IM NOT YOUR DOLL (luci~)

[ASPEN CHAO MARTINEAU]

Aspen stood outside, leaning against a brick building that used to be a small motel, though now it really only is a brothel, though she wondered why some of the South Dictrict's...jobs was leaking into the middle class society. She shruged and walked around, an unopened and untouched beer held in her hands. This was her third attempt at running away, but this is are far as she seems to get without stopping and going back, but she didn't want to go back, be his doll for him.

She looked at the beer wishing she could escape to alcoholism like her mother had,but two things stopped her. One, she never liked the taste of wine, beer or any form of alcohol, and two, she was afraid what she'd say or do under its influence, so she just walked around the market square with the beer.

She pulled up her jacket's sleeve, looking at the unhealed scars of past misfortunes, something her father liked to say instead of saying clinical depression. He wanted a doll, not a daughter, so why stick around and be forced into perfect "dollhood". Just another reason to run away, but still she doesn't. Why? She's not strong enough in any form to make it out on her own. She needed a plan, but this was just unplannable on her own. But who could she ask for help? Her paid friends? Nah, they weree not use to anyone, except her father. Lucifer? No, she just couldn't ask that much of him, even more so with his job he currently hold. What would people say? "General Helps Girl Escape Perfect Family?" Probably not.

She took a seat on the ground and opened the beer, just staring at it. She closed her eyes and hummed a soft tune, as if waiting for the song to carry her away to another life, one without any dolls.

[LUCIFER AUDITORE DE FIRENZE]

<sup>It wasn't very often that he visited the Western district; if he did, it was usually to visit his mother, or some other business involving his position. Today, however, he didn't particularly have anything to do in the district, mostly because he had just finished having a cup of tea at his mother's house, the house that he was helping her keep up with using his salary.

Technically, he should have been in the Southern district, because Remnant sightings had been reported rather recently -- but he preferred not to go there. It was too poor, too depressing and desolate; there were many things that Lucifer hated, and one of them was seeing the low standards of living that flourished in the Southern district. He had had enough of poverty since the time he had been a child; seeing his mother starve herself for him was painful enough. He didn't need (or want, for that matter) to see people starving from sheer lack of food. Or sacrifice. A low sigh forced itself through the briefly melancholic general's lips, and he meandered through the Square, gaze flickering about all the different wares.

It wasn't like he intended to buy anything. It was still interesting to look around, though, and remember his childhood. No -- that wasn't pleasant at all. Shaking his head, the normally irate man reached into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and pressing it to his lips. He briefly contemplated lighting it; the answer metaphorically lying in his lungs and the amount of New Children in the area. He couldn't see many -- evidently they were in other places or simply out of sight. The air was clean, though, as it always was -- a bit of pollution wouldn't do anyone harm. Lighting it with his lighter, more because he was craving it than the actual necessity to, he inhaled, the smoke curling around his lungs. Too much, too deep -- breaking off in a shallow cough, he held the cigarette at arm's length as he paused briefly in his movements, regaining his composure.

Casting a glare at the people who stared at him, he took a shallow breath before resuming his pointless meandering, wondering where his feet would take him. He was about to turn off course, to make his way back to the Northern district, when he noticed someone looking oddly familiar, sitting on the ground. Why anyone would sit on the ground was beyond him. Taking several steps closer to the girl, he immediately recognized her as "Aspen". Why was she in the Western district?

...And why was she holding a beer, of all things? The words "alcohol" and "Aspen" did not fit in the same breath, not even in the same sentence. Shouldn't. He was tempted to snatch the bottle away, but was afraid that he would somehow initiate some sort of bodily contact by doing so; or worse, scare her. Instead, he simply settled for allowing loud, demanding words to pour from his lips. "Oi! What are you doing here, and why, exactly, are you sitting on the ground, all depressed...?" A brief pause. "Wait. What's wrong?" Something had to be wrong, after all, if she was sitting on the ground with, of all things, a bottle of beer.

((Sorry this is so...blah. >>; Breaking in a character and all that.))</sup>

[/sup][/justify]

[ASPEN CHAO MARTINEAU]

Aspen sat there on the ground, her eyes captivated on the simple brown, glass bottle. If she did take a sip, would she be hooked on it like her mother? Or would it just be a sip of beer. If she didn't like it she could throw it away. She's heard some alcohol wasn't very tasty, sometimes too strong, but she's seen many people drink beer. She gripped the neck of the bottle tightly and brought it to her lips, feeling the cool glass on her skin. All she had to do now was tilt it up and take one sip. Just one sip...

A vioce stopped her. At first, she thought it was in her head and she paniced, remembering she hadn't taken a sip of the beer yet so her imagination wouldnt be too over powering. In her fight, however, she had grasped the botttle even tighter and pulled it away from her mouth, jumping slighty from having let her guard down. Her head whipped back and forth to find the source of the voice only to find Lucifer. A blush crept up her neck and dominated her face. He knew what her mom had been and yet she sat here with a bottle of beer. Not the best thing that she needed right now.

