Home Is Where My Heart Beats Loudest (FINISHED)

[Daniel “Lykaon” Myr]

As he irritatedly fumbled through the vast amount of keys that he kept on a single keyring Lykaon made a mental note to sift through and separate them out into a more orderly fashion. A majority of the keys were to several rented out storage facilities, one for his locker on Memorial Island, a few to the Forge back in Colorado and a couple that he honestly had no idea about. After unsuccessfully attempting the third key he shot Trisha a sheepish grin--truth be told he didn't come home that often and he was usually off spending his days and nights either hunting, on Memorial Island or he flew out back to the Forge. The fifth key on the ring appeared to be the right one and he stared down at the three large, gawky teeth that made it distinct from the others in a feeble attempt to let the image imprint into his mind.

Dropping the key he let it fall back into the mass of metal along with its brothers and he muttered dryly, "Fuck it. Entering the building he made a beeline for the letter boxes that lines one side of the wall, his eyes quickly finding his own and his hands dialing in the combination with a practiced ease; numbers he was a whiz at remembering, but keys... fuck 'em. Opening the small door he had to catch a few of the letters that spilled out--the thing overflowing.

The look on his face showed little surprise and he simply tucked the many envelopes and even a random magazine or two under one armpit before turning towards the stairs, "I'm afraid there is no elevator, Sugar Tits. I'm the fifth floor up." The apartment complex he lived in was tall, ten stories high, but only had four rooms per floor. He had landed a small studio apartment smack dab in the center and he found it comfortable during the times he chose to use it.

Leading the way up the stairs he smirked as they passed each floor with new scents and sounds greeting them as they climbed upwards. While he had not met many of the other tenants he knew a little bit about all of them; the sixth floor had a Russian with a great fondness for Opera and would often blare it during the early morning hours; the second floor had several rooms of Hispanics and the aroma of their food inevitably drifted up to the fifth floor to make his stomach rumble. Behind every door was a different person, a different personality and a new human being who, in such tight corners, could not help but let a little of his/her own life spilling over into the next person's. Such were the way of apartments--Daniel liked it.

Reaching his own floor he drew out the one key he did know by touch and feel and he opened the door that led into the apartment. The darkness was impressive and he flung his hand out to the side to find the light switch by pure luck. Pausing in the doorway he took a minute to remember exactly what his own apartment looked like.

A small, white loveseat sat directly in front of him facing a 24" flat screen TV that hung on the wall. Pressed into the opposite wall was a kitchenette area complete with a hot plate, microwave oven, a small, compact refrigerator and even a small sink. Further in lay a white, many cubed bookshelf that served as a makeshift wall between the apartment's living room and bedroom. Sitting in a few of the shelves spaces were books spanning a variety of topics from archaic, Greek mythology to knock-knock jokes. Sitting alone was a picture of he and his brothers all perched in their favorite climbing tree back in Colorado--the younger ones lay comfortably in the crooks of lower, broader branches while the more daring and older were seated precariously on the thinner ones above.

A few small bronze statues lay isolated and seemed to pick out the Hunter's favorite moments in Greek lore. One sculpture immortalized the hero Perseus as he held up the head of the slain Medusa to turn the deceitful, prideful Polydectes and his noblemen forever into stone; another portrayed the skilled Orpheus serenading Lord Hades, God of the Underworld along with his bride Persephone in an attempt to retrieve his beloved Eurydice; and so it went on from there. Lying on the other side of the bookcase lay his bed, clad with clean, pristine white sheets and within walking distance was a small bathroom.

"Welcome home..." The Hunter spoke without thinking to himself and his guest, feeling just as alien as she in the space before him. Moving his feet towards the kitchenette he filled the strange air with words, hoping he would grow more comfortable with each passing second, "You don't mind garlic pasta, do you? It's one of the few dishes I know how to make and I typically always have the ingredients around." Not waiting for an answer he let his hands go to work as they pulled the ingredients and tools needed from places familiar to them.

Tossing his head toward the bathroom he offered a few more words to Trisha, knowing she was probably desiring one just as much as he was, "A towel and cloth should be lying in there for a shower. You should wash and warm yourself up." Flashing a warm smile at her he realized he must have looked a little goofy with a few cloves of garlic filling up each hand so without any more words or glances her way he again busied himself with the act of cooking.

