Paradise Apartments

Miller sat in his booth, a cup of still-hot coffee wafting steam upwards to the ceiling like some pagan tribute to the gods of caffeine and wakefulness. It was half full, black like tar, and probably had been sitting on the burner for an hour or two before he'd gotten his cup. The man didn't particularly mind that, even if the taste was shit. He wasn't drinking it for the taste. Miller was drinking the mud water for the memories it gave him. Sometimes, reverting to old, familiar habits was a good idea to avoid feeling too detached from life, humanity, you name it.

His hat was on the seat next to him, his posture partially leaning back in the booth seat like a recliner. The place smelled like stale cigarette smoke even when no one had a cancer stick lit, but it was cozy. Miller liked it. So did a number of his apartment complex mates who stopped in here from time to time. He understood the charm Suzy Q's had to offer and he liked the one waitress, Joyce. She was funny, she was bright. The kind of girl who might go somewhere in life if she could dodge the potholes it'd throw all around her.

He'd been out working late. Nothing spectacular, just a job to pay the bills. It left the mind lacking some and so he was casually doing a page in the little crossword book he carried with him. He kept his senses alert, keeping tabs of who was around him, but also let his thoughts float. He'd been dreaming a lot lately, which was a good or bad thing. Miller's dreams had been weird for a long time now. Sometimes they even came true... hell, he'd play the lotto if there weren't a shitload of issues tied to that if he ever actually won.

"More coffee?" Joyce asked, coming back over to him.

"Nah. I'm good." Miller shook his head and met her eyes. "Gotta sleep sometime. This stuff is liquid insomnia."

"You do know it's already late, right?" Joyce said more than asked, amused. "I'd just assumed you'd given up on sleep. Why I had it done up extra strong for you."

"Is it late?" Miller laughed quietly and made a point to look out the window. "I'll be damned. Here kid, the usual."

He handed over a ten note to Joyce. Even with just drinking coffee, he took care of his waiters. Only fair since he usually took up a spot for a couple hours when he came in, working on his puzzles or other number games. Joyce smiled and pocketed it.

"Take care Joe. Catch you around next time you're in. You change your mind about wanting a refill or anything, just wave."

"Will do."

Maybe some other locals would drift in. Miller chatted with the people around his unit from time to time. He wouldn't say he knew them particularly well yet but he also probably knew more about them than they were aware he knew. He hadn't been living there for long and he was still getting used to the local traffic. Ah well... he had his crossword to do. If a neighbor came in, they were always welcome to join him.

What kind of man would Drake be if he didn't indulge in the diner he loved so much around these parts? He sat in the booth he had grown fond of, giving the other man in the building a brief once over. He couldn't exactly pinpoint it, but something seemed unique about that person. Maybe it was the hat? The puzzle book? He just seemed a little out of place in this particular area. Blame that loose conclusion on the fact that most of the people Drake had crossed paths with around here seemed rather rough around the edges. This one seemed.. well.. intelligent. He caught the last bit of the conversation they had been having, enough to gather that the man's name was 'Joe'. Or was Joe short for something else? Maybe it was just Joe. He shook himself from his thoughts as the waitress headed his way, asking for his order. "Hmm, just get me a strawberry milkshake," he spoke up softly, adding thoughtfully, "With exactly five cherries if you don't mind." A subtle little smile tugged at his lips over the reason he requested such a thing.

He leaned back into the booth as he awaited his drink, once again stealing a glance at 'Joe' out of the corner of his gaze. He probably wouldn't talk to the man unless spoken to first, due to that intelligent air he'd caught wind of earlier. It was harder to lie to certain people.. and for some reason or other Drake felt that this guy might just see right through him if he wasn't careful. The detective was dressed in dark jeans and a classic black t-shirt, his favorite choice of outfit honestly, and a pair of beat up black leather boots that had seen better days.

(I'm a little tired from work, but I hope my post gets the ball rolling at least. Also? I'm sure Rowen would be a great ice breaker btw. )

On his quest to explore more of the area nearby, Æsc found himself entering a diner. He hadn't been here before, and thus didn't know what the food was like; all he knew was that Lucien didn't trust it, because they didn't trust diners as a matter of principle.
Still, Æsc liked diners, and they were a little more age-appropriate than the bar.