She set the bottle down beside her and pulled her hand back to find it slightly cut. In her panic she must have gripped it too hard and cracked the bottle. She had no idea she had that strength in her, or did she? She remembered from a study that you tend to do things without knowing. Maybe her hate of alcoholism cause her body to react in a way she did not intend to. She pushed aside the though. Lucifer was talking to her. As a friend, she needed to respond. She had no use to worry the people that cared about her and knew her. She looked at the beer. She didn't want it any more.

"Oh...um..." she began, not knowing how to put it. He was asking a bit too much than she could answer in a simple sentance. At least he hadn't said anything about the beer she once held in her scarred hand. The word "scarred" quickly reminded her of her wrists and she tugged on her sleeves to make sure that they were still covering her arms. However, he used the word depressed. Why was she depressed? Because she had once been depressed and still was, only now with medication to help her.

He's been nice to her since the day they met, might as well tell him the truth. Not the whole truth, just some of it, just the part that concerned now. "I'm trying to leave," she said instead of running away. "I can't stand living with my dad anymore, but..." she trailed off, unknowing of what she should say next because she sure couldn't tell him this was her third attempt at running away AND trying to drink beer. No, it just wouldn't do. Not at all.

She brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her. She held off the tears in her eyes, not wanting him to see her like this, but she couldn't think of what to do next. No money, no plan, no nothing. She couldn't run away and she was drowning in a sea of problems and dispair. But she didn't know her lifeline was finally here and she was just too busy trying to save herself on her own to see it.

[Ooc- don't worry~ having the same prob .__.]

[LUCIFER AUDITORE DE FIRENZE]

A part of him, a rather large part, regretted not even introducing or announcing himself before he spoke. It was mostly because she, rather literally, freaked out -- she very nearly leaped into the air, whipping her head around as she looked for the source of her fright, who was no other than Lucifer himself. Mentally, he cringed, deciding that he would have to be more considerate in the future. Seeing Aspen this alarmed because of him was almost more horrible than her discovering he was not a "human". And that was fairly high up on his list. Pressing his briefly forgotten cigarette to his lips, he took another drag, shorter and not as deep as before to avoid coughing again.

Somehow, the sight of her blushing never ceased to catch him off guard; it always made him wonder if she "felt" the same way about him, even if the notion itself was impossible. His gaze followed her hand as she placed the beer bottle -- beer bottle, and what was worse that she had almost started drinking it -- on the ground near her. He waited patiently as she seemed to be thinking up a reply. Of course she would be thinking up a reply. Why on earth would she have a beer bottle? Why not tea? Or some other...non-alcoholic, safe drink? Exhaling the smoke that curled around his lungs -- he'd nearly forgotten how to breathe -- he wondered what she could possibly be doing with a beer bottle. Was it her mother's influence...?

Aspen's mother had been an alcoholic, from what she had told him. Maybe -- no, it wasn't good to jump to conclusions, particularly when Aspen was concerned. If he jumped to conclusions, then he would end up getting angry and worked up, perhaps all for nothing. Gaze flickering to her hand as she moved it away from the bottle, he nearly honed in on the blood -- she had cut herself, hurt herself, and it was more likely than not his fault, since he had been so inconsiderate as to scare her. Lip curling down into a frown, he growled under his breath and reached down and snatched the bottle of alcohol, grabbing it by the neck, careful not to grip it too hard so as not to get cut himself, or, worse, break the bottle entirely.

Dropping his cigarette and smushing it under his boot, his attention diverted itself to the bottle, wondering what the best way to dispose of it was. So intent was he on this new villain, this object that threatened the wellbeing of one of the only people important to him, that he nearly missed it when she began speaking. He contemplated hurling the bottle at a nearby building, just to hear the satisfying crash of glass breaking and liquid raining down on the street; it was probably the second most satisfying thing. The first was probably kicking Aspen's father in the place men valued most.

Of course it was her father. Her father was always the reason Aspen was upset, always the reason she looked so depressed even if she shouldn't, because she was Aspen and she wasn't supposed to be depressed. Frown growing deeper, he settled for the less-violent method of placing the glass bottle on the ground, making do with the clinking sound of the impact. "O-oi." He wasn't quite sure what to do in this situation. He was tempted to march right on to the Northern district anyway, just to reap hell because he was angry enough to do it -- and had more than enough of a motive for it. But on the other hand he wouldn't simply leave Aspen like...this. It was morally wrong. And he just...couldn't. There could be suspicious people in the square, for all he knew -- he was one of them.