[Trisha Morello]

Trisha had begrudgingly told him her name, but he still seemed to prefer his little nickname for her. She wanted to slap him every time he said it, but instead she put on an amiable smile. If she was going to milk this guy for everything he was worth, she needed to get on his good side. But he was opening up his home to her, so that must mean she was on the right track, right? She watched him fumble with his keys and she quirked a thin, dark eyebrow at him. It seemed like he didn't even know his own apartment complex. When they got inside, he went to his mail box and it was flooded with mail. Again, another hint to her that he didn't spend that much time here. So what else could he possibly be doing? Probably sleeping over at other women's places. That was her first bet.

She only ignored his comment about the elevator and followed him up the stairs. She didn't feel comfortable here. She didn't feel comfortable around him. It wasn't that he was strange or she got a weird vibe from him. It was more that she just didn't enjoy company in general. She couldn't stand being around people, especially people who gave her a smile. She just wanted to be miserable in her own fucking corner. So she had learned to ignore people and the different aromas that came from the other floors fell on deft ears... or nostrils rather. She didn't give them any of her attention. It was pointless to think about that stuff.

He led her into his apartment and her dark eyes darted around the room, taking in all the valuable objects that lined the floor. There wasn't really anything she could take out on her own. She couldn't exactly take his love seat or his television. It was a bit too large for her to carry. Though it did look valuable. She'll have to figure something out. She was going to be the worst house guest known to existence. But did he even spend enough time here to use this shit? She wondered.

At his mention of pasta, her stomach instinctively growled and she clicked her teeth irritably. He motioned to the shower and she caught a whiff of herself. Ugh. She smelled like stale beer. It was disgusting. And her hair was still damp with beer. That bastard. Her face grew red with anger for a moment and lost pride. She let the guy who poured two pints of beer on her bring her home? How pathetic. Clenching her fist, Trisha stomped to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her. She quickly removed her clothes and kicked them to the side and hopped in the shower, not caring about the temperature even as it chilled her to the bone. She just needed to get the stench off her.

She was in there for a good hour and when she came out, she didn't exactly know what to wear aside from the towel. She cursed under her breath. She wrapped a towel around her and the smell of the food his her nose. She really hated this feeling. It was a helpless feeling. Like she was depending on this man. She hated that. Hated herself for it, too. Then she saw that he had some clothes hanging next to the towel. She threw on his shorts, having to pull the string tightly so that it would stay up and threw on the shirt. Oh well. She would have had to have worn his shit anyway.

She walked out of the bathroom, drying her hair with the towel.

"Nice place..." she said blandly. "You don't spend much time here... do you?" she turned a harsh eye to him, raising an eyebrow as she did so.

[Daniel “Lykaon” Myr]

The air was filled with the sound of water hitting Trisha's body and a vague image of her flashed again through his mind, but he was easily able to push it aside as the task at hand stole his concentration. The oil was being brought to heat and he sprinkled a handful of different spices onto it, letting the flavor of olive sink into the herbs. Being the oldest of the family it was often his responsibility to cook while mum and dad were off on a "business trip" and pasta was a favorite dish of him to make as it could fill the two requirements for feeding seven boys with ease; quantity and quality.

Furrowing his brow he frowned at the cooking pasta as though it had greatly offended him. What was he doing letting a dirty-mouthed, underfed and good-for-nothing miscreant like her into his apartment? His frown deepened, but before he could get a further thought in he heard the bathroom door swing open.

Looking up he noted the harshness that was ever-present in the touchy girl's eye and wondered what could ever drive a person to be so bitter, so tortured at every moment that drove them to never smile, to never appreciate another. For a brief second his eyes drifted towards the picture of his lost brothers and he felt the grief beginning to amass in the center of his chest, he felt the anger balling his hands into fists.

Breaking free from his lips his words lashed out with a brutal venom, "You have a place to stay... can't you just say thank you?" Immediately he regretted his outburst, moodily grabbing a plate before piling on a steaming mass of hot, oily noodles, throwing on a few cubes of fresh tomato and a handful of sauteed, tail-less shrimp.

