AN: Hello, everyone! I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to get back into the Fanfiction field; life has been busy and exciting, and I simply haven't had the time to keep up with everything. I'll be continuing as quickly and often as I can now though, so enjoy the story and message me if you have any questions!

-WeepingWillow555

Chapter Five:

The Mysterious Stranger

It wasn't that Nancy hated noise. She liked most kinds of music, and the dulcet burbles of a coffee machine was pure, distilled goodness to her ears. No, Nancy was not an enemy of noise in general, nor was she a supporter of silence. But Oliver's choice in music - while popular and not without style - was something she definitely could have done without.

Drums beat like cannons, firing into a vibrantly colored, flashing, bobbing sea of dancers. Bodies jostled against her, sweat slicking from a passing arm onto her own, their warmth eating through her dress and itching against her skin.

There was no space to breathe, let alone dance, but Oliver's massive pack of teenage visitors managed to ignore that impossibility. They gyrated and wriggled in place; silky hair tossing, hips bucking to the beat of electronic chaos.

As she had anticipated, the party was not worth such an early wake-up call. Nancy's only consolation was that Solomon had quickly transitioned from his out of place cheer into his more natural state: stoic silence.

Initially her brother always enjoyed the thrill of an early excursion with Oliver, but it was inevitable that he lose interest - especially once he ascertained the other guests' numbers and general state of mindlessness.

Nancy was a bit surprised Oliver had thrown such a party to begin with, actually. He tended more towards a mixture of punk and dapper; a goth poker table full of hand-picked individuals he had deemed fit to participate, complete with champagne glasses and a few suit pieces. To entertain a pop mob at his home was very unlike her friend.

She didn't have long to think it over, and she was slightly too tired to care. Their host himself had slithered over, taking stock of their seclusion and expressions with a crooked grin.

"You both look like though a cat pissed in your drinks or you ate a lemon raw. Did you just come to show off Nancy's dress or were you planning to actually have fun at some point?" Oliver joined them, half lidded eyes glittering with too much good humor.

It was obvious to Nancy that her sharp friend had been drinking. She didn't mind; Oliver knew how to take care of himself. But she still frowned and dropped her gaze to the ground rather than take in his uncharacteristically slouching form, a strange feeling settling in her stomach - one she couldn't identify, but disliked instinctively.

Oliver's sweaty shirt, empty and clammy, suddenly flopped like a dead thing over Nancy's shoulders. She stiffened and turned her glare at it, nose wrinkling.

Oliver seemed unbothered, black chest now bare as he slid next to Solomon, slinging dark, muscular arms around her brother's pale neck. He then comically pulled the taller boy closely against him, even as Nancy stared.

Both of them fluidly assumed a slightly wobbly waltzing position, Solomon rolling his eyes - obviously exasperated by Oliver's tipsiness. Her brother had no patience with drunks, no matter what degree of plastered they achieved.

Her brother let out a sigh as he led the shorter boy through a few wobbly steps. "We are enjoying ourselves, Bat. Can't you tell?" Bat, referring to Oliver's nocturnal tendencies and dark coloring. Nancy was surprised he still put up with the nickname.

She shook her head at the awkward waltzing duo, shifting on her wobbly heels and feeling even more uncomfortable. It wasn't that she minded how easily Solomon and Oliver impersonated gays, or how amusing they found doing so. The two boys were strange, but she understood their wry humor and their liking of doing the unexpected. She just didn't like the weight of other eyes as smirking, tittering teenagers took in the scene, already mocking and gossiping. It was irritating, and someday it would probably lead to a massive high-school drama that she wanted no part of.

"Will you two stop it?" She muttered, pulling Oliver's stupid, abandoned shirt closer around her shoulders, using it as a shield to block the prickly stares all around them. Her words were barely heard above the din, and Oliver craned his neck to see her, eyes narrowing, the lips beneath slitting in a truly devilish grin.

Uh-oh...

