Can you hear a subtle, aching tone?

[KURT RYDER]

for the first time in years, kurt could breathe in peace.

without the constant headache of her, his half-sister.

with a renewed swagger to his gait, kurt let him mind wander. he didn’t often let himself daydream but he hadn’t felt this happy in years. hell, he felt like whistling! which he promptly did, ignoring the fact he felt like he was one of those strutting lunatics from those terrible musicals so many of his ex’s had tricked him into suffering through. he didn’t care. adora was miles away, kneeling before her perfectly made bed and sending those damn useless prayers she’d insist before starting her day.

kurt liked to wake himself up in another fashion, but we’ll keep this PG and just moved on to breakfast. which was exactly what he wanted right now, a man led by his stomach. he already knew where the kitchen was, even though he’d only just arrived here late last night, because it had seemed the perfect way to escape her. kurt would rather willing subjective himself to torture and being trapped within a building for a month or two then have to pretend he liked her for even just another minute.

whistling right up to when he punched in the code to open the kitchen door his tune stopped cold with his tracks when his eyes fell on her. his sister. half-sister. here. at his sanctuary. in his kitchen.

the fucking bitch.

swirling on his heel, too angry for words, he storms right back into the living room. kurt was so outraged his freedom had just been yanked out from under him after that tantalizing taste he did not even notice the gorgeous redhead until it was too late. the collision then was simply unavoidable, and kurt found himself tumbling towards a nearby couch. his features alight in complete surprise.

"I - uh.. Whoa.. Sorry uh."

Not knowing her name, he just stared at her with a rather dumb expression, that quickly molded into a much more cheeky and equally charming one.

ooc . so i totally made the assumption she still has red hair. if she doesn’t, just say it’s someone else - it’s still comical, from any perspective.

[Ana Divine]

There ain't nothin' wrong with the way she moves,
all scarlet begonias and a touch of the blues...

Ana awakens in a glossed white room that's so bare and sterile she wonders if she's dead. But the terrycloth robe whose soft loops whisper about her wiry frame remind her of the invalidity of her assumption. Intently, she watches the starchy sheet rise and fall over the countours of her body, if only to witness the faint rise and fall of her shrunken abdomen. It undulates like an ocean, and slowly, consciousness returns.

The memories resurface like the final glimpse before death: she sees the empty drawers and the shattered mirrors that indicate her mother's absense, she sees her father's face swell, reddened from the effects of alcohol, screaming at her to just get out, she sees her friends and their families, all glued so perfectly together, she sees Max and feels his skin, a touch that used to make her shudder. And then, finally, she sees the austere doors of the Abacus facility and remembers checking in - giving herself away on coarse, standardized paper.

No time had been wasted since her induction. In fact, one of the scientists had taken her straight back to a tiled room where he had asked her a series of questions like what she typically ate and how much she drank and was she pregnant at all, etc. Ana had found in that hour that she was utterly and inexorably alone, and to finish it off, he had given her a packet of papers detailing the schedule of her stay - what to eat, what not to eat, when and where to go to the bathroom, when her appointments would be and how to prepare for them; the list seemed to run on for pages.

The man finished their meeting with a small shot, one whose purpose she still wasn't sure of. As she thinks about it, she feels a small scintilla of pain throb beneath the surface of her skin. She shivers and goes to touch it, and feels nothing as her thumb rubs over the pin-pricked spot. Ana frowns, disoriented, and decisively rises. She should probably get something to eat, anything to keep her mind from wandering... The waif slides into some slippers by her bed and doesn't even bother to check the closet for clothes.

As she wanders down the desserted halls, she hears Max's voice resound in the back of her head. My sweet Divine girl, you're nothing but a pretty face.... Sadness and embarrassment burn in the back of her eyes, threatening to spill salty chaos. But Ana is rescued (in a way) by the unwarranted ricochet of another body, one whose balking size sends her tumbling to the ground in a heap of limbs, pallor, red and tears.

Blinking, she looks up at him, still unsure of what to make of the happenings.

"It's.... okay," she murmurs softly, "I'm fine..."

A few minutes pass by and the sylph is still silent with a distant expression in her honey cores. "I'm.... fine....," she repeats, attempting to sound stronger, but the silvery bell-like tinkle of her voice fails to reflect the solidity of that statement.

And there ain't nothin' wrong with the love that's in her eye;
I had to learn the hard way just to let her pass by...

[KURT RYDER]

For one heated moment, all that existed was the blurred lines of a world falling by and the searing jolt of a touch both soft and hot. The mangled bodies did not touch for long, as just as soon as he had careened rudely into her he was pulling back, but not before one long shared look.
Then the whole thing came crashing down.

Normally, Kurt didn’t know the meaning of embarrassment. Do enough drugs, and the whole ordeal just seems a tad bit silly anyway. Plus, he’d been caught doing way worse things then simply not paying enough attention. Straightening tense shoulders, he was regally quick when it came to regaining his composure and dusting himself off like nothing happened. That was the best way to take anything, in stride. Intently, he casts the red faired nymph who’d crossed his path a gleaning look. Not exactly aggressive, but shouldering that hint of darkness.

He didn’t like being caught unaware. It made him nervous. Kurt hated being nervous.

Clearing his throat brashly, Kurt feels a pang of guilt when he realizes him and his clumsy size had knocked her to the ground. Belated, he moved to assist Kurt remembered to keep a gentle tone. He might have still been fuming angry to discover of all people, the one person he’d tried to escape was here, but it was hardly this pretty lass’s fault. Furthermore, it was now his fault he’d rammed her down like a linebacker.

“You’re not fine.”

He says rather matter-of-factly, wincing at his own tone and offering a sheepish smile to try and dull the edge. If there was one thing he knew, it was women. The famous ‘i’m fine’ line wasn’t going to work with him, he’d been fed that bull shit more times then he could count. Normally Kurt wouldn’t care, convince himself he had something more important - or simply charm her up to get a little action later. This time, however, his concern was genuine - if placed out of his own shame from literally tackling her down.

“Care to talk ‘bout it?”

People didn’t sign themselves up willing to have scientists inject shit into their bodies. Something was up, and today was her lucky day. He was desperate for a distraction, even if that meant subjecting himself to someone else's fucked up life. Besides, he was a complete stranger - and sometimes, just sometimes - it was easier to pour your heart out to a complete stranger.

Placing a supportive hand upon her shoulder, Kurt was not shy when it came to touching people, especially when those people were pretty women, he gave a casual shrug. Like they were talking about something as mundane as the weather, and not something potentially tragic and life-altering.