&//Dangerous Times

[*Alayna [x]Marten*]

<sup>Reserved For Chance!
Black = Alayna
Red = Mugglers! lol


Alayna was more tired right now than she had ever been in her whole life. She had just got through working 3 photoshoots in a row and quite frankly she was done for the day. She had been in Los Angelas for a little over a month now and yet today was her busiest day so far. This greatly distressed her because she will not get to prove her mother wrong. She wasnt a whore and she so badly wanted to make a better life for herself even though she didnt really have the means to do it. Ever since the baby was born and put up for adoption she has had to earn her way because her mother flat out refused to let her live in her house anymore. She had made quite a living for herself in her old home but here she could barely survive. Thankfully she had been paid tonight and the first thing she was going to do was buy some food. Alayna was pretty much a great eater though with her high motabolism you wouldnt be able to tell. Her food didnt show up anywhere. She looked like a surfer with her rock hard washboard bod but she really didnt feel like one. She was desperately hungry. Only one good thing came out of moving to this dreadfull place and that was the fact that her childhood friend Sydney lived here as well. Alayna thought about the life that Sydney was living and pain hit her gut hard reminding her of how hungry she was. Sydney was a protstitute. That hurt Alayna a great deal because Sydney used to be such a good kid. They were thick as thieves back in the day and now even though they were still so close Alayna felt so apart from Sydney. There was so much they needed to talk about.

Walking out of the studio she was still dressed rather nice in some faded fashion blue jeans and a nice jacket like shirt. Alayna thought about calling Sydney to get her to go out to eat with her but thought against it turning into the backstreet to try and find a short cut to McDonalds, hearing a slight sound Alayna stopped in her tracks. Her breathing became raspy and short her heart rate increasing when some men came up to her. One was behind her and two in front of her. What do you want? Alayna yelled angrily, shaking slightly. She never was one for fighting but she could do it if she needed to. But these men were HUGE and there were three. Alayna was no match for that. We want you pretty thing. Alayna took a step back and was suddenly caught by the men behind her and held there. One of the men grabbed her purse and went searching through finding the money that she had been paid only a few minutes before. Alayna didnt know what was going to happen to her but she decided to fight back. Though she was so sick and tired of fighting this was possibly for her life. HELP!! Was all she was able to get out before she was punched in the throat. Gasping for air she took a swing at one of the men and managed to punch him right in the eye before she was pulled back again. The man she had hit looked at her with anger in his eyes and screamed. You stupid Bitch! Your not worth raping. Lets beat her up and get out of here! With that he took a swing at her face nailing her nose making her bloody. Another man swung at her gut and let her go as she fell to the ground gasping for air trying to block the blows but it didnt work. The hits just kept coming. Over and over again.

Finally she didnt feel anymore pain. The men had left but she was still there. She could taste the blood in her mouth and she couldnt even open up her eyes. Coughing Alayna tried to get all of the blood out of her mouth but she was very unsucessfull. Her throat hurt her so bad that she could barely breath. Everything in her ached..she felt like she was going to die and she would glady do so now. Alayna was just sick and tired of fighting everyone. All she wanted to do was disspear and never come back. Surely the only person that would miss her would be Sydney. Thankfully she had helped Sydney try to get her act straight and straighten up her life a little better but she was just tired of fighting for herself. Laying in the middle of the alley Alayna lay there afraid to move and be hit suddenly with more pain.

ooc:Ended in sort of a rush though I like it! lol</sup>

[&.chance traven;]

There was something comforting in the action of walking down a deserted street as evening approached, quiet and tranquil, even if the neighborhood was one that was less than enjoyable to be in. He didn't mind, and had actually sought out this exact location. The thing about being a journalist was you had to push the edge of reason, do things that normally you would never think of doing in a million years, and then you couldn't look back or the story would be lost. He was only a part time writer, for a paper back in Boston. Every few days, or weeks, depending on his mood and current income he got from waiting tables at The Emerald, he would send them a story according to the criteria and subject they requested. Sometimes he would just write a story or article for the heck of it and send it to the magazine he worked for. I guess you could say he fit the general stereotype for journalist, at least while on the job, scrounging around for facts, any facts, writing what he saw, what he knew, getting all the gritty details that no one else wanted. Stuff like that, but when you saw him off the job, as a waiter, or just a plain old guy, you would never be able to guess that he was a journalist. So, that was what had brought him here, to the ‘slums’ of the city if you could call it that, and he was here to find a story.

