Look What the Wolf Dragged In

My roomie Mags, Maggie, Maggiekins (I reserve that to tease her to hell and back), or my personal favorite Maglite (the power went out once and she made a ball of light appear from her fingertips so I had to give her shit for that) just left a few minutes for some personal errands. I think that was code for Mage stuff, which I totally respect since I have the Immortal shit I deal with.

But that's besides the point. I was left to my own devices for several hours so you know what? I'm gonna enjoy the most of it and break this flat in with style.

I'm standing in back of the couch facing the stereo. With a quick flick of my hands, I hike up the collar around my neck to the white shirt I'm wearing. Sunglasses perfectly in place, I hit the remote control and Bob Seger begins to cue up. Throwing the control over my shoulder, I loosen up my shoulders, arms, hips and legs, waiting for the inevitable beat to blast out of the speakers.

Oh? Did I forget to mention I'm dressed in nothing else except my underwear and socks? Oh yes! This place is gonna rock like Tom Cruise in Risky Business. Don't give a flying fuck if the neighbor's complain. It's 3 in the afternoon! Michele wants to play!

...

OK. You're allowed to beat me for making up a HORRIBLE impromptu rhyme. Seriously.

Oh! Saved by the piano! Air guitar at the ready! I fall back into the couch. Hips in the air, I churn out the meanest rifts that would make anyone jealous as feat pound against cushions and I cry out in rock 'n roll bliss.

Within minutes there's a hammering at the door. A battered cardboard box in his arms, the kid in the hall balances on one Converse-clad foot and brays the toe of the other against the flat's front door.

“Gab! Gaaaab!” He loses his balance and stumbles against the door, pressing his ear to the grain for a moment.

“Wh- Gab, don't use Bob Seger like that. Don't make him a part of this. Come on. I meant to call you.. but my phone broke and I lost your number. In fact, a tramp nicked the phone! So if you had any dodgy calls, especially from someone sounding like me calling you a slag - well, it was the bloody tramp, playing some sick game!”

My jumping up and down on the cushions was rudely interrupted by someone smashing something against my door. This was ludicrous. It was unheard of. YOU DO NOT INTERRUPT BOB SEGER!

Incensed at this slight against humanity and all that was holy, I jumped off the couch and opened the door to some guy I've never seen before. If he were an Immortal, I woulda sense the buzz so I was bold enough to do this. Hell, I could take care of myself if something were to go down. I got skills.

"Look. I don't know where you think you are or who lives here, you got the wrong flat, OK?" I didn't mean to come off totally crossed, but I'm still panting after my little dance routine around the living room.

And shit. Shit!!! And totally half dressed and sweaty looking like he caught me in the middle of fucking somebody. Great. Ah well. The scene works either way though now my cheeks are flushed red with embarrassment! More fuel to add to the scene! Go me!

“G-ahhh!” Her voice is like a slap to the face and he sways backwards. He manages to keep his mouth from hanging open, gaping, but a smile starts to edge onto his lips as he shifts the weight of the over-packed box he's carrying.

“I was after Gabby. Gabby Arkless? I'm Conor. We, ah, went out a few months ago. She probably mentioned me... no? I'm sure she did. Anyway, I can come in and wait if she's not around. Whatever you were in the middle of,” he glances down at her bare legs and swallows, “You can just.. get on with it. I'll just wait on the couch, no bother.”

This is annoying. What part of shaking my head no does not translate into the British head? Maybe I need to pop him one to make things clearer, but I play nice.

"Look. There's no Gabby here. Just me and my roomie, Mags. So please," I shoo him away to get the hint across that I really don't want to be bothered, "If you mind ..."

I begin to shut the door to make this case final.

He jams his foot in the doorway, immediately regretting that choice as the door slams against it.

“Ah, jesus!” He hisses through his teeth, almost dropping the box. “It's just that she's got some stuff of mine, pants an' that...” She isn't looking convinced. He wedges his shoulder into the opening. “Look, right – I don't know what she told you, but it's all a load of balls! I would never do something like that with a banana, fer christ's sake!”

That's it. Hand against his chest, I shoved him back into the hallway. If that didn't give him the hint, the look on my face would. I am not sure how the old Michele Hawkins mean face would be, but this was brows thinly dipped into cold eyes that was sick of this crap.

"I don't care what's going on with you and here, but she's doesn't live here anymore. Now you either leave quietly, or I call the cops." I take my hand back and glare. "Your call."

The box drops out of his arms and hits the floor, the cardboard seams threatening to burst as a mismatched heap of socks, shirts and various other scruffy looking miscellanea spills out onto the hallway floor.

“The cops?!” It's hard to say what's more horrifying: the threat of the police intervening, or the use of the word cops. As a young offender, it's probably the latter.

He stoops and fumbles bits and pieces back into the box. “But – I haven't got anywhere to go. Don't make me go back out there, please. I went down the homeless place but.. there's this geezer there who looks at me funny. Like he's just waiting for me to go to sleep so he can have his wicked way, I know it! Just let me doss on your couch for one night. I'll pay, I've got cash! I swear on me nan's life!”

Great. Now I almost feel bad, but what the hell am I suppose to do? Allow a random stranger in here with some far fetched story of a Gab that lived here? I mean, what if this guy is after Mags? I wouldn't allow anything to happen to her. Not after what she did for me.

My eyes stray to the box he had. Either he was a good liar with props, or he really was homeless. The sort of limited stuff he was carrying made his story more convincing, and the fact it didn't smell like he showered in some time.