Despite all instincts telling him to go and kill something, or yell at something, or otherwise cause something bodily harm, he managed to stay, sucking in a shallow breath through clenched teeth. Coughing discreetly, he crouched near her, about to reach one arm out to touch her shoulder before thinking better of it. "But what...?" Perhaps he would regret asking the question later, just as he regretted scaring her -- her hand, he would have to do something about that later -- but the sooner he got answers, the sooner he could make up some sort of plan to make the girl feel better.

Which, in his mind at least, all lead to the same answer one way or another: kill the bastard that kept making Aspen upset, because he apparently couldn't understand simply by looking at his daughter.

[/sup][/justify]

[ASPEN CHAO MARTINEAU]

Aspen watched him pick her her beer bottle and was glad she didn't have the feeling of longing towards the bottle. Still having not having drunk aany beer, she was still afraid of its addiction power on herself. It was kind of a situation of "if she got hooked why wouldn't she?" But the reason she wanted to drink it: she didn't want to deal with her father anymore. If she was drunk, she wouldn't remember anything and he wouldn't force her to accompany him everywhere to make him "look better" as a father towards his followers. It was complete bs if you asked her.

She looked at him with tears in her eyes as he spoke to her. She bit her lip. Should she tell him? Could she, without making him worry too much? Or, knowing the person he was, regret not seeing it before? It wasn't his faultt, she had rarely shown signs of this around him, always crying about it at home. Of course, he did know about most things, but he still didn't know all of it, so was this the time to let him know? Might as well, she thought with a sigh and rubbing the tears off her cheeks.

"He's...he's basically holding everything I have...over me," she said, swallowing down tears as they wanted to break free. "Money, my posessions, everything. H-he...he's even threatning to ruin my reputation so I would never be able to get a job if I left," she said. The tears came ina wave too strong for her to stop them and they ran down her cheeks and she sobbed into her dress.

She didn't remember ever having cried so hard in from of someone before. It was always done in her room where no one else was allowed. Actually...barely anything she did in her room made it out of there. Depression, crying, cutting, planning. It was all done there without anyones knowlage. She lifted her head and wipes her eyes on her coat arms. She must look pitiful. She never saw herself when she cried, but she imagined a blotch face, her hair messed up, the small bit of make up she wore washed away, not to mention the tear stains on her cheeks. She hid her face, not wanting anyone to see her like this; it was too embaressing.

"I'm sorry," she said into her dress, not daring to look up. "Don't be mad, please..." she added. She didn't want him to be mad at her for not having told him, but if she had, she could've avoided all of this. Well...it'd be something to look out for later, she guessed. She hugged her knees tighter and peaked her head up from out of her dress, her crying ceased for the moment. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, she found herself focused on not crying again. No, she told herself, no more crying, you've done enough. Infact, you've done more than enough so stop. Finally, she managed to find that small light of courage somewhere in her and she spoke.

"I don't know what to do."

[LUCIFER AUDITORE DE FIRENZE]

At that moment, Lucifer realized that he hated seeing Aspen cry. It wasn't as if he'd ever seen her cry before -- far from it. He'd only ever seen her look "happy" or "upset", or, as in this moment, "depressed". No, he hadn't ever even seen her remotely "depressed" before. If this was "depressed", then he didn't know what he had been looking at before, and he really really really didn't like it when she was depressed, like she was now. It made his insides squirm and his throat clog up, and it just hurt. He was about to apologize, say that he shouldn't have said anything, when she wiped the tears from her face and began to speak. Even her voice was painful to listen to, and he didn't like feeling this lost, this unsure, because he wasn't in control of anything anymore.

He could feel his anger growing as the words registered, and yet he didn't know what or who he was more angry at -- her father, for doing this to her, or himself, for not questioning it, not seeing it. He should have seen it, should have interfered somehow. She had told him what a disgusting person her father was, and yet he hadn't done anything -- had gone so far as to not even inquire about it. And that -- that was like lying, and lying was horrible. It was like lying to himself, almost like telling himself that everything was all right, when it obviously wasn't, and it had all been going on right under his nose. His right hand curled into a fist, unconsciously, the need to harm something growing.

But it was wrong, because he was in no position to leave her here when she was so desolate, so hurt and -- wait, what? She thought he would be angry? Whatever for? Why would he be upset that she was crying? Well, he was upset, but not in the way she probably assumed he was. "I'm not angry," he said, quietly, because that was the truth and not saying anything was like lying. He was surprised he even managed to speak at all, because he felt as if the lump in his throat would completely obstruct his ability to speak. In fact -- it was impairing his ability to breathe. He was breathing too fast, too impatient, too upset and his lungs couldn't keep up. He could practically feel them fluttering against his ribcage as they attempted to grasp the proper amount of oxygen.

