. Hadn’t Wynne always functioned best when led? To make their own decisions, to force their own way — it was something they’d only been doing for a short couple of months, and they weren’t exactly good at it.
There was the duality again, though: another hand reaching for them, clawing at the cotton of their jacket. Now, Wynne truly did tense — and it came to a head when the other responded, a howl of pain following the pair of them as Wynne began moving faster. Away from the men. Unsure if this squeeze of their shoulder was a comfort or just another threat. Heart in their throat and head, panic rising. They tossed a look over their shoulder, then looked at the other with a look of determination. “Just go.” That was what they did best, anyway: to run away, avoid conflict and soon enough pretend none of it had happened.
As they picked up the pace, Wynne wondered if they ought to trust the other. And though they moved their shoulder, slightly, in an attempt to relinquish it, they offered some truth: “I actually don’t have a car.”
—--
It seemed that the men weren’t in any shape to pursue on foot, running after them for a few seconds before giving up, throwing explicits their way before (presumably) going to find some other unsuspecting victim to harass. Feeling the tension in the stranger’s shoulder, Zane quickly moved his hand from their body and began to slow his pace to a more brisk walk.
It was a slight surprise that they didn’t have a car, seeming so confident in using it to get home earlier, but Zane realized that had just been regular old lying to cover one's ass. “Gotcha. I’m Zane, by the way. Nurse at the hospital. Really like running but not exactly in these kinda circumstances.” Would this rambling calm them down? Maybe not. If they wanted to go their own way now, Zane obviously wouldn’t stop them. Still, this stranger had seemed so lost and afraid and the thought of just leaving them alone to get home (was there actually a home or was that another lie?) tore him up.
—
They pressed their right hand against their left collarbone, a practice that remained from their time at the estate — though it usually had been another person, doing the motion. Wynne felt their breath steady a little, giving a look of gratitude at the other for removing his hand (and, admittedly, all else). They hoped he didn’t think it rude of them, to shrug him off: but they were so foreign to touch these days and there was still distrust swirling in their nervous system.
“Zane.” They weren’t sure why the name bore repeating, but they blamed an endlessly frazzled mind. He was a nurse: that seemed good. “I’m Wynne.” They didn’t list their occupation. “And me neither. I don’t really like any of this.” They dropped their hand, pushing their lips in a fine line before opening them again. “Thank you.” They looked up. “Seriously.” No word on what might have happened, had he not stepped in. Wynne was tired of thinking of what-ifs, as they were mostly depressing. They wrapped their jacket a little closer around themself. “Good to know there’s some proper people around here, too.”
—-----
Wynne seemed to be calming themself, some of the panic from before seeping away. They still looked tense which was fair. Zane wasn’t exactly feeling very zen at this very moment but at least the situation was over. “Nice to meet you, Wynne. Despite the circumstances,” he attempted to joke, a common go to when all else failed. “And it really wasn’t a big deal.” As the jacket was wrapped tiger around them, Zane wondered if the temperature was getting to them. It didn’t bother him at all these days, his own jacket or sweater normally kept on for appearances. He considering offering his jacket but reconsidered, not wanting them to think he was flirting or anything.
“I’ve found that there’s usually more good than bad. The bad people just make more of a fuss so you notice them more often.” Zane gauged them for a while - from their words, it seemed like maybe they hadn’t been here long. “You got a place to go back to? I wasn’t lying when I said I’d walk you to your car and that can totally extend to your place.” He smiled softly, hoping he wasn’t coming on to strong in his need to assist. “Totally get it if you don’t want some weird guy seeing where you live but I’d be an asshole not to at least offer. And I have literally nothing else to do as I just bailed on my friends and was heading home anyway.”
—
They weren’t sure how to respond, but opted for something like a smile. “Yeah. Nice to meet you, Zane.” Something itched at the base of their neck, down their spine — distrust was such a common thing in life, even if they still proved to be naive aplenty. “Well, you could’ve just kept walking.” People were so self-centered in these parts, so used to fending for just themselves and looking away. Wynne was growing weary of it, longed for a proper community to be part of again — but then their community had been happy looking away too. Perhaps it was just people who were inherently selfish: they were proof of that too, after all.
“Hm-hm. Maybe. Maybe it’s just easier to focus on the negative, sometimes. Not that that means we should.” But here they were anyway, not entirely trusting the other. He wished to walk them home. Wynne thought for a moment. “I was actually on my way to the Wormhole. I mean, I do have a place, but —” They forced a smile. “The night is young!” That was something people said, right? “I’m meeting someone there.” A white lie. Wynne forced themself not to feel too badly about it. “You can walk me there if you want, I don’t mind.” It could be nice. Maybe Zane was what he offered at face-value. “But you don’t have to take a massive detour for me.”
—---
Zane could feel Wynne’s distrust, almost like a palpable thing. Why wouldn’t they be distrustful after having just been berated by some strangers. There was no way for them to know that he’d never hurt a living soul before and it definitely wasn’t on his bucket list. At least he’d managed to diffuse the situation from before and the overwhelming sense of protection was starting to fade now that there was no imminent danger. Now that he thought about it, following them home really just seemed creepy. The solution came unexpectedly.
“Ah,” came the hesitant reply. “I actually just left that place and if I appear again, I might get dragged into staying there for another few hours, which…” Zane trailed off, giving a noncommittal shrug. Not that he would mind sitting down with Wynne, getting to know them a little better but tonight wasn’t really the night. “Raincheck, though?” The words were out before he could overthink them, feet scuffing against the ground as hands dug their way into pockets. “Just a thought, obviously no pressure if you were just being polite and hoping I’d back off, which, totally understood. Just… sounds like you’re new here and I remember being new in town and it sucked. And I’m not hitting on you or anything if that’s what you’re worried about, totally platonic raincheck. Which you can say no to. Obviously. Stopping now.”