When wicked thoughts come inter alia [Alyson]

You wind up in Centralia, morally,
Looking for a decent cup of coffee

He could hear the clock ticking in his quiet apartment. It was minutes before his alarm would go off, but Christian was awake—always awake. Today was the day. He turned off his alarm, reveling in the silence, as he climbed out of bed. Today was the day. It shouldn't have filled him with such a strange mixture of excitement and dread knowing that he was going to see a fifteen year old girl. In fact, feeling much of  anything about her was wholly inappropriate, but still he found himself just as excited to see her as he was afraid of what happened next.

Technically, keeping her on his good side was all a part of the plan. If he couldn't kill her (that would be murder, he reminded himself), he would need to keep her silent and appeased. That meant spending time with her, gaining her trust. She knew. He still wasn't sure how to handle that truth. No one else knew him the way she knew him. It was thrilling even as it was horrifying. Christian found that he felt a rush of adrenaline whenever he thought of it. The danger was addictive.

He used that to fuel his morning workout. He had a treadmill in his apartment he liked to run on for a half an hour, then it was time for his other exercises. He would stretch, lift weights, do lunges, squats, and crunches. He liked to keep fit, considering his job. No one ever got to see what was under his clothing, but he was always ready for a chase or a fight.

He cooked a quick breakfast of eggs, toast, and coffee after that. He sat down to read through the paper as he ate quickly. More crime, more murders, more violence. It made him ill, but not ill enough to stop eating. That was life. That was the world they lived in.

He finished his breakfast in record time, then went to work out his sore muscles under a hot shower. Christian had a very intricate morning routine and never deviated from it. He took pride in how he looked. He shaved his face clean and washed his hair every morning. He applied a moisturizer with SPF, then dried his hair magically. He slicked it back with gel. He applied some cologne, then went back to get dressed. His shirt was clean and ironed, hanging in his closet His slacks were starched and creased. He slipped into his shined loafers and checked himself in the mirror. He felt naked without a sports coat.

He put on his watch last, never leaving the house without it, and stepped out of the door. He went to a safe place before apparating out to the area near House Irons where he had agreed to meet Alyson. The plan was to take her back to Manhattan, near his apartment. He planned to give her a nice day in town, something to remember before she had to go back to school. As far as she was concerned, he was a friendly older brother, looking out for a little-sister type. She didn't need to know the complexities of the situation. The less she knew, the better things would be.

That didn't stop his heart from racing the moment he glimpsed her long brown hair as she waited for him at the street corner. He needed a cigarette, but he had given that up. He had tried, anyway. He needed coffee, then, and soon. He approached her from behind, unsure what to say at first. So he just stood there and breathed her name. “Aly...”

She'd awoken that morning to the kind, inviting, fuzzy rays of sunlight streaming in through her sheer curtains, thankful it hadn't been too rough of a night. It had been early, but not so early that the sun hadn't even come up over the horizon yet. That, though a minimum requirement for most people, meant she'd had a decent night of sleep. Wasn't so often anymore that she could say that, and perhaps it had been the prospect of spending a day away from House Irons (even though she really, really loved it) that had lulled her into sleeping soundly. Alyson wasn't rich, so she didn't travel much, and maybe he was going to take her somewhere exciting in Manhattan. She knew the city -- just... the grungier parts. Usually in Brooklyn.

It was possible a normal girl would've been a little bit more apprehensive about the whole thing, but not Alyson. She wanted to get to know Christian better, and the letters had already helped some with that. He knew quite a few things about her that people she'd known for years didn't know. And, too, she usually considered herself to have quite good instincts and intuitions about people. Of course, the whole stumbling upon him committing downright illegal acts had thrown her for a bit of a loop at first, but he didn't give off the bad-person vibes. This setup would allow her to dash the rest of the guilt she might've been feeling and to replace it with self-assurance that she was right about him. She was. Wasn't she? He wouldn't hurt her. She was confident in that.

