Prowling After Hours, January 18, Friday Night [Tiger]

[Trenton West]

Trent loathed Corona, being more a whiskey/hard liquor kind of man, but as he hadn't paid for it...be a waste not to drink it. He absently fingered the slender neck of the bottle, his thoughts more geared towards the cases he had to work and his general frustration towards one in particular. Had been tracking a feral - it was completely legit, completely professional, that's what he told himself - wanted for murder, had seen him a few times but hadn't...taken him in, yet. Mostly because the scathing anger and the hurt got in the way of protocal. Protocal and collecting the money the government was waving in front of his face for the capture. And sometimes Trent lost track of him, and that was fucking frustrating. He vaguely thought of asking Damien's advice; the sniffer had helped him out before, and he was undeniably good at his job. It could be a good thing, you know, bringing someone else in...to act as a buffer...make sure he kept it detached, didn't get all worked up and wrapped up in the enigma that was Tiger...again. He'd made that mistake once before, and it...wasn't something he wanted to revisit anytime soon.

"You got quiet all of a sudden. Everything okay?"

He felt a hand on his shoulder, a squeeze of concern then a more...suggestive slipping of fingertips and palm down his arm, grazing his bicep through the bruisingly navy blue of his t-shirt. Trent wasn't dressed to kill tonight; he was mostly dressed to drink, dark shirt, black jeans, the usual. It wasn't that he was in a bad mood, he was just...solitary. Though that didn't mean he didn't have a libido, and it was the reason he didn't shrug the touch off. He shot a sideways glance to his companion, a sandy-haired California native a handful of years younger than him. Trent had been surprised when the bartender pushed the Corona in front of him - nodding towards the guy. For his own reasons, he always thought he didn't give out a blatantly gay vibe. Or a vibe of interest at all, most of the time. But, whatever, maybe he was lonely...maybe he just wanted to get laid...or the appeal of free alcohol outweighed his inner pessimist. He didn't mind bar pickups - short, sweet flings, physical with none of the mess of an emotional tie. God knew Tiger was enough of a handful where that was concerned. So he gestured the blond over, they talked, he was a nice kid - at the university, friendly, flirtacious, made Trent smile once or twice. Something about younger men appealed to him, and God knew why. Most of them were prone to doing stupid things, rash things, too temperamental - or maybe that was just one in particular he was thinking about.

Stupid. Just let it go.

He ran one hand through his hair with a mild smile. "Yeah. Fine." His Californian nodded, picking up the lime Trent had left beside the half emptied bottle, and sucked on the tip of the sour wedge of fruit. The flick of a pink tongue and his eyes in particular...Trent watched, because he was supposed to watch. It was a show for him, and his smile turned altogether into something darker, more primal, and he reached out, grasping the man's wrist gently, dragging fingers and lime away from his mouth. The Californian leaned forward, one elbow sliding along the edge of the bar to keep his balance, and Trent kissed him. He tasted like lime and martini, and Corona. The kiss was short, sweet, a little tongue - an invitation that was accepted.

"Let's get out of here," Trent suggested, and his companion nodded. With that, he left beer and bar, sliding off the stool with the blond in tow, glancing around the succulent, warm atmosphere of a too-crowded bar. Smoking inside establishments wasn't technically legal, was it? Didn't seem to matter, as nicotine wafted through the air, catching on the dim lights like toxic glitter. Fucking poetic. Trent was less than mournful to leave it behind. He anticipated a good night ahead.

[Tiger Callaghan]

They flocked in their faded jeans, graphic t-shirts, and what they considered 'fashionable' to the bar like cows at feeding time. A line so long that he knew his murky green depths had to be playing a trick on him, was beginning to curl along the outside of the door. For once he was thankful that he'd managed to make it on the inside before there was even a such thing as a line. Every day, he'd tried preparing himself for what every night might bring, living in and out of a city such as Juno.. in hiding, it was becoming a little harder for the runaway to determine who was friend and who was foe. Generally he was a wanted man, but to draw less attention to himself he'd found himself dressing in a way that wouldn't make it too obvious that he was the person that was wanted for murder. In times such as these, when he felt as alone as he did, he often thought back to what his mother used to tell him when she said that he may find himself in plenty situations that'd require her knowledge and what she and his father had been teaching him. Even now, he recalled staring blankly back into her eyes which were lined with thick layers of mascara that always made her seem as if her second calling was a TV evangelist. If only he'd listened then, even now he knew it was foolish to even try to think of such words that clearly fell on deaf ears once upon a time.