Chance had always believed that there wasn't as much violence as they described going on in the hoods, or whatever. He was here to either be supported in his theory, or completely wrong about it. His point of view was probably as it was because he had grown up in a rather rich neighborhood. Now, he wouldn't go and say there was no violence at all, and his opinion was shaky at best, seeing as he tended to stay away, usually, from areas that were rumored to have high rates of violence. Not because he was scared, that wasn't it at all, it was just because he hated violence with a passion, seeing as how it completely destroyed his life back in Australia, and annihilated whatever relationship he ever had with his father. He chose the easier route of being oblivious.

He was dressed nicely enough, considering his income of the past few months, ever since he had moved, had been a bit lower than he was used to, forcing him to spit out an article about once a week. He had a hefty inheritance, but at the moment, he had decided he would rather make it on his own for a while, to get that sense of independence everyone craved but he had only recently been able to sit back and enjoy. His shirt was some obscure Australian band that he was positive no one had ever heard of, and the only reason he wore it was because he had forgotten to attend to the laundry the night before. He hated anything that reminded him of Australia, but he managed. He had covered it up with a striped cotton shirt, button up and fully casual, and the diluted black and white hues mixed well with black color of the tee-shirt. His jeans were dark denim, loose but well fit, and new. Converse on his feet, as always, the black and white coloring added contrast to his outfit.

His hair was a shaggy, though combed, mess of dirty blond and light brown hues, some of the locks falling occasionally into his face. He was in need of a hair cut, but hadn't really felt like going to the salon or barbershop to get it done recently. Chance was not the perfect guy. He knew that, his father knew that, Cali had known that, even his mother knew that. Well, Cali had thought he was, but that was just because their friendship, and later, love, had been so strong. His past was scarred and checkered with events you would never dare place to his image, no, he had never killed another, injured, yeah, but never killed. And for that he was infinitely grateful. On his record was drunk driving, a fact he would rather die than tell another, beating up his father, he was provoked though, and just other general things that could not be considered his fault, but you had no other choice but to blame him for them.

A low sigh escaped his lips, his natural high that he got when on the trail of a story slowly waning. His attention turned from a wall of graffiti he was examining languidly, when he swore he heard the faint cry of someone calling for help. He tried to rationalize it was just his imagination, his memories, whatever, acting up, but something told him that just wasn't the case. Brow creased and he shoved the small notepad he carried with him in his back pocket, along with the old ink pen, and hurried toward the backstreet. His shoes beat a quiet path upon the concrete, but he paid no mind to the beat. Three men ran past, and Chance turned, not able to catch a good look at them. So, he continued down the alleyway. There were shadows, but he could see, and what his bluish gray eyes landed on had him running down the stretch, faster than he thought he would be able to with his old leg injury.

The sound of coughing met his ears as he got closer, and his features grew more and more concerned. He almost slid to a stop in front of the woman’s body, and he grimaced subconsciously, and at the same time realized his violence theory had now been thrown out the window. He knelt in front of her, checking for a pulse, the only first aid training he had coming from his brief course at an Australian recreation center when his father donated some money to the facility. He remembered enough though. He hoped.

“Miss, can you hear me? Are you okay?” He asked, his voice slightly higher with adrenaline and concern, fear too, because he really did not want to witness anyone die. The old Australian accent was present, as it always became when he was stressed or worried.