"Oh-! Please do pardon us, Nance." Oliver crowed, his smooth voice thick with sickeningly fake mortification. He released Solomon with a jerk as though caught in some terrible act, swaying unsteadily on his feet. But his black eyes glittered dangerously with humor, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his thin mouth. "I didn't know you wanted our attention that badly..."

Nancy wordlessly leveled a glare at him, backing up, but an overly enthusiastic dancer knocked her closer to the dangerous would-be DJ.

Before she could regain her balance or back away, Oliver's hand had snatched her wrist, dark fingers mercilessly tight, and pulled.

Normally, she wasn't a very vocal person. But it was nearly three in the morning now. She was tired and fuzzy, unbalanced by her heels and the restraints of her too-tight tube of a dress.

With a startled squall, Nancy overbalanced, and crashed into her friend's bare, sweaty chest. His flesh was hot and slimy - like a boiled slug's skin beneath her hands. She shrieked and tried to lean away, shocked and disgusted at the smell - the heated proximity -

She heard Oliver's howls of laughter nearby above the pounding music.

Something hot pounded suddenly in her chest - something tight and angry.

"You son of a-!" She began to snarl and, balance partially regained, tried to shove herself free, but Oliver wasn't finished. With a deep chuckle that might have fit better in an old horror film, her friend slung her away again, whirling her in a circle. She couldn't break away without falling gracelessly and painfully to the floor, so Nancy was helpless to do anything but gasp and clutch at his clammy fingers.

For a moment, there was only brightly colored lights flashing all around - empty, hot air meeting her clawing hands - Oliver's laughter cutting off with a surprised yelp-

Nancy caught a glimpse of her brother through the messy spin of twisting lights and bodies, dark eyes narrowed into thin, glittering slits - lips baring white teeth in a terribly strange snarl.

Oliver's grip on her wrist was suddenly gone, ripped away. She staggered - tripped instantly - smashed into her friend, fingers digging and scrabbling for purchase as they both came down hard onto cold, tiled floor.

The world jolted, and her head spun.

It was a stunned, painful moment before Nancy was able to blink her way back to reality. It took a second to realize, with an icy rush of horror, that the back of her head was pressed against strong muscles - that a hand was pinned beneath her butt and the ground.

Nancy froze, eyes popping wide. Her cheeks burned, reddening into a powerful blush - paling to horrified white half a second later.

Beneath her back, someone groaned in a deep, masculine tone. Jade Donnalt's booming laugh sounded from somewhere overhead. Nancy hadn't even known the other girl was here. There were other chortles too- drunk giggles and snorts. The music was vibrating through the floor into her and Oliver's tangled bodies - there was hot air on her upper thigh -

Jade's laughter hitched at the same moment that Nancy realized the worst. She suspected everyone watching had only just noticed as well.

There was sudden disbelieving silence in a five-foot proximity - like the hush after a poodle trips to splat, arrogant face first, into a mud puddle.

Nancy's eyes began to burn, and she scrambled away from the warm body beneath her without a word, clutching at her dress. It had torn along a seam, up to her waist. Her pale leg and thigh gleamed in the flashing lights, bared to all eyes. Her underwear, pale and slightly frayed, outlined the seam where thigh met waist.

Nancy stared at it, unseeing, gulping as the world blurred with tears.

Then she ran, clutching the fabric as tightly as possible with shaking hands - ignoring Oliver's uncharacteristic stutters and a sudden, sharp "Nancy-" from Solomon.

She shoved past other party goers, almost knocking one boy to the floor. Guilt ate into her, but shame was stronger, and she scrambled to get the front door open without so much as a glance behind, much less an apology. A few voices barked out at her, but she didn't turn round. The knob turned in her sweaty hands - hot tears dripped onto her fingers - it opened with a gasp of cool air, and Nancy ran out into the night.

It had begun to rain. Cold drops stung against pavement, pattering wetly against the grass, glittering in the dim park lights.

Lappington Park was a strangely conflicted place. It held two reputations; one for day, and one for night.

During sunny hours and on until burning sunsets, the park was peaceful, playful, and decorated with perfect families. Children swung on plastic swings, laughingly jumping loose and racing to the city pool nearby. Toddlers played in the sand-boxes, watched over by their parents. Dogs barked, bugs buzzed, and birds sang.

