The Mountain Woodland

[Amy (In America - Busy atm)]

{name:Rochelle#|#picture:1}Without any warning the word 'apartment' struck Rochelle like a two tonne lorry. Apartment complexes were sparse in a city that liked to live, breathe, eat and sleep heritage, and new tower blocks were the source of much bitterness amongst locals. She felt herself lean back into the tree, aiming to fall through it, deliberating whether there was a realm of marvel beyond this one. Her mind taunted her with the acrimonious reality; it really was a small world. Could it be that she'd just had a lengthy bonding session with a neighbour?

Somehow that notion filled her with an array of emotions that she couldn't quite place. There was excitement, which she recognised, at the prospect of expanding whatever had breathed life between them today. There was also the other end of the spectrum, endless waves of dread and everything in-between. What if he took it upon himself to ignore her? Not that she'd actually let anyone get away with that. What if he was like so many of the other men in Berma Apartments and she'd have to creep to her door watching as domestic violence ensued and young girls were led, eyes glazed over and unaware, to a night they'd regret with Declan being party to some sort of it.

She tried to shake away the thoughts, staring with great interest at the fetching stranger before her. Again, her mind violated her. She'd vowed to set him up. Would she have to watch with a faint and fake smile as he and a friend of hers said goodnight to her and wandered back to his apartment to complete the evening? What if they broke up and she had to pick a side? What if she and Declan fell out? She was drowning in an unprecedented amount of 'what ifs', it required a few seconds for her to notice Declan's enticing lips curling upwards.

"Ugh, sorry, mind went blank for a second," she mumbled, looking directly at the ground before braving those warm hazel eyes. Could they be lying to her? Was she so lonely and eager to trust someone that she'd fallen into a trap? Or was Declan, against the odds, a nice, grounded and attractive guy that deserved better than to have her mind scream a silent interrogation his way. "Right, the apartments… Well, down is this way," she pointed down the tourist path, "I guess we'll have to figure the rest out when we get out from the trees."

Rochelle stood still for a moment, realising her own agenda today; running away from problems that were already too far gone to solve. She couldn't help but find her lips twitching upwards as she caught Declan's eyes on her. Something about the whole scenario left her feeling twelve years old and a blank slate where males were concerned. All she knew was that her stomach was churning, her cheeks burning and the distance between them was short, yet non-invasive.

"You weren't the only one who got too big for their boots today. A change in timing and I might have been the one dragging you up off of the floor and my first aid may have left you with more injuries than you'd have started with."

[Laura]

{name:Declan#|#picture:4}Declan became slightly concerned as Rochelle slumped against the tree, a vacant expression taking hold of her face. Her eyes were, on the other hand, volatile; a stormy sea where emotions flailed about like stricken ships caught in vicious waves. It was a bit late for a concussion to be sinking in – though Declan didn't think he'd recognise one if it did manifest – yet all the same, he was wondering whether it was prudent to ask Rochelle whether she'd bumped her head as well when she'd taken her tumble. The smallest of smirks was trying to break free from his controlled features, as he anticipated what Rochelle's reaction to that question would be. From what he'd seen today, she wasn't the type of person to take it lying down.
Eventually breaking from her trance, she gazed up at Declan, a hundred unspoken questions swirling in her turquoise irises. He could only smile back at her, taking in her appearance, giving her his own silent once-over. She was a pretty girl even without a drop of make-up, and with the exertion of a morning's jog taking its toll. Her features were pleasing - a nicely shaped face, soft lips, a delicate nose and of course, those killer blue eyes. They looked Photoshopped without ever seeing a computer. The clothes she wore were baggy and not what were considered typically flattering; yet what he saw of the figure they hid was fairly eye-catching. Her legs, although battered, were definitely worth a glance.
He bit his lip slightly, though it didn't dim the smile that was currently curling it, and moved his gaze to a spot just above Rochelle's head. Guilt picked at his conscience, knowing that it was probably a bit lewd to be checking her out so openly. Most ladies didn't seem to take too kindly to it, which was why Declan restricted any lingering glances to when a girl was firmly occupied and unlikely to catch him. That said, who was to say Rochelle hadn't done – or wasn't doing – the same thing to him?
Not likely, he reasoned, as he risked a look back at Rochelle only to see her eyes glued to the ground, her face now distinctly troubled. Whatever she was thinking about, he was pretty sure it wasn’t him... maybe. To be bluntly honest, Declan couldn't get any kind of a read from her expression at all and he'd known for a long time that he didn't have the bones of a psychic. Obviously something was preying on her mind, and preying voraciously at that; but it wasn't really Declan's place to ask or know, unless she told him.
Eventually the two of them regained eye-contact and Rochelle spoke, discarding any worries Declan might have had about her current physical and mental condition. He took the lead as they made their way back to the fairly deserted trail, ducking tree limbs and sidestepping brambles that were otherwise sure to deal him damage. He kept a fleeting eye on Rochelle, to see how she was holding up, and occasionally held back an errant branch for her, but she seemed more than able to navigate for herself. Without any further casualties, they made it to the trail.
Declan had been replying to her half-hearted quip as the pair of them pulled themselves out of the wilderness. "I guess we should call ourselves lucky then. ...Well, you didn't escape injury, but I think we'd both be worse off if it was me lying face-down on the ground. The bigger you are, the harder the fall; and I'd probably have taken an unfortunate bystander down with me. It's habit," he added, when he received a questioning look from Rochelle. "I play rugby. Knocking over people is part of the territory."
Something Rochelle had said earlier had opened a new area of thought for Declan, and it had taken until now for it to become coherent enough to vocalise. "Apartments," he mumbled to himself quietly. There'd been something about the way she had spoken the word herself that struck a chord with him. "If you don't mind me asking Rochelle," he began tentatively, not sure whether it was an overly personal question or not, "do you live in Lake Owensway or outside it, or...?"

