A Little Less Love, A Lot More Fear {Eastern}

“Quit staring at me.” Fahrenheit finally snapped at the silent blob of black fur which had had its luminous green eyes on him for the past half hour. “What do you want?” He asked, exacerbated. Fahrenheit had been standing on a lonely street corner for at least an hour, and the cat had come along not long after to bother him. “I don’t have anything for you.” The cat did nothing but blink slowly. Fahrenheit sighed and shifted so that he stared down the street instead of at the cat.

Despite the fact that the seam was utterly deserted, and had been since sun down, Fahrenheit had made his rounds like a good Peacekeeper. There had been a steady increase in petty crimes in this area over the past few months, so Fahrenheit had been commanded to work longer hours. But it seemed his mere presence was enough to dissuade unsavory characters from their equally unsavory deeds, for the night had been quiet. In fact, the whole week had been quiet. But Fahrenheit didn’t mind patrolling the empty streets, he was an insomniac anyway.

Fahrenheit was about to move on when he heard a shout from further down the street. His head immediately snapped to face the direction of the noise, searching for the source, and finding nothing. He was just about to pass it off as his imagination when heard a muffled thud, followed by another voice. The noises seemed to be coming from the alley just a few yards from were he stood. Fahrenheit tensed, and adrenaline surged into his veins, readying him for a fight. Who but a criminal would be out this late? His hand went to the belt around his waist and pulled out his baton.

Fahrenheit waited for someone to turn the corner, but no one did. He crept toward the alley, and cautiously peered in. What he saw confused him for a second. In the bad light, he could only make out a misshapen blob. He squinted into the shadow, and was able to discern two bodies, one pinning the other down; a man on top of a smaller figure, presumably female. Fahrenheit’s lip curled into a snarl and he rushed forward, raising his baton and bringing it down on the back of the man’s skull with a sickening crack. The man’s head snapped down and he fell to the side, landing with a thud. He did not get back up having been knocked unconscious.

“Are you okay?” Fahrenheit asked, offering his hand to the girl to help her up. Her face was turned away from him, so he could not see who it was. He had to wonder what a girl would be doing out so late. Well, then again, this was the seam, and people here were desperate for money, desperate enough to…Fahrenheit grimaced at the thought.

Fahrenheit barely felt the weight the girl applied to his hand to pull herself up she was so slight. He sighed inwardly; everyone seemed so emaciated in the seam. These people lived in such squalor, that some were forced to sell their bodies on the streets, like this young women in front of him. He tried to offer her a reassuring smile, even though she wasn’t looking at him, and he wasn’t really used to smiling.

“It’s no problem—” He starts, but then cuts off, recognizing the girl. He flounders for a name for a second, before finally remembering. “Chloe?” He asks, surprised. He squinted, trying to make out her facial features. “What are you doing out here…?” He looked around, as if he would find the answer. The only thing he saw was the man. He nudged the guy with his boot, somewhat roughly. Fahrenheit hoped that she wasn’t a prostitute, like he had first assumed; somehow, knowing who she was made him feel even worse.

He wanted to ask what had happened, but they didn’t really know each other well. Their time together was spent trying to hide from a drunken peacekeeper, and that situation doesn’t really allow for feelings of trust and camaraderie, she might as well be a stranger. He didn’t feel right probing into her affairs. “It’s been awhile. We really should meet under these circumstances; it’s quite detrimental to the health.” His attempt to lighten the mood fell flat. He shifted uncomfortably.

He was saved by a stout black form that trotted into the ally. The cat sashayed importantly up to the unconscious man, and climbed onto his back, and moved to perch on the man’s head. He started to purr almost immediately, and turned his glowing eyes up to stare at Fahrenheit. Fahrenheit gave the cat a dirty look and then turned his attention back to Chloe, but he couldn’t help but to smile a little at the sight of a cat sitting on the criminals head. “What should we do with him?” He nodded towards the man.

ooc: sorry about the wait, and crappy post. :/

Fahrenheit tilted his head slowly once the girl had offered her excuse. He wondered whether or not to call her on her bluff. As a peacekeeper, he should be demanding the truth. He should pull out his baton, bust her kneecap for lying, and start breaking her fingers one by one until she tells him why she is really out so late. Why would she lie, unless she was doing something incriminating? But, he was not a peacekeeper at heart. It was just a front. He decided to just go along with her story.

