((So claiming this!))<br/><br/><a class="postlink" href="http://img715.imageshack.us/i/b2870770e82ec9e68c47f94.jpg/"></a><a class="postlink" href="http://img715.imageshack.us/img715/1385/b2870770e82ec9e68c47f94.jpg">[ img ]</a><br/><br/>Stella pulled her legs tightly up against the slight swell of her chest, preserving what little heat she could in the bitter October evening, chin rested on her freckled knees. The evening stank to high hell of business and executive card shuffling.<br/>A lot of people would have you think that this kind of thing didn't have a smell, that was little more than a seamless row of events marked in the passage of time, it was fabricated by a whole variety of sensual applications, but they couldn't pull the wool over her eyes. She'd been skipping off and on over these meetings like a skimming pebble since she was only tall enough to reach the knees of the strange mens slacks and drool on their shiny, leather shoes. She'd had a lifetime of listening in daddy's 'corporation' and years of experience with their meetings and business and she could tell you straight that they had a smell. Not just any smell. THE smell.<br/>Male cologne, aftershave, sweat, dry roast coffee, bad breath, leather polish, dry cleaning and human fear all mixed together in one big, nasal burning cocktail. It was a scent that brought memories crashing destructively back like the tide against a dock and gave her bad dreams for weeks. She didn't like strangers at the best of times, much less the stodgily wired set of cohorts that came crawling from the woodworks whenever daddy held one of his fuck-off-big meetings. Not to mention all the sneers that had been passed her way. From the age of fourteen she'd been only so much meat in the butchers shop window for every thrice-damned stray dog of a bastard her father employed. Were it not for the looming threat of death that came with making anything beyond a pass at her she'd have decked half of them already on principal!<br/><br/>--- not that she was any more capable of close combat than the garden weed she resembled... no, her strengths lay elsewhere. Like sarcasm.<br/><br/>She scowled and shifted, cold tiling of the window sill starting to freeze through to her arse bones, ignoring the stench of business, "So," her reedy voice curled around the words reproachfully and she ran one lazy digit down the length of the window pain casually, leaving a line of prints in the blanche of her own breath, "How long am I booked in this week?"<br/><br/>By booked in she meant locked in. By locked in she meant ordered to stay put.<br/><br/>Her only company, the young lad hired to watch her room, handsome in the boyish kind of way, rich in the a-marriage-to-him-will-suit-both-families-just-fine kind of way glanced over his shoulder, running a hand over his shaved head awkwardly, "It's only for an hour or two," he replied apologetically.<br/>He'd been just that, awkward and apologetic since they both grew out of childhood. Once upon a time he'd been a screaming, squealing gross boy like the rest of them and to be honest Stella much preferred him when he was throwing worms at her and leaving fistfuls of garden sludge in her bedding.<br/><br/>"This weeks pocket money to let me go?" she raised an eyebrow suggestively.<br/><br/>The young man laughed, "How old are you!" he grinned, bear paw of a hand gliding across his scalp again, "Five?"<br/><br/>"Six," she said blankly, face deadly serious, "but don't tell anyone."<br/><br/>"I can't let you out!"<br/><br/>A silence as thick as jello settled between them before she fractured it with a lone, unimpressed syllable, "Huh!" a ginger brow arched with a certain inherited authority known to set off flinches at a fifty foot pace. She scanned the room restlessly, the vast matrix of her mind turning over possibilities and plans like a coin in her hands. She routed all of the exits, counted means of escape, storing them in her filing cabinet head for later use, "You know why..." she started, irrespective of whether or no he was listening, voice clinical and cold, "Any idea why he won't let me out tonight?"<br/><br/>"Well, um--"<br/><br/>"He's cracking skulls," she said ever a woman of subtlety and perfect etiquette, "I heard one of his boys saying so..."  a formula was piecing itself together already-- escape was not particularly difficult. It wasn't like they'd usually have to put in any special measures... tonight she was just restless-- agitated, "They say the council'll be cleaning shit from the sidewalks for weeks, they're going to bash his brains in so good,"<br/><br/>The boy shuffled uncomfortably, snagging on the sharp bit of her gaze, just the reaction she was looking for, "That's all rumours," he lied badly, "I'm sure it's not true,"<br/><br/>She felt guilty already, but there's was really only one way about this... she had to play on the fact that he'd been raised as a gentleman...