Out of the blue [and into the black] {Del}

[Detective Kevin Slame]

What If I fall along the way would
You be there to ease the pain?
It's my one shot can't fuck it up
And throw it away. Won't be long.
Won't be long before I break.

[/i]




Sometimes, it just didn’t pay to get out of bed in the morning.
And it was even worse for a guy, if he was determined to keep a sunny disposition around his head. Yeesh. The world was just a friggin crazy place.

“What do ya have for me, Donny?” The younger officer standing in front of the yellow caution tape jumped a foot, his thin hand flying to the butt of his gun. Blinking as he realized who he was talking to, his face relaxed and stance straightened.
Right out of the academy, this one was.

“Got a murder, Detective Slame.” The kid replied, blinking sleepy brown eyes at the crime scene in front of them.

Well…duh. Anyone standing in front of a practically burned out building would think of ‘murder’. But wait for it, the kid just needed a bit of steam…

“I was the first on the scene. There’d been reports of fighting and gunshots, so my partner and I headed over; we were the closest to the apartment.” The officer went on, running a hand through his hair. Said ‘partner’ was nowhere to be seen; probably off playing ‘secure the scene’ with the other greens. “When we got here, the place was smoking, and there was a…body lying facedown on the grass.” Shuffling a few steps, he nodded at the burned out lawn. Tobias Drone, the local medical examiner, was squatting down next to it doing his thing, while a gaggle of onlookers took pictures, straining against the restricting hands.

It always disgusted him; the morbid curiosity that people had. They craved violence, loved the rush of adrenaline and the pounding of blood in their ears…

Until it was their blood pouring out of various wounds, or staining their faces, seeping into their mouths to slide horribly down their parched throats. Then it was an abomination.

Standing a bit to the side with the younger officer, Detective Kevin Slame, the department’s newest pro, took a sip of his coffee while he gazed absently at the tourists taking pictures, the curious children inching their way forward under the yellow tape, the reporters chomping at their collective bits while they smiled and preened at their cameras. Not even the park next to the crime scene seemed to distract the gawkers too much. But that was tourists for you; never distracted by the ordinary.

Standing at a moderate height and nondescript build, the detective really wasn’t much to see. Evidence of morning shadow brushed across his cheeks and chin, his hair was a messy brown pile on the top of his head, and his clothes were a bit rumpled from being slept in two days in a row- cliché, thy name is Slame. What was so interesting about him, however strange and quite frightening, lay hidden behind those deep blue eyes. If one were to look behind the title, the honor of being made detective so young, and the haughty smile that never left his face, they’d be thrown into a blood covered world; a colorless scene with an ever present frigid wind.

Like all men of his ilk, Kevin had seen too much, too quickly. Having spent most of his later childhood in the bowels of Brooklyn, where the Russian mob loved to show its superiority over the local white-boys, it really wasn’t a big surprise.

The lack of conscience and impending insanity, however; now THAT was the surprise in the cracker jack box.

“Why don’t you go help Reynolds keep the crowd at bay?” Kevin said to the young officer- ‘young’. Ha. The guy was probably just a few years younger than he was- sliding a cigarette into his mouth with one smooth twist. He had a feeling that he’d need it. Without waiting for an answer, he moved forward, those dark eyes looking down at the body of his latest vic; his latest obsession.

Jenny Myers; pretty, hopeful, and covered in blood.
She was only 8 years old.
What a fucking waste.

So call it a real no-brainer when, after the ME's carted off the tiny corpse, the reporters got their pound of flesh and certain unseeing eyes were burned into the back of his brain, Kevin found himself steamrolling into Mama Jules' Roadhouse at midnight, looking as bad as he felt. With a snarl at anything that moved too close to him, the detective took up his coveted stool at the bar, snarled something unintelligable at the bartender- who, surprisingly, seemed to know exactly what he wanted; fuck, he was so damn predictable- and proceeded to let his head hit the counter with a dull thunk.

Mama's was the only place he'd go to, after a day like his. Only Mama's, with its noisy clientelle, angry bouncers and dangerous waitresses, offered him any kind of sweet release from that annoying soundtrack playing in his head. Just a few drinks, some nice flirting, and he'd be back on track.

Maybe he'd blow his brains out tomorrow, instead of tonight. Yeah, definitely a plan.
[/center]

[Dilana Polyak]

Oh baby baby,
Does she take a piece of lime?
For the drink that Imma buy her.
Do you know just what she likes?

Tonight had been relatively busy for the bar, something Dilana relished. Not only did it mean the money would be spilling from the tills by closing time, but Dilana lived for nights like this, when she was practically rushed off her feet. It was fun! People tended to be in a generally good mood, only a few punters had caused trouble but they had been quickly subdued and removed.

Dilana's mother, Julia Polyak, or Mama Jules as those who were privileged called her, had been indisposed, helping the new family of shifters settle into the haven out back. Dilana had seen them enter a few hours earlier, a woman with three pups huddling close to her the moment they saw their surroundings. Poor little things, the stench of stale beer and sweat must have been so offensive to their sensitive noses. Fortunately for her, she was far too used to it for it to bother her any more. The mother had looked worried, but mostly exhausted. Dil figured they must be refugees, well that was what she called them. There was a war brewing, most could feel it bubbling under the surface like some tumultuous storm. People were preparing, and more and more had been showing up at their doorstep, seeking refuge from what was coming.

As her mother wandered down from the upstairs rooms, that warm maternal look on her face that Dilana knew always arrived with any children that crossed their threshold, she cupped her daughter's face with one hand, "They are settled, poor things. Mother looked ready to drop so I bathed the pups and set them all to bed." Dilana knew the drill, her mother didn't believe everyone believed in the same thing, some didn't want a war, and children above all else were completely innocent in all of this.

Perfect timing. The bar had died down a little by the time her mother returned. Pouring a large glass of Passoa and lemonade, Dilana handed it to her mother before she turned to take another order from some jocks who were being loud. As long as they behaved themselves, Dilana would be fine with them. Not that she got a chance. Her mother moved past her to take the orders, turning to face Dilana with a concerned look on her face, "You're on a break. I figure you haven't eaten yet so I told Rich to make you up something, it's in the kitchen... go." Dilana smirked, her mother knew her all too well. Untying the bow on her waist apron, Dilana tossed it aside and headed out the back to the kitchen.

