New Guy In Town (Dream and J)

[JMontvale]

Dragomir was very happy to get off of the airliner at last. In fact, it took all of deep reserve of self control to not shove the other passengers out of his way and run off of the plane. The dark haired Romanian had struggled to hide his anxiety, but flight attendants at least had noticed. As he left, they couldn't hide their relief that the young man was leaving.

I will not take such long trip by plane again, Dragomir resolved as he tried to give the flight attendant a harmless smile. He had never thought that such a large vehicle could be claustrophobic, but it was.

Even with the stench of jet fuel and asphalt, the air seemed fresher once Dragomir was off the plane. He walked with purpose into the airport terminal and hurried to claim his luggage. The young man traveled light, bringing just his carry on and a single large bag.

Going through customs with his fake passport made Dragomir much less nervous than being in that crowded, pressurized, metal tube for hours. He knew it was a good fake. Dragomir was more at ease, even in such a huge, human crowd, and he managed a much more disarming smile to the customs officer. Soon, Dragomir was free to leave the airport. He found a taxi easily enough.

"Where to?" the bored looking taxi driver asked. Dragomir gave him the address. It was an apartment building in the city. The athletic young man would have preferred something more rural, but he was on the run. For the time being at least, Dragomir needed a place where he could lose himself in the crowds.

Even halfway around the world from his homeland, Dragomir knew it would be foolish to let himself feel safe. His own people had declared Dragomir too dangerous. He had spent most of his 24 years fighting to protect his pack. Dragomir had learned to be ruthless and savage in battle. It seemed now that he had learned much too well.

With peace finally come between the packs, Dragomir was seen as a brutish relic. There were those who still feared him, or bore grudges for what he had done in the wars. Their whispers in the new council had brought about the order for Dragomir's execution. Only the warning and help of old Ion had allowed the young lycan to escape. Ion had been like Dragomir's father after his parents had died. He hoped the older lycan would not be punished for what he had done.

The taxi brought Dragomir to a four story, brick building with an empty store on one side and an alley on the other. He paid the taxi, and walked into the building. Dragomir's pale, blue eyes took in the lobby and the cafe that took up most of the ground floor. His other senses were just as useful in exploring his new surroundings. His hearing told Dragomir that there were people in the cafe and in the room behind the front desk. His sense of smell told the lycan that there was corned beef cooking and that all the people nearby were human.

He stepped up the front desk and tapped the bell for service. At 6'1" with a powerful but agile body, piercing eyes and fair skin, Dragomir was a handsome, if often intimidating figure. The lycan made an effort to look as harmless as possible. The fact that lycan's aged slower than humans meant that Dragomir looked a bit younger than his true age. He hoped that fact would help him to look less threatening now. I'm not a warrior of my people any more, Dragomir reminded himself. I need to be like civilian... like human. He hoped he was up to the job.

 

[Osheaga]

• • • • • • • • • 
                  
                  It was a particularly balmy day that July evening. The sun was strung high in the sky since early the early morning, terrorizing and burning its victims with harmful rays. Some residents of the ocean-side city were intelligent enough to seek refuge and shade in the valley while others collected their families and scuttled off to the beach's strand. The residents of the city had reason to believe that this oncoming summer would be perhaps one of the most sweltering and arid they had seen in years. Rather then be outside at the beach flaunting her stunningly curvaceous figure or downing scoop after scoop of vanilla ice-cream, one young woman decided the best refuge from the sun were the thick walls of her apartment building.
                  
                  Her name was Estelle Lights, an exotic twenty-one year old hailing from Brazilian and Persian decent. Her eyes generally reflected her disinterest; they were an intense, brimming shade of ginger-ale. She was tall and shapely with legs that only forlorn artists could sculpt and a very soft and somewhat plain features. Nonetheless she was still a foreign flower that was constantly sought after by many of the male residences in the Maplehurst building, specifically the gang-banging crack dealer that lived across from her. Now, Estelle was a very private and disclosed woman. After suffering from melanoma since a tenderly young age, she grew tired of being a test subject for needles and IVs. The doctor's told her recently that if she didn't submit to chemotherapy and other recommended treatments that her odds of surviving would drop circumstantially low. Estelle was stubborn, and nonchalantly declined her doctor's aid. The man was shocked to say the least. He begged and pleaded with her, explaining that the melanoma she possessed was now terminal and would take her life before her 23rd birthday - if not sooner - if she didn't heed his advice. Estelle retorted that there was no point in the therapy. She would lose all of her hair - her absolutely stunning, stark black lion's mane - and the natural, illustrious glow of her bronzed flesh.
                  
                  "Why throw away bliss when it will be taken away down the road regardless," she reasoned.
                  
                  The tall woman entered the building on a pair of flimsy baby blue flip-flops, gnashing her teeth on the handle of a plastic grocery bag while she fuddled with her key for the building's front door. She stepped inside, reveling in the cool blast of artificially created air being mustered and blasted in from the building's cheap idea of 'air-conditioning'. The foyer was decently decorated, littered with two black sofas, a reception desk and a few exotic looking plants from God knew where.
                  