He glanced around at the other patrons, trying to decide if it was worth attempting to pickpocket anyone. Nah, he had a couple of quid - dollars, or whatever the currency used over here was. He flicked through the menu, looking at the pictures much more than the words. Although almost nobody knew it, Æsc's reading abilities rather left something to be desired, thanks to a severe lack of education as a child. Despite Lu's best attempts, he still struggled to read and write sometimes.

"Can I 'ave a chocolate milkshake please?" he asked the waitress. After he received it, he headed over to a booth with a gentleman already sat in it, drinking a cup of coffee or something. Something hot that smelt gross. He looked interesting, and like he might have some spare change that Æsc could pilfer. "Aye, is it alrigh' if I sit 'ere, sir?" he asked, before dropping down into the seat and taking an appreciative sip of his milkshake without waiting for a reply. "I ain't seen you around here much."
He wasn't sure if this was a newcomer to the block or if he'd just not met him yet, but it didn't really make much difference to him. Everyone he'd met so far was the same - vaguely interesting, probably not worth pickpocketing, and so bloody American it made Æsc's toes curl.

Miller caught on to Drake eyeballing him before long. After years of practice and experience, he got a weird stomach feeling when people's eyes were on him. It wasn't so bad when it was easy to track down who was doing the looking. Far more disconcerting was getting the same feeling when you couldn't tell who was scoping you out, or worse, when you felt like you were truly alone, like sitting on the shitter. Miller hated that voodoo feeling sensation in those moments. But, he also reflected, he could be sensitive enough to visual stimulation that it was borderline autistic.

"Picture lasts longer." He laughed in that quiet voice of his, just loud enough for Drake to hear. "Don't be a stranger, neighbor."

He'd seen Drake around, hadn't talked to the man, or any of his new neighbors, all that much yet. He knew their faces and most their names, he had a pretty good memory for such things, and they were an eclectic lot to be sure. Not that Miller had any room to talk. Paradise Apartments didn't exactly project the kind of vibe that said 'come raise your family here'. More like 'come overdose in private with basic cable'. Different folks with different strokes.

Miller also caught the movement that was Aesc making his way over to the table. The man kept his age related comments to himself. He'd seen the kid around but a noticeable lack of parents to go with it. Maybe that was presumptuous. Maybe the kid was just as fucked up as the rest of them.

"Pop a squat." Miller answered the kid's question, shutting his book and taking another sip of his shitty coffee. "I'm new to the neighborhood. Any tips?"

The undercover detective couldn't help the subtle laugh that rippled through his lips at the picture comment. So he'd noticed he was being watched. "True," he agreed in regards to pictures lasting longer, "But I don't think it'd be very socially acceptable to rip out my phone and snap a photo of people I don't know." His nose was scrunched up playfully. "Drake Cross," he offered his name to 'Joe', "I apologize for staring." It was genuine enough. He racked his brain for something to use as a conversation starter until he noticed another new face enter the diner. Drake hadn't seen that one either yet since being back from his 'family emergency' that popped up a month ago, but he looked rather young.

Mr. Cross grew silent again as the two of them conversed, smiling warmly as his own milkshake arrived and began drinking it contently. He wasn't eavesdropping, not really, but if he caught a few lines of the conversation it was more than likely because he was just within hearing range.

"Aight," Æsc replied, even though he'd already sat down. He shrugged. "Aye, sir, I got tips." He resisted the urge to make a pun about pickpockets getting tipped well. "Pretty much everyone here's borin' and old as fuck, but i guess they're alrigh'. The roof's a good place to sit if you wanna be alone, although I been frowned at before for climbin' up there."

The teenager took another sip of his milkshake. It was clear he didn't really like living here; it was just marginally better than living on the streets.
Nodding at the other guy here - Drake, that was kind of a cool name, Æsc had to admit - he tried to decide if he'd heard Lu mention him. Nah, he didn't think so. Either Drake was a newcomer to the neighbourhood - newer than Æsc, Lu and Pluto - or he'd been away for a while. Or Lu just hadn't met him yet, that was a possibility too. This move had been too hurried for them to be able to do their usual in-depth research into everyone they'd be living near to.

"Joseph Miller." The man nodded back to Drake. "Not an issue."