Now, the bar was well known for its food, and Dilana was thankful her kind had good metabolisms, or else she'd be the dictionary definition of couch potato by now! A rack of ribs, corn, spicy fries and a JD and coke awaited her, the smells just mingling in her nose and making her mouth water. When she worked, she forgot to eat, and she hadn't even really felt all that hungry when her mother told her to go eat, but now she was here... she just wanted to tuck in. Scoffing the lot, Dilana forced herself to stop once she realised she was all but gnawing on the bones. Downing the drink, she headed back out into the bar, grabbing her apron and setting back to work. Her mother had already disappeared again, obviously something about paperwork with their new guests.

Then the air turned sour, people seemed to dodge out of the way, parting like the red sea as the new arrival skulked his way through. Dilana had seen him around before, a copper or something like that, a detective? Well, he certainly looked like shit. He muttered something at the male bartender who went and grabbed his drink, before his head smacked into the wooden counter top. Ouch. The sound even made Dil cringe slightly.

She couldn't stop herself. She had her mother's mentality when it came to things like this, they couldn't let someone suffer alone... unless they were an enemy and then they enjoyed it! Turning to the bottles lined up along the back wall of the bar, she grabbed a bottle of whiskey and two glasses before she carried them over to him. Settling them down, she poured two tots and nudged one over to brush against his head, "If you're gonna drown your sorrows, you might want some of this."

[/i] It was accompanied by a friendly smile as she took her own glass in hand.[/blockquote]

[Detective Kevin Slame]

Take it home take it home
Cause i can't take anymore
It's your touch it's your taste
It's your dress on the floor
Take it home take it home
Cause I've been waiting all night
For you
And this is what I'm gonna do

[/color]



Man, a guy had to love it when a good plan went south. Scratching the back of his head as he contemplated the scarred wood beneath his forehead, Kevin did his best not to start sighing like a lovelorn teenager and suck it the hell up. So what if seeing the dead eight year old’s parents cry like babies made his shriveled heart clench? So what if his boss and the rest of the precinct were either dodging out of his way, or hovering over some panic button that, when pressed, would call in the white coats? He still had his job, right? Unlike half of the American economy, he had a roof over his head, food in his belly, a paycheck going into the bank…all in all, life wasn’t really THAT bad, compared to other people.

With a mental growl, he proceeded to bitch slap the annoyingly rational part of his brain until it cried. Bitch, he wanted some sympathy, not a mental pep talk. If he wanted to be told about the sunshine and rainbows of the world, he’d make a frikking appointment with the precinct shrink.

Life sucked, he sucked and he was gonna get so drunk tonight that the poor servers in Mama’s were going to have to pour him into the street at closing. Ah, the sweet burn of whiskey, or the smoky taste of bourbon. His mouth practically watered at the thought.

When new footsteps neared his little makeshift ‘bed,’ he instinctively tensed, some random insult prepped and ready on his tongue. For some odd reason, even when he was in a bad ass mood, women- and sometimes men…talk about a blow to his ego’s nuts- seemed to want to shake their tits right in front of his eyeballs. While he really did enjoy the show, he wasn’t in the mood for some random horizontal tangoing, man. He wanted oblivion! Not mind blowing sex!

…GOD, he was a fucking psychopath, wasn’t he? Ugh, he should just totter over to the bathroom and blow his brains out right now—

Something small and cold brushed against his head, making his eyes snap open to glare at the shadows in front of them. What the hell? Was someone seriously trying to interrupt his inner pity party? C’mon; he’d broken out the confetti and everything.

Raising his head so that he could peer at whatever knocked against it through shaggy bangs, he squinted at the little shot glass, confused. Another inch or so had him recognizing the amber-gold color of whiskey, and yet another inch showed a friendly, familiar face. Well, hello, beautiful. If she was about to ask for no-name sex in the back of the bar, he definitely wasn’t going to turn her down.

Or was he? He was still a bit up in the air about her knowing about his blackouts, not to mention how he acted in them. He couldn’t remember everything when he’d come out of things, but he did recall something about random gun waving, and an attempt to dive into her cleavage at some point.

Yeesh. And she wasn’t pointing a shotgun at his head why? He should definitely thank her for her being so nice, offer to buy her a drink and attempt at being social, if only for not tossing him out on his ass before he was good and wasted.

…Which was exactly why he downed the shot in one gulp, gave her a salute and let his head fall back on the table with yet another loud thunk. FUCK, that was starting to hurt.

A minute passed, and the warmth of the liquor spread through his chest, making the semblance of a smile shift onto his lips. Sensing that she hadn’t left in a huff and called down one of her mammoth siblings on his ass, he lifted his head back up to peer at her again.

“Thanks, Miz Polyak,” His accent was on thick tonight, Brooklyn practically bleeding from his lips. Curling an arm on the table, he rested the side of his head on it, offering her a crooked grin. “Though, I’m kinda surprised you haven’t tried to kick me out after last time. Think you can handle Round Two, or is this a last drink before you kick my ass?”


[/center]

[Dilana Polyak]

Watching the detective closely, Dilana waited for him to sit up... but, as the seconds ticked by, she waited for him to just move at all. He did, finally. Looking up, taking in the glass, the drink, before bringing his eyes up to look at her. No name sex was certainly off the cards with Dilana; thanks to her over bearing parents and her 'brothers' who were more than happy to enforce the rules her mother had in place. Any man, or woman, who dared to get a little too touchy feely with the female wolf was quickly escorted from the premises whether Dilana wanted them to be or not. Over time, she had just ended up getting the reputation for being 'friggid' because it had been easier to act like the bitch to those people, act like she didn't want it. Ah well...

She too had days when it felt like the easiest thing to do was just head into the bathrooms and paint the tiles with her brains. People on the outside thought she had it all; a pretty face, a fierce body, the ability to take care of herself, a bar she would one day own... if only they knew. If only they knew that Kev's little attempt at an Olympic diving bid down her top had actually caught her off guard... and she hadn't minded it as much as her brothers had.