That's why she'd told him to meet her down the block from her home at House Irons. It wasn't so much that she was afraid of him finding out where she lived as much as her sister and her other friends who were more like extended family finding out where she was going, and with whom, if he'd knocked on her door to ask for her. While Aly was sure of her own opinions, she was sure that not everyone else would feel exactly the same -- even crimes aside. Christian was probably about ten years older than her. She realized then she hadn't even bothered to ask him how old he was -- it didn't seem like it mattered that much. Age was such an arbitrary trait.

She sat in front of her antique vanity with wide eyes, slapping herself in her soft cheeks a few times to wake up all the way. Her roommate was already out the door on her morning run, and Alyson was thankful she had time to conduct this ritual herself. Getting ready was such a process, and she couldn't remember the last time -- maybe when she'd been involved with Atticus -- that she'd tried to look better than she normally did. She brushed her hair, got it wet, and curled it in some rollers to encourage decent separation of tresses as opposed to frizz city. Then she swiped some mascara over her thick lashes, and even rolled a little bit of lipgloss on. Afraid of overdoing that part too much, she left that where it was and sifted heavily enough through her drawers and closet that half their contents were strewn about her wadded, rolled-in bedsheets. What a mess. She could take care of that when she got back.

What would be too casual? Too formal? Too anything?! It was hot outside in August, no matter whether in Massachusetts or New York, so she yanked on a beautiful yellow sundress with beading and embroidery around the gently-flared skirt she'd managed to scavenge from a thrift store months ago for a few bucks. That was fine, right? She'd wear a short little denim jacket and some sandals and it'd be complete. Comfy-cute. Should she bring a bag with her wallet in it? Alyson was nervous. That much was clear. She slung a tiny little messenger bag over her shoulder just in case, for good measure, and headed out the door to wait for her companion.

Standing on the corner was sort of scary and a tiny rush of adrenaline at the same time, and there was a familiar churning feeling in her stomach. She tried to breathe deep and bit at her naked fingernails while she waited, and eventually, she heard a soft voice behind her. It startled her and she jumped about a mile, flailing her arms about and letting loose a little shriek. Her spiked heart rate climbed down as fast as it had gone up when she saw who it was, and she clapped a hand dramatically over her chest. "Jeez. You scared me. You're so quiet." Alyson commented, laughing nervously and brushing his arm teasingly with the tips of her fingers.

Unsure of what to do next, she defaulted to her usual and leaned in to give him a hug. Her arms struggled to coil around him, but eventually she found a position that worked. The young witch hoped he didn't care that she didn't half-ass hugs: none of the side-hug crap and it wasn't even a hug if you weren't chest-to-chest, was it? It was just awkward then. And he smelled really, really good. Like... soooooo good. It wasn't overbearing or spicy, either, it was aquatic and inoffensive to her nose and it was sinful how much she wanted to keep smelling him. It was only the cologne, though, of course. It had nothing to do with anything else. Not very inconspicuously, she lingered in the crook of his neck for a second to commit the scent to her memory, and then she pulled away, trying to smother probably unsuccessfully the fact that she was still breathing hard from her scare and whatever else. "You found the place okay, though, I see. That's good. Let's get out of here before my sisters see us?" Alyson suggested breathlessly, raking a cold hand through some of the hair at the crown of her head anxiously while she looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was peering out the window.

Christian's arms closed around Alyson to awkwardly return her hug, smelling at her shampoo as well. She smelled clean and fruity, something exotic that he couldn't quite place. It was just as intoxicating as a shot of liquor, and now he needed that coffee more than ever. He offered a hand to her. “You've done side-along apparation before, right?” He asked her, moving out the full view and back into the alleyway he came out of. He wasn't a man of many words to begin with, and he was nervous about spending time with her. They had written letter and had short visits, but this was the first time they'd have a full day together. He shouldn't be so unsure, but he couldn't help it. He needed everything to go just swimmingly, but she wasn't the type of girl he could predict. He never knew what would happen with her, what she would say or what she would do.

“Hold onto me tightly.” He directed. “You'll get a little dizzy, probably, but it'll be okay. Just don't let go.” He gave her hand a squeeze to make sure she was secure. He looked around to make sure no one could see them before he apparated away from House Irons and back to the area near his apartment. When he arrived he quickly checked to make sure she was okay. It was quite a long trip for apparation, but Christian trusted himself to be up for it. Maybe next time he'd have a portkey made. That would have been safer. He berated himself a little for not thinking of it sooner.