[Amy (In America - Busy atm)]

{name:Rochelle#|#picture:1}"… Berma Apartments?" Rochelle didn't think Declan would specify, though it was evidently the place circling his mind. She looked away, not wanting to gage his expression. If he were a resident then he would be aware of the squalor that resided in those soaring structures. The people weren't all bad, there were plenty of families who'd hid rock bottom and were yet to resurface, biding their time and saving their pennies. Much of the population in the buildings was made up of young adults who needed a starting point in life like herself. However, rent was cheap in comparison to all other avenues in the pricey city. That meant that there were several bad seeds in an otherwise sufferable mix. Those who liked to cause trouble didn't keep themselves on the low down either, and would become openly violent and aggressive. Rochelle wasn't sure whether that was just her building or floor, all she knew was that she tended to trust her neighbours as far as she could throw them. "Yeah, I moved in not too long ago. What about you, got a little hut on the hillside or something?"

In all honesty that was where she pictured someone like Declan. A person physically able to take care of himself, and who, above all, was irrevocably in love with the endless flow of green countryside. The image her mind had conjured was almost fairy-tale like, with a slight vegetable garden and busy bee-hives. After working in and around Gregory Manner for so long, falling for it more each day, she couldn't see herself living in any other mountain side house. It was hugged tightly by climbing pines and had views so spectacular that she could lose herself and train of thought with just a quick and accidental glance out of a window.

In the silence she found her eyes drawn to Declan. She was a little flustered when she realised it was not his face she was captivated by. He had strong legs, which she'd of course expected, only her eyes continued to trail upwards to his demarcated hips and stopping as she reached his torso. Rochelle found her inquisitiveness had swelled once more. If Declan did as much exercise as she suspected, then she believed one of her shallow friends may be questioning their luck if they were ever introduced. It wasn't just a sudden wave of irrational desire and revelation that kept her eyes briefly focused on his rising and falling abdomen covered by a loose t-shirt, it was respect for the dedication he must have had for his personal fitness. Rugby player, that was what he'd said, and suddenly a mesmeric smile spilled out across her previously indifferent face.

"I've survived living there," she added, before Declan was finally able to speak or question her open observation. "I guess I just like to think that it's pretty bad, at least in my building. The day I moved in the additional dead-bolts and chain locks on my front door made me a bit suspicious. I know people in some of the other buildings, or the lower floors and they seem to think it’s the picture of perfection, luck of the draw I suppose."

[Laura]

{name:Declan#|#picture:4}Declan grimaced sympathetically. He was able to envision what Rochelle had described, having experienced it for himself. “Rough. When I came here, I scouted around a few places in the city, and the Berma complex was one of the first places I hit. I... I had a bit of a tour, checked out some of the available flats. But, erm... I didn't consider it for very long.”
He felt awkward, but for a totally different reason this time. He had indeed taken a trip to the Berma apartments... and had written it off as a complete dump as soon as he'd gotten there. Perhaps it was just the building he'd been shown – or maybe it was that the only available lets were the ones no-one else would take. Either way, one look at the mildewed walls, the leaking pipes and the boarded-over windows, and Declan decided to dip into his savings and fork over a higher deposit, knowing he'd go nuts living amongst such surroundings. He had, after all, trained as an architect; the ugly concrete towers along with the decaying interiors instilled despair in him from the first moment he laid eyes on them. He hadn't been expecting grandiose on his budget, but he did want to live somewhere that didn't make him feel suicidal every time he looked at it.
His discomfort stemmed from the fact that Rochelle had settled there; and while he might have immediately struck it from his list of prospects, he knew better than to outright diss her choice of home. “But I guess it's about the people, not the place,” he said on a hopeful note, trying to lighten the atmosphere. Rochelle wasn't just silent, she was- well, Declan couldn't rightly describe what she was. He figured the crossed arms and taut expression didn't have positive connotations. “Good neighbours make up for a lot of things.”
She didn't respond to that. Rather than just standing there in silence, Declan unwillingly decided to mention his own domestic situation. It wasn't often he brought up his place of residence with strangers and there was an added uncomfortable aspect added to it after his dismissal of the Berma apartments. He was hardly much better off.
“I'm not sure where you got the hut idea from, but I'm out of the main city alright. Down in the Lakeview Estate,” he stated, as amiably as he could. “The rent's a bit higher, but I can go without when ends aren't meeting.”
He'd never been reduced to living off beans on toast, but there had been times earlier in the year when he'd skipped lunches, stopped picking up daily newspapers and confined his socialising to a weekly phone call to one of his friends. Needless to say, Declan now budgeted around his rent and other bills, and planned his spending down to the last penny. Somehow, he managed to put aside a few hundreds worth of savings every month... but he'd been tempted to dip into those funds more than once, when things had taken a particularly bleak turn.
He'd also been tempted to move. The partitioned house in which he resided had a few pros, but plenty more cons. The three rooms in which he dwelled weren't overly cramped – they were spacious compared to previous bedsits he'd occupied – his landlord was perfectly fine if distant to deal with and the estate itself was more than Declan could ever have hoped for, surrounded by lush greenery and equipped with decent amenities. For someone as nature-orientated and active as he was, that last fact should have cinched the deal for Declan.
In many ways, it had. Yet, things weren't as rosy as they'd seemed when he'd signed the lease agreement. He'd ended up on the top floor of the house, in a converted attic that lacked the sufficient insulation needed to make it habitable in winter. When he'd first arrived in late January, he'd ended up wearing two fleeces over a shirt and vest, just so that he wouldn't contract frostbite while at home. Below him lived a half-deaf woman in her seventies, who played her soaps at full volume every night from seven to nine, leaving Declan feeling pretty hard of hearing himself when he found himself at home in the evening. It had been a truly joyous moment for him when he'd gotten his bartending gig, taking him out of the flat and away from the blaring tones of Corrie and EastEnders in the evenings.
Declan looked at Rochelle fully, hoping she'd thawed out, whatever had gotten to her having passed. “I suppose it was worth asking. There was a chance we could have been living nearby to each other.”
He spared a thought to think about how things could have been, had that been so. Spotting Rochelle returning from work just as he was leaving for it; stopping to chat on the pavement or in the elevator should their schedules collide; stopping in for a cup of sugar maybe, when one of them was running short...
Declan couldn't suppress a chuckle at that last fantasy, knowing that it was more of a cliché than a reality. He couldn't help but think it would be nice living near a friend; but at the same time he liked keeping his life to himself, and living in relative obscurity on the edge of town was a way of doing so. Having someone know where he lived, perhaps even visiting him, meant losing that privacy, the place of refuge that Declan found his little flat had become.