He leaned away slightly as he began coughing, left hand curling into a fist now, hating himself because now was not the time to be coughing. Now was the time to be fretting over Aspen and trying to make her feel better. And plotting death. Yes, that was important. Pressing a hand to his mouth, he forced the coughing to stop, breathing deeply but not too deep. "Don't be sorry." A pause. "It's not your fault. It's mine. I should kill him." He really should. And she -- she -- "You don't need to do anything." After a few, hesitant moments, he raised his arm, wondering whether or not he could do this, if he was "allowed" to do it. Could he touch her? He felt his muscles tensing as he slowly placed his hand on her shoulder, not knowing what to do but trying to comfort her in the way he had seen "humans" do when someone else was "sad". "I'll help you." He didn't know what he was saying, but he knew that he had to say something. And they weren't lies, either, because he would never lie. "I'll do anything, Aspen."

[/sup][/justify]

[ASPEN CHAO MARTINEAU]

Aspen found herself at the realization that she was shaking. Her legs, her arms, her hands and her head all shook slightly, but just enough to make a difference and annoy her a bit. Her held onto herself even more tightly as she tried to stop the shaking. Was it from telling Lucifer or that she was just scared. Whatever it was from, she didn't like it, though when she found out he wasny angry at her, she stopped shakking a bit and looked up at him. Oh, thank God he wasn't angry at her. She couldn't imagine the one person that she really had left angry at her. She'd be alone and ,who knows, she might go back into depression, even with the pills. She thought about the beer again and decided what her mother chose for herself was not for her.

But...his voice, it wasn't sounding goood. Where his lungs acting up again? Or...was this her fault to? Yeah, it was, she knew it. By letting herself feel better by telling him -did she actually feel better?- she had just made him worry, because past the coughing, she heard sadness in his voice. She caused him to worry now he couldn't breathe. Thankfully, just as she began to blame herself, he managed to push past it and clear his voice. Inwardly, she sighed with reliefe. If it was true she was the one that caused him pain, at least it hadn't been for too long.

Finally, the sound of his voice -undisturbed and concerned- reached her ears. Don't be sorry, he said to her and she almost nodded. She stopped herself from doing so. She should be sorry; she had done the one thing Lucifer despised most: lying. She lied about her father, not telling him everything the bastard did. Heck, she was still lying. She hadn't told him about her depression, her cuts, her way to death...Thankfully, he stopped her that day from the last one. She would never be able to pay him back for that, but could she make it up by telling the truth. Yes, he liked the truth, but was it now she should tell him? He already had a few breathing problems not even five minutes ago! No, not yet. Later, maybe, when setting down she'd come out. Later, she told herself. Later.

"Kill him...?" Aspen asked stupidly, almost dazed from the fact. Actually...her fathers death would be very benifical to her and others, but....No, Lucifer couldn't kill him. He already was too deeply intwined where he stoood wiith his job. It was like being a rock in a spider's web. If he did anything to risk himself for something like...like...making her a bit happier, then she'd definatly had to do it herself. She had little to loose while he still had the world to loose. His job and connections, she remembered, would be gone if anyone found out that he killed her dad. Plus, with the technology they had today, there was no telling if he could get away with it or no.

The touch of his hand on her shoulder brought her back from her planning (she had been zoning quiet a bit, hadn't she?) as he spoke. He'd help her. Really? Well...she shouldn't have doubted it. Lucifer was a real nice guy, better than half the scum down i n Acris. Here, you were either trying to rise with the cruelest ways of manipluty, and...well, the same just the the poorer men in the South. But as she looked. Into his eyes, she knew -she just knew it deep down- that he would help her. Neither small nor large favor would stop or cripple him. She smiled geinly at him as she leaned forward, pulling him into a hung.

"Thank you," she rasped, her throat dry from crying. She squeezed him a bit tighter, then released. "Could I stay at your place tonight. I...don't want to go back there, to him," she croaked, finding it hard to call upon her voice to talk. But even though she had all of her clothes and items at home, she didn't mind giving it all up. The clothes, the jewlry had alll been bribes or means of manipluation for him and she wanted no part of it any more. Never again, she thought.

[LUCIFER AUDITORE DE FIRENZE]

Kill him...? Yes, of course, kill him, he wanted to say but decided against it. Stop his heart from beating, stop all mental processes, shut down his internal organs. That was what the man deserved, after causing so much trouble, so much pain for Aspen that she would break down in such a horrible yet beautiful mess such as this. It was unquestionable, in his mind, that the man that had hurt her -- not to mention helped in her "creation" in the first place -- should die. On one hand, he should go and murder that scum now, but on the other he had to stay with Aspen. And yet all the same he didn't even know if she wanted him to kill him. Even without her permission, he would still do it, and yet -- his mind was going in circles, and he had to force it to stop.

The moment his hand made contact with her shoulder, it was as if his entire body was on red alert; would the contact be accepted? Would she somehow sense that he wasn't "real"? Would she realize that he had lied about his entire existence? He hated lying, and yet he had the audacity to lie about his "life", since he technically had no right to it. His very soul should have been voided and purged the moment it was born, and yet he had managed to live for over twenty years without anyone ever realizing, ever noticing, ever seeing. Would "touching" her destroy the delicate and grotesque balance of "lies" and "truths" that he had managed to create? Hah, the man that hated lies was a living lie himself -- such an ironic, awful realization.