The man thrust the plate out to her, jamming a fork with a diffused sort of anger into the soft noodles and mumbling at his feet, "Just... shut up and eat." His appetite gone he double checked to make sure the hot plate was off before brushing past her small frame and slamming the bathroom door just as she had--maybe a long, hot and steamy shower would relax his body and mind enough so he didn't end up throwing the thin, starved girl back out onto the street.

[Trisha Morello]

His words hit her hard and for a moment, she felt her heart sink into her stomach. Just say thank you... Was it really such a hard concept to grasp? Was it really so hard to say? Could it really be such a struggle for her to spit out two simple words? But as he heatedly grabbed a plate of food and thrust it at her, she felt the urge to thank him leave her as quickly as this pasta was about to leave the plate. He told her to shut up and eat and she opened her mouth to throw a few curse words at him, but he had stormed to the bathroom and slammed the door. A look of indignation crossed her features, like she was insulted by his behavior - like it was undeserved. She felt the sudden urge to throw the plate of food at the closed bathroom door but when she looked down at it and the smell his her nose, she felt that hunger hitting her again.

She shrugged and grabbed the fork, stabbing a few noodles before shoving them into her mouth greedily. It tasted wonderful and she rolled her eyes and moaned slightly before stabbing the plate and and shoving more into her mouth. Trisha didn't bother putting the plate down and she didn't bother sitting at the table even as the plate was hot on her hand. She meandered around his apartment, looking at his belongings and just generally being an incredibly nosy person as she continued to shove food into her mouth sloppily. She couldn't really remember she had a real home-cooked meal. It was... probably the night she left her parents. Before she went out to me Him, her mother had cooked the family lamb chops with mashed potatoes and gravy and green beans. But she pushed the thought of the last meal with her family right out of her mind. It didn't do her any good to think about them. It was best to consider them dead.

Trisha roamed and she stopped at a bookshelf, looking at the collection of books. So... he was smarter than he looked. It surprised her, but then her eyes caught a glimpse of a group of boys. It was too easy for her to pick her host out of the group and it didn't surprise her that he was the most daring. She rolled her eyes and clicked her teeth.

"Stupid boys..." she grumbled with a full mouth. She recalled the neighborhood boys she used to play with and they would always dare each other to due idiot things, but Trisha was foolish enough to join them. She usually lost whatever they were betting just because they were stronger than her, but she usually always kicked their asses to the dirt afterward.

It took her only a few minutes to finish the pasta and she still felt hungry, so she grabbed seconds, not feeling guilty for not asking and ate it just as quickly. Sated, she tossed the bowl onto the table along with the fork. No, she wasn't going to bother putting that shit in the sink. Not her apartment. She didn't have to clean up after herself.

There had to be something of value here... Something she could put into her pocket. So she started snooping in the 'bedroom' that was shielded by the bookcase. She started going through his drawers and she noticed the gathering dust. Did this guy ever sleep here? She rolled her eyes as she went through his things, finding a valuable looking watch. She smirked to herself and noted its location. She wasn't going to take it just yet. She made her way back to the living room and sat on the loveseat, putting her booted feet up on the coffee table.

[Daniel “Lykaon” Myr]

He had shed his is clothes and had abandoned them to lay in a sad, lonely pile at the foot of the door along with a good deal of the stress and worry that was a result of his time with Trisha--no, Sugar Tits. The thought of his pet name for her and the irritation it caused her brought a demented smile to his face as the near scalding hot water rained down on his body.

Reaching out with his eyes still closed he ended the water's flow, but remained where he was as he breathed in the hot, steamy air that had taken over the small room. Running his hands through his hair he squeezed the dark strands and was rewarded as the still hot water ran down his face once more. Daniel was forever a hot shower guy and as soon as his supply of heated water began to diminish he immediately shut it off and began to preserve the last vestiges of truly hot water instead of that luke warm bullshit.

Stepping out he wrapped a towel around his waist, his hands automatically reaching toward the place where his shorts and shirt usually lay only to grasp at nothing but air. Oh, yeah--he had a short, grubby guest. Not that he could really call her grubby after she had washed up, but he still couldn't justify not insulting her at least once in his head whenever she was involved. With no other option at hand he left the bathroom, flinching slightly as the much colder air swept mercilessly over his form and instantly wicked it of much of its warmth.