[Amy (In America - Busy atm)]

{name:Rochelle#|#picture:1}Relief pulsed through Rochelle as she became safe in the knowledge that her saviour was free of the criminality that lurked in Berma Apartments. Declan, so reserved and polite, would appear to be easy pickings in such a building and Rochelle was glad he didn't have to assess each person he met with the same intense internal interrogation that she did.

She had been given the tour which Declan had referred to. It had been the middle of a school day and most of the troublesome off-spring were out of the building, if they were truant that wasn't their hiding spot. A chill had raced up her spine from just a fleeting glance at the bleak, crumbling exterior and interior. Her newly independent life was something which she had needed to work somehow, without having to back-track to her parents. Begrudgingly she became a resident only hours later. Her apartment was cheap and nasty (she liked to call it "economical"), as were most of the people she'd met in the buildings. Occasionally she was humbled by a member of a family who'd lost everything and ended up in the eye-sores after dealing with a series of disastrous and traumatising situations. Usually, though, she sulked a little about her current predicament before dashing out into the woodland and only returning to her apartment for food or a bed.

"I've heard it's not too bad in Lakeview. It's a bit plain if you like to live in an area which doesn't frequent the newspapers for all the wrong reasons." Her lips lifted slightly, still unable to believe her luck. Declan not living remotely near her lifted a very dark and turbulent cloud which had complicated such a simple equation. Whatever actions she made today would not intrude her home life. She'd not planned on acting wildly or recklessly, she just liked knowing where she stood in situations such as these, given how rare it was for her to find herself alone with a decent human being who also happened to be male, albeit bloodied, bruised and without the aid of her sociable friends who always seemed to know what to say in such times.

"It's quite the contrary, the apartments that is. If it were about the people the place would be sterilised. The buildings are monstrosities I know, they definitely don't appeal to my senses. My guilty pleasure is photography and the equipment isn't cheap, so I happily sacrificed my home life to budget that in. Plus, in reality, I was clean out of other options." Her voice was back to its earlier state, bubbly, inviting and above all open. Qualities which she was aware had been lost in some moments shared with Declan.

"You're right, it’s a shame," Rochelle said, her tone made it clear that she was far from dismayed. "For me that is, not you. It wouldn't take long before you'd have changed your locks when I came knocking looking for someone to humanely remove a spider from my apartment before it faced me and certain death. Or when an appliance broke and I'd be over to 'borrow', basically, you've caught a break there Declan." Rochelle knew that in reality if an appliance broke she'd crack open her burly toolbox and fix it; if a spider appeared she'd squeamishly remove it not wishing any harm on the little beast. She didn't want Declan to feel they'd missed a treat, he seemed a private person, and portraying herself as invasive might set at ease the slight frown that was playing on his soft pink lips.

[Laura]

{name:Declan#|#picture:4}Declan listened to Rochelle as she cheerfully criticised her home and neighbours, her voice bordering on gleeful. It was almost as if she savoured her circumstances. Yet he could sense the open honesty in Rochelle's words and he could easily envision the life she lived through them. No doubt what she was saying was true; and he figured she was hardly content with how things had shaped up for her. The contrast between what she was saying and how she said it threw Declan however. He couldn't comprehend how the girl beside him could sound so genuinely happy while describing her grim situation.
His brow furrowed further as Rochelle's lips twisted and she joked self-depreciating about how lucky he'd been, by not settling in the Berma appartments as she had. Indeed, Declan did feel fortunate in the knowledge that Rochelle wouldn't be knocking on his door looking for his pest control services any time soon. Cockroaches he could deal with, mice, rats, even bats; but just hearing the word 'spider' had fresh perspiration beading on Declan's forehead. The thought of having to confront one as Rochelle looked on had his heart racing in his chest.
He was hopelessly embarrassed by his arachnophobia. He knew it was shameful that a six-foot-tall, reasonably well-built man in his prime could be reduced to a pile of shredded nerves on contact with the eight-legged creatures. Even though Declan's rational side regularly informed him that spiders were harmless and supposedly nature's good guys, the fear in him was deeply rooted, having stemmed from a childhood incident that had occurred more than twenty years ago. What his brother Stephen had thought to be a harmless prank to play back when both of them were barely out of toddlerhood had left scars that occassionally still stung Declan, though he couldn't even remember the details of it.
His self-consciousness about the issue meant that only a select number of people - mostly family - knew the truth about why Declan shied away from knocking cobwebs down from ceilings and avoided the insect displays in zoos. He aspired to keep that list small and so went to the ends of the earth to keep his fear in the dark, where the spiders he abhorred often lurked.
Declan reckoned Rochelle had noticed his disquiet, as he could almost feel her gaze trailing over his face, trying to read his thoughts. He made a big show of drinking whatever water was left in his bottle, the liquid banishing the sudden dryness that had taken hold of his throat. "I guess it's been a day of lucky escapes for me," he eventually replied, as he unconsciously crushed the now empty bottle between his hands. "Though it's been the opposite for you."
He grinned sheepishly at her, the earlier tension he'd felt evaporating. Sticking the now flatenned plastic bottle under his arm, he inhaled deeply before breathing out just as soundly. His heart rate finally back to normal, Declan looked sideways at Rochelle with a inquisitive expression. "Photography? It's a big hobby of yours, I take it."