"Look, I can't just say yes. I'm not the only one that lives here. I'm sorry." My voice softened a bit, understanding his plight. I lived on the streets for a stretch until ... someone took me in.

Damn. I got the major pains of guilt overloading on me.

"Stay right there. Gonna make a phone call."

I close the door and lock it, taking a moment to rest myself against the frame sighing. "Hawkins. What're you doing?"

I pad over to my cellphone and dial Maggie. I haven't decided yes on this crazy idea yet, but I'm sure as hell not gonna say sure, come on in, and have this guy in the place for Maggie to come home to and go 'Surprise!' Yeah. That would go over well.

Maggie took a step out of the flow of traffic as she fumbled in her purse for the vibrating brick that was her phone. It was practically a relic, the kind of thing archaeologists would be uncovering in twenty-first century digs in years to come. The display flashed on and off, displaying the callers name in chunky letters. She smiled, pressing the phone to one ear and her empty hand to the other to drown out the sounds of people chatting and cars crawling their way along the packed streets of central London.

“Chele. What's up?”

“I – wait!”

But it's too late. The doors just slammed shut in his face. Conor stares down at the doorway, or rather where a pair of legs used to be. Then he looks back at his box – full of his worldly possessions, what little they are – and feels a sudden uprising of anger, which is channelled uselessly into booting the box, sending it skidding a foot or so across the hallway.

“Shitting shit!”

"Um, hey Mags." I chew on my lower lip and look at the front door wincing. Yeah, I heard the swearing.

"I got a bit of a problem at our place. Long story short, a guy name Conor is outside the door and looking for a Gabby um, crap. I forgot. Doesn't matter unless you have any idea of who the hell's he asking about?"

“Connor who? Connor MacLeod?”

Maggie lifted her eyes, seeing but not really paying attention to the crowds passing by. All around, London was in full motion with commuters and tourists alike somehow failing to clog up the city's arteries. Immersed in the crowds, it might have been easy for Maggie to forget that she wasn't one of them, wasn't normal. At least, if she had not of been carrying the ominously titled Book of Shadows inside her purse.

“Um, I don't know who had the flat before us. The landlord didn't mention anything when I handed the papers over. What does he want? Does he look like, you know....” Maggie turned her back to the crowds and tried to think of the word she was looking for. “Odd, at all?”

I sighed heavily into the phone. "Woman. If it were Connor MacLeod we wouldn't be having this conversation. I woulda let'em in!"

Fiona told me all about him so I knew who that Connor was. "No this is a Conor with one N. And honestly, I'm not sure if he's special or not. I didn't see any overt tells. He's a homeless guy that wants to spend the night cuz he's got no place to go. He seems legitimately desperate since he wants to pay too."

“A homeless guy?”

Within her line of sight, Maggie could see at least one down and out beggar. They were everywhere in big cities, but it was news to her if they were moving from the streets into door to door begging.

“That sounds... weird? I mean, we could use the money, of course – but... I dunno. Seems like it would be asking for trouble, don't you think?”

"Well, yes it's weird! And yes, this could be trouble but-" I pause and saw how desperate the guy was. It's really hard to fake that when I've seen it all too many times back in Chicago. Doesn't matter that I traveled over an ocean and found myself in England. That downtrodden, tired look that someone loves kicking you around for being the dregs of society is hard to replicate for someone that young.

I think.

"Damn, Mags. I'm not sure. If he's off, you could tell better then me. For all the good the Quickening does me, I can't figure out what's what. I could keep him at sword point until you come home?" I half tease.

“Remember when I told you that there'd be some parts of American and British culture that wouldn't exactly gel? Welcoming a guest into your home at sword point is one of them.”

As she walked, Maggie passed a Big Issue vendor. “Issue, miss?” Maggie shook her head, trying to focus on the barely audible crackling of Michele's voice. The vendor spat and grunted something colourful; all Maggie could do was glance back at him, mouth hanging open.

“He's probably just a normal kid but, just...”

Was she about to tell Michele to be careful? Michele, the Immortal, who spent a good deal of her time learning how to efficiently lop the heads off of her potential enemies? Maggie sighed.

“Put the kettle on. I'll be on the tube home in about ten minutes.”

Mags sense of humor was as bad as mine. Why we get along so well.

"All right. Be safe." I close my phone and sigh. At least it would be better with Mags here. She has better insight into this nonsense then I do. Fi had better instincts with her 1000+ years of experience to know when someone was of the supernatural variety. My Magey roommate just knew.

I look out through the peephole. Conor was still there, looking dejected and angry but he wasn't trying to do something malicious. So far ...

The door opens wide and I wave him inside. "My friend will be here in ten minutes. Have a seat while I get presentable."

But before I do that, I walk into the kitchen and grab the kettle. If there isn't any hot water ready by the time Mags get back, she'll be cranky. After filling the pot, I turn on the stove and throw Conor a look before I head to my bedroom and find some pants.

It was as if someone had flicked a light-switch, scattering the shadows away from Conor's face and replacing them with a cheek to cheek grin. He scooped up the box of his belongings, standing one leg and balancing the box against a knee as he adjusted his grip, then followed Michele inside. Already familiar with the layout of the ground floor, he found himself a spot on the couch.

“Oh! Don't go out of your way, on my behalf. What's.. presentable anyway?” He threw one arm across the back of the sofa and strained to get a look at Michele's hips as they swayed their way into the kitchen. He sucked a breath between his teeth, though quickly yanked his gaze from her arse to her eyes when she paced back in his direction.

“What did you say your name was?”