He didn't mind the man staring, he might not even have noticed if his own sense if awareness wasn't keyed up to 11 at all times. Miller wondered if that was what it felt like to be on speed or some shit, seeing everything and not being able to just comfortably ignore stuff that other people did. He didn't have any intention of trying PCP to find out though and he also wouldn't trade alertness for willful ignorance.

"You get bored, table's got room."

He wouldn't hound the man though. They were all neighbors of a sort. They'd have no choice but to get to know about one another, just a slow osmosis of the soul as people absorbed you in and you watched them in turn. Drake's apartment was right next to Miller's, it was inevitable in their case.

Aesc had more of Miller's attention, having sat at the table, and the older man took another drag off his mud water. Pretty much everyone here's borin' and old as fuck, but i guess they're alrigh'. That drew a grin and another short, amused laugh from the man.

"Guessing I fall in the mid range of the 'old as fuck' category. Met Hank too. Kind of a geriatric Hugh Hefner wannabe in that damn robe." Miller's appearance clearly put him in the mid-40's range. "Hank is a few doors over beneath me. Spoils the view of the pool."

As if that was any view at all.

"Good tip. I like being high up, kid. See 'em before they see you." Miller gave in and flagged Joyce down for more coffee. "Tony let you rent a place on your own or you bunkin' with someone else?"

Really wasn't any of his damn business but Miller was curious. Or just nosy. Mostly the latter. Was there a difference?

The door to Suzy Q's opened with a chime of the bell, and in walked a young, blonde woman wearing big, aviator sunglasses and a leather jacket that didnt appear to be her's. From under the aviators, her eyes did not cast a glance around at the fellow patrons of the diner, she had one and only one purpose for being here. There was a skip to her step and a pleasant air to her. Her face was directed dead ahead, where a brunette with a lip ring was working the register. There was a smile on those lips of Rowen's, that smile, the one that meant trouble. "Afternoon Donna," She greeted, her words dripping with something sickly sweet, oozing out from the smirk on her teeth. The greeting was complete with a wiggle from Rowen's fingertips in the direction of the waittress. Donna, the brunette with the lip ring, whipped her head to the source of the slightly raspy voice, her expression immediately blazing to one of molten anger. Donna's cheeks went beet red, and a scowl of all scowls folded her forehead. "You bitch! You sleezy bitch! How dare you show your fucking face to me!" Dona screeched, like a banshee, already in the process of scaling over the counter.
Rowen took a half step back in her scuffed up converse shoes, raising her hands in surrender, grin still plastered on her face.

"Hey, hey, man. What's with the bad blood, baby?" Rowen purred casually, lowering the sunglasses half way down her nose to peer over them at Donna. "Something twisting your panties?"

Donna was over the counter, approaching Rowen with a purpose, practically foaming at the mouth.

"Something twisting your ma's panties?" Rowen's words were slow and dangerous, spoken through the smirk of a devil.

Donna screeched again, no words, just the sound of primal rage. She was almost on Rowen now, and lunging.

It was a wrong move, on Donna's part. Lunging so openly, her actions were too easily evaded. Rowen stepped to the side a half foot, catching Donna by the collar of her uniform before she could sail through empty air, then yanked her back by it. Donna was smacked to the ground on her ass with a choking noise and a dull thump. The brunette was spitting and hissing on the floor like a rubbed wrong kitty. Rowen shrugged up the collar of the leather jacket, the name patched on the back sprawling, 'Mandy Lee', while sporting a gloating expression.

Donna attempted to claw and grab at Rowen's legs, screaming about Rowen and Donna's mother. Donna's attempts were quickly thwarted, by a swift knee to the face. The brunette splatted flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling with rolling eyeballs that were watching stars spin.

"Rowen Moore!" A deep voice shouted. Charles, one of the maybe five local police stood from where he was trying to have a peaceful meal, jelly still in his mustache. He looked stern, more so just upset his meal had been disturbed. He had his hands on his hips and a slight frown on his bushy brows.

In response, Rowen stepped away from Donna, hands up again, swallowing her shit eating grin. "I'm out, I'm out," She surrended, backing towards the door. Once with her back against it, she blew a collective kiss to the diner patrons without really looking at any of them. "Ta Ta for now! Cya 'round, Charles ol' boy." Rowen bid in a sing song voice, before exiting the diner with another chime.