[Amy (In America - Busy atm)]

{name:Rochelle#|#picture:1}Rochelle walked on in absolute awe, feeling as though she were witnessing magic unfold before her, as beads of hot white light developed into cavernous holes in the leafy canopy above. Declan's soft lips had stilled for some time and a tautness that couldn't be placed had settled over the pair. However, Rochelle didn't take the quiet to offense, she merely utilised the moment to smile at the perfectly preserved nature before her.

The slope of the footpath eased leaving her aching feet meeting with a welcome flat surface. The wide and elderly trees around them subsided and were replaced with smaller and younger beings as the woodland fell thinner. They were nearing the end of their trek. The walk to Berma Apartments would take Rochelle another twenty minutes once they were clear of the hillside. She welcomed that time to really consider what had occurred over the last hour or so, and what she really thought of Declan. It wasn't her style to shimmy into Enigma tightly clad in a black or red ensemble; only something about the tall stranger had her biting her lip in anticipation at the thought of doing so. Even the mere imagined scenario sent a shiver racing through her.

Declan was still silent, lost in a memory she assumed. Given what she'd said the only things that could have triggered such unease were the possibilities of Declan being terrified of clingy, needy and (as Rochelle liked to think of them) pathetic women, or perhaps the insect she'd mentioned. She stifled a laugh, not wanting to affront the only interesting person in her life. When he eventually spoke the dulcet tones of his low voice were slightly shaky as he recovered from his thought process. Rochelle didn't mind and girlishly wondered if she could deduce just what had made Declan's pallor and demeanour dip.

"It's an expensive hobby. I'd be better off doing something else, and just lately I'm not really that interested but I think that’s more to do with getting over some things that have vague links. Hopefully I'll get back in the grove soon enough." Declan was all ears, his whole being simply dashing in Rochelle's vivid mind. Though he wasn't offering her a smile, his time and attention was more than enough to power a thankful and coy expression across her own face. "Though I must say, it’s a bit safer than rugby… we were made to play in P.E. once, apparently I took it a bit too far and a bit too seriously and was made to sit out so no one got hurt, myself included."

Picturing Declan splashed with mud, picking himself up of the ground bloodied, black and blue, and carrying on with his adoration sent Rochelle's respect for him skyrocketing. For so long she'd watched her friends helplessly swoon after manicured footballers with their inability to be in monogamous relationships. She'd cringed when she'd been dragged to matches for the grand introduction to a very fleeting love story, only to see Prince Charming lolling around on the floor screaming every insult he knew at a referee and medic who were doing their best to assess how bad the scratch or bruise was. In short, not even the money seemed attractive to her. She was pretty repulsed whenever she'd had to meet footballers and was happy to tar them all with the same brush.

"What's the worst wound you've sustained then, in rugby? I know there's no shortage of broken noses and fingers, but your nose looks pretty intact to me, and I didn't see any crooked fingers." This was another excuse to give Declan one more once over in order to assess just what Rochelle wanted from him in the grand scheme of things. Love, or any relationship had been very far from her mind for a very long time, though Declan was physically gorgeous through her eyes and his personality was appealing, she felt odd about trying to divide him up and place him in a particular pile. A throb emitted through her chest when a small voice in the back of her mind reminded her she'd promised him a friend and there was no sense letting her eyes linger on the abs or kissable lips. They might soon be spoken for.

[Laura]

{name:Declan#|#picture:4}Finally, Rochelle had happened upon a topic Declan had no bother elaborating on. His spirits had lifted instantly as she'd posed her question, which prompted him to remember he had training that very night. One of the first things he had done in Lake Owensway, despite his timidity, was to scout out and join both a rugby and a soccer club. He could honestly say that the nights he spent tossing and kicking some sort of ball around kept him sane.
Sports, and the injuries that accompanied them, had been such an integral part of Declan's life. Even from a young age he'd been running around the back garden after his older brothers, trying to keep up as they played an after-school game of football. The cuts, scrapes and bruises – ever-changing but constant fixtures of his appearance – had started from then. Over the years, he'd vastly expanded on these injuries, having gained broken bones, pulled muscles, concussions and a plethora of other ailments. Not once though, had an injury made him consider giving up on his games.
"Just from rugby?" he replied with a wry smile. He'd been black and blue, bashed and broken from so many sports, that it was hard to keep track of what he'd got and where he'd gotten it from. “Well, I've never broken my nose... but it's been swollen and bleeding a few times on the pitch. I've broken my baby finger, but that was always a bit crooked.” He held out his hand to her, demonstrating. It definitely stuck out, and not in what was considered the 'right' direction. “A guy in studs stepped on my elbow once. I was in a cast for weeks. It hurt more than the time I sprained my wrist; although that was heaps more annoying. At least when you break something, a doctor will do something for you. Other than that... I've had the typical things: hamstring and groin injuries, bruises, grazes, black eyes, the occasional gash. I've dislocated my shoulder too. Now, that was sore.”
Declan was smiling as he rattled his past (and current) wounds off. He'd never appreciated pain once it went beyond that of plain exertion, but he had a lot of happy memories linked to those injuries. Thinking of times he'd been lying at the side of the pitch groaning made him think also of past team-mates and friends of his. They had been there with him, concerned, apologetic or sometimes hysterical with laughter – depending on the circumstances, naturally. It made him think of his parents too: well used to their kids sustaining injury, but still more concerned than they needed to be. The best memories he had were based on his time on the playing field, more often than not. Declan didn't let the odd broken limb or strained muscle taint those.
“To be fair, rugby's one of the more hazardous games. I was never as beaten up coming home from cross-country or swimming. Soccer... that can get bloody too. So can tennis, believe it or not. Especially if your partner gets careless with their racket.” He pointed out a small scar, a bright raised line on the surface of his forehead, resting just over his eyebrow. “I was never too enthusiastic about playing doubles after that.”
Rochelle's expression was both baffled and bemused, as she scoured his face. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had such an extensive conversation with someone he barely knew. It was both invigorating and exhausting, but Declan knew it would be coming to an end soon. The light that had suddenly engulfed them was affecting his vision, his eyes not conditioned to the brightness the forest had shaded him from. He realised that they were coming to the end of the trail, civilization growing closer with every step. Although he couldn't admit to being disappointed, he wondered whether- well, if he did see Rochelle again, would they be as at ease with each other as they had been today?
Somehow, he didn't think they could recapture the same atmosphere anywhere else. He'd always known there'd been something rather captivating about the wilderness surrounding the city and Declan had a hunch that, had he encountered Rochelle in one of Lake Owensway's parks rather than out here, he would have helped her up, ascertained she was in good health, before making a hasty departure. The rules of etiquette were different here in the woods and – glancing in Rochelle's direction – he was more than grateful for that.
Withdrawing his phone once more from his pocket, he scanned the clock on the main screen. More time had passed than he'd realised. His morning jog had lapsed into the afternoon. Sensing Rochelle's gaze on him, he twitched his phone gently at her. “I'll forward my number on to you, if that's ok?”