Hurrying over to his drawers he caught the sight of Trisha's booted feet on the small coffee table and he found himself staring. The worn seams and faded color giving away the old age--did she own anything even remotely new? Frowning he moved his eyes off the boots and down to his dresser, raising one eyebrow pointedly as he spotted the thin layer of dust atop it.

Money had never been a problem for Daniel for one glaringly obvious and depressing reason--life insurance. He had spent a good period of time mourning their deaths while being suspect number one for their own murders. Once the air cleared of course he found himself alone, isolated and with more money than he had ever thought existed in the world.

Having said this he felt a little guilty for not appreciating what he had more. Many people would kill to have something as simple as the living space he had here and yet he rented this place out while barely using it. Sure, he could have easily got something bigger and better with the money at his disposal, but why pay for a place that would only gather dust? Someone like Trisha might actually put this place to good use, might actually make it feel like her own home instead of the sterile environment that it was right now.

His eyes made their way to the clean, untouched sheets of the bed and he couldn't even remember the last time he had slept there. Pulling himself out of his thoughts he quickly snatched up a suitable set of clothing before disappearing back into the bathroom to change with the fragmented pieces of an idea shuffling through his head.

A thoughtful air lay about his body as he emerged from the bathroom, a simply gray t-shirt and a pair of navy blue sweatpants clothing him. Automatically he swept the bowl up from the table, tossing it into the sink before he began to shovel the heaping amounts of leftover pasta into a Tupperware container; he still hadn't quite gotten down the knack of not cooking mass amounts of food.

Snapping the lid down on the pasta he let his eyes find the back of Trisha's head as he tried to stare in that mind of hers that confused him so. "Trisha... do you like it here?" The question was a simple one and the tone he used had mixed feelings for it bordered upon eager, but had a dulled quality to the edges of it that made him seem almost apathetic about the response at the same time.

Nevertheless, he found himself falling resoundingly silent after asking as the entirety of his body awaited the answer.

[Trisha Morello]

Trisha sat there with her feet on his coffee table, fiddling with her fingers. She glanced at the remote on the table and then at the TV but two things were holding her from pressing the power one. One, there was always that awkward moment where you tried to figure out just how their damned systems worked. Some people had ten different remotes for one home entertainment system while others had one remote with different settings. It was too much of a hassle to try and figure that shit out. And two... she didn't really feel like watching TV. It was depressing in a way. Watching TV added to a sense of normalcy, one she hadn't felt in months. Normal to watch TV while her mom cooked dinner and her dad entered the living room after a long day's work. He would ruffle her hair and put his arm over her as they watched whatever mindless show was on.

Ugh, she really had to stop thinking about her damned parents. But they wouldn't leave her fucking mind. Trisha cringed and tugged at her hair, as if she was trying to yank the thoughts from her mind. She groaned, barely resisting the urge to kick the table as she threw her head back in frustration. At that moment, she heard the door to the bathroom open. She craned her head in time to see a retreating figure rushing to the bedroom. She only caught a glimpse but she had caught his well toned body and she raised her eyebrows before slowly turning back around.

"Fucking jocks," she amended to herself. She heard the bathroom door close again before opening once more. She didn't bother to turn around this time. She heard noises coming from the kitchen and she had to kick the image of her mother from her mind. Damn it, that woman kept sniveling in.

But his question caught her off guard. And she tensed noticeably. Did he want her to stroke his ego about his apartment? Oh, yes, it's lovely. You have really liven up the place. Oh, you have so much money! Sleep with me! Trisha rolled her eyes and took in a deep breath before coming to an abrupt stand. She had to quickly grab the shorts she was wearing as they hung loosely around her hips. She crossed her arms over her slender chest and shrugged, looking around.

"The white's a little tacky," she answered in the same tone as his - apathetic on the surface, but she was curious why he would ask. She was positive it was to heighten his ego. She glanced at his picture again. "A little too sentimental, too." She quirked an eyebrow at him.