And yet, touching her shoulder didn't seem to cause any sort of negative reaction. She simply looked into his eyes -- her face was blotchy, and red, and she had a few tear streaks, but he couldn't bring himself to care. She simply smiled -- her smile was pretty and she was smiling at him, something she would never do if she knew what she was -- and then proceeded to hug him, arms wrapping around him as she let out a "thank you". He...had no idea what to do. She was initiating more bodily contact, she was warm, and he could feel his face heating up and his breath catch in his throat.

It was pathetic, this...this...thing that he had for her. He had no idea how to classify it or what to call it. It was just...there, and managed to rear its ugly head at the most inopportune moments. Like this one. Swallowing, he managed to regain his composure as he slowly hugged her back, arms wrapping around her shoulders briefly before she hugged him just a bit tighter and then released him.

Her face was still a bit wet and streaky, but that didn't really matter because she was pretty either way. He was, in fact, tempted to wipe her face, but he wasn't certain that he was "allowed" to, and for all he knew the sudden forwardness might scare her. He didn't want to scare her anymore -- wait -- her hand, was her hand still bleeding? While his mental processes switched gears and his gaze began to search for her wounded hand -- had it been the left, or the right, he couldn't remember -- Aspen spoke, although it was so quiet that he might have missed it. She asked if she could stay with him tonight, since she didn't want to go back to "him".

Him being her father. "Of course." The reply was automatic, natural, and he didn't quite know what he had said until he played it back in his mind. But it didn't matter, since that was the truth either way; she could stay with him whenever she wanted to. "Do you want to get anything? From your house, I mean?" he asked after a few moments. It was quite possible that she wanted to get clothes. Or something from her house. Girls like clothes. He resisted the urge to shake his head, and instead tried to mentally dispel the shallow thoughts.

[/sup][/justify]

[ASPEN CHAO MARTINEAU]

Aspen still remembered his hug on her skin and so she wrapped her arms around herself again like she was trying to feel the hug once more without asking for another one. His hug had been nice and warm and comforting, but she had to let go. She couldn't just...stand there hugging him forever. She had to do something, but...she really didn't know what to do.

Using her hands, she attempted to clear up her face a little bit. It felt sticky and wet, but she tried her best. Couldn't walk around Acris looking like this, could she? It might be better if she went into an open store and tidied herself up in the bathroom, but, one, what was open at this time and, two, she'd rather not be in a place where they could see her in the light. At least out here, even with the street lights, it was fairly dark and no one would see or notice she looked this way if she kept her head down and that they didn't try to look too hard.

But why was she worrying about her appearance? She usually didn't, only throwing on what was in her closet and touching up with a bit of make up that she only put on because her dad wanted her to. Maybe now she could go without it, she looked good enough without it, anyways. But the reason she didn't want anyone to see her like this. She had barely wanted to have Lucifer see her like this but if she wanted to make sure the world of Acris had a better politician than what her father provided then she had to keep up a reputation, right? And if there was anytime to start, it would be now. She wasn't a child anymore -which gave her even more motive to run away- and couldn't be pushed down as weak.

She shook her head. "No...there's nothing I want back there," she said with a grim look as she removed her arms from herself and used her right hand to play with a small opal necklace she wore. It was something she had found on her desk back in high school. No one claimed it to be theirs when she asked so she had just kept it. "Ouch," she said, the hand she had been using sending pain up her arm. Oh, right, that was the one she cut a few minutes back with the bottle. She should get it cleaned as soon as she could.

"Thanks," she mumbled once again. A few moments of silence passed before she decided to speak up again. "Um...let's go?" she asked, wondering if he had needed something down in this part of Acris that she had side tracked him from his desitiation. Speaking of, why was he here? From what she remembered, he only came down here to visit his mother but...oh, she didn't know. Her head was too fuzzy to make any sense right now, she just wanted to lay down on something soft and nap a bit.

[LUCIFER AUDITORE DE FIRENZE]

When she started wiping her face again, he once again considered helping her. In most of the romance novels he'd read, that was what the hero usually did. The heroine cried dramatically and the hero would wipe the tears from her eyes, and usually bestow her with a kiss. That was how all romances carried out. Except this wasn't exactly a romance, and it would be totally inappropriate for him (not to mention too abrupt and irrational) to kiss her. Not that he had ever been a particularly rational person -- no, not at all, and suddenly he wondered why he was even thinking this at all. Except, at the same time, he knew why -- this was Aspen, and anything that concerned Aspen always required a large amount of consideration and thought.