About to continue talking to him, try and act the counselor like she usually did, Dilana found herself quickly cut off as his salute signalled his head's fast decent onto the hardwood bar again. This time she couldn't even cover the grimace that pulled at her features, this close up the sound was even more brutal to her sensitive ears. Yet... she didn't feel disgusted that he hadn't taken her free drink as an opportunity to talk. Her mother had always told her it usually wasn't that easy, but you never gave up, you just pushed until they broke and talked... or got violent. If the latter happened... you left them too it, at least you tried.

With that in mind, Dilana poured herself another shot and settled, resting her arm on the bar in front of him and resting her chin on her hand, running her fingers into the long brunette hair that framed her face. She ran the index finger of her free hand around the rim of the glass, just subtly letting him know that he was not getting out of it that easily, as she waited... again.

Ah movement!! And a smile! How wonderful! She let him get settled, let him thank her and talk about his little... episode from the last time. A lazy smile crossed her lips and she brought the glass up to her lips, sipping at the bitter, amber liquid. "Well, you're welcome, Detective Slame. You looked like you could use it. Aaaand, luckily for you, my ma obviously likes you so you were let back in. Any one else would have had 'bruiser' over there blocking their path before they even got near the door." She tilted her head, her shoulders rising in a cute shrug, "What do you say we make a deal? You stop your forehead trying to makeout with the bar and tell me why you're feeling the need to drown your sorrows... and if I think it's a decent reason, I'll keep plying you with all the fine whiskey we have in this place... if we drink through that, we'll go onto the rum. And should you try for Round Two... bring it, I'll take you down." She grinned mischeviously, a glint appearing in her eyes that belied just how much she loved to tease, "You don't want to get taken down in front of all these people by a girl, do you?"

[/i]

Picking up the bottle again, she motioned to his glass, "Refill?"[/blockquote]

[Detective Kevin Slame]

Ah man, where had this lady been all his life? She was one of three people to know about his dirty little secret, and probably the only one who didn’t flinch whenever he came close. Not to mention that she was actually feeding him free frikking booze, man! He was in love!

His eyes flickered down to her lips, lingering there for a minute as she started speaking. Oh yeah, there was also another, less…economic reason why he liked to come to Mama’s on his time off. If only she hadn’t been declared off limits right when he’d walked in the damn door. If only, if only.

“Aw, Mama Jules likes me?” He couldn’t help but drawl, glancing at the door leading to the employees section, as if expecting the older woman to pop out and say hello. Then again, with his luck, she probably liked him because he was a fan of buying out the place when he was having a particularly bad day. But, still, he was pretty surprised when none of the bouncers bounced his ass back out the door, after last time.

Bartenders and their bosses tended not to like guys who whizzed in their planters, grabbed random women’s boobs and started waving their guns around. But, despite all of that…there he was, sitting pretty with the owner’s daughter.

Off limits daughter, off limits daughter; he had to practically make a mantra out of the thing to make sure it sank in. Damn, Dilana had to be hot AND nice to boot. Just the last part should have made him run for the opposite end of the bar, but hell if there wasn’t another lady in New Orleans that made him laugh like she did.

Well, other than his adopted mother, but Mama was more ‘haha, RUN, IT’S THE SPOON OF DEATH!’ kind of funny.

Leaning forward on the counter, he couldn’t help a suggestive smile from crossing onto his lips. “Let’s get one thing straight, Dil-baby; you don’t ever have to ply me with anything to make me stay around you. And all that booze…you planning on molesting me later? I swear, you don’t gotta drain this place dry to do that. I’m ready and willing, whenever you are.”

He gave a cheeky wink, only backing down when one of said bruisers shot a particularly nasty glare his way. Sheeze, these guys really needed to lighten up some time! He was only having a bit of fun.

God knew that if Dilana actually took him up on his offer, he’d run away in the opposite direction. There was just something about the lady that seemed…threatening to him. Why life couldn’t revolve around nameless, connectionless sex, he had no idea.

Slamming his shot down onto the counter, he leaned back, hooking his arm across the back of the stool next to him. He nodded at the question of refill. “So, you wanted to know why I was Frenching the counter?” He asked, eyes flickering down to the amber liquid swirling around in the bottle in her hands. His voice was slowly becoming cold; sarcasm doing its best to hide whatever piece of actual emotion was attempting to break through.

“An eight year old girl named Jenny. I spent the past three weeks hunting some sick freak who likes to cut up kids and torture them, before setting them on fire. Almost caught him, too…but not in time to save Jenny.”

Fingering the shot glass, his face slowly started to loose the good humor stationed there while exchanging sarcastic quips, a nasty smile tainting his lips. “I wonder if she wanted to be a doctor when she grew up. Nah, maybe not…most girls wanna be Princesses. She ain’t a Princess anymore, I guess. Parents can’t even show her face at the funeral, ‘cause there’s hardly anything left.”

He caught himself squeezing the small glass in his hand and forced his fingers to unclench from around it. Lips still curled in a humorless smile, he tilted his head up to look at her again.

“Fill ‘er up, Dilly. I’d be prepared for a long, long battle, ‘cause I’m planning on getting plastered.”

[Dilana Polyak]

Ah yes, the 'talk' that greeted every new customer who wanted to cross the threshold of the establishment, the reel of offers that the bar held throughout the week, the band nights, then the point in her direction with the warning that those who decided to look with their hands as opposed to their eyes would be removed.

If only, if only... if only indeed. If only her parents weren't so strict, if only she had the will to rebel against them. She didn't though, not even for a chaste kiss on the lips he stared at. ~Aw, Mama Jules likes me?~ Wasn't that the truth! Her mother had proclaimed bans on people for far less than he had displayed the last time. A guy grabbed her arm once, as she tried to walk away from his chauvenistic comments and lewd innuendos. The boys had been on him like a pack of hyenas taking down an injured gazelle. Her mother had called them to stop just before they left the bar, purely so she could storm over to him, lay a swiping hand across his cheek and tell him that, as long as her family ran this bar, he and his offspring would never be welcome here. Granted, her mother had been on the rag, but the idea was still there.

For some reason, her mother allowed him back in. Dilana didn't know why, but she knew all too well that to question her mother was to place your dignity, or your life, in her hands. Besides, Dilana liked Slame, she liked talking to him. ~Let’s get one thing straight, Dil-baby; you don’t ever have to ply me with anything to make me stay around you. And all that booze…you planning on molesting me later? I swear, you don’t gotta drain this place dry to do that. I’m ready and willing, whenever you are.~ She couldn't help but smile, bowing her head down to cover the action before she looked up to meet his gaze, pulling a face as she hissed. Ah, Big Brother was always watching, unfortunately for Dilana there were more than one set of eyes watching over her.