[Daniel “Lykaon” Myr]

Daniel had been homeless once--granted it had been for a very, very short amount of time, but it had happened. When the Lycans had hunted down his six brothers the more insignificant fact of that night was that they completely tore and burned his house down. He could still remember the searing heat of the flames as he rushed in regardless of the danger to retrieve one thing from the ravenous clutches of the all-consuming fire; a photo album. One part of said album lay on his bookshelf at that very moment and a very dark, tortured part of himself was not going to sit idly by as she poked, jibed or insulted the only tangible reminder of what he lost that night.

"That part of this apartment stays." A fresh tone of anger and hurt empowered his words and his eyes darkened with a shadow that warned against a retort. Relenting slightly he moved his eyes off of Trisha so that they stared into the pasta in front of him, "And you can stay too... if you want." Gnawing at his lower lip he added in a voice that was diminishing more and more by the second, "And I am talking about even after tonight--see, I don't really use this place that often."

He found himself entirely speaking to the garlic noodles now, which made this a whole lot easier as he could only imagine the expressions crossing his guest's face right now. It wasn't everyday you were offered a new place to live... for free. Now talking simply out of nervousness he let his mouth carry on, "My work takes me places and often for extended periods of time. This place just sits empty and it seems like a bit of a waste of my rent." Turning his back to Trisha he found a place for the remainder of the pasta in the fridge and neatly tucked it into place.

Truth be told he wasn't quite sure what he wanted Trisha's answer to be. While he had offered her a place to live he couldn't quite fill up a giant hole of doubt that lay in his chest that maybe this wasn't a good idea, that maybe it was all going to come around to bite him in the ass at the end. However, he could not deny the fact that a good deal of him WANTED her to be her, despite the fact that she was rude, crude, unladylike and not even that appealing to the eye.

Keeping his eyes off her he went to pull some sheets for himself out of a small closet--a part of him absolutely mystified at how the turn of events tonight had even gotten him to the situation he was in now.

[Trisha Morello]

His tone caught her by surprise and she couldn't help but wonder what it was about his past that made him react so strongly. She saw this man as one dimensional - someone who had the looks and flaunted them accordingly. She saw him as someone who got what they wanted when they wanted it. Someone inconsequential to her, but of magnificent importance to the rest of the world. Someone who would never be on her level of misfortune. She had the worst of it, didn't she? No one else has suffered like she had. No one else could say they understood her pain because there was no way of putting her agony into words. The fact that someone's past was just as dark as hers was... hard to swallow.

Much like her pride. Was it possible to swallow pride that was as big as the empire state building? Here he was, the man she had had a bar fight with, offering her his apartment. She blinked a few times, her hands falling to her sides and her mouth hanging open. He wasn't even looking at her as he made the offer. Why would he offer her this place? For free? What? Altruism - that shit just didn't exist. There was no such thing as selflessness. And she would have expected Daniel to be the most selfish of them all - all the beautiful people were. Her brow furrowed as he continued to speak, more so out of nervousness she noticed. He finally put the pasta into the fridge to look at her and she made sure that she closed her mouth and evened out her face. She cleared her throat awkwardly as she recrossed her arms.

She just... couldn't figure him out. She thought, since the moment he started talking to her in the bar, that she knew exactly what kind of person he was. Trisha liked to pride herself in understanding people and their motives when in reality, she was just a cynical bitch who painted everyone in a negative light, which was usually how they were. So she wasn't wrong often, but she had been proven wrong by Daniel again and again. It frustrated her and in a sense... fascinated her, but she would never admit to that, not even to herself. There had to be a catch - some kind of... twist in the tale that she just couldn't grasp. Something was wrong.

"...What's in it for you?" she finally asked, the uncertainty clear in her voice despite her attempt to mask it with apathy. It would be stupid of her if she didn't realize what an opportunity this was. If she could stay here, she wouldn't have to worry about living in that crummy apartment with that old hag of a landlord. And... someone would be paying her rent? It just didn't add up. Her frustration grew as she tried to wrap her mind around it all. "I just don't get you," she vented before catching herself. "Why would you offer me to stay here? What kind of work do you do? Don't you think you could find someone else more your tastes to stay here? Don't expect anything out of me." The last words were apparent with her offense. If he expected her to... trade him something like that in return. The thought sickened her, but it was the only explanation she could think of.