So, she didn't want to get anything from there. And she said it with such a somber expression that he almost wanted to hug her again. Once again, the temptation to comfort her, touch her, help her some way that did not involve "words" was rising -- to keep himself from doing anything at all, he crossed his arms across his chest loosely. A part of it was in an attempt to save himself from reacting as embarrassingly as he had earlier, and he was also attempting to keep himself from scaring Aspen. He was truly convinced that any sort of "tender" -- he hated that word, oh how he hated it, and yet liked it at the same time -- or remotely "romantic" action he performed would inevitably end in failure and end up freaking out either himself or Aspen or the both of them.

Although that was mostly because he had never actually done anything remotely romantic. Reading and doing were two, entirely different things. Ouch. Lucifer was immediately on guard, tensing, gaze shifting in search of whatever it was that had caused the girl to make a noise of pain; before inevitably falling to the nape of her neck, where her right hand loosely clutched the opal necklace that, from the time that he could remember, had always been there. So, it had been her right hand, then? "You should get it disinfected," he said after a few moments, sure, lip curling downwards slightly in a frown that had never really left. They were going to his house, though, so perhaps it was unnecessary to say that; he had some medical supplies in his bathroom, so she could use them.

He barely acknowledged the "thank you" -- there was no reason for her to thank him anyway -- and nodded silently when she suggested that they go. Uncrossing his arms, he motioned toward her briefly, before turning and picking his way around the closed or closing shops. He kicked the bottle as he walked past it, careful not to use too much strength as to break it just by touching it, but making sure to send it rolling a good distance away, too.

((If this is crappy, it's cause I'm half asleep. But I liked bits of this post, so I'm posting it anyway. >>;))

[/sup][/justify]

[ASPEN CHAO MARTINEAU]

Aspen followed behind Lucifer silently. After he kicked the bottle, she didn't know what to say, or if she should even speak. Had he been that uppset with the beer? She didn't blame him, she just blamed herself. Why had she actually turned to the beer for condolences when he had been there all the time? But because of him she didn't drink it, just like he stopped her from the pills. He...he was the best friend someone could ever be to her at a time like this. Then she decided that he deserved to know. He helped her so, so, so much that it would practically be a crime to not let him know. The only thing she was afraid of now was his reaction. Would he be pleased to finally know the truth, horrified aboout the truth or mourning over the fact she lied?

--

The next mornning she woke up in a big, flluffy bed, feeling like a small if in a sea of soft pillows and blankets. The bed itself was the softest thing she had ever lied on. She rolled onto her side, feeling the bed move with her body. So comfortable, she thought to herself, bundling the blankets up in her arms. Spending quite some time in the sea of comfort, she forced herself to push aside the blankets and roll off the bed- and yes, she literally had to []roll

[/i] because when she atempted to sit up, she just sunk into the bed.

She looked at herself with the mirror on the wall. Her skin was back to its naturally tan skin color (there were little ways to actually tan it since there was no sun down here). No blotchy skin around her eyes (though her eye lids seemed a bit puffy) but her hair was a wreck. She untied it from its bonds and let it lay down naturally. With a comb of her fingers, she decided to leave the way she was, still wearing her coat and dress from last night.

Walking into the hall way, she tried to remember last night. After Lucifer kicked the bottle, she didn't remember much besides getting to his house and laying in a bed -his bed or a guest bed?. Not seeing him anywhere, she concluded he was either in his own room or out and about somewhere, or even just in a part of his house she didn't see on her way to the kitchen. She dragged her feet down the ways, remembering having been here once, just to hang or something like that, so she found her way to the kitchen quiet easily.

In the kitchen, she opened the fridgerator to look for something to eat. Lucifer wouldn't mind if she ate a bit of his food, right? After all, he let her stay the night here. Finding a few eggs and cheese in the back of the fridge, she pulled it out and set it on the counter. Pullinng out a frying pan, she set it on the stove and turned the dial to heat it up. This was her first time cooking, but she had watched her cook -that her father hired, if you were confused- enough to try it out. She took out two eggs and broke them without difficulty and dropped them into the pan, tossing the egg shells away. Quickly, the began to cook. Then, she tossed some cheese on it, very pleased with herself forbeing able to do this.

She turned around to get a glass of water, suddenly having came to the relization that she was thirsty. The crying, she figured, had made her very dehydrated. Downing about three glasses of water, the smell of something burning wafted her way. Setting her glass down gently, she turned around to see her eggs and cheese burning. She grabbed the pan and put it in the sink, turning on the water. The instant the water hit the pan, it evaporated, sending steam into the air. She moved her head out of the way of the steam and it took a while for the pan to cool down and she turned off the water with a sigh. She had just wasted his food. Great.