“Welcome to Manhattan.” He offered. “Do you have any idea where you want to go, or should I start heading back to my flat? I could use come coffee.” Desperately. “Have you eaten?” Christian had made breakfast that morning as part of his daily routine, but it was important to him that Alyson was properly nourished. “We could stop at a coffee shop for a pastry, unless you want eggs and toast.” Christian could cook, but he rarely cooked anything other than basic foods. He'd almost forgotten how to cook anything else.

“There's a nice shopping district here where we could find you something nice.” He offered, cringing almost when he was finished. He sounded like her sugar daddy when he offered to buy her things, and that's not at all what this relationship was like. She, of course, couldn't afford anything at the Manhattan shopping district without his help...

"Um, yeah. A couple times. With my... dad." Sampson wasn't biologically her father, but as far as she was concerned, he was as good as. Their father had left a long time ago and their mother, well... she was... unable to really be a mother, most times. Sampson and a few other graduates of House Irons had been her sole influences, and other than that, Alyson and Julianne had had the streets of Brooklyn to influence them. That could be hard on little girls. Or on anybody, really, if she thought about it. She didn't want to, though, so she zeroed in on Christian's presence.

She gladly took his hand when he offered it to her, and she didn't hesitate to weave her fingers through his, enjoying the way his larger hand was so warm. It wasn't sweaty. If he was nervous, he was doing a good job concealing it. Alyson figured, to an extent, that that must've been part of his job description. Her thumb traced little circles over the back of his hand almost unconsciously, and she nodded studiously when he instructed her to hang on tight. Butterflies flapped around in her stomach and Alyson lifted his arm over her head and laid it down on her shoulders so she could wrap her other arm around him, clinging to his waist just before they ascended into some weird travelly dimension.

"Okay, I'm ready." Alyson told him before they went, and she shut her eyes tightly, opening her eyes to buildings as tall as the sky all around her. Man alive, Manhattan was something else. It was beautiful, in its own succinct, concrete way. There was nothing else like it. "Hey, thanks. I'm glad we're together." Alyson admitted this before she could police herself and chewed nervously on the inside of her cheek. There were canker sores there already from having done that numerous times earlier in the week just thinking about this. And now it was here. She was here, with him, alone, for the entire day. That was a strange feeling. It didn't feel bad, though. She hoped it didn't for him, either.

"I have no idea where I want to go. If I'm being totally honest, any time that Julianne and I would come to Manhattan, it would be to hang out with some of Annie's friends or to pilfer stuff in affluent places." Alyson's sunkissed cheeks flamed. It was quite humiliating to admit that she'd been a thief -- and was, still, but of course, in comparison to the tidbits of information she held dear about Christian, it was a drop in the bucket. "Let's just go wherever you want. I don't get hungry for awhile. Like, not until I've been awake a while. If you need coffee, let's get that?" She ended the suggestion like a question. While they'd disentangled themselves otherwise, Alyson hadn't let go of his hand and was content letting it stay there until he wanted to take it away from her.

Aly had to smile at his suggestion. "I'm not a super high-maintenance girl, Christian. I'd love to go anywhere that you want to take me, but I'm... not expensive. I just want to hang out with you, you know? If that involves you picking out some things for me, then that's fine. I won't say no. That's very generous," The young witch finished awkwardly and cleared her throat, an embarrassed smirk still twitching on her lips.

Not high-maintenance. That was good, but was it true? Surely, she wasn't high-maintenance in the traditional way. She didn't need flashes of money to be happy, though Christian knew little of how to appease a soul without it. She need seem quite needy, though, touchy feely and emotionally he knew she needed more that what he could really give her. She needed some stability, someone to trust, someone who she could rely on. Even at House Irons—a step up from the foster homes and orphanage he used to call home—she still relied mostly on herself and her sister. Sampson Irons, from what Christian could tell, was a good man, but he couldn't always be there for every individual person. Not in the way he knew Aly needed.