He lifted a hand to his mouth, thinking. "Yea, that is the general idea." I muttered, rubbing his cheek absent-mindedly. He knelt down, and waved an impatient hand at the cat. Once the furry beast was indignantly marching away, Fahrenheit placed his hands on the guy's shoulders and shoved him over so that he was on his back. Fahrenheit leaned in close to the man's face, making sure he was alive.

A series of unfortunate events followed with that one fatal mistake.

The man's hand flies up, depositing a fist full of dirt into Fahrenheit's eyes. Fahrenheit snarls and jerks away, his hand instinctively coming up to protect his eyes from further debris. Then man jumped to his feet, and aimed a kick at Fahrenheit's face. Through watery eyes, Fahrenheit saw the kick coming, and with cat-like reflexives, his hand flew out and caught the foot. He twisted and yanked on the leg, pulling the man to the ground with him. Fahrenheit was the one to jump up this time, pulling his baton out as he went. The man rose to meet him, having had grabbed the knife that was laying on the ground.

The man lunged at Fahrenheit, a feral cry issuing from his lips. The knife hand made a swipe at Fahrenheit's face, but he ducked under it, and landed a heavy blow in the man's side. The man hunched over, and Fahrenheit brought his knee up to the man's face, crashing into his nose. The man jerked back up, and struck out blindly with the blade. Dumb luck allowed for him to slice through Fahrenheit's up raised hand. Fahrenheit hissed in pain, and brought the baton behind his head to strike. Seeing this, the man charged at Fahrenheit, pushing him back, and they crashed into the alley wall. The impact made the man's shoulder ram into Fahrenheit's stomach and knocked away his breath, and sent his head flying back to hit the wall. Stars exploded in front of Fahrenheit's eyes as he gasped for breath, struggling to get the man of of him.

The man brought the knife up, plunging it towards Fahenheit's shoulder. Fahenheit saw it coming and tried to duck, but was not fast enough. The knife struck his collar bone, and slid down to sink an inch into the muscle beneath it. The man threw himself off the peacekeeper, and hurled himself down the alley, pushing past Chloe on the way out. Fahrenheit made a move to give chase, but he was still struggling for breath. He reached up and yanked the knife from his shoulder, and tossed it on the ground in disgust. He brought a hand up to rub the back of his skull. "Well...that was unexpected." He grunted.

He hated himself for letting the guy escape. Not only did it give the man a chance to victimize other girls, but it made Fahrenheit look terrible. He had been doing fine until the guy tackled him. Fahrenheit was tall, but he was slim for a guy, making it easy for a more stocky guy, like that one, to knock him back. He leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily and holding his bleeding shoulder. "You alright?" He asked after a second.

Fahrenheit hesitated, and stared at her out stretched hands. He hated, nay loathed, the help of others. It's nothing personal against Chloë, he doesn't like anyone helping him. He feels like he needs to do everything himself or he would appear like a weakling. Bad enough that he just let a criminal escape, but now he has to be taken care of? He swallowed, his pride was a sticky tar on the back of his throat, not going down easily.

It wasn't only that his manly pride would be wounded if he let her help him, but he also didn't want to feel indebted to the young girl. He didn't want to feel obligated to return the favor somehow, and he certainly didn't want to give her something to hold over him. Not that he thought Chloë was that type of person...but it wouldn't be the first time something like that happened. He just didn't like to have anything tying him with another person.

He hadn't answered quickly enough. Now they were just standing in awkward silence. Fahrenheit gripped his shoulder harder and harder, as the throbbing pain grew worse over time. He shunted his eyes to the side. He really did hate accepting help, and the fact that he had been lost against some scumbag just made this whole situation worse. "I have a first aid kit back at home, which isn't far from here. I..." He swallowed again, forcing down his pride. "I could use some help. It'd be quite awkward trying to bandage my shoulder one handed." He said lightly, hiding his shame even though his refusal to look at her and his pause before was enough to indicate what he was feeling.

He shoved off the wall and offered Chloë a wan smile. Without a word he walked out of the alley and down the street. It was a few blocks to his house but he didn't look back once to see if Chloë was following him. He didn't want to know. He couldn't decide if he'd be relieved, or disappointed if he turned around and his only shadow was the black cat. On one hand he wouldn't have to worry about his wounded pride, on the other, he would be left to deal with his shoulder alone and the feelings of hurt at just being walked out on.