Waiting for Slame to move away, her 'brother' to resume his former duties, Dilana let out a folorn sigh, "Nice to know, but unfortunately you need to be unconscious for me to molest you. I can't have people remembering... then talking." A small chuckle, yes she was flirting, but in the bar, with punters who were drinking, it was allowed.

Refilling his glass, Dilana nodded in response to his question. It confused her at times, how pent up she got about her parents' rules. With all the hooking up that happened here, the other bar staff and punters, Dilana found the sexual tension just built up, like a pressure cooker inside her. When she couldn't do something, she found it invaded most of her thoughts and, like now, all she could think about was how she wouldn't mind him Frenching her instead of the bar. Reckless, yes. Stupid, even more so. Still, she couldn't bring herself to just fist her hand in the back of his head and press her lips to his. She wasn't even sure if she really wanted it from him.

Then he did something no other man in that position had been able to do. He took her mind off of her hormones, racing around her body like they were holding a Grand Prix then coming to a complete stop. Her skin goosebumped as he spoke, her mind conjuring images correlating to his words. She pictured some innocent blonde child, beautiful, angelic, contrasted with the blood. It made her stomach churn, the drone of a multitude of patrons' voices blurring and fading out around them. Just as he gripped the glass, she gripped the bottle, her throat becoming dry as her wolf side all but howled for the taste of the sicko's blood. She wanted to kill him. Slowly. Torture him like he did this unknown Jenny. Have him scream.

Feeling her eyes burn as tears wanted to break, Dilana looked to the ceiling, blinking to clear them. Then he spoke of her funeral. How her parents wouldn't be able to show her face. She couldn't see him look back up at her, she already had her head tilted back, necking the whiskey from the bottle. Fuck. How did he do that? How could he see shit like that? Just hearing about it made her want to curl up in her bed and cry for this little child she never met.

Wiping a hand at her lips, Dilana tilted the bottle over his glass, filling it to the brim. No wonder he needed a drink, no wonder he needed to headbutt the counter. She wanted to do that just to remove the images now burned into her memory. Pulling a bar stool they had kept behind the counter for quiet times, Dilana perched on it, necking more whiskey. Without even thinking, she slid her hand over to cover his. It wasn't anything more than a friendly gesture, her glare at her 'brothers' proved that. If they came over, she would happily serve them a verbal ass whipping. "I'm sorry, Kev... I... honestly... I don't know what to say. I really..." She shook her head, leaning back a little, "You'll catch him... I know you will."

[/i]

Knowing her kind had excellent senses of smell, she would love to just get a hint of this guy, hunt him down. The wolves were intimidating, but most, if not all, held the same view as her. When children were involved, they would happily kill. She would take a pack out, rip him limb from limb. "Drop a mugshot by when you get one. We'll get the boys to keep an eye out."[/i] Her fingers brushed over the skin on the back of his hand, just feeling for Slame.[/blockquote]

[Detective Kevin Slame]

Glancing up, the detective expected to see the usual levels of disgust and disbelief that most wore on their faces when he talked about work. Freaking awesome way to win oneself some drinking buddies, wasn’t it? With just a few sentences, every life-loving SOB would want to drink themselves into a stupor with him. Bracing himself, he waited for the onslaught of questions; those ignorant ‘how could someone do that?’ exclamations that never failed to make him twitch.

How did he know why a grown man would torture someone as innocent as Jenny Myers? Why did he care? The only thing he wanted out of life was to catch the bastard and, perhaps, carry out his own brand of justice in the shadows of the holding cell. Those dumb ass questions were normally said by people who didn’t know death; whose only experience with it had been Grandpa going up to the great beyond. They had no idea about looking into sightless eyes and asking yourself ‘why weren’t you there sooner?’ About the smell, the ashen taste in your mouth when the body gets wheeled out, or the uncontrollable rage that descended, all for a person that he’d never met. How could he explain that?

Most of the time, when a moron went and asked him such stupid questions, his response was an emphatic ‘go fuck yourself,’ but he couldn’t exactly take that route with Dilana. She was the first good person he’d met in a long, long time, and hell if he was gonna fuck up their little not-relationship! Hell, she’d seen his bad side and had actually welcomed him back with a smile and a shot of whiskey. She was definitely a keeper…

Oh, motherfuck, and she was DEFINITELY crying. Yup, fuck, shit, craptastic, those were shiny little tears in her eyes, sadness on her face and a devastated set to those lush lips as she looked at him from over the little glasses in front of them. Yeah, awesome, Slame, he thought with a sigh, tempted to let his head bang back down on the table again. Let’s go make the nice lady cry, so her brothers will beat the shit out of you. Just what we wanted for Christmas.

With a resigned tone to his voice, he cringed and offered an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, Dil,” He muttered the hated word with his face averted. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night with my shit. Next time, when you see me like this, just don’t fuckin’ ask.”

He was about to go on, ready and raring to get into one of his famous piss ass moods, but he never got the chance. That feather light touch of her fingers on his hand and those soft, heartfelt words made his throat clog up with something unnamed, something he couldn’t put his finger on. He cleared his throat to dislodge it, and offered a small nod, words for once escaping him.

Fuck, this was why he didn’t like talking about his work; he got all frigging emotional and shit. It was definitely not hot to start crying like a woman, so he bit his tongue and pulled his hand away from hers, coughing and clearing his throat.

Jesus, he really needed to get more sleep. Maybe the insomnia was making it easier to grow boobs and bawl at the drop of a hat. “Thanks, Dil, I will. I…uh…appreciate it.”

Picking up his now refilled shot, he downed it in one gulp, slamming the glass on the counter and motioning for more. Clearing his throat yet again, he tried to change the subject, motioning around at the gathered patrons.
“So, you off tonight? Maybe we can find a secluded room somewhere and get our molesting on.” A grin was forced onto his face as he finally looked back at her, and he raised a brow suggestively.