Adjusting himself at the table he'd been sitting at, he felt his elbows drag slowly across the worn wood as he lazily let his eyes fall over those that were gathered. It'd been easy for him to come out in public as of late. Constantly changing his style was something that had been apart of the running process. He wasn't always a person that bore such things as dark eyeliner and eye shadow, or black hair. An emo feel that he'd adapted with the changing of his mood. He could have easily been compared to the boy next door growing up, but like life that seemed to constantly change, so did that particular ideal of who he was as a person. As more people flocked into the establishment, he'd found his green eyes traveling lazily to the bar. He'd drained the contents of his drink rather fast, having been sipping on a few Rum and Cokes for the past hour or so. He'd lost track of time with the third or fourth drink. Ironically enough he'd had a high tolerance, or so he'd thought. Adjusting himself in his seat, he stood to his height of 5'7" and moved around the table he'd been sitting at and for the bar. There was a slight swagger in his walk that was balanced well with lazy thoughts. The night warranted him to be clad in a pair of low rise blue jeans that were denim, and faded, patched and with words such as 'rebel' and 'rejection' and other such negative adjectives which made it a little harder to determine whether or not he was speaking of himself or someone else.

The red hoodies, and mass of multiple belts that seemed to hang around his hips and parts of his thighs made it harder for someone that didn't know him to determine what sort of statement he was hoping to make in such a situation.; Once making it to the bar, the sounds of his red and white Vans hitting the ground grew silent. Pressing into the edge, he took a small breath and cursed himself for not having a cigarette or something to ease the apprehension that was rising within him. One more drink, he told himself, and he'd be ready to get out of this place. With the red hood of his hoodie pulled up over his head, doing well to hide most of his hair except those wild strands of darkness that tend to hang along the front of his face, he let his tongue flicker across his lips just slightly. "Yeah. Fine." The words touched his ears, and throughout the voices that were rising every minute. It was one that was familiar to him but one that he couldn't bring himself to place with a face. He never could when he heard such tones. Letting his eyes travel along the bar for a moment, they made contact with two males that weren't that far off from him. In fact one of them possessed a face he knew really well, on more than a level he often liked to admit to. But what he saw was a kiss, and for the briefest of moments a flicker of anger and jealousy washed over him -- emotions he'd never been able to contain when it came to Trenton.

"Let's get out of here,"

Those words rang through his head and briefly he had a flash back to when they'd met. It wasn't as sweet as submissing as the sub did a few feet away from him, but it was.. interesting in its own weird way. Turning his eye sight back to the bartender as he'd made another drink for the guy on the opposite of Tiger, the dark haired male spoke up so that both the californian boy and Trent could hear. "That's usually how it starts, I guess when submission is already in tact. Easy fuck, and the rest is history." He said bluntly, french lilt laced in every word he'd spoken. Tiger had a way with words, they were usually just very blunt, holding little regard to what others may think of him and what he'd had to say. "Make sure you make it as special as you'd made it for me our first time." He tried to bite back the jealous tone in those words but he couldn't. The creature that was jealousy was rearing its ugly head and all was forgotten. "Another rum and coke." Spoken when the bartender approached to get the order. Tiger adjusted himself now so that his weight shifted to his right foot and was taken off of his other foot just a bit. The corner of his lips pursed a moment with aggrivation, quite a bit of agitation, something that even he was barely able to contain. Right now, all taht he could think about was how much he was wanting the bartender to hurry so that he could return to his corner table.. and away from everyone else.

[Trenton West]

"That's usually how it starts, I guess when submission is already in tact. Easy fuck, and the rest is history."