"Pleasure to meet you," he smiled warmly, adding in response to the offer, "I appreciate it, but I'll have to pass this time." He was as friendly as he had the energy for, that polite smile on his face genuine enough. He took the roof comment that was said by Aesc into consideration as well honestly. Drake loved places high up like that also. He nodded in return to the teen with another of those warm smiles flashed briefly. Those chocolate colored eyes moved to the door as the two others conversed about Hank and what not. He'd met that one also and didn't really know what to think of him honestly. He called him 'robe guy' as he didn't really care to remember his name.

Why did his eyes move to the door? That chime of the bell. Huh.. There was Rowen. He raised his brows in amusement when he noticed that she seemed to have tunnel vision for 'Donna' and an air of mischief rolling off of her in massive waves. Drake glanced to Donna when she screeched, wincing a bit at the noise that assaulted his ears. He quietly watched the scene unfold, unsure really what to make of it. Welp.. cat fight. There was no way this detective was getting involved in that scrap. He had no idea what it was even over.

He bit his lip when the cop stopped the ordeal, watching as his cherry bomb of a neighbor exited the building. He glanced to Joe and the kid and mouthed 'Wow' with an amused little smirk before shaking his head and getting back to enjoying his milkshake in silence. His phone interrupted that however in a very loud: SAIL! This is how I show my love~ I made it in my mind because~ He cut it off by answering before it got any further, sending an apologetic smile to any other patrons it had disturbed. His boss again.. Seriously? 'Can you talk?' was the very first question the guy asked.

"Give me a minute," Drake said into his phone, paid the bill for the shake while also leaving a tip and headed out the door with a wave to Joe and Aesc. He slid into his car to take his phone call and then he'd be either headed home or out to risk his neck some more due to his boss's orders.

Æsc nodded, though it was probably clear from his expression that he had no idea who Hugh Hefner was. "Aye. I ain't met him. He smirked. "I like bein' 'igh, too. On roofs, or walls, or drugs, or wha'ever." The drugs part was mostly a joke - there was no way Lu would let him take anything stronger than ibuprofen, and they were wary about letting him have too much of that, even - but he said it completely seriously.

"I'm livin' with my older siblin' and my father," he replied, lying perfectly smoothly. He did live with Lu and Pluto, he just wasn't related to them. At all. Æsc had been an orphan as long as he could remember; Lu had just happened to pick him up a couple of years ago, and taken him in as their younger brother.

His dark eyes jumped to the door as a woman entered - oh, he knew her name, didn't he? R-something. Rosalind? Rosemary? Romeo? Honestly, Æsc hadn't been paying enough attention to remember - and watched impassively as the fight went down. The thirteen-year-old didn't really seem very concerned by it, or even particularly interested by it.
Oh, Rowen, that was her name. The cop guy said it. Eh. There was no way Æsc was going to remember that next time he saw her.

Nodding to Drake as he left, Æsc finally let his gaze fall back on Joseph. "Anway, as I was sayin'. We moved 'ere a couple weeks ago, only passin' through, 'opefully. I ain't wantin' to stay long, if I 'ave any say in it."

Aesc was a poster child for this part of town, Miller decided. If the man sensed a lie, he didn't call it out. The story was smooth enough and close enough to a subjective interpretation of 'truth' that it no doubt flowed like water circling a storm drain. Miller acknowledged Drake's final decline with a tilt of his head, then Joyce was there with more liquid bliss, and he let her fill up his cup all the way. It'd be nasty as shit what it did to him later, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The hot coffee was the familiar sensation of feeling alive.

Miller inhaled the smell of it with a pleased little sigh, reached into an inside pocket of his coat, and pulled out a small silver flask. He unscrewed the top and poured a measure of the strong scented alcohol within into his coffee. The flask was offered to Aesc a moment after, if the kid cared to rot his liver along with his teeth on that milkshake. If the kid's dad objected, maybe dad should be there supervising instead of letting his son hang out with relative strangers in a late night diner, next to what was arguably a staple of Skid Row.

"We're all high on something, kid. Just watch the paint if you're a huffer. Shit will fry your brain for real and give all your swimmers two heads when you hit puberty."