[Amy (In America - Busy atm)]

{name:Rochelle#|#picture:1}Rochelle listened to and observed Declan pensively. The more injuries he introduced her too, the more aware she was that in the fresh flow of afternoon light, silvery slithers laced his legs, arms, and eyebrow area. Her mind conjured images of him audaciously diving for a ball before a foot landed square in his face or crushed his fingers, at which point he exposed his evidently bent out of place little finger.

Rochelle wasn't the least bit squeamish in the face of these revelations, morbidly amused perhaps better suited her frame of mind. She hadn't always played it safe with capturing the moment. She'd been behind many that would have been priceless if only someone had had a camera. Being so much older than her younger siblings, as a child she'd had to play the role of son and daughter. It had been plain to see that she fit in much better with the young boys throwing mud-pies than the pink and frilly little girls who pedantically combed their dolls hair.

She'd been able to churn out the lengths of a pool in a metronomic way. She'd often beat the boys in her life at whatever games they suggested, usually making her the target. Rochelle had always loved the feel of the fresh air filling her lungs and driving her work-out. She'd also known that if she went home without a wound of some sort, she'd not given it her all. That is, until puberty hit. Her whole world and all she knew dissolved before her leaving her feeling nothing but swelling trepidation. The boys she'd previously surrounded herself with became foreign entities to her, passing her funny looks and talking in low whispers when she was around. The days of being open with one another were long gone. The girls she'd avoided for so long were pressed on to her, as were straighteners, make-up, gossip magazines and a domain which she struggled to grow accustom too. Her outdoor activities waned until the forest and woodlands were all she had left; no longer playing a manic game of tag in a rowdy group, just settling for a crippling jog alone.

Back then she'd spent many waking hours in Accident and Emergency guessing the number of stitches she'd need. For a short time she'd had to visit the opticians regularly after being hit with a solid rock filled snow ball in her left eye. Her leg was broken in two places after falling from a tree and her wrist in later years when she headed to a hill with the boys and some bin-liners after heavy rain. They called it 'summer sledging'; her parents had called it irresponsible.

The only time the athlete inside of her was on show in her teen years was during P.E lessons. Shins, ankles, shoulders, ribs, you name it, Rochelle added a bruise to it. She was tactical in sport, not to mention aggressive. Her team mates were a disappointment to her. They didn't excel in sports or see injury as a sign of an intensive game, they whined and made excuses. After years of isolation in the woods, Rochelle had acclimatised to her lonely work out.

As Declan changed topics she glanced up, wanting to hear more stories of how he'd sustained such infirmities and which still pained him today.

"Yeah, sure. I can let you know when any of my friends are free if you're still willing to play ball. I know this is personal, but you don't have a type to you? There's the red head, the blonde, the brunette and so on." Rochelle felt nerves assault her for a moment. Discussing meeting elsewhere, away from singing birds and limitless mystery was worrisome. In the woods Declan was enthralling and amiable to Rochelle. Could that change outside of leafy canopy?

Before she could stop herself she found that words poured from her lips. "You can always let me know if you need a running partner or someone to swim with. I know these woods like the back of my hand; I'm the best tour guide you're going to get. My prices are pretty competitive too." She offered Declan an earnest beam, hoping that her eyes were glittering in a way that would melt him. More than anything she wanted to distract from the fact that she'd just enquired about a date for a friend, before prompting him to in the most very basic way, to take her out. Adding 'as friends' now seemed a little awkward. Choosing to remain quiet Rochelle quelled her anxiety and listened as she heard cars on a road not too far away.

[Laura]