He just didn’t do the touchy feely crap, man. It was almost as terrifying as those three, freakishly sappy words that everyone liked to say on Valentine’s Day.

[Dilana Polyak]

If anything, Slame's story only filled her with disgust at the murderer and herself. The murderer was obvious, he'd brutalised a child, a minor, someone who couldn't defend themselves. It was wrong on every level Dilana knew of. She was disgusted by herself because here she was, feeling down about her lack of carnal action when a family's entire world had crumbled around their feet, an eight year old would miss out on so much. At least Dilana had hope of that infamous first kiss, it had been stolen away from little Jenny. 

Dilana had known death in her elongated life span. She had tasted the bitter sting of death not only in her biological family but with those she considered to be family too. So many of the familiar faces had disappeared over time, some from natural causes, other from more sinister reasons. Still, Dilana had never suffered the loss of a child she knew personally, but it made her think to the little tykes curled up in the beds out the back. She would die before letting anything happen to them... and she didn't even know them. 

There was no need to ask those generic questions in Dilana's mind. There was no logical reason why that little girl had been murdered. Some people were just wired that way, at least she believed that. There was nothing anyone could do to help them so execution was all she could think suited them. 

She hadn't meant to cry, but she was a maternal soul. She hadn't meant to make him feel bad but it was just so overwhelming. She coughed to clear her throat as she shook her head, "Don't apologise, Kev. Not for this. And like hell I'm not going to ask and have you dwell on shit like this alone."

[/I]

She wouldn't have thought any differently of him had he cried. The tears lining his eyes just made him seem more human, less... untouchable. She couldn't blame him, knowing that half, if not all, the guys working here would have sobbed on her shoulder had they seen what he had. But he was trying to be strong, she could respect that. He didn't know her like the other guys, like family. His strength was the reason she was more than willing to refill his glass again. 

Then he changed the subject, put the flirtatious tone back into the conversation. Again, she couldn't blame him, nor would she push for more. He'd opened up, more than she expected. He'd shared the problem so now she would help him put it to the back of his mind if only for a little while. With a smile, as forced as the one on his features, she shook her head at his persistence, "No, I'm not off tonight, but we've got enough staff so I only need to be around if there's trouble."[/I] Tilting her head, Dilana had a forlorn look in her eyes that told just how much she'd grant his request if she could. "Honestly, with the day you've had? Don't make it worse by ending up with missing limbs and broken bones. It's not worth it."[/I][/blockquote]

[Detective Kevin Slame]

Well, call him a pansy and stick him in a dress…weren’t those the nicest words he’d heard in a long time? A bit surprised, his eyes darted up to her face. He couldn’t believe that after his little dive into Self Pity World, Home of the ‘GET THE FUCK OVER IT!’ she was willing to sit with him. And…good God, was she actually hinting that she would listen to him? Even if he wanted to talk about the dead girl some more?

A few choice barbs rolled around in his mouth, but he bit them back. Usually, when faced with such open friendliness, his gut reaction was to spit out an insult and drive them away. It didn’t matter if he liked the banter and the scenery; he just didn’t do that ‘get in touch with your feelings’ shit. All that crap about Jenny’s parents not getting to show her face during the funeral? Useless words that did nothing but make the hole in his gut even wider.

Not to mention make Dilana frikking CRY! Oh, he was going to be beating on himself for that one for a few years. While he prided himself on being the biggest rank asshole in the state of Louisiana, he did draw the line at making women cry.

They were useful for other, more important things, after all. All that tears and the snot…it just got in the way.

Leaning forward slightly- hell, if her brothers didn’t glare as one big, bad ass being…Jesus Christ, did they practice that shit together? It was too well coordinated to be random- he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Sliding one out, he fished out a box of matches and lit up, offering one to her.

Ah, there wasn’t anything like the sweet taste of addiction to calm a guy’s nerves. He wasn’t going to bring up Jenny again…hell, he didn’t even know why he had in the first place. Maybe he’d hoped that Dil would get the hint and leave him the fuck alone. Maybe he’d thought that he could get a pity fuck out of things and be on his happy way. Either way, there was just something about the chickie that made him want to open up…to show all and tell all.

Talk about frikking creepy, man. He didn’t even know the girl, and let’s not forget that every time he freaking BREATHED in her direction, her entire family was twitching like a kid on sugar overload. Okay…so maybe the family thing was kind of a turn on- yeah, he was Cro-Magnon with the challenges that way; so sue him- but he didn’t do the ‘share’ shit, and especially not with a girl he hardly knew.

Even if she knew about his deep, dark secret. Well, one of them anyway…oh for FUCK’S sake, where the fuck was he going with that? Jesus frikking Christ, man, he had to stop talking to that shrink or he was gonna start saying his name was Romeo and try to climb up her frikking drain pipe.

Though, if he ever got that bad, he’d lie down in front of her brother’s car and let ‘em have at it. God, he really needed to kick this damn insomnia and get more than two hour’s sleep. All the awake-time was making him really whacked out.

With a laugh, he gave her a fake shudder of fear as he took a drag of his cigarette. “Ooh, I’m shakin’. But really, Dilly, when you gonna give up the ghost and run away with me? I know this real nice place down in Vegas where we can—“

With a whizzing noise, a balled up towel came flying at his head and smacked him on the side of his face. A strangled noise escaped him as he turned around to glare in the direction of the makeshift missile, and frowned at the smirking face of one of Mama’s many bouncers…sons…freaking bat-eared sons of bitches.

Tossing the towel onto the counter, he shot an incredulous look at Dilana before rubbing at his cheek. “Jesus Christ, woman,” He said, laughter in his voice despite the fact that he did his best to look angry. “Are ALL of you born with supersonic hearing? Remind me not to jerk off in the bathroom…JESUS ALRIGHT ALREADY!” As said bouncer got ready to launch another towel, Kevin ducked with a laugh. “God, and I thought my partner was bad. Yeesh…just a bit protective of you, aren’t they? Also can’t tell when a guy’s kidding!”

He pitched his voice out for the last part, shaking his head with a grin. There really was a reason he loved Mama’s, and the overtly aggressive clientele was definitely one of them. Man, he could really start to like her brothers, if they weren’t always watching him like a frigging hawk. Made him feel like he was on an interview, or some weird ass shit like that—

His smile froze, as a familiar ache started up in the back of his head. Starting near his neck, he could feel the muscles twitching and tightening, feel it moving slowly up until it gripped his temples, his forehead, behind his eyes. He was so used to it that he easily ignored it, pushing his shot forward for another drink.