Miller smirked at himself, the notion of giving life advice striking him as funny. Wasn't his job to safeguard the world. But he also felt like he was looking at the next generation of himself growing up without anyone giving a shit. Funny how over the years people didn't change. Same song, different tune.

The girl with blonde hair came in with a little chime of the bell. Miller instantly spotted trouble in her, woman walked with a purpose, like lions he'd seen on the Discovery Channel. Right to Donna. Miller didn't know Donna aside from when she'd sat him down when he arrived tonight but clearly the women had history. He watched as the scrapped, interested, but like every other patron, not going to get involved. Wasn't a random act of violence and he could always find out what it was about later. The cop provided a name for the aggressor, Rowen, and Miller recognized her as his downstairs near-neighbor. Just like that, woman was gone, and the man made a mental note that battery didn't get you arrested too quickly here. Drake left shortly after her and Miller was left amused.

"That was dramatic." He commented to Aesc as the diner slowly returned to normal. "Passing through, huh?"

He took a fresh air off his new cup of coffee.

"Hopefully you are. That place is a spiderweb though; plenty of other flies thought they were passing through too and now they're part of it." He didn't say that was because the building was hungry for souls, even if it seemed that way, because it sounded far too melodramatic in his own head. He raised his mug in a mock toast. "To living in the web."

With a grin, Æsc accepted the flask. Maybe this guy wasn't all that bad. Lu didn't let Æsc drink a lot, and there was rarely a lot of alcohol in their apartment - but hey, if this nice fella was going to give it to him, it'd be just rude to turn it down. He opened the lid of his milkshake, dumping some of the liquid from the flask inside, before returning it to Joseph. "Ta," he thanked him, taking a sip of his milkshake. Oh, good god, that was great.

"Aye, I ain't sniffin' paint. That shit reeks. An' anyway, Lucien won't allow anythin' like that in the apar'ment." He paused. "Not that it'd matter. I ain't never havin' kids anyway."
He was pretty sure he'd be a terrible father. It wasn't like he'd ever had a great rolemodel. Pluto was only a father legally; they'd come to an agreement when Lu took Æsc in that they and Pluto would leave well enough alone and let him do his own thing.

"Yep. Just passin' through. We ain't gonna get stuck 'ere, 'cause we got a plan. We escaped plen'y of spider webs before. We ain't even the flies no more. We're the spiders." He grinned, though, at the toast, raising his own milkshake to tap it against Joseph's mug. "Aye. To living in the web."

"Weirdest thing I ever saw someone huff was these dumbass kids, couple years back. They didn't want to rot their brain cells on paint. So they got a brilliant idea." The mockery in Miller's deadpan tone was unmistakable as he referred to the unnamed teens. "Maybe they couldn't afford paint, piss broke and desperate for a fix. So they pissed and shit in buckets instead, let it ferment, and huffed those fumes."

The man gave a quiet laugh and shook his head, thinking about it. It had been one of the more disgusting houses he'd ever been in, which was saying something. He'd been in the sewers once or twice in various cities and those were probably cleaner than those kids house.

"You think paint reeks? Could smell these assholes a block away."

More mud water down the hatch. Miller flashed Joyce a smile, lifting the cup in thanks to her. She smiled, nodded in turn, and went back to her other tables. He liked Joyce. She was pretty, she had a brain, she was going places... Miller was really glad he didn't kill her like he was going to. Girl had a nice smile. Just wouldn't have been the same in Suzy's without her either.

"To the spiders in the web then and to not being desperate enough to snort our own feces." Miller polished off his cup. "Keep your ears open, kid. You hear anything interesting around this place, I'll find you some more booze. Hear something really interesting and I'll find you some cash."

Miller reached to his hat where it lay next to him on the seat and put it back atop his head. He stood up, smiling in a tired way, and tipped the brim of said hat to Aesc.

"Don't stay up too late, kid." He said in a voice that was most likely joking. "School day tomorrow, innit?"

Miller made his way towards the door.

"Catch you 'round."