[*Alayna [x]Marten*]

<sup>Alayna continued to cough and even tried to move but nothing seemed to work. She was just in so much pain it was unbearable, she could barely breath and every slight movement she made was painful. Alayna continued to cough and spit trying to get all of the blood out of her mouth. By now there was blood all over her and in a large puddle all around her. What was she going to do. All she could think about was her daughter. The night that she had brought the beautiful baby into this world. The night her whole world seemed to end. She had told the baby's father about her but he had called her a whore and her own mother kicked her out of the house. Tears began to fall down her face as she thought about that night. Then her thoughts turned to Sydney. She had only just arrived here and was in the process of helping Syd get her life back together. What she would do about her best friend she didnt know, then she thought about Ruben; the little golden retriever puppy she had rescued when it was only a few weeks old. Those were something to fight for right? Yes those were. Alayna continued trying to move and caughed even harder to try and get all of the blood out of her mouth. Fighing for her life was something she did well and she wasnt about to stop that tradition now. The only things on her mind right now was making it through so she could play with Ruben and so she could yell at Sydney some more to change her lifestyle. Her throat was hurting her so bad and she could feel the bruise beginning to form and it made it very hard for her to breath but she continued to fight anyway until she heard footsteps.

Her whole body began to tremble as he came forth terrified that she would be feeling pain again. But it was quite different. She was feeling kindness. She felt fingers on her arms, since she guessed whoever it was was feeling for her pulse. Her throat ached when she tried to answer his question and she quickly found out that talking was not a good idea. All she could do was nod and even that caused her great pain. A smile creased across her face at his second comment. Did she bloody look allright. She closed her eyes tight and shook her head at his second comment. She was just in so much pain. Opening he eyes for the first time, even though she could still barely see, she saw the man that was helping her. He was rather handsome she had to give him that but she never really cared about look, it was the personality. Her last boyfriend was handome and look where that ended her. A mother that cannot take care of her own child so she had to put the poor thing up for adoption. Coughing a little bit more she grimaced before she managed to push off of him and roll herself over. Cringing badly she closed her eyes tight once more than just lay there. She ould barely move as it was so what else could she do. She hoped that this man would help her furthur not just leave her here. Opening her eyes again they showed a mixture of blue, green, and amber. That was indeed a bad color for her it showed that she was sad,unhappy, and in pain but the biggest dumbo could've figured that out. Even though the rest of her body was in mangles she had been told that the best thing about her was her eyes. They were mesmerizing. Alayna looked up at him her eyes showing that she needed help.</sup>

[&.chance traven;]

Chance was no hero. That could go unsaid. He wasn't brave, he wasn't strong. He did not even look like a hero. He certainly did not have a hero’s background, and you would have to be crazy to believe that anyone would think the title of him. His jaw set gently with determination, and the memories faded to the background, or at least, he forced them to, so he could focus upon the woman. He briefly wished he would have considered a medical career, he had the grades for it, if not the money, but the thought was banished when it brought up reminders of his past. Chance had eyes that people passed over, but if you actually took the time to look at them, they were quite pretty. Cerulean and green, the colors could mix to trick you into thinking hazel or chocolate for the hue. It all depended on when you happened to catch a look at him. At the moment they were misty grey, which usually signaled he was thinking of his past, but extended to extreme stress as well. The blood around her was a horrid crimson color, one he was particularly loathing at the moment as he stomach lurched weakly, and he thanked whoever ruled this universe for his strong stomach.

After he made sure she wasn't in immediate threat of death, which, he wasn't quite sure she wasn't, he sat back on his heel, biting his lip with an extremely concerned expression upon his face, his brow furrowed. He resisted the urge to wipe the tears from her face, knowing that would be highly invasive to her personal space and not to mention doing so would smear the blood. Chance had always been hungry for social, if physical, contact as a child, but seldom received it. Maybe that’s why he had a sort of oral fixation, constantly putting things in his mouth, pens, pencils, because he needed to feel something. Plus, he had always been slightly unnerved by tears, and if there were none to see, how could he become agitated by them? Chance swallowed, not wanting to touch her any more than he needed to, lest he injure her on accident. “I’ll call an ambulance.” he said, his voice sounding as if he were talking partially to himself, but his worried eyes were on hers.

“Phone, phone. Where the bloody hell is my cell phone?” he muttered under his breath as he searched his pockets, the cell phone’s position evading him. His face paled dramatically when he came up empty, and he turned his gaze for a moment, looking down the alleyway desperately. If no one had responded to her first cry of help, he doubted they would respond to his if he called. He bit his lip, in the way that was habitual for him when stressed, causing blood to trickle over the smooth skin, but not enough to notice if you weren’t looking close. He swallowed softly, his expression stuck, undecided as he looked over his shoulder once more. He took a breath, coming to the conclusion that there was really only one thing he could do if he didn't want to leave her here.