Nah, that wasn’t gearing up for another blackout…not at all. He was just having a headache, that’s all. Too much talking and not enough liquor.

“Hey Dil,” He kept his voice nonchalant, while his entire skull began to throb, his fingers going white around the shot glass. “If I pull out my gun, could you tell your brothers not to kill me? I’d love it if you could store it under the bar for a while. The weight’s just killing me right now.”

[Dilana Polyak]

If only Slame knew the real reason for her brothers' being so in tune with each other. Poor thing would likely freak out and never enter the bar again. Child killers, although horrific, were an unfortunate part of society. Shifters? Werewolves? Not so much! Still, their looks, their blatent obviousness, was starting to get to to her, so much so that had he not been within hearing distance, she would have growled at them. She wasn't a baby! She could take care of herself! Hell, she'd had plenty of chances to do something when they weren't around but she hadn't!

Just to rub it in, she took a cigarette from the pack and waited for her turn to light it. They couldn't stop her. She was legally allowed. Hell, she'd been legally allowed for over a century! She'd tried most things in her life, bar heavy drugs, so she didn't cough and choke at the burning sensation of the smoke in her mouth. She hadn't had a cigarette in so long!! She missed it.

Completely unaware of the inner thoughts happening within Kevin's head, Dilana remained toking on the cigarette, reaching for an ashtray to flick into. ~Ooh, I’m shakin’. But really, Dilly, when you gonna give up the ghost and run away with me? I know this real nice place down in Vegas where we can—~ Her face lit up, her jaw dropping with surprise at his words, shock gripping at her every muscle so even she was too distracted to hear the towel bomb come flying at him. Watching it all unfold, she saw the towel smack into his face, his disbelieving look in her direction. Luckily he laughed, which had Dilana creased up, her hand covering her mouth to try and cover the fact she was finding this humourous with the aim of looking as shocked as he was.

With a glance over at her brother as another towel was expertly dodged by the human, Dilana arched her eyebrow at him, though her face still remained relaxed and happy. "Knock it off, goofball. He's not doing anything." A small bow of her head, trying to force the annoyance from boiling up within her, Dilana let out a slow breath before she looked up to Slame, toking on the cigarette with a long drag that she let out in a jet of smoke as she pondered what he'd said, "You have no idea... it GETS OLD!" Raising her voice, she made it abunduntly clear that she wanted them to hear what she was saying. "They just like brown nosing my mama and treating me like the little baby who can't be trusted."

[/i]

She could see the boys getting on quite well with Slame too! His sarcastic tongue would go down well with the group that saw insults as terms of endearment. Unfortunately, as long as Dilana was involved, they'd always wonder about ulterior motives.

Then her wolf eyes noticed something, so minute that a normal human might have missed it, a twitch in his smile, like something was wrong. She could see the muscles twitch in his neck... what on Earth? What had he seen? Grabbing the bottle, she refilled the glass again, deciding to stay quiet, just watch him for the moment.

Seeing his lips moving, Dilana couldn't believe what she was hearing. Pull his gun? It just conjured images in her head of last time, playing across her memory in short clips. The wolf in her began to take over, partially out of defence in case he tried another Olympic bid down her top, but also to honour his wishes, if her brothers wanted to get too rough with him, she'd protect him. It was a chance to prove to them, and ultimately her mother, that she could handle things like this. Sliding her hand across the bar, palm up, Dilana kept her eyes on him, watching for the tiniest movements, trying to figure out what his reflexes wanted his muscles to do before he even had a chance to do it. "Okay... give it over."

Her voice tried to remain calm, low and monotonous, though she could see her stance had already drawn attention from the male workers. A short shake of the head, her smoking hand flattening out subtly, a pre arranged hand gesture that they all knew meant the person had it under control. Dilana stubbed the cigarette out, "Hey... Kev... tell me what's happening."[/blockquote]

[Detective Kevin Slame]

Kev had laughed when she’d declared her brothers as mama’s boys, grinning nastily in their general direction. A bunch of eyeballs proceeded to glare back, but he didn’t care, instead leaning toward Dil again as if saying ‘nah, nah; I’m under her protection.’

But then the situation just HAD to turn to fuckin’ shit. Why he couldn’t just sit there, have a drink and some fun without going batty was beyond him, man. Hadn’t that crock of a shrink told him that he could control the blackouts? That it was all in his head? Well, he sure as HELL was telling the frikking thing to back the fuck off, but damn if it was listening.

Fuck, his head hurt. Hurt like a mother.

Slowly, keeping his movements deliberate, he pulled his off duty piece from his waistband and slid it onto the counter, covering it with his hand and arm. Last thing he needed was for some random mook seeing him with an open gun and having the cops rush in…or having a random schmuck think that Mama’s was some kind of gun running operation. With his luck, both would happen and he’d be beaten by his boss, THEN skinned by the Polyaks.

Then again, anything would be better than the bongos in his brain. He was not going to black out, he was not going to black out…FUCK, those were dots. Dots were bad, man. Really bad. He had to get the hell out of there before he did something really stupid.

But at least she had his gun. Thank God for small favors.

Rubbing his head, he gritted his teeth, doing his best not to give into the sudden urge to sleep. He wanted to get up and leave, but knew that if he tried, his legs wouldn’t support him. What the fuck was it with this place? It must have some kind of ‘go unconscious NOW!’ spell going on. Twice in the same fuckin’ month…man, Mama Jules was gonna kick his ass from here to Memphis.

“Bad headache,” He muttered, knocking back the shot without opening his eyes. “I get ‘em…it’s the job, y’know?” He paused as the lie slid off of his tongue with practiced ease. But she knew about his secret, didn’t she? “Bad shit. Dil…fuck, I think it’s another blackout coming on. I need a favor…I need to get outta here, dig? Do you have some kind of back room or something?”

Preferably with a lock, he thought, doing his best not to freak. His accent became thicker, more inner city, and his hands shook as he slid the glass back toward her. If she was telling her family that he had things under control, she was dead wrong. Fuck, he really did like her. Now he was going to go crazy on her twice, and she’d kick his ass along with her Mama. Maybe it was her that brought out the blackouts? How fucking hilarious would that be?