"And you would know," Trent snapped in response, before he'd even had a moment to register that...the seductive - perhaps unintentionally so - French lilt was unmistakable; if anything, it was more pronounced in sharp contrast to every other identical American drawl in the near vicinity, and Trenton froze, leaning back ever so slightly against the stool he'd just slid off of. He glanced towards the voice, and even though he wasn't surprised, still...Tiger, even behind the red hood dragged over his head. It masked most of the features Trent remembered so well - hated to remember, but did anyway. Easy fuck. True. At least you could trust those, they wouldn't screw you over - in the negative sense - or leave you without so much as a good reason. Didn't even have the balls to say it to his face...didn't he deserve that, at least? Apparently not. Apparently he wasn't worth an actual explanation, in person, or else he just didn't mean enough for Tiger to want to confide in him. Both, or either, idea was...less than inspiring. Trent was vaguely aware that his companion had followed his gaze, narrowing eyes at the perceived rudeness, or interruption, or competition for attention - completely egotistical to entertain the thought (though there wasn't much of that...of competition, that is. Trenton couldn't think of much else when he was in the feral's presence.) And the blond was attractive, distinctly non-Tiger. Oddly enough - or perhaps, not so much - Trent avoided men who reminded him of that, of his ex, preferred to fu-enjoy the company of the complete opposite.

"Make sure you make it as special as you'd made it for me our first time."

Goddamnit.

He sounded...it was almost harsh, almost bitter, jealous? Christ. Even when Tiger was angry, it seemed...it was something he craved. Missed. Wouldn't admit it for all the money in the world though. Trenton smiled reassuringly to his bristling Corona 'friend', brushing fingertips against the small of his back. "Give me a minute." Although his voice was low and even, it wasn't a request. It was a demand, giving no sign of what he was feeling, which wasn't nearly as calm. He knew it wasn't fair, wasn't right, to do this to the guy but...fuck it, Trent stepped around the blond, a couple others who drifted towards the bar to order drinks. It was getting impossibly crowded, but somehow he managed to ease up against the bar, right next to Tiger but not looking at him. More, studying the crowd, the glimpses of desperate men and women waiting impatiently, shifting back and to in the line that spilled out into the street.

"I should haul your ass into the Institution, Callaghan," he remarked, careful to use the last name, distance himself, "They tend to frown on murder around here." The same way he talked to anyone he planned on apprehending for the sake of quick cash...as easy-going a voice as he could manage, like being so close to the feral and not touching him, not making a scene, wasn't the most difficult thing he'd done all night. And it was kind of hard to stomach, he guessed - being...well, he wasn't holier-than-thou, he just...had a specific set of morals that coincided with most of the laws he followed, and to say...murder? Trent's hands weren't clean by a long shot, he knew that, but...he just never really saw himself getting attached to a fucking would-be felon. He pursed his lips into a single line, the words replaying themselves in his mind, his thoughts. And he...turned towards Tiger then, glaring at the profile of his slim body and hooded face.

"Why the hell did you say that anyway?" Trent demanded suddenly, the feigned disinterest quickly disippating into real emotion, real frustration. "It's none of your fucking business." He sort of laughed, a hard, unamused bark of a sound. "I mean, Jesus, Tiger, you're full of shit. Special, huh? Might as well warn him it's just the first few times, then it wears off, gets boring. Tedious." Not worth investing much in. "Hell, maybe I'd get an email, or a...fucking text message telling me "ITZ OVR". Easier than a letter, yeah?" So maybe he was being petty, bringing up the same things - things he couldn't get past. Trent wasn't as good at it as Tiger seemed to be, just picking up and leaving, moving on, that kind of thing. And he always sort of figured that maybe his lover, his boyfriend for lack of a better term, had found someone better, someone more like him, his type - another feral? A younger guy? Or just someone who wasn't so fucking demanding all the time...

Enough. Like he hadn't overanalyzed it ten thousand times already. The melancholy was getting old. Trent dropped his gaze, casually easing his hands into the back pockets of his jeans, just thinking. "You shouldn't even be here," he mused, and he wasn't sure what he meant by that - at this bar, near him? In this state? This city? Juno did have one of the bigger Equality Centers on the west coast - not exactly good for an unregistered feral convict. Not that Trent cared. Of course not.