Rowen was still haunting the block, and had just stepped back out onto the street from inside Crazy Beans, hollering over her shoulder, "Yeah, yeah, I'll be in Tuesday!" She stepped back out onto the street, pulling a pack of Marlboros from the pocket of Mandy's leather jacket. She pulled a stick out with her front teeth, returning the pack to the pocket and withdrawing a black lighter in the same motion. Cupping a hand around the tip of the cigarette, she used the other to spark the lighter to life, bringing the flame towards the cigarette and letting it crackle, then the lighter was returned to the pocket and Rowen's gaze finally lifted to the street around her.

She appeared casual, as if she were just running errands and hadn't just stopped by the diner in order to stir shit up. There really hadn't been any other reason for it either, the only purpose she had at the diner this lovely day was to push Donna's buttons. Donna had started it though, last week at Shirley's, calling Rowen a 'trailer trash motherfucking bitch', over something Rowen no longer had any memory of. Soo, Rowen had to show Donna just how much of a mother fucker she could be, and then go to Suzy Q's just to rub Donna's face in it. Such was simply Rowen.

Anyway's, so she had Suzy Q's and Crazy Beans, her place of employment, checked off her list, and now she was thinkin' it was time for her daily drop by at Aunt Sally's for some beverages. Theeen, maybe she'd go to The Dog House to see Tommy about the bon fire being planned for Friday. She just wanted an excuse to go to the strip club, she loved it there. Because all the girls hated her guts. It could be possibly said that the majority of Rowen's free time was spent pushing buttons. She couldn't help herself, there were just so many buttons begging to be pressed.

Miller stepped outside the diner, the darkness of the Florida night more comfortable on his eyes than the artificial glow of the lights inside Suzy's. Once, a long time ago, this would've been when he lit a smoke and did his best broody detective panoramic look at what parts of the city were in sight. He'd given up smoking a while ago, along with several other vices, but he still couldn't resist doing a scan of the street anyways. Skid Row, or near enough to it, that there was always bound to be something to see. Miller missed very little. A blessing and a curse. Like when he'd caught on his wife was going to leave him a week before it happened, then just watched it take place anyway.

Maybe it was the glow from the tip of her death stick. Maybe the acrid scent of burning tobacco on the air. Her perfume. Her sweat. Her heartbeat. Her blood. The jacket that didn't look like hers. The silhouette. The way her breathing sounded. The way the shadows danced and pooled around her ankles from the overhead lights. Whichever and whatever of Miller's ridiculously well tuned senses noticed her first, he did notice her right away. Score one for being hard to ambush. The smell of her cigarette, Marlboro judging by the odor, brought back another rush of memories like talking with Joyce did. Miller approached Rowen, hands in his jacket pockets, brim of his hat casting the top part of his face in darkness though not deep enough that Rowen couldn't see his eyes and features.

"I think you had her on the ropes back there." He said by way of greeting, stopping when he was about ten feet away and facing the same direction Rowen was so he could see the same city from her perspective. "Float like a butterfly, sting like getting run over by a freight train."

Even more interesting than the brawl she'd casually started was everyone else's reaction to it. He knew this was a hard part of town but Paradise Apartments, or it's surrounding area, seemed a whole new beast. He'd seen enough violence over his years, committed enough of it himself, to understand that conflict happened and to not be surprised by it. The other guy, Drake? He'd taken it as par for the course. The kid? Most thirteen years old at least got excited by a fight. Budding little sociopath there or some shit. The other waitresses? No one exactly jumped to Donna's defense. Hell, the cop in uniform, on duty, hadn't done a thing either. What strange, wonderful, depraved nest of humanity had he discovered?

"Nice jacket."

Rowen had noticed a fellow night lurker emerge into the darkness of the hazy night, but hardly graced the figure with her attention. Instead, she seemed occupied with a note scribbled on a shred of paper in her finger tips, cigarette smoking idly between her thick lips. It wasn't until she was spoken to that her focus was directed towards the man that had joined her on the street, the voice catching her ear a split second before she stalked off into the night, like the little alley cat she was. She cocked an eyebrow, stuffing her secret message into the jacket pocket, her sharp gaze flicking towards Joseph very briefly.