Pushing himself off his stool, he locked his knees and held onto the bar for support. He needed to get the fuck out of there before he did something stupid, like piss in the planters or head-dive for her boobs…again. He never remembered what he did, but the bar sure did have some good camera equipment. Not to mention that youtube was a bitch.

He’d just have her take him to a storage closet and lock him in. He’d get this shit out of his system, then be back on his feet in the next few hour—

Kevin fell to the ground, knees buckling and body crumpling. His weight had stools crashing to the side, and his head knocked down onto the floor so hard, it practically echoed. Startled gasps and a few laughs came after it, but he didn’t really hear. He lay still for a minute, staring up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused and darker than usual. Then, as if rising from sleep, he staggered to his feet.

He swayed there for a minute, a lost, confused look on his face, but soon, all emotion melted away. All except a leering smile that plastered itself to his face. With a crow of happiness, he grabbed the bottle from Dilana’s hand, proceeding to chug it down his throat despite the burn.

“Mmm, that was good,” He declared, and proceeded to throw the bottle toward the wall behind the bar, laughing as the glass shattered. “Put that on my tab, honey. Mmm, you’re sexy. C’mere with that hot self.”

His words were slurred and uneven, and with a grunt, he threw himself onto the bar, landing on his stomach with his arms outstretched, doing their best to grab the poor woman’s boobs.

[Dilana Polyak]

Taking in the sight of Kev removing his gun, sliding it across the bar to her, Dilana fastidiously moved it under her arm, making sure it remained out of sight until she had it stashed safely away by the glasses beneath the wooden counter. Her heart was pounding in her chest, pulsing the blood around her ears, deafening her to all but the pair of them, her own heavy breaths and his groans. Any other occasion, those sounds could have been fun, but certainly not now.

He was looking worse and worse by the second, causing the boys around to cease whatever had their attention previously, all focusing on the unfolding events. Dilana knew why, she could smell the fear radiating from her, it was likely they could too. She was fast losing the control she thought she'd had on the situation, unable to do anything but watch the Detective deteriorate in front of her. It was like a scene from the Hulk, and she fully anticipated him to start turning green and bust out of his clothes. If only. She knew the reality was way worse.

The boys were all tensed, ready to pounce on him at any moment, she could sense it even though her eyes remained on him. He tried to palm her off with a lie, though Dil knew it wasn't just that. Of course it wasn't, it was the other thing, it had to be. Her fears were confirmed as he came clean. A blackout. Pushing off the of bar, Dil kicked the stool aside as she figured out where to put him.

If only he knew the places the bar had. She could get him out the back, into one of the lock down rooms, places the boys stuck their kind who needed to calm down. Lock down room would be the best idea but then that would take some serious explaining to the police detective when he came to in what could easily have come out of some hostage movie. She needed some dutch courage apparently, as her hand brought the bottle subconsciously to her lips and she took a gulp. Think Dilana, think! There had to be somewhere they could put him, somewhere any bar would have that wouldn't look weird. God, if she did anything to 'threaten' the bar's secrecy, it wouldn't just be Slame's ass her mother would be kicking to Memphis, and her mother would take the scenic route with her.

He stood up, causing Dil to tense further, her body ready to spring should he collapse... which he did. Damn it. Okay so she'd been ready to pounce but hadn't actually expected she would have to. All she could do was curse with the shock of it. So much for her heightened reflexes.

Dilana knew better than to move from behind the bar, should his blackout really be happening, the bar, and the boys, were her only lines of defence. She was in shock, just paralysed at what was happening, though her grip on the bottle had turned her knuckles white.

Then bam... he was back. Stood up, confused. Dilana relaxed a little, maybe he hadn't blacked out after all. Maybe it really had just been a bad headache, after all, he'd really had a hellish day! No such luck. That leering smile was really not natural on him, not compared to the guy she'd only been speaking to a few moments ago. Shit. The bottle disappeared from her hand and she watched, in disbelief, as the contents disappeared down his throat. Fuck. ~Mmm, that was good.~ Dil had to duck in fear of the bottle colliding with her on its journey to the wall behind her. God dammit! Barely having time to register the moment, Dilana had to jump back as he came diving onto the bar, trying to grab at her chest again. What was it with him and those things!! Of all the boobs in the bar, why hers!?

A body swerve, unthinking. Her body seemed to go into autopilot as she twisted away from him, her hand wrapping around his arm at the elbow, attempting to lock it out so she could use her strength to push him back and place her other hand on the back of his head, aiming to smack his face into the bar once she got him back far enough. She didn't know where it all came from, especially considering that she'd been as useless as a wet fish before, but somehow her body took over, free from conscious thought, only her self preservation.

[Detective Kevin Slame]

((FRICK, this' so bad. e_e I realized after you signed off that it might be a good idea to fast forward, since Slame's side of the blackouts are...well, black. XD So I whipped this up on a whim. I hope it works. -hides- If not, I'll re-write it; just send me an IM and lemme know. <3 ))
---

Slame was asleep…or so he thought. There was a strange pressure in his head, somewhere behind his eyes, and he knew it shouldn’t be there. It was sickly, oily, completely unnatural, and he could swear he felt his limbs moving, even though they were tucked so neatly under the down coverlet his adopted mother knitted for him before she died.

A burst of pain rattled through his body, and he cried out…but made no sound. His eyes opened, but all he saw was darkness. Turn on the light, doofus, he thought and reached out for his bedside lamp…but couldn’t move his arms.

In the darkness, panic seeped in. Shadows, inky blackness, seemed to seep in through his nose, his eyes, his ears. He opened his mouth to scream again, and the darkness seeped in.

Back in the bar, the detective began to laugh; a high pitched, nails-on-a-chalk board sound that was nothing like the noises he’d made earlier. His cheek was smooshed into the bar counter, and like some kind of deranged animal, he started to lick at the little puddles of booze next to his mouth. From somewhere far off, he could hear the anguished cries of the pretty woman’s brothers, but he could give a shit.

“What is this, foreplay?” He asked, wiggling his hips crudely into the side of the bar. His smile was tinged with blood, which he spat out at her. “I could think of better places for you to put those hands, baby.”