[Tiger Callaghan]

There was a past between Tiger and Trenton. Anyone that knew them would know that, and just how deep of a past that it was was a completely different story. They were together and they shared something that not many other people was able to share. As much as neither of them wanted to admit to it, it was love. But the fact that Tiger had to leave, was forced to was something that he couldn't help. He had a past, and he was wanted, why get his boyfriend in trouble with the government when he didn't have to be? If it was one thing that he'd learned about the government anywhere was that it was all corrupt and filled with vile filth, humans that wanted nothing more than to get their hands on all witches and bring them into custody. To torture them, and to dissect them like frogs in a Science Lab. That was the part of him that fueled the anger that was ever apparent when the government got involved in matters that they shouldn't. What made it worse, and made him sick to his stomach, was the fact that Trenton was working for the government. Against him no less. He couldn't bring himself to take him into the institution, which brought up several questions in Tigers mind. How long was Trenton going to be able to not take him in? Was it only a matter of time before bitterness wrapped its icy grip around his ex lovers heart and Tiger found himself arrested?

He scoffed at the thought silently. He didn't care, let Trenton try.

"And you would know,"

The words came so quickly in response to what he'd had to say and he let his attention fall to Trenton once more, silently watching him as a jungle cat would a deer prancing between bushes in a dense rainforest. It was almost primal in the way that Tiger watched the man he'd come to call his mate, in his mind anyways. But what took his attention away from Trenton was the way that the blonde boy had been looking at him. It caused something to stir within him that almost made him open his lips to say something. He didn't however, choosing silence over all else and feeling as if that may be the better option in the long run. What was going on between the two of them had nothing to do with the blonde girl in Trentons presence. But it was so obvious that jealousy was laced in that feral green gaze of Tigers'. It would be foolish not to think such. "Give me a minute." Yeah, that's right. The blonde was forgotten about per usual. Tiger had been completely oblivious to the sway that he held over Trenton when they were within the others presence. As angry as they could be with one another when they were together, there was just an unmistakingly strong chemistry there that neither of them could get over. If they were doing other things in public and ran into each other, all else was forgotten about, and all that mattered in the end was the two of them.

His keen hearing grabbed the words that fell from Trenton and he adjusted himself taking a nice long swig of his drink. The alcoholic pleasure that traveled and coerced its way down his throat and into his internal system felt good. It tasted good and it made Tiger want to finish the drink off immediately. The bartender had made it alot stronger than he should have. In a situation like this it was tricky. This set up at the bar, in this bar. It could have all been a ploy to get Tiger. He didn't know if Trenton had people watching him, or if the blonde he was with worked for the government too. Or if the stranger on the opposite side of him was someone that was ready to haul his ass in for being a feral and for comitting murder. It made the feral apprehensive about everyone, bitterly distrusting. It was one of the reasons why he never came out in public often. And when he did it was to make a point about some of the things that he'd felt deeply about the government. His feelings for Trenton were hard to pick at if he also had to worry about those feelings being placed on the back burner because of the love of his life wanted to cart him into the Institution. To be a test subject. To be a slave to the government. And as much of a rebel as he was, even Trent should have known that they'd have to kill him first because there was no sort of restraint that could ever hope to keep him locked away.

"I should haul your ass into the Institution, Callaghan," Callaghan? That made his eyes narrow just slightly and he turned to fully face the far taller man next to him. Size never did matter to Tiger where Trent was concerned. His ex may have been a towering 6'3", but Tiger's attitude measured up to that exactly. "They tend to frown on murder around here." So he was trying to take the professional roll and it was clear in an instant that every word that was spoken to him coursed through veins of anger causing his blood to boil. His gaze wasn't able to harden as he would have liked them, unable to hide how much emotion he still held in possession for Trenton Cillian West. But emotion was wiped clean from his face, from his eyes and he held his hands out, crossing his wrist in an 'X' shape. "Then haul away, Cillian. I don't fucking care, anymore. You of all people should know that they won't be able to hold me down for long. But if you're so willing to cart me away for a fucking check and to become a guinea pig for the fucktards that hired you, then do it. And do it with pride. Don't be a cuntscab about it." He spat out with venom, his words being nothing but the truth as he let his stone cold green eyes linger on Trenton and never faulter in the slightest. If Trenton really wanted to take him away then he would let him. If what mattered was a fucking check? Then so be it.

