Times Square

Her fingers ran from the tip of the blade and towards the bronze handling, her touch light enough to avoid the peril of the cut. Paxton tugged a strand of hair from her face as she examined the blade once more, it was given to her, a gift from Grayson. Whenever she met with him, there always seemed to be some sort of tension, his voice deepened to a low whisper and she felr her heart rate rise. It was horrible, he could make her feel things without even speaking.

His resplendent sere optics shifted astutely in their orbits toward the empyrean celeste painted with the vibrant spectrum of an unadulterated vespertine sunset, an unrelenting turmoil of urgency swelling in his sternum. Although mainly nocturnal predators, the Mercenary was immensely aware of the grotesque creatures' earliest activity commenced at the astringent dilution of daylight,in the evening and wasn't foolish enough to believe they could survive a swarm. Grayson perambulated in a collected jog into the orientation of their rendezvous, and iterated crisply, in his robust Australian lilt, "We gotta move fast."

Grayson transfixed the petrifying jurisdiction of his markedly perceptive oculars into the orientation of Paxton's cunning domiciles, the ephemeral iridescence swirling within the haunting battleship-grey irises solely indicating his exasperation, but it vanished instantaneously. His muscular left appendage drifted almost parallel to his amply hale shoulders to direct the curved tip of his resplendent steel blade almost face-level with her, and demanded with a faint growl, "This isn't the time or place, Pax." He jogged with buoyant strides through the eventide streets of Manhattan, occasionally dismantling Infected individuals but, dodging passed the majority.

"Lucy.." He murmured aloud thoughtfully, amusement glinting in his monochrome optics when a small mewl answered. He brought the bowl into the moonlit living quarters and reposed himself onto the hardwood nearby Lucy, dragging his backpack beside him and retrieving a water bottle from its abysmal warren. He spared the filtered water and settled the bowl close to the juvenile cat, who quickly fixated onto the fresh, albeit room temperature, water quickly and lapped the ration up within seconds. Grayson smiled lightheartedly when Lucy appeared more bright-eyed and a little more energetic, her empty stomach now filled to the brim with an entire pack of beef jerky and her thirst quenched.

Grayson pursued a hand toward her again tentatively, not wishing to frighten the skinny animal but, was gifted with genuine affection from the cat. She purred loudly, while she stroked her ginger-splashed spinal reign and scruffed the thinning fluff of her cheek. "Paxton would like you.." He stated earnestly and collected his belongings quietly, then scooped the lovable kitten into his hands and cradled her against his chest. Lucy continued her displaying her gratitude and fondness by nuzzling at his jawline, purring, and kneading his collarbone. Grayson arrived outside the apartment Paxton had established herself in and knocked faintly.

Candlelight lambency irradiated blissfully from within the tranquil embrasures behind the diminutive physique of the apartment’s occupant, and sublimely silhouetted the comely, regal facial characteristics of the visitor, himself. The imposing young man improved his confident posture, and studied the disheveled lass with vigilant, penetrating cinereal orbs for a long minute “You appear quite miserable.. Have I caught you at a bad time?”He commented sardonically on a condescending, brusque Australian lilt and lightheartedly teased her, alluding an impishly cocksure grin, “Hopefully you’re feeling better than you look.” Clearly, he was delighted in tormenting her and his intentions were good-natured, of course.

“Don’t worry. I hadn’t arrived to taunt you. Look what I found,” Grayson reassured and introduced Lucy to the girl, the fragile kitten gently encompassed within his large hands with frontal paws outstretched, digits kneading the nothingness. “This is Lucy. I found her on the fifth floor, ‘neath the couch,”he informed with a vague, persevering smile on his stately facade, his fingertips absorbing the faint, fluttering vibration of the feline’s steady, affectionate purrs. “She reminds me of Isabelle---my younger sister’s cat,”he reminisced aloud, but forced a hasty cessation and knitted his brow with suppressed sentiment.

The Mercenary perambulated languorously into the exclusive domicile and painstakingly transferred the emaciated feline into the lass’s svelte hands, a conspicuous iota of conscientious vigilance governing his demeanor. He temporarily abandoned his essential equipment onto arenose surface of the stout mahogany table furnishing the living room, yet meandered throughout the recesses and nosily snooped, in a somewhat successful attempt to quell his low-key boredom.  “Got anything to pass the time?” He inquired, and pitched his exquisite sere orbs toward Paxton curiously, slightly amused by the kitten’s short-lived opposition to being handled by her.  

Grayson discovered the gemstone-studded jewelry box and halfheartedly glanced into the confines, lifting the elaborate emeraldine hood of the container and extracting the minuscule journal. He fanned through the aging pages and commented aloud, “You have pretty interesting thoughts,”  His voice inclined slightly to mimic astonishment, quite well, and turned around toward her with a devilish grin, the journal plain in his hands. The diary was opened to blank sheets near the middle of the book, but he conducted falsely that he was still reading through it; he wanted to work her up and earn a reaction.

His coltish, lascivious smirk dissipated unhurriedly at Paxton’s florid cheeks and hasty progression to retrieve her confidential journal from him, quite satisfied with her bashful receptivity. He submitted the personal diary back into her possession and reassured her with a low, nonchalant chuckle, “Relax… I wouldn’t do something like that.” The maiden’s ambiguous reciprocation of gliding her fingertip against his chest was rewarded with a salacious simper, however potential reciprocation was eliminated when another lass invaded the apartment brazenly.. “Navaya,” He addressed formally and flickered his piercing heather orbs fecklessly between the female dichotomy.

“Everything is alright. We are fine, too.” He assured the aesthetic Spanish girl, and deliberated toward his belongings retired on the mahogany tabletop to gather them casually. “We cannot leave, yet. Several hours of dark remain and I’m not risking the group to travel when the Infected are strongest…” He paused to sling his weathered backpack strap around a muscular shoulder, his softened gaze transfixing onto the bony kitten asleep on the couch. “I’ll be in my room, if you need me. Get some sleep tonight,” he ousted and collected Lucy, the small feline encompassed almost entirely within a single, massive hand of the Mercenary, dismissing himself from the room without another word.

"There's nothing happening between us." She reassured Navaya. It stung, like a prick to her flesh as she admitted those words. She discouraged the fact of her longtime liking for Grayson. She had been with him through it all, and he didn't even take one glance in her way. It was like she was invisible to him. The damsel sat against her bed as it groaned underneath her weight- another reason to hate herself. But she would never be the one to speak up about her feelings. Paxton irritably motioned towards the door, her notebook finding comfort tucked beneath one of her thighs.  With the brief leaving of Grayson, she shut Navaya out of her room rather quickly. She wasn't going to fight her over just a guy.

The morning came just as quickly as the night fell. With a involuntary stretch and grown, Paxton made her way towards the complex's bathroom, cleaning the scratches on her arms from Grayson's pretentious cat. With that being done, she headed to the kitchen to grab a cup of hot water, leaning against the countertop as she played with one of her bracelets.