He didn’t get a chance to say much else, however, as a couple pairs of large hands proceeded to pluck him up from the woman’s hold and drag him back a few steps. Blood and spit trickled down from his nose and mouth, and he flashed a bloody, macabre mask of a smile. Crazed, he fought the bouncers’ hold, flailing his legs and jerking his head back, laughing at the grunt of pain when he found a particularly healthy solar plexus. He regained the use of one of his arms, and it was just long enough to pick up a bottle and smash it against the corner of a table and slash at his remaining captor.

The hands didn’t stay on his arm for long. With a squeal of happiness, he started to wave the bottle around, lunging at random patrons and doing his best to cut a few of the brawny men who tried to get in his way. Fast little fuckers, weren’t they? He bet that, with all that body mass, they’d bleed like stuck pigs.

If only they weren’t so fast! FUCK. Missed again.

With dreamy, jerky, uncontrolled movements, he staggered for the blinking ‘exit’ sign in the back. Had he done this before? It felt like some kind of freaky deaky déjà vu, shit or something…waving around a weapon, trying to make out with the pretty lady behind the bar, running for the alleyway…had this already happened?

Before anyone could catch him, he was outside of the bar, standing free in the alleyway. He would just run over to the street and…FUCK! There was a fucking gate blocking the road! What the hell?! With a full out howl of outrage, he crashed up against the grate, banging his hands and head against it.

Inside the darkness, Slame stirred once again. Fear, confusion, pain…God, his head hurt. Before he could process the knowledge, however, sleep pulled him back under.

[Dilana Polyak]

So much for keeping this under control. Dilana's eyes remained on Slame though she could sense his actions, and subsequently hers, had drawn the attention of many of the customers. Some were like her, supernaturals, but others were just average Joes. Making a mental note to do some damage control once he was subdued, Dilana watched his grotesque movements, heard her brothers' alarmed noises, the sound of heavy footsteps making their way towards her. As he wiggled, grinding his hips in her direction, cock blocked by the bar she had never felt so happy to see, Dilana made a strangled noise of disgust. So she was more virginal than Mary, she had enough sexual tension to make a Fae suicidal, she still had standards, and -this- version of Slame was way below. "In your dreams, asshole."

There was something not right about this. Slame had been here, drowning his sorrows, talking to her, being his normal self and then bam, headache, collapse, then this. The might have looked the same, but Dilana couldn't believe they were the same person, and something in her gut told her there was far more to this than a case of multiple personalities.

Thankfully the boys were there, and these were the times Dilana liked them being so protective. One of them muttered a compliment on her defensive manoeuvres, but Dilana was just staring at Slame as she let him go and stepped back, running her hands through her hair. She'd done that to him. The blood dripping down his face, he'd liked it... and she had had a split second fear that she had used all her strength, her unnatural strength and snapped his neck. Another mental note, next time, more force. He was like some untamed animal, flinging himself around in her brothers' arms. They needed to get him locked down. About to bark the order, Dilana saw one of her burly brethren double over and stagger back, the other taking on the extra strain but the sound of the bottle smashing made everything fall silent.

Bodies dodged out of the way of him and his weapon, her brothers' attempting to dodge his attacks but still trying to protect the naturals. Then... he seemed to give up, staggering for the door. People were crying, screaming, some had collapsed to the floor, Dilana could see this all falling apart around her. She needed to sort it. Turning to one of the unnaturals working behind the bar, Dilana took on the alpha female role, "Get ma, but keep the guests in the dark."

[/i]

She turned to her brothers, who all knew from the look in her eye that she was in boss mode, and she was almost as deadly as their mother, "Get cuffs, rope, anything, get out the back, restrain him and drag him through the back into the house. Put him in one of the lock downs..." She saw the look in their eyes, he was human, he didn't know about them, he was a detective, all the thoughts that had gone through her head when she'd pondered it before. It was a necessity now, and she was bordering on believing there was nothing natural about what happened to him. Clapping her hands, she barked, "Now! But for God's sake gag him to stop him waking the entire house."

Dilana could just picture the poor kids in the house, waking up to hear, and possibly see, the intimidating brothers dragging some bloody and beaten male through the house. The boys moved off, leaving Dilana to move onto the next item in her mental list. Crowd control. People were shell shocked, the needed reassurance, so Dil did the only thing she could think of. "All right, ladies and gents, sorry about the chaos, round on the house."[/i] Patting one of the bar staff on the shoulder with an encouraging smile, Dilana slipped from behind the bar to head towards the exit sign. Her brothers were fist happy, always willing to lay a couple of punches, she needed to make sure they didn't go too far.[/blockquote]

[Detective Kevin Slame]

The bloody man danced and slithered out of grappling hands, but he wasn't much of a match for the small army that came out of the bar to round him up. He kicked, screamed, bit and clawed, but in the end, it was no use.

After a few minutes of fighting, he was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey and on the ground with someone's foot on his neck. Would they eat him? Bake his ass and serve him to the customers? A laugh escaped him at the thought of Kev Slame in an oven burning. How funny!

He saw that red hot mama emerge from the bar out of the corner of his eye and smiled. Just like back at the bar, he moved his hips in a crude show. Too bad his hands were tied.
"Hey, there she is! Heya, honey, you into bondage? I think your brothers are." His laugh was muffled by cement as someone clocked him upside the back of his head.

Everything was hazy after that and he dimly felt himself floating as he was carried out of the alley. He heard voices for a bit, the sounds of a baby crying somewhere in the distance, and suddenly, he was airborn.

A groan tore itself from his throat as the arms holding him proceeded to let go, allowing him to drop to the cold tile floor. He tried to stand a minute afterwards, but realized too late that his feet were also tied. Another thump, and he fell on his face once again.

"Damn, this' some really shitty hospitality you guys have here," He said, rolling over onto his back.

Baring his teeth, he glared at the fuzzy images of his captors standing near the doorway. "What, no more foreplay? I guess that's okay with me. We getting to the main show or what? I'm getting bored."

Frustrated with his inability to move, he started thrashing around, howing for them to untie him. Absently, he felt a bone pop out of place and he laughed at the ache. Just one little sniff of freedom, and it'll be THEIR bones breaking. He'd show them all what a real party was like.