At night, the park was almost always visited by the most unsavory residents of Pissyard High, and devils walked abroad. Mostly in goth clothes, determined to smoke forbidden cigarettes and have sex with each other.

With the coming of rain, however, the park was empty. Goths took to the hills and sought out their basement fortresses, animals burrowed or huddled in bushes, and the cold ruled supreme.

This made it the perfect place for Nancy to retreat.

The park bench was cool and wet beneath her. Little pools of water, gathered in dips in the old wood, wet her cheek and seeped into her clothes. She had lost Oliver's shirt as she ran. and the night kissed her skin coldly where she lay, but Nancy didn't feel like sitting straight or moving to somewhere more sheltered. As foolish as she knew it was, Nancy Hamish wanted nothing more than to lie on her side in the rain. It was peaceful (especially if she shoved aside the nagging thought that she would regret it later when she caught pneumonia).

It hadn't been so bad a thing, once she thought about it. Many girls wore dresses that were slit and ribbed along the whole length of their sides, down their legs and up around their breasts. It wasn't so terrible that her skirt had ripped, or that she'd fallen into an embarrassingly provocative position with her best friend, or that a mob of fellow adolescents had seen it all...

Nancy bit her lip, eyes stinging, and turned her face into the wood beneath her, chest tight with unreleased sobs. She didn't like crying. She didn't like how seeing Oliver drunk made her insides writhe uncomfortably. She hated the betrayal she felt, especially given that it hadn't really been so bad a thing... not really. Just embarrassing. She could deal with embarrassment; she'd done it before. She just needed to calm down. It was just late, and she was exhausted enough to react badly to anything.

Nancy snuffled against the wood, closing her eyes to the rain and the darkness around her. The wood smelled like pine, old and soothing. The darkness behind her lids was deep, and the rain no longer felt cold.

"Miss Hamish?"

Deep voice, like chocolate. The tone was polite, slightly concerned.

She opened her eyes, turning her head disbelievingly to see Mr. Pax standing only five feet away. His expression was slightly too serious to be curious; he looked mildly worried, soft eyes questioning.

He was slightly hunched, as though still making up his mind about whether it would be appropriate or not to crouch at her level. The man's dress shirt and jeans were sopping; his hair clung to his pale neck and forehead, dripping trails of glittering water down white cheeks and a strong chin.

God. He looked better wet than he had dry...

"Pax." A second voice shattered the awkward silence, and Nancy jumped. Not only because she hadn't realized anyone else was there; the voice had a particularly sharp quality to it that made her body leap in automatic shock and mild panic. It was a gravelly rumble that rippled like the grumble of a crocodile through the falling rain. It was sleek too, if ever a voice could be sleek; catlike and rasping, despite being deeply pitched...

The owner had been standing a few feet behind Mr. Pax the whole time, and yet she hadn't noticed him.

How she could have missed him, she didn't know.

Her first impression was of inhuman height, but when later questioned, Nancy would not be able to swear that he was particularly far above six feet. The presence he carried with him gave the stranger his few extra inches.

Where Mr. Pax was perfect for viewing, this man seemed to forbid it. Nancy felt as though her staring was an insult itself; as though daring to meet his gaze would be a grave mistake. So instead she took in the perfectly tailored pale suit that clung to impressive muscles like a thick second skin; saw the dark vest and blood-red tie, a glittering tie-pin peeking like a star from its center folds.

He looked rich. He stood as though he had no care for the impression he gave.

He was terrifying.

"Do not worry, Miss Hamish." Mr. Pax must have noticed her gaping, wide-eyed silence. "This is a... friend of mine." Pax's voice faltered slightly, as though momentarily thoughtful or amused. "His name is Talon- Marcus Talon."

"Marcus Talon" smiled a thin, humorless smile that was nonetheless more charming than it had any right to be. "What a delight it is to meet you, Miss Hamish."

AN: There we are! A little short, but hopefully quality won over quantity. :) Until next time!