{name:Declan#|#picture:4}Declan had more or less forgotten about promising to meet with Rochelle's friends. With her reminder he felt a niggling sense of... annoyance. He envisioned the scenario briefly, relocating himself to some sort of bar or café, where he tried in vain to make conversation with a faceless woman that held no appeal for him. It seemed like a waste of time. Granted, he wasn't the best at building a rapport out of nothing more than a hasty introduction, but the cynic in him said that even if he was the best small-talker in Lake Owensway, little to nothing would come out of this arrangement. He just wasn't in the market for a relationship.
It wasn't that he wasn't ready for the commitment dating sometimes entailed. At twenty-four, he'd been around the circuit of brief flings and meaningless affairs before, and he had found it very tiring. Going out at night with the express intention of finding someone to end it with hadn't suited Declan. While his friends had loved this lifestyle – many of them were still living it – he had been resolutely uncomfortable with the whole concept. He dreaded the morning after, waking up with a hangover and a girl he wouldn't have looked at twice had he been sober. The worst part was, he'd never had the guts to bluntly tell an outright stranger that he wasn't interested. As a result, sometimes the charade had dragged out for a week or so, before either he or the girl called time on things.
In truth, Declan didn't think appearance played a massive part in who he was attracted to. Looks did come into it, but reflecting back on times and girls past, he realised that it was a personality type that seemed to draw him rather than any kind of physical trait. The girls he took a shine to were similar to himself: never the loudest people in the room yet not quite shy, retiring types either. Usually they had similar interests to him, were forces to be reckoned with on their chosen playing fields and in lots of ways they were female reflections of Declan himself. When he thought about it, those were the kind of girls he automatically gravitated towards.
Yet those relationships had collapsed too, if not quite as spectacularly as his others had. Eventually whatever spark had been kindled between them went out, and he and the girl in question went their separate ways, usually remaining friends. Although he didn't regret these occurrences, Declan wondered if he'd been better off just staying friends with those girls and diverting his attentions elsewhere, when that was all they'd end up being anyway.
All that aside, Declan was questioning just when he'd get to meet up with these friends of Rochelle's. He worked the hours most people set aside for socialising, five p.m. to one in the morning, Wednesday to Saturday. It was tough having a life outside work, when most social activities seemed tailored to people who had a nine-to-five regime.
“I... I don't know. A type?... I'm not making any promises that- you know. That anything will happen. So maybe we could leave all that out of it and just see how things go?”
He raked a hand through his hair and sighed, feeling unbelievably awkward. He really should have said no when Rochelle had made her offer, quick and simple. It seemed a bit late to backtrack now, when his companion was getting serious about it. She was looking at him now, sizing him up, perhaps screening potential candidates in her mind while he was wondering if there was any way to go back in time and alter his words.
A fleeting vision of Rochelle filtered through his mind, blue eyes sparkling, a huge smile on her face while she... asked him to ask her to go out with him? Not in that way, he counter-thought, feeling a rush of heat flow through him. There had been moments when he'd wondered whether Rochelle was looking at him with a more than friendly glimmer in her eye. Declan didn't know how he'd feel about that, if it were so, but it seemed a pointless thing to worry about. Not when she was here beside him, probably wondering whether he'd be more suited to her blonde, brunette or red-headed friend.
“We should go jogging sometime,” he said abruptly. He was smiling, but he felt oddly miserable inside. “Swimming either, though I'm not sure how companionable that would be. It might be a good idea to keep me around,” he said slightly teasingly, hoping she'd write off his embarrassment as a side-effect of cheekiness. In fact, the thought of himself and Rochelle together in a body of water, wearing considerably less than what they wore now, had him blushing and quickly trying to wipe the image from his mind. “I've got good reflexes; if your assailant tries to knock you over again, I might just be able to catch you and get him back for it.”

[Amy (In America - Busy atm)]

{name:Rochelle#|#picture:1}Is he back peddling? Rochelle queried herself, awestruck and eagerly hoping her thought was correct. Suggesting a single friend for her single new acquaintance had seemed a nice gesture earlier, when Declan was simply a stranger who'd helped her to her feet. Now, however, she felt she knew him a little better. It seemed almost cruel, given how fond she'd grown of him, to set him up for future failure and devastation. He, of course, had been nothing but polite and Rochelle knew in the back of her mind that lying on the floor, nothing but a bloody mess, she could have asked him for the moon and he'd have tried his best to satisfy her request.

"Or," she muttered unobtrusively. "We could give the whole thing a wide berth for a while. My friends spend a lot of time in the clubs, particularly Enigma. I guess your paths might have already crossed and you might not be that taken with them."

In truth her friends, single or spoken for, haunted the club seen on a nightly basis. They dolled themselves up, shopped until they dropped and then were let loose on the town. Some weekend mornings they'd stop by Rochelle's apartment with throbbing hangovers to nurse. And as she hunted for elusive packets of Ibuprofen they'd confess what little they could recall of the previous evening. Some days they'd suggest that she tag along. She wasn't proud to admit that on occasion she had. It always ended the same with everyone dispersing into a crowd the second they were through the doors, leaving her to appear as easy pickings.

Men had circled and leered, sniffed her, and eyed her in a manner that outlined quite clearly how little they had truly evolved since the Palaeolithic era. Each trip was a reminder of why the word 'no' was so firmly set in her vocabulary. She didn’t indulge in teasing the vultures as her friends did, unsure whether it was due to dissimilar experiences or desirers. She hadn't been party to that many relationships or carnal practices. She'd had boyfriends who had proved to be petulant and immature and the intimate moments they'd shared had been the source of constant discontent in her eyes. She'd gathered that her past involvements with men were to blame for making her present searches for another partner, even if just for the night, lethargic and unenthusiastic tasks.

Sometimes she'd considered just whether a stranger could shake her bad experiences and show her what it was she was said to be missing out on. It was an imagined vivid image of the morning after that made her recoil. Waking up in someone else's dirty sheets in complete undress with her dignity in tatters. It seemed a tall price to pay for mindless curiosity, and that was assuming she didn't go home with a psycho. Rochelle was decidedly happy with the way she lived her life, taking chances in other areas away from romance.

"Jogging and swimming it is then." Rochelle grinned at the sight of a faint lingering blush running across Declan's defined cheeks. She neglected to mention that she was quite capable of reducing a grown man to tears or vomit inducing agony. Being a girl in today's society had really made that a must in her books. Given how mindlessly flirtatious her friends could be, she often felt like the bouncer for the group. Whenever one of them started a scene Rochelle ended it. Whenever they'd led a man on only to later refuse him, Rochelle immobilised him. She was no damsel in distress, yet she didn't feel she needed to correct Declan.

The roaring of cars was growing closer, sending unease pulsing through Rochelle. Not only did she not want to leave Declan so abruptly, she didn't want to face a potentially awkward farewell which would have them both deleting one another's numbers.

"I still get my free cocktail though, right?" Rochelle Gave Declan a cheeky wink. "Even without playing matchmaker?"