"I think you had her on the ropes back there." Of course she did, Rowen wasn't no bitch ass pussy. She didn't start fights she couldn't finish- most of the time. Her response was an amused 'hmm' of agreement and a bobbing nod of her head, her fingers reached to remove the death stick momentarily from her mouth, just long enough to tap the ashes off, letting them drift slowly to the cracked cement sidewalk at her feet. His freight train comment earned a smirk from the corners of her mouth. Damn straight, she thought. Up close and under the heavy scent of charred tobacco, the young bomb shell smelt of licorice, oddly enough.

Those eyes of her's, that iconic, magnetic gaze finally turned to fully behold her newest street companion, giving him an obvious glance over. The scent of The Force lingered on him, whether he was still involved with law enforcement anymore or not, it's shadow still hung tight, making Rowen skeptical of his intentions. Her eyes narrowed as she studied his face, searching through the shadows there to examine his features. Her own features were illuminated only by the soft, colorful light of neon shop signs and the red ember of her smoke, casting her dramatically carved facial features in a warm, orangey glow. The light from below created a slightly ominous tone to her face, like when the scary story teller holds the flash light by their chin. She hadn't seen this face around before, and assumed it was a part of the sea of new faces flooding Paradise. Why were so many people running away to hide in Palm Hills? What were they running from? Rowen's morbid curiosity had been gnawing her skull nonstop lately with all the new neighbors. She was too nosy for her own good and had too much love for gory details.

Her attention was brought back out of her mindscape with Joseph's next comment. The young, blonde chuckled lightly, cigarette smoke escaping her lips and cute, little nose. She popped the collar of the jacket, glancing down at it. "Yeah, thanks Guy. It's pretty damn cozy." She shrugged her shoulders, nestling deeper into the faux silk lined leather. She did like this jacket, she thought she might even keep it for wear, not just temporarily as a trophy of sorts. Her striking gaze caught his face again, repeating the survey of his face.

"Were ya from, stranger?" She inquired, skipping the whole 'haven't seen ya 'round before. You new?' BS. Of course he was new, Rowen just hoped he hadn't come 'round to be enlisted with the local law. Rowen was pleased with how the cops in town did- or didn't, do their jobs, she personally didn't think they needed another little piggy runnin' around, trying to rain on her parade.

Miller's face was kind of a sad, basset hound kind of thing. There was a world weariness to it though it was hard to place exactly where it came from. He was in his early 40's so there were a few lines on his cheeks, his forehead, just in the way he formed his expressions. His eyes were what really did the trick but apart from the sadness there was a clear intelligence behind them. The man was thinking, he was sharp. Miller wasn't very good at playing stupid so he never really did. Ignorance? Yeah, he'd pretend not to know the whole scope, but if you needed someone to play a slack-jawed yokel, Miller wouldn't do the trick. His hat only really enhanced the image, combined with the jacket and slacks. He looked like a retro dresser and there was definitely some of 'the cop' in him still. The way he stood, the way he kept an eye on his surroundings, old tics that never really left.

"Chicago, most recently." He answered her as he took in a deep breath of the night air, letting it fill then slowly exit his lungs. Breathing in some of the smoke that was coming past her lips and off her cancer stick. "Some people there I didn't feel like seeing anymore."

He gave a quiet chuckle, sure she could read the subtext. The town had gotten too hot.

"Got a job offer out here. So now I'm a resident of sunny Florida. Land of the pensioners."

Miller reached inside his jacket again, the interior lined with something smooth that wasn't even faux silk like hers. He had a long sleeve shirt on beneath it and reached into an interior pocket, where a rectangular shape could be seen. He pulled out his silver flask again, unscrewing the top, then brought it to his lips and tipped back a nip. The sharp odor of whiskey or rum joined the Marlboro haze. He offered it to her, if she cared for a hit herself, simply putting it away again if she declined.

"I'm your upstairs neighbor. Almost. One unit over. I'm next to Drake." His mouth curled into a half smile. "Seen you before, first chance I got to say hi."

Whether she'd seen him or not in passing was nebulous. Miller came and went without much fanfare or too many people seeing him. Movers had brought his stuff, not the man himself, and he'd only been there a short time so far. It was possible Rowen might've spotted him in passing though.