Christian had never really had that growing up, not until Richard. When he was Alyson's age, there had been no one to rely on but himself and he had turned out worse for wear because of it. Fake. Fickle. Materialistic. He knew she needed to be supported in some way, and hoped that even if their visits were brief, that perhaps he could come to be to her the way Richard was to him. Maybe he could help her get a job when she got a little older. He could let her stay with him in the city, spoil her in ways that he now had the means for. He knew she wasn't “high-maintenance” but at the same time, he also knew that living in a home like that, there wasn't much to go around in terms of luxury. There was bare minimums, secondhand clothing, and tattered books. He wanted Alyson to have the best, if he could give it. He wanted her to have something special and new.

He led her down the street towards a department store, quiet. He had silently decided that spoiling her would be better than sitting at his flat listening to records all day. The juxtaposition of Alyson in his most intimate environment didn't sit well with him. It made him uncomfortable in and unfamiliar way. He could vividly see her lounging on his leather couch, listening to The Clash or something similar, leg swinging in time with the music, hair pushed out of her face. She looked so innocent, like an angel sprawled out on the white leather. He could hear the music in the background, Should I cool it or should I blow? Her soft, pink lips mouthing the words. He felt a shiver down his back and a tightness in his tummy he was certain was indigestion, which made no sense at all considering he ate the same thing every day for the past seven years.

Maybe it was her. Maybe she was what was making him queasy. He needed that coffee. He saw a street vendor and ordered a coffee, black. He offered one to Alyson, knowing full-well that coffee wasn't good for a growing girl but being unable to deny her anything. Then they were back on the road, he found himself humming the song softly, unable to get the ethereal vision of her on his white leather couch out of his head, no matter what he did.

“I know you're not high maintenance,” He said, finally, several minutes after she had first made the comment. “I know what it's like to have to get everything second hand from a home, to not have much for yourself. I would like to get you a few nice things to keep. Will you need a coat for winter this year?” He wondered if it was too early to ask about that. He straightened his sports coat subconsciously.

@Ashton

He seemed a little distant. Alyson wondered if it was because of something she'd said. Was she seeming too personal? Nervously, she chewed on her lip and waited, following almost like a puppy when he pulled her aside to order a coffee from a tiny hole-in-the-wall vendor. Aly tried to peer behind the wall of metal machines to see the process and what they were making -- maybe becoming a barista in Shackamaxon could be something she could do during the next school year. If she could get out of bed enough times a week to justify going to the shifts, that was. She was good at stealing and it was arguably an easier way to get what she wanted and needed, but there was a certain allure and interest that came with having one's own money. That prospect seemed like it might be more gratifying than shoving stuff into her backpack or under her clothes. Hmm.

Alyson smiled brightly at Christian when he handed her the cup of coffee and she proceeded to snag a sleeve from the little station they had on the side of the cart. "Could I have some cream and a little tiny bit of vanilla, please?" She asked perhaps more timidly than she should've in Manhattan. Her eyes flicked over to Christian again, almost as though seeking his approval, and then she leaned further over the cart on her tiptoes.

"Excuse me," Alyson began again more firmly, even though her voice was wavering minutely. Julianne was always the one to be more forward and obvious. Alyson was not very good at it. Not very good at all. "Can I please get some cream and vanilla in my coffee, please?" She didn't like the way her voice sounded like that. Sharper, more cutting, not as... pleasant. Why was she so concerned with being amiable and pleasant? Maybe those weren't necessarily good things. What was good, anyway? Alyson was positive that not many people, including her older sister, would agree that Christian was a good person. Did that mean he wasn't? To her, at least? She wasn't convinced.

Her shoulders, which she hadn't realized had been raised, lowered as they walked away from the stand. Aly knew it was irrational, but she still felt like the people (even though they were long distracted serving other customers) were looking at her and judging her for being so adamant about the cream and vanilla. "Well, that's good, that you. Don't think that, I mean." She laughed without a hint of genuine mirth and nodded, making a deal with herself that she'd just agree to whatever he suggested and steal the rest -- or have Annie do it -- when the need came up. "Yeah. It gets pretty cold there -- obviously you know that, because you went there. Where are we going? I'm not familiar with a lot of the... nicer... shopping in Manhattan. My sister and I stuck out like sore thumbs every time we tried to lift anything from places like that,"