[Laura]

{name:Declan#|#picture:4}“A free cocktail with a straw and any colour umbrella you want,” Declan promised solemnly, although he was returning Rochelle's infectious smile. He was grateful to her, for being more perceptive than he thought she was and for gently retracting her offer without making an issue of it. He'd lost the hollow feeling which had resided in the pit of his stomach, yet he felt so much lighter right then. If she asked, Declan would happily supply her with a truckload of margaritas, piña coladas and mojitos, granted she shed the notion of hooking up him with one of her friends.
Friends he might have already encountered, he thought as his grin faltered slightly. Enigma had a fair volume of tourists strutting in and stumbling out of its door each night and Declan had been working there long enough to distinguish between the holiday-makers and the regular clientèle. His shift was mostly consigned to bar work: sliding drinks across the counter, working the register and mopping up the alcohol drenching the wooden surface. As one of the more experienced and mature barmen, and the only one with prolonged experience in the field, he got to have fun showing off; twirling bottles, dicing limes and crushing ice to the delight of excited customers.
Occasionally when they were short-staffed, Declan ventured out from behind the counter, collecting glasses and making sure the bouncers were doing their jobs. Fights sadly weren't that rare in the club. Brash out-of-towners often clashed with indignant residents, causing insults, blows or both to fly. Normally all he had to do was radio the men at the doors to come and break things up; but once or twice he'd gotten caught up in the fray too. Declan could handle himself in those situations, being both taller and sturdier than the average aggressor, but he never relished having to intervene. All inhibitions long banished by the last round of shots, those hostile clients were often out for blood as they smashed glasses, threw punches and, more alarmingly, drew knives and other arms as the violence escalated. He'd be lying if he said he wasn't afraid when things took that turn. Thankfully, there'd been no major casualties on his shifts, apart from the odd stitches requirement.
The only other hazard Declan had to deal with was unwanted attention from the opposite gender. It wasn't something that really happened other than late on a Saturday night, when girls were out in force and looking to pull. It was fine when he was manning the bar, but he was fair game to any attention-seeking woman when he was in the midst of the crowd, trying to clean and clear tables. When the evening became early morning, they tended to overlook name tags and subtle work attire, throw whatever caution they had left to the winds and force themselves on him or any of the other male staff. Ever the professional, he dealt with things quietly, concisely and with as little drama as possible. However, Rochelle mentioning how her mates frequented Enigma had him wondering if he'd ever had to pry one of them from his person. His relief increased ten-fold, knowing that he wouldn't have to encounter them outside of work, now that the matchmaking deal was off.
Declan noticed his and Rochelle's pace had slowed further, and he suspected it had nothing to do with the lack of energy they had. If anything, he felt he could run the track again, though maybe that was just his mind's notion; his body might beg to differ. They were entering the car park now, where a few hired vehicles and coaches stood resplendent in the sunshine, paintwork gleaming and relatively unsullied by mud and dust. The road into the city buzzed with activity. Cars moved in both directions, making a lot of noise as they were at it.
Their odd little rendezvous was drawing to a close. He'd be turning off for Lakeview in just a few minutes, leaving Rochelle to head into the city. Remorse singed the edge of Declan's consciousness. He'd enjoyed their time in the forest more than he'd let on. “You've got a long way to trek before you get home,” he said a little sadly.

[Amy (In America - Busy atm)]

{name:Rochelle#|#picture:1}Rochelle's long strides subsided into baby-steps as they ebbed away from the greenery and the freshness of their acquaintance. Walking side by side with Declan, even in moments of eclipsing silence, had been time well spent in her books. Her hands throbbed cruelly and her bloodied knees were leaking from movement, though she knew with each painful step that Declan was responsible for easing her trauma. He'd even allowed for respite before they'd ambled free of the thick woodland.

She had a sneaking suspicion that there would be no synecdoche to their farewells. They would be succinct, later regretted, but not the last the two shared... or so an enthusiastic and somewhat delusional part of her adult mind had decided.

The ground turned to fresh gravel beneath the tread of her trainers. The uneven surface was a just cause for her knees to threaten to buckle under the new strain, yet, she kept a brave face, and semi-decent posture hoping her physical burdens would go unnoticed. The car park itself was full enough for an afternoon with ample people stood only a short distance away. She would have to maintain her composure or face humiliation at the feet of residents and tourists.

"Well, I suggest you save me a red umbrella and a yellow stripy straw. I figure I've got to come now, just to see if you're one of those smooth barmen with all the tricks, wooing the ladies," Rochelle joked. Some truth was in her words, she was looking forward to seeing how well Declan could entertain the night owls and just how chatty he was with them. She only harboured interest in such tasks because she knew, no matter how much training was offered, she would never have the hand eye coordination to be throwing slippery glasses and bottles in a dimly lit club. Small talk was also not her fine point. She had gotten by in the hotel business by some miracle, talking flatly and openly with customers about whatever their hearts desired – just none of the unnecessary stuff. Her inoffensive appearance was also rumoured to be useful.

"The walk isn't that bad, truth be told I need the time to mull some things over. It's been an interesting day." Her lips curled upwards as they soldiered on into the blistering heat, away from the shady protection provided by trees. Rochelle's mind hadn't waited for her and Declan's parting; it had already begun to wonder if he might deprive her of the torpor of a rainy day with an offer of physical activity. Something she knew she'd jump at to distract from the whirligig of her current predicaments.

Her feet became immobile as she saw her turning looming ominously into view, as did her least favourite part of social congregations. A blush flushed in her cheeks and her eyes widened as Declan observed her with concern in his warm stare.

"I, ugh, um, guess this is it. I'd give you a hug or something but, yunno," Rochelle held up her battered palms. Her t-shirt was painted in shades of red and brown and her legs were wet with a fresh coat of blood. A bath and a few plasters would be enough of a fix when she was locked in her apartment, for now she'd just have to suffer looking like the unfortunate victim of a kidnapping gone wrong.

"Though, you should call me about the jogging and swimming." That she could be open and firm about, that was black and white, the rules to that were not cloudy. "Oh, and uh, what times do you work and put on a show?"