Looking at his features, Rowen felt a little flutter in her sickly heart for that sad, puppy dog face. Rowen just had a thing for animals and older men(also cranky, elderly women), a soft spot in that rotten apple heart, she supposed. Though, isn’t a rotten apple supposed to be soft all over? Whatever, logic. Who needs it? Chicago, her thoughts noted. He could have been lying straight to her pretty face, but she believed him, he felt like a Chicago man. She didn’t have the best memories of Chicago herself, so she easily believed his tell of it becoming a place to evade. Huh, he really was another one on the run, Rowen’s warped mind already making assumptions of what he could be running from. What kind of people was he evading? What kind of past was haunting him? Don’t go too deep, Ruin. Maybe he’s trying to get away from a psycho ex-wife who wants to drain him of every coin. She had the habit of always assuming the worst of people. Perhaps it was just that interest of gory details, they excited her, and she loved to be excited. Buuut also, maybe he’s an ex-cop turned mob boss who iced too many people, and now the feds are breathing down his neck.

Job offer out here? Hm, that seemed to be a couple new resident’s excuse too. Geez, where were all these job openings coming from lately? … What kind of job? She didn’t become too intrusive juuust yet, can’t open up a conversation by interrogated someone, it’s not the best first impression- though Rowen wasn’t too great with those things anyways. Her sharp gaze caught the flash of neon lights off the reflective silver, desire lighting those eyes of her’s. She didn’t even have to ask for a hit, the man was offering it to her. Offering booze before introductions? She was sure she would like this guy. “Oh,” She cooed as she reached to grasp the flask in her finger tips. “A gentleman.” A twinkle of something like amusement or mischief flashed in her eyes as she tipped the flask back, removing the cigarette from her big mouth before doing so. After taking a hearty swig, she lowered the flask again, using the back of her hand to wipe her chops, then passed the flask back. The cigarette was quickly returned to its post in her pillowy lips, smoke lazily drifting up her striking features and into the night’s indigo air. He was talking again, bringing her focus back to the interaction and away from the oh so delicious sting of alcohol in the back of her throat, which was making her want more. She loved that burn, it was so terribly tasty, perfectly chased with some oxy for numbness. Upstairs neighbor? Next to Drake? His name caught her ears, drawing her in. Studying Joseph’s face again, she tried to recall having seen it before. Thinking hard enough, she thought she’d seen that hat of his bobbing around, but hadn’t been paying close enough attention to catch his face and have it stick among the tumble weeds in her mindscape.

Rowen cracked a smile too and thrusted a bruised knuckled hand out for him to shake, which would be slightly chilly, due to bad circulation. “S’pose it’s time for formal introductions then, in’it? Name’s Rowen.” She introduced, leaving at her last name, as per ush. Get the formalities out of the way, then you can nose a little, she told herself, becoming antsy with holding back her invasive questions. She was wondering what line of work he was in to be finding a job around here, why he was desperate enough to take it.

"Rude to drink in mixed company without offering one to the lady."

Miller wasn't sure 'gentleman' aptly described him but it was certainly better than some of the other names he'd been called over the years. He was hardly going to turn his nose up at it. He saw that gleam in her eyes though; Rowen was the kind of woman who'd gotten him in trouble before. Old habits died hard and Miller was a glutton for punishment sometimes. How many times had he done that dance with himself? Old habits also brought old memories. Old memories were good. Idly, he reflected, it was odd how often he thought of his mind and memories as a kind of card catalog. He had to keep paging through and re-reading them to make sure he'd remember them. It beat the alternative.

He extended his own hand as well, taking hers in a firm, but not asshole-bone-crunching, grip then let it go again a moment later. There was a steady strength there. Miller's skin was cool as well, dry and not clammy. He could feel the coffee still sitting inside his stomach too, warming him up. That might've been a psychological thing more than reality but considering reality was often based around an individuals perceptions, he wasn't going to argue it out with himself. As his train of thought had gotten this far down that track though it might be a foregone conclusion that he was going to dwell on it later. One more little puzzle piece to amuse and divert. Or frustrate.

"Miller." He favored the reverse, going by his last name more than his first. "Pleasure."

Which was ironically also true. It was a pleasure to meet her. He enjoyed getting to know the neighbors, some more than others. Learning about them. Getting the lay of the land. He was a real nosy son of a bitch. He wasn't exactly impossible to read either. He was curious about her as she was also about him.

"Anyone else on your shit list tonight?"