                  Estelle watched with bitter ginger-ale eyes as the receptionist, a middle aged salt-and-pepper haired woman, fluttered over to the desk with her lunch in tow. A man was standing there; she hadn't noticed him before. He was large - it was perhaps the best adjective she could muster - to say the least. Broad shoulders, broad chest and quite a handsome looking facade. Though Estelle was generally uninterested by men in general but there was an earthy, alien aura swarming around this new man that made something about him intriguing. "Oooh! Estelle, good evening, darling!" The woman, conveniently named Pepper-Anne, waved a gentle hand towards Estelle who was skillfully balancing several plastic bags in her hands and on her arms. "Hey," Estelle murmured nonchalantly. Her tone was muffled by the bag. "Where have you been all day? I left a notice on your door... we need money for the AC." Estelle chuckled. She removed the bag from her mouth and stuffed her keys into her strapless black top.
                  
                  "And where, Pepper-Anne, where you be getting that money from? Certainly not from me."[/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

 

[JMontvale]

Dragomir watched as a middle-aged woman came to the desk. She had seemed somewhat matronly to the Romanian until he saw the way she let her gaze slowly take him in from foot to head. She carried a plate that held a sandwich that smelled strongly of sauerkraut, corned beef and grease.

"Hello," the woman said cheerfully. "You must be the new tenant. Dragon Flores, isn't it?" She giggled a little. "What an exotic name. Are you a boxer or something?" The woman leered at Dragomir's chest. "You sure look strong... and sweaty. Maybe you'd be more comfortable without the shirt?" It was hotter here than Dragomir was used to, but he was no stranger to hardship. Humans tended to wear more clothing than lycans, and Dragomir wanted to blend in.

"I am the new tenant," Dragomir answered. His accent was noticeable, but not overwhelming. "My name is Dragomir Florescu, ma'am." That wasn't entirely true, but it would have been foolish to use his real name while he was being hunted. "Deposit and four months rent have been paid. My apartment is ready, yes?"

"Um... yes," the woman said. "I'm Pepper-Anne, the manager here at the Maplehurst building." She found the key for his apartment and handed it to Dragomir. Pepper-Anne let her fingers linger on the young man's hand. In truth, he looked young enough to be her son, but Pepper-Anne didn't seem to care. She liked them young. "If you need anything, just call me... day or night."

Dragomir heard an unfamiliar slapping sound and turned toward the entrance. There he saw a black haired young woman. She was human, and the sound was from her unusual sandals. She also seemed to be struggling with too many bags. Pepper-Anne and Estelle spoke. The lycan had to agree that more air conditioning would be a good thing, but he was more interested in the burden the young woman was carrying.

"May I help you with some of your bags, Miss?" Dragomir asked politely. He noticed then that she had exotically beautiful, if unhappy eyes. There was something else that Dragomir sensed. Though she looked healthy, there seemed to be an aura of illness around Estelle.

"Oh, this is Mr. Flores, darling," Pepper-Anne said, almost dismissively. It was as if she didn't want Estelle paying too much attention to the new tenant. "He's the new tenant on your floor."

 

[Osheaga]

• • • • • • • • • 
                  
                  ooc; sorry for the delay, sugar ;( Exams kept me busy, but I'm done now !​
                  
                  Even Estell, a generally private and personal woman had to note that this new tenant was quite handsome. He had wild, roguish features and a straw jawline that accented his masculinity. To her, he literally wreaked of freshly churned clay and pine which immediately reminded her of a forest or some manner of wilderness. As this new, intriguing man approached to air her with her groceries, she retorted and prepared to step back. His movements were elegant and flawless, so much so that she was nearly entranced by them.
                  
                  "It's fine," she breathed.
                  
                  Estelle's voice was very flowing and soft; it had a creamy, peanut-butter smooth texture with a very firm, established tone. One could easily tell that she could add a vehement sternness to it if she were angry or had to even prove a point. Pepper-Anne once seen her get angry in the foyer of the building. Now, she had known the woman for years and had never seen her lose her cool. It was a day she'd never forget - Estelle's tempest ginger-ale eyes grew dark and unforgiving. She spoke in such a nonchalantly complaisant tone and spoke so articulately that the man she was speaking with - and Pepper-Anne - were left purely speechless. But, in the same sense.. she was so direct and so clean with her attack, similar to the way a panther would stalk its prey.
                  
                  "Mr. Flores, this is Estelle, or Miss Lights as we refer to her as. She's quite the artist!" Pepper-Anne chimed. Estelle made no attempt to retort. "You should see some of her works! They're amazing. She's so talented. In fact, that painting over there on the wall was done by her last year." It was a lovely painted derived from Estelle's imagination. It was an image boasting a decent sized fjord forged from plants and flora. In the background there were two moons, and an brilliantly colored orange planet that resembled Saturn. "Lovely, isn't it?"[/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u][/list:u]

 

[JMontvale]

Dragomir looked at the painting and was amazed at how... real, it felt. The moons seemed to beckon to him. He almost felt as if he could step into the canvas. Only the scents of a real wilderness were missing.

"It is beautiful," Dragomir said with a small smile as an idea came to him. Estell Lights didn't want his help with her burdens, but perhaps she would let him help if he was going to her apartment for another reason. "I would be very happy to see more, if this is acceptable to you, Miss Lights?"