[Daniel “Lykaon” Myr]

The door of the closet opened and he blinked as he stared at all the... white. Man, he really needed to get a splash of color in this place somewhere, but he supposed he never noticed the dull, monochromatic environment that was "his" apartment. Every visit here since the day he moved into this place became shorter and shorter until he was only stopping in once or twice a month at the most. However his compulsions always drove him to keep everything orderly and neat--the onset of dust really couldn't be helped.

Thumbing through the sheets he grabbed a set and tossed them over his shoulder, his hands finding two fluffy pillows immediately thereafter already in cases. Turning back he was met full on with her small tirade and, surprisingly, he didn't feel even the inkling of irritation at her. Perhaps it was because she hadn't sworn once during the whole thing? Or maybe it was because he understood the sort of situation he was subjecting her to. Even without knowing of the existence of monsters it was very easy to label this world as cruel, merciless and cutthroat with each person trying to claw his/her own way to the top.

In doing this, in having Trisha off the streets and living here it might make this place feel more...more.... human? His mind scrunched together as it tried to divine the meaning behind his own actions for he had moved forward with this plan without much thought, but merely out of a notion stemming from impulse. Still, he was puzzled and uncertain and his mind was doing nothing productive at this moment so he let another spark of impulse guide his body and he found himself throwing a pillow at Trisha's face, a wave of relaxation washing over him as he performed the act.

"Get your head out of the gutter." Breaking the tension for himself he continued on in a light tone as he moved over to the couch and unfolded the sheets to set up his bed for the night. "I do consulting so I am always away from here, I go where my clients are." He smiled at her with a faint shadow of sadness lining his lips--ever since he lost his home as a child he had never quite got about to reclaiming it. What with his loss Daniel had been so caught up with revenge that he had let the discovering of his armor, the training on Memorial Island and the hunting of monsters consume his life. He had no time to be settling down, he was on the move too much to stake a place out on this Earth that he could truly call his own.

"I'm trusting and respecting you, Trisha. All I ask is you think about doing the same for me." The smile on his lips felt genuine and it only caused his cheerful expression to broaden further. Perhaps this little vagabond could fill the gap in his life he had been missing ever since that fateful night. Perhaps.

[Trisha Morello]

He seemed just as lost for an explanation as she was, and in reaction, he chucked the pillow to her. She caught it, flinching slightly at the action. She felt the soft fabric along her fingers and she softness of the pillow under the pressure of her hands. When was the last time she slept on something so comfortable. Home... Her mind kept flying back to her home and her parents. She didn't even finish her first year of college. What was she going to study? She'd thought about a few things like Psychology or Art History or even Pre-Med. She had had a plethora of different options in front of her, but she never really realized what a gift they were.

She looked down at the pillow, relief filling her as he brushed off her assumption with lightheartedness. What would she have done if that's what he expected of her? Would she had agreed and closed her eyes as it happened just so she could have a nice place to stay or would she have slapped him and stormed out. In all honesty, both didn't seem too far from her as options, as much as it sickened her to admit.

Trisha followed him as he made his way to the couch and started making a bed. She expected to be sleeping in the living room, not him. Did she want to sleep in his bed? The thought felt... wrong to her. But since when did she concern herself with etiquette? He told her he was trusting and respecting her, words she never thought she would hear someone say to her. She recoiled noticeably and blinked a few times as she stared at him. She wanted to call him on his bullshit - to shout at him and tell him to stop playing games with her.

She looked down at the pillow before she grabbed the end of it and slammed the other end against his face, against that genuine smile of his. "Fine," she said reluctantly. "But I'm not sleeping in that bed of yours tonight. Who knows what you've done in there. I almost feel like you would have brought that stupid bartender back here." Trisha thought about it for a moment and shuddered. "Ugh... Have you no taste?"

She was warming up to him... admittedly, she had a strange way of showing her appreciation. But she wasn't spewing curse words at him or throwing punches. Instead she was throwing pillows and light taunts.... not too far off. How did kindness work now? So much had changed. She felt like she'd lost that touch of herself.