She went to the cupboard and pulled out a box of ceral andmilk from the fridge, settling for a box of ceral. She poured the milk and ceral into a bowl and grabbed a spoon as she leaned over the counter, eating the ceral abset minded wondering where Lucifer would be. Actually, she was so out of it for the moment that she wouldn't even notice if he walked in right now, munching on the sweet breakfast food.[/justify][/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[LUCIFER AUDITORE DE FIRENZE]

The walk back was relatively uneventful and refreshingly quiet. No one bothered them, mostly because everyone had already gone home; the walk itself was rather long, and by the time they got to his house – mansion – manor – whatever it was – Lucifer wanted nothing more than to sleep. After making sure that she had at least put some antiseptic on her hand, he lead her to a guest room and deposited her there. Despite the overwhelming urge to shut his eyes, he forced himself to stand vigil at her room – always envisioning the worst case scenario, what if her father sent someone to fetch her? – before returning to his, not even bothering to change and zombie-like in that he was asleep before his head hit the pillow. He’d managed to become exhausted in the timeframe when he had been returning to the Northern district and when he had met Aspen at the square, more likely than not because of emotional stress. Stressing about her, not liking it when she cried, and then deciding to kill her father.

Speaking of which, he still hadn’t accomplished that yet. Meaning he still had to get up. The night – or what disguised itself as night – was up and gone, and he was awake, so he really had to get up. If everything had gone as it was supposed to, Aspen was still here, and he couldn’t really keep a guest waiting; yawning, he opened his eyes, and stretched languidly, not unlike a cat, before dragging himself out of the bed. Deciding he would die before he left the room with his hair as it was – probably messy, tangled, and, if Aspen was still here, absolutely horrifying to any visitors that happened to lurk in the depths of his adobe – he wandered to his en suite bathroom (which had enough hair products to fill a hair salon), barely dared to glance at his reflection in the mirror, and grabbed a brush from the sink, bringing it up and combing through his hair. Several brushes through made him confident enough to actually look in the mirror, and, satisfied that all his hair was in place, he left the bathroom and left his room, shutting the door behind him.

It was at that point that he wondered if the night before had been a dream. More like a nightmare, really; he couldn’t really call Aspen crying and saying that she had no idea what to do a “dream”. So yes, definitely a nightmare. Then again, he was wearing his clothes from the night before, so it had most likely happened. Pausing at the guest room he had left Aspen at, he was about to knock on the door, when the scent of something burning wafted through the hallway. Burning? Why? What was burning? Since he certainly wasn’t in his kitchen at that moment, that could only mean one thing – Thieves! There were thieves in his house! Why a thief would decide to sneak into his house and decide to start cooking something (and fail, apparently) was beyond him. Why a thief would sneak into a general’s house (and actually succeed, for that matter) was also beyond him. But still! Thieves! He had thieves in his house!

He had to take care of the problem immediately, before Aspen woke up. Maybe the thieves had come to steal her away. Lucifer had no doubt that her father wouldn’t hesitate to do such a thing, to get his daughter back. Sneaking the rest of the way down the hall, deliberately quiet, he found his way to the kitchen and peered in; he blinked several times, not quite believing the sight before him. Aspen, having apparently made herself right at home with a milk and a box of cereal; and the sink, slightly steaming, with the scent of burning emanating from it. Coughing quietly, and, satisfied that there were no burglars on his premises, he finally entered the kitchen, drawing the conclusion that she had tried to cook something for herself and, quite blatantly, failed. Crossing over to the sink, he looked down in it, identifying a pan and something burnt that faintly resembled eggs and something else. “You killed my food,” he said simply, finding the whole situation somehow amusing – who would have known that a girl couldn’t cook? – as he glanced at her, lip curling upwards in a smile for the first time since last afternoon.

After a few moments, he added a “’Morning”, promising himself that he would stab himself if he managed to scare her yet again, and cause her to somehow injure herself with a bowl of cold milk and cereal. Maybe choke. Keeping an eye on her, he grabbed a bowl for himself, before stealing the cereal and milk away from her to pour some for himself.

[/sup][/justify]

[ASPEN CHAO MARTINEAU]

Aspen was caught in her spacing out that she hadn't seen Lucifer walk into his kitchen, nor walk over to the sink. However, she was brought back when he said something about "killed". She turned around to see him and was shocked for a few seconds, but realized he was talking about the burnt food and not her father, which was the first thing she thought of when he said the "K" word. She just smiled and giggled a bit. It was a bit silly how she couldn't cook. To think her dad wanted a perfect child and all he got was her.

"Good morning," she chimed as he took the cereal and milk. Then, after finishing what was left of her cereal, she began to think. What had she planned on doing last night? Or- well, what she meant was, what had she planned on last night to do today? For some reason, she just couldn't remember it. She remembered things like vowing to kill her father so he didn't have to do it for her and never going to think of beer as a way to escape. Things like that weren't easy to forget seeing as they both related to the roots of her problems and at the roots were her mother and even higher than that, her father, who played with her like a puppet.

Wait...

That's right, she was finally going to tell Lucifer that she...that she...about her past. She was finally going to tell him everything she left out. She watched and waited for him to finish his food, didn't want him to choak on it when she told him her secert. Once he was done, she grabbed a chair from behind the counter and sat down. There was another one infront of her that she managed to pull with, too, for him to sit down.