<br/><br/>"I don't know," she mumbled, raking a hand back through her hair, seemingly agitated, "It just... doesn't bare thinking about you know... that's my dad apparently giving that order... I'm sorry," she winced, biting her lip irritably, "I'm just stressed out, y'know! People spreading these bullshit rumours and it just," her jaw jut, shoulders tense-- three years of expensive drama tuition finally paying off, "UGH! It drives me mad! I can't be doing with it! And I just.... shit, Trent, I don't mean to take it out on you," she pursed her lips guiltily to one side, "Sorry kid..."<br/><br/>His eyebrows shot up like they'd taken a lift, "Oh, it's okay! I understand!"<br/><br/>She shuffled guiltily, dangling her legs from the sill, kicking them, looking still a tad peeved, "Look, mind if I go splash my face or something?"<br/><br/><br/>------------------------------------- Approximately thirty minutes later--------------------------------<br/><br/>Stella rolled her head back on her neck, letting the stars fill her vision and the cool evening chill fill her lungs like a cup. She hadn't any shoes and the soil from landing in the bushes by the window rolled uncomfortably between her toes. All in all she was glad to be out.<br/><br/>She took off down the asphalt aisles like an alley cat, running on the tips of her feet, ducking around corners, hopping fences, jumping and crossing every bench that stumbled across her path. What she was going to do, now that she was out was a bit of a mystery.<br/><br/>She swung her arms, green eyes scanning the moonlit roads for some kind of clue, ignoring the bright headlights of passing vehicles or the murmur of noises or the pound of distant bass from who knew what club or another. Now there was a mistake. If she'd have grabbed her wallet on the way out she could have hid herself away in a bar or two for a while, pretended like nothing was happening-- avoided the whole awful situation with her father and whatever hell he was handing out that evening... she was too stubborn or stupid to ever dare admit it out loud, but the whole thing made her nervous as hell.... the idea of telling anyone just how she felt magnified that anxiety... she was the daughter of the big bad wolf, the offspring of the scariest thing since sliced bread... wasn't it her job to follow in his foot-steps?<br/><br/>Sighing she kicked her feet out from underneath her, kneading the balls of her feet into the gravel every so often...<br/><br/>-- she'd inherit this joint, she figured, it was her place to do something... anything...<br/><br/>She froze midstep-- catching sounds above the evening noises. Voices. Stern ones.<br/><br/>"Don't challenge the alfa dog stray the alfa well always remain on top."<br/><br/>Stella hunkered down, ginger hair almost reaching her ankles, eyes shining on high alert. It wasn't something good, she could tell that much... every instinct screamed for her to get out the there-- particularly when she caught the tiniest whiff of The smell in the air. Business. Daddies business deals.<br/>Fear seized her senses.<br/>A knot the size of a small moon swelled in her belly.<br/>The material of her shirt started to suck against her skin for cold sweat....<br/>What if.... I mean it wasn't unlikely, what if she'd walk into a... a ... neutralization... shit! A murder!<br/>She stayed put for a moment, unable to move even if she'd wanted to, ears strained for the tiniest of tell tale noises. Everything resided. The city plunged back to silence-- all albeit the odd drunken hoots and howls of the distant party-ers. Stella grit her teeth, every iota of willpower he had trying to reign in her wild nerves. She had to see.<br/>She couldn't stay there... but then the possibility of creeping around the corner and finding a mangled, disheveled, bloody body terrified her more than she liked.<br/><br/>After a moments deliberation she moved, slinking across the walls and through the shadows like a fox-- much to her relief there was a figure there... she couldn't make out any of his features in the dull, sepia buzz of the nearby street lamp, but he was sat up. Alive. Not fucking dead.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">"Who are you and what do you want?" </span><br/><br/>The strangers voice curled through the air in a deep, ragged thrum-- most definitely male if the broad line of his shoulders hadn't given that away already.<br/><br/>Stella paused as if considering this herself, "Name's Stella," she said flatly, surprising herself with just how confident she came across. She bloody wasn't-- this was one of her fathers flunkies-- sorry-- EXflunkies. A man of violence, no doubt. Truth be told she was frightened shitless, but once again, years of practice and an ace in drama school came to the rescue, "And you might not believe me, but I'm<span style="font-style: italic">all</span>help,"