His breathing was becoming a little harder. His eyebrow twitching just slightly. He was trying to remember the last time he'd gotten so angry like this. Trent knew how to push his button but never to the point of aggression towards him. When they got physical it usually resulted in sex. Something hot, something passionate. But if someone else managed to inspire such anger in him, a complete stranger, it usually resulted in violence. He was so uninhibited which made it harder for anyone to truly get close to him. "Why the hell did you say that anyway?" Now he blinked, small hands falling to his sides now. "I mean, Jesus, Tiger, you're full of shit. Special, huh? Might as well warn him it's just the first few times, then it wears off, gets boring. Tedious." Not worth investing much in. "Hell, maybe I'd get an email, or a...fucking text message telling me "ITZ OVR". Easier than a letter, yeah?" He felt his heart drop a little. He was still so angry about what had happened and Tiger still felt so horrible about it! "You shouldn't even be here," Tigers breathing slowed just slightly. He felt like running, he really did. All that he wanted to do was run in a form that would let him feel the true exhileration of release. Maybe a Tiger, or Jaguar. He'd acquired both of those forms in the past which allowed him to take them on again, the instincts of the feline embedded in his psyche no matter what.

Turning around so that his back was partially to Trenton, Tiger let his eyes travel over the crowd that was gathered. This was definately not the place for them to have their quarrel, but no place was ever the place. It just happened randomly, everywhere and anywhere it did. "I'm a wanted boy. Excuse me for wanting to leave so that I didn't draft the son of government agents and the love of my life into my disassterific fuck up." Tiger had a unique way with words that made him stand out all the more. He bit down on his full lower lip and then glanced towards the blonde kid again. "Tell your girlfriend to stop staring." He bit out randomly, ADHD partially kicking in. He shrugged his hoodie over his body a little more, pulling it tightly as he tried to adjust the hood atop of his head to hide more of his features. It took him a moment to muster up nerves to do this but he suddenly turned fully with his back to Trenton and began to make his way for the door. "Enjoy your night." There was nothing else that needed to be said. He just suddenly had the urge to want to fly away, and fly away he would if Trent didn't stop him from leaving.

[Trenton West]

Tiger turned to face him, green eyes narrowed, glaring, and Trent was grateful, so grateful, that his face didn't show what he felt. How his breath, heartbeat, skipped, everything choked down in light of looking at him. From the full lips to the dark hair - thick, black, like fucking silk, the way it framed his eccentric, defined bone structure, jawline and cheeks. He was angry, Trent could practically taste it, and he was still so damn beautiful. What he didn't expect was for Tiger to give in so willingly - to the threat, to the words. He bared his wrists, daring the PI to cuff him. And again Trent hesitated - he hadn't come here, tonight, prepared to take the feral in. As much as he said it, threatened it, even wanted to do it...he didn't think he ever would. Didn't have the balls to go through with it.

"Then haul away, Cillian. I don't fucking care, anymore.

Cillian. Nobody ever called him that; hell, most people didn't even know his middle name. Trent faltered some, in a comeback - he paused, and it pissed him off that Tiger took him aback. "Bullshit," he protested - his ex couldn't be serious about it. It was true, they couldn't hold him...but to just make it clear, once and for all, that he was over Tiger, that it...he wasn't. "Of course you care. You always care! You're not happy if you're not pissing somebody off," he argued wryly, almost...fondly, almost losing that edge. That anger. He caught himself, with ease, watching the fury, the wrath, spill onto the feral's face, bleed into his features, his lungs, his veins. Trent was close enough to kiss him, and instead? He sneered, waspishly demeaning whatever the hell Tiger's snide comments had been before. It wasn't that he gave a damn about the blond, or even knew where the guy was at this point, it was just...like he had a right. To any of it, after what happened. And the feral turned from him, slightly, no longer as blatantly challenging, as stubborn. He followed the gaze, the direction of Tiger's face, but no one in the crowd stood out to him. Glances, ever so often, but nothing came of them.

"I'm a wanted boy. Excuse me for wanting to leave so that I didn't draft the son of government agents and the love of my life into my disassterific fuck up."

So many things spilled out with those words that Tre-

He just...love of my life?

Fuck the rest of it, though under better circumstances it would have made Trent smile, amused, at the choice in fabricated adjectives Tiger had chosen - disassterific? But it wasn't a better circumstance. And h-love...Tiger loved him? The twenty one year old...and...and his pessimist, Trent's inner-pessimist, complained that...twenty one, he didn't...mean it, didn't know what he wanted...but three fucking years, over three years, and he...if it was just a passing fancy, don't you think Tiger would have picked up someone else by now? It wasn't like he was unattractive, unintelligent. He could have his pick of whoever