"I...I need to tell you something," she said, gesturing towards the seat. Waiting for him to sit down, she played with her sleeve's hem, nervous. She took in a deep breath, finding the air a good support for something like....like this. Without waisting another second, she began to talk, as if she needed to get it out there before she lost her courage to say anything ever again.

"Before you found me," she said strongly," I was...well, depressed. My dad barely reconized this as something serious and wouldn't give me pills so I...," she pulled up her sleeved and showed him her wrists. White marks stood out brightly on her skin. "I used to cut myself and when I couldn't take it anymore I decided I wanted to...to...kill myself," she said, choaking on the last wor. It was still painful to remember that if she had not met him, she wouldn't be here now. "I was on my way to buy some pills when I met you and...well, basically, you saved my life..."

The room felt silent and awkward when she let her last few words ring in the empty kitchen. She wait for a response, almost scared of his reaction. "Just...wanted you to know," she added later.

[LUCIFER AUDITORE DE FIRENZE]

His mind was in a state of lazy bliss. As he ate his cereal, he easily deduced that he could get used to having Aspen around more than usual. As an added plus, she was smiling again, so that meant that the horrible dark cloud from the night before had passed. That was good. That meant he could potentially spend a relaxing morning with Aspen; and possibly a pleasant afternoon if nothing came up. Finishing his cereal, he pushed it away; hearing movement, he glanced up, watching the girl sit in one of the chairs. She looked oddly serious, oddly anxious, and he could sense that some likely unpleasant event was about to happen.

When she told him that she "needed to tell him something" and gestured to the other chair, he slowly crossed over and obligingly sat in the chair, wondering what she could possibly want to talk about. She looked so nervous that he was almost afraid of what she would say next; he didn't like it when she looked like that, and yet on the other hand, what would she possibly have to be nervous about? Especially when it concerned him? Or, rather, telling him. If she thought he would be upset about whatever it was she wanted to tell him, then she was wrong.

Because Lucifer could never be upset with Aspen, simply because "Aspen" was "Aspen" and it was physiologically impossible for him to be actually angry with her.

Despite what he thought, however, nothing could possibly prepare him for what she said next. He listened blankly, blankly staring at her, face entirely devoid of any semblance of "happiness" or, rather "contentedness" that he had felt several minutes before. When she pulled up her sleeves and showed him her wrists, he was still blank, the images transferring to his brain but not quite registering, not making sense. She had been depressed before he found her, her father hadn't cared and wouldn't give her pills, she would cut herself, decided she wanted to kill herself, met him on the way to buy pills, and apparently he had "saved" her. Just...wanted you to know.

Kill myself. Kill myself. Kill myself.

He was wrong. He was angry. But he had no idea who he was angry at, or why. No. He knew why he was angry. But he still had no idea who he was angry at. His left hand unconsciously curled into a fist, heart beating too fast, lungs too weak to get the amount of oxygen needed. His eyes slid shut as he breathed in through his nose, and exhaled through clenched teeth, trying to get his breathing back to normal so that he could think. Kill myself. But apparently it didn't matter whether his breathing because "normal" or not, because whenever they reached a state like "equilibrium", they were forced out of a whack again by the words reverberating in his head.

Aspen had wanted to kill herself. She had wanted to kill herself. And death was something permanent, something that could not be erased or removed once it was imposed on something. "Why?" He shouldn't have said anything at all. But before he could stop himself, the lone word had somehow managed to make its way out of his throat. And he didn't know why. Was it a question directed to her -- why had she wanted to kill herself, even though she had already told him; or why had she lied to him for so long -- or was it a question directed toward himself, asking himself why he was hurting even though he shouldn't. He didn't know what hurt more: the fact that she had lied, or the fact that she would be dead if it were not for him.

And yet, it shouldn't hurt at all, for some tiny, idiotic, insignificant reason that he couldn't quite grasp. So, in the end, it didn't really matter at all, did it?

This feeling. It was "hollow".

[/justify][/sup]

[ASPEN CHAO MARTINEAU]

my heart keeps beating like a hammer !

Aspen watched with watchful eyes, knowing that something might happen. Even though he was nice and calm, but she knew that he was reckless and tempered with other people. Telling him this, she didn't know how he was going to react, so when he finally spoke, she didn't know what to say. Instead, words just flowed out.

"Lucifer, no, I don't think you understand! If it were for you, I wouldn't be here right now." She bit her lip, tears threatning to spill. "Id be dead right now, and I know you hate that, but you also hate lying right? Well...there it is. My biggest lie ever and I finally managed to tell you." A few tears ran down her cheeks since speaking required the same effort to hold in tears and could not do both at the same time. She covered her mouth with her hand and began to cry, burying her face in her knees.

"Please," she managed, softly."don't make this any harder for me."