[Laura]

{name:Declan#|#picture:4}Declan had been peering at Rochelle worriedly, wondering if her melancholic expression had anything to do with her injuries. The truth dawned on him as he glimpsed a nearby signpost for the city. The time for them to part had come. He'd realised as much, but knowing something would happen didn't have as much an effect on the psyche as the thing actually occuring.
A resigned smile tightened his features as he considered how to answer her question. ”I suppose your best bet is to come in on a Friday or Saturday. I'm there from opening to closing time, so there's a good chance you'll spot me at some stage. I'm there Wednesdays and Thursdays too, but if you're working on weekdays I know that mightn't be ideal...”
The dilemma with that was on those days, Enigma was deserted. The amount of staff members occasionally outnumbered the patrons. It meant that Declan would be more than available to chat to Rochelle, perhaps while repeatedly wiping the countertop so to have the appearance of being occupied. The weekend though would be a much more accessible time for her... as it was for all the rest of the city's young workforce, who flocked to the club then to let off a week's steam. No doubt Rochelle could make it, but a brief smile and maybe a harried exchange was the most she'd get from or even see of Declan, as he went about the job.
An earlier comment of hers had made him chuckle quietly. 'Smooth' wasn't a word often associated with him, though in the context of his line of work it was a fairly apt description. He wasn't the type to stop and chat to the people he was serving - male or female - but when they were blantantly not from the area and the bar was relatively quiet, he tended to inquire about their holiday and general, mudane things. He knew that he appreciated people taking a distanced interest, when he was new to the place himself.
”I'll call you so, whenever I'm thinking of heading off. Talk to you then I guess... unless you claim your complimentary drink beforehand.” Dithering a little bit over what to do next, he paused to simply look at Rochelle as she did likewise. He decided he liked her eyes. Blue was supposed to be a cool colour, but there was nothing cold about them, nor the way she was looking at him... nor the way that made him feel.
Smiling at each other, Declan put a hand on her shoulder. He gently squeezed it, as he said ”Mind yourself on the way back.” It wasn't so much the trip he was thinking about as he warned her, it was the thought of the place she inhabited. With her bloody knees and marked hands, she looked quite vulnerable in his eyes. He silently prayed no one in that dive of a complex would look at Rochelle and clock her as a potential victim.
From where he stood, hand on her shoulder and the distance between them low, it seemed a natural thing to step closer and brush his lips against the crown of her head. It was only as Declan was pulling back from Rochelle, swiftly withdrawing his hand, that he realised she might not have appreciated the gesture. He was a little anxious that he might have blown away all they'd built together today with a simple action, something that had been thoughtless but possibly destructive.
Well, he thought flatly, if that was the case he might as well tell her that at least he had gotten something from the experience. ”It was nice getting to know you,” he said simply, glad that his voice didn't falter or that he didn't blush. Declan figured he'd managed to do enough of that in the last hour.

[Amy (In America - Busy atm)]

{name:Rochelle#|#picture:1}A dumbstruck and dazed Rochelle blinked blankly back at Declan's coy demeanour. She nearly had to pinch herself in order to check that she were still stuck in a bizarre reality. When Declan's hand had soothingly gripped her shoulder, she couldn't help but feel naturally a little more comfortable. Something about that gesture alone had made Rochelle relax for a moment, oddly at ease with the space between them subsiding once more. Even when she saw that Declan was edging confidently closer and closer, she simply leant toward him, satisfied by the torrent of heat and elation that swept through her. The first thought she'd had that wasn't one of pure panic or admonishment, was one of great smug satisfaction for knowing his lips would be so soft.

"You're sweet," Rochelle said tenderly before Declan could palliate the motion. Her eyes caught his, admiring his composure. She was unable to shake the magnanimous image of Declan. One he'd helped build in a short afternoon spent with one another, and a simple peck on the forehead had only helped secure her view of him. When it was likely a girl and guy might never have to meet again, especially where they connected so well, it was so easy to fall into obstinate goodbyes. It was equally easy to fall into each other in a heated mistake and ruin whatever budding friendship there had been. Somehow, in her mind, this was as close to passable as you could get.

"I'm not sure when I'll see you next." A quick look at the clear blue sky and crowd of tourists ebbing nearer the woodland left a heavy weight in her stomach. Tourist season was usually done with by now, or at the very least fading out. Only this year there seemed to have been no real concept of an end. As one family abandoned a hotel room, another filled it. As one prestigious and prosperous merchant took residence in the penthouse suite, another five would be calling to book it. "Just a look at this car park tells me that my weekends will be non-existent for the next month. It's good I guess, as I could do with the cash, every little helps after all. They'll try and give me a bit of time to re-cooperate afterward, or I hope, so I might be free in the week sometime in the not so foreseeable future."

Rochelle's wry smile faded gradually as she measured the amount of work she'd suffer shortly. The hotel was colossal and keeping it clean took a whole department of staff. If other staff stayed the coming months then she might get by without feeling her tolerance thinning, though she knew they'd have university or prior commitments to go to and time to be had off. It was likely that she would walk in a find she was receptionist one day, maid the next, sports instructor shortly afterward, or any combination of the many roles all in one day.

The truth was that Enigma wouldn't in any way, shape, or form, fit in with her current schedule. Her days would leave her lethargic and anti-social and her false conversational tone would only continue while she reminded herself of the warm bed waiting for her at her apartment. An excuse to dress up and feel glamorous might be welcome after such solitude, and perhaps she'd even enjoy her time mingling with the rest of the human race in the clubs – she doubted it, though the thought was worth noting. The only thing that she would factor into her time management would be a run or swim, dependant on the weather. Even on a sizzling day she knew where the waterfalls and streams were, and would trade her usual activities for gorge walking or a dip in the icy pools. Of course, a free cocktail was also a good offer, and would have her hunting for a free few hours one evening.

"Let's make a deal, you call me if you need a partner for some sort of sport – providing its not tennis, and I'll call you when I'm after my free drink and a bartender to burden with all my woes." She was smiling once more, cheekily, watching as Declan listened to her words.