“Miss, I don’t have a phone on me. I’m going to have to carry you. Is that okay?”

His voice was soft, and clear, despite the frantic feeling of something like panic in his chest. He hated injuries. Hated them. Because they reminded him of his father, and that man, and what he had done. He would give anything if he could just give up that memory and forget his life prior to the day his name was changed. In a way he was grateful to his father for doing that, if he tried hard enough, he could just pretend that nothing had every happened. That he had a normal life, and forget the fact that he would most likely never, ever, see his father again. Forget the fact that Calisto was dead, something he was currently in denial about. When he did accept that fact, he would need someone to lean on, he knew that, somehow in some dark recess of his mind he knew that, which was why he refused to make friends in this new place, because if he did not have someone to lean on, then he wouldn't be able to accept it. Right? That was how it was according to his logic, however wrong it may be. He looked down on her, waiting for her okay. He wouldn't do anything unless she said it was alright, because, sadly, Chance had been raised with this strict brace of politeness, that stuck with him his entire life, whether he liked it or not.

[*Alayna [x]Marten*]

<sup>The more she tried to speak the more she was able to breath and she knew that she would be able to speak if she kept working on it. Alayna looked up at the man that was trying to help her and noticed that his eyes were a transparent shadowy grey. They grey seemed to illuminate his face and Alayna could tell that he was thinking about something painful because the expression in his eyes were the same as hers were when she was thinking about something painful. Cursing herself in her mind she knew she had forgotten something. Her phone had been in her purse when she had gotten mugged. And apparently he didnt have his either. All hope began to fade within her because she had allready found out that no one else was going to help her and this man would probably leave her realizing that she probably was not worth the trouble. Was she worth all this trouble. She didnt think she was. Her life was just so bad but that was the whole reason she had come here to make a new life for herself. And look where that got her. She was in the middle of an alley, with a stanger, her whole body torn to ribbons. Things could not get any worse. Finally she thought she could talk but she definetely wasnt going to overdo it. Ok Was all she could get out and it definetely was the only thing she was going to try. Alayna knew that this was going to be rather painful and her face cringed slightly in anticipation of the pain. Her eyes once again looked deep into his her eyes turning from a mixture of colors to a light blue almost grey. Pleading for his help.

OOC: Like I said short and sweet...</sup>

[&.chance traven;]

Chance could feel his heart beating wildly through his chest, but he couldn’t figure out why. Actually it was more like he refused to comprehend why his heart was pounding so hard, leaving him almost shaky. Chance did not deal well with stress, or pressure. He had felt too much death in his life, known of sicknesses far too late, wished for healing powers long after he knew they would be useless. Three people so far. The only three people he knew he had. They were all gone now, taken by death, diseases, accidents. Even if he had no clue who exactly this woman was, he didn't want her to die. She was beat up pretty bad, and he knew loosing that much blood would never, or could never, be a good sign. He appeared calm, because yeah, you could count on Chance to appear calm during any sort of emergency, but you really couldn't expect him to actually be calm. His eyes, they harbored so much pain and memories, locked onto hers as she spoke, and he tried to be reassuring.

He bit his lip, harder than he meant to, and looked aside as he winced, softly, barely noticeable. He said nothing, when he could have said a million things. This might hurt, or you’ll be okay. Maybe even tell her his name, Chance Traven, so she’d know that he wasn't some faceless man, but the words got stuck in his throat, crammed there by panic and the determination to do what he had to do. He took a deep breath, a ragged breath, and pushed the thoughts of Calisto out of his mind. If she thought of him as she lay dying. If she had died instantly. If she even remembered him. Did she still love him? Had she still loved him? Had she been happy before her life was taken? He couldn't bear to think of it anymore, so he let his mind drift to a comfortable blank, thinking only of what he needed to do as he slipped his arm under her neck, grasping her shoulder, and the other under her knees as he got to his feet, not used to carrying any weight in his arms, but fully capable of doing so.

[*Alayna [x]Marten*]

^{OOC: You wanna just make a post at the hospital? I'll start it..}