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You could typically find Isaiah running the streets more so than he actually spent in his apartment, primarily middle of the night. He was the sort who was restless, fluidly going from one spot to the next. He knew all the regulars downtown, and they knew him. He wasn't one to cause trouble, not usually anyway, but he did have a temper on him at times if pushed. Sometimes he was in a particular mood to simple be left alone, and that drew him to the seedier parts of the neighborhood. He was known there as well, and while some twenty three year olds might be fearful of walking those streets at night, Isaiah wasn't. It wasn't even really that far off from his apartment, and people always wanted to complain about this part of the neighborhood. How it wasn't safe. It was only unsafe if people didn't know you, or you were stupid about it. More times than not people skirted the streets to get away from him, and as far as he knew, he wasn't overly threatening looking. He was an average enough looking fellow, lean, and tall. He had boyish red hair left messy most of the time, green eyes, and full lips. He did at least bring his car over. It was a pain in the ass when he happened to wander and then wanted to get home, deciding he'd had enough nightlight.<br/>
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What he was looking for, he wasn't sure. He was just perpetually restless, and he felt safe out here rather than sitting behind walls while he had energy to burn, no one in his bed, and only the insecurities to eat away at him. This got his mind of things, and sometimes opened pathways to new meetings, or old meetings. Be it with a client, or someone he just wanted to fuck. He was hesitant now with newer clients though, keeping contacts mostly with his regulars. That part was getting more dangerous for his taste. He wrote everyone down, and kept their numbers. If they did something he didn't like, he wouldn't see them again. He was strict about condoms, while he wasn't strict about much else. He'd play up whatever sick fantasy anyone had, and he wouldn't judge them, so long as they gloved it before touching him. He was tested regularly. The last time it had been after an angry ex client of his jumped him with a few other men. They hadn't used condoms, but luckily he hadn't come away with anything that wasn't cured with a round of antibiotics.<br/>
<br/>
What stopped him this night was a noise around the corner, and then someone taking off from the alleyway. Likely it was someone taking out the last of the trash from a closing business. Who else would be out during this time of night? Whatever they saw was enough to startle them, but most things didn't scare Isaiah. Being alone maybe, so much so that he'd tolerate nearly anyone's company, even a bum who'd probably rather be sleeping at this sort of night than talking with some street kid about life and philosophical questions. He skirted the area, peering down it, but curiosity was always something that pulled him in. He didn't know what his fascination was with it, always double checking. Maybe he felt one day he'd be tossed in an alley somewhere. It had happened before. Luckily he'd had the strength to get his way home, but there was always that lingering thought that there was something.<br/>
<br/>
He'd found a box of kittens one time, hardly detectable through the sounds of the dumpster. It nearly broke his heart, some final strings in his faith in humanity snapping. If something so new, and vibrant was trash, then what did that make him? He'd set the box aside, and then proceeded to remove the entire contents of the dumpster to check to make sure a lone kitten hadn't crawled out of the box, to be left behind. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep that night unless he opened every bag, and shook out every piece of trash. The next day, his boyfriend made him take them to the pound, but at least they didn't die like garbage. When he went down the alleyway, there was movement, and he jumped out of the way as a dog ran past, having opened a bag of trash. He peeked beneath the dumpster, that nagging feeling within him. He heard nothing, and he saw nothing, but he was vigilant, taking a different path than the way he'd came, some of the darker areas where he knew a puppy or the dog might run to. Dylon would be pissed if he took home another stray, but it was his place, and giving them a few nights did nothing but actually make him enjoy his own apartment a bit more.<br/>
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Walking down, he saw the outline of a person, thinking it was likely the bum he'd nicknamed Nickles, because that was all he ever wanted. He'd pick out all other change, tossing it like it was common trash. Isaiah reached into his pocket, finding a nickle, and walking towards the man, content to leave it by hid side for him to wake up to. He dropped the coin and staggered back, realizing this was not the man he thought he was. Definitely not Nickles, and definitely hurt. Hopefully not dead. He kneeled close and shook the stranger, and when he determined he was not dead, he sat back on his ass.<br/>
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“Fuck, man,” Isaiah spoke, looking down to his hands that were sticky and tinged with blood. What was he to do? Isaiah was decidedly bad in these situations, never reacting fast enough. What would someone do? They'd probably call 911. Isaiah's feelings on hospitals and ambulances were not high on his list of things he enjoyed, so it didn't immediately come to his mind. No, out here there were a lot of criminals, plenty who'd sooner shoot themselves than go to a hospital to be carted off to jail, people he knew. Not that he knew this fellow, but still.<br/>
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“Hey,” Isaiah kept on, “What the hell happened to you? Were you attacked by dogs? I just saw one go by, but seriously, they're not usually violent around here.” It was too dark to tell if any of that was the case right now. He couldn't get a very good look at his wounds, or the man in general.<br/>
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