His little hut of a house came into view, shabby like all else in the seam. Only, instead of feeble gardens and broken mining tools littering his yard, Fahrenheit had a sprinkling of cats milling about. When the saw him coming, a few cats stood up, stretched, and walked over to the door, begging to be let in. Despite the situation, Fahrenheit felt his spirits lift a bit as he edged around cat after cat walking up his yard. He unlocked the door and pushed it open. A stream of cats filed out, and more ran in. Fahrenheit stepped in carefully and switched on the light. Since the Hunger Games were taking place, he had reliable power. He glanced around his quasi-messy living room/ kitchen. Things that had been picked up before were knocked over by the cats, and stacks of papers were strewn about for the same reason, but otherwise it was well organized and clean.

Fahrenheit coughed self-consciously and walked briskly over to the bathroom where he kept the first aid kit. He pulled it out and in just a few steps he was at the kitchen table, shooing away the cats that covered the table in a furry carpet. He set the kit down, and sat in a chair. He craned his next to see the knife wound, but he couldn't get a clear view. He sighed, thought briefly at the awkwardness of what he was about to do, and carefully shed his jacket, leaving him in a blood-stained t-shirt. He awkwardly lifted that shirt over his head, taking care to not move his wounded arm excessively. Bare-chested he finally looked up to see if Chloë had followed him.

Fahrenheit had a few seconds of worry before Chloë edged into the doorway. He was quite relieved to see that she came; it really would have sucked trying to bandage his shoulder by himself. His eyes followed her to the kitchen before his attention was snagged by a little white kitten rubbing up against his leg. The cat turned his face up to look at Fahrenheit, revealing an ugly gash where one of his blue eyes was supposed to be. Fahrenheit smiled down at the disfigured cat, remembering the terrible condition it was in when he had first found him, and pleased to see how well he was doing.

Fahrenheit’s house was filled with cats that were in some way injured: missing legs, shredded ears, half tails, mangy coats, scars, tumors, ulcers. Unwanted cats. Strays. Yet they all found a home with Fahrenheit, who didn’t care what they looked like and who never ran out of room for one more. He found cats half-starved or on the brink of death and he always brought them home and cared for them. He didn’t know why he did what he did; why he felt the need to help all cats he came across. Maybe it was because he couldn’t help the starving people he saw in the streets, or stop innocent kids from slaughtering each other in an arena. Maybe it was because people only saw his distant eyes and white uniform, and cats just saw someone to love. Regardless, he never passed up a stray.

Fahrenheit reached down and picked the little white cat up with his uninjured arm, and placed him on his lap. He ran a hand down the kitten’s back, leaving a smear of red. Surprised, Fahrenheit turned his palm upward to examine it. A shallow gash ran from the pad of his thumb to the base of his pinky. He looked up, his mind flashing back to the fight, rewinding like a videotape. He saw a dark figure casting his knife out blindly, slashing his hand in a lucky swoop. The wound in his shoulder had made him forget about the cut on his hand.

Chloë stepped in front of him and held out a damp towel. He took it with his injured hand and bunched it in a fist. “He got my hand too.” He muttered, not looking up at her. He pushed the towel into the stab wound on his shoulder. “I’m sorry to have to make you do this. You probably need to get back to…your uncle.” Fahrenheit wiped away the blood from his shoulder and then from his hand, throwing the bloody towel on the table when he was done, sending the congregated cats scattering. He swallowed and ran a hand through his hair. “Could you also bandage my hand?” He said looking up at her finally and offering his hand. It would be just as hard bandaging his hand one handed as bandaging his shoulder one handed.

It was easier to ask for her help this time, having already done it, but he still didn’t like it. He would have to repay her somehow, get out of her debt as fast as possible. He had also let the man who was harassing her escape, so he needed to make that up as well. Perhaps she needed help of some kind? Food, money? She wasn’t out on the streets for nothing. What if his first assumption had been right? But, of course, there was no way of asking her without it getting even more awkward or too personal.

ooc; D: I want this thread to continue! It's great fun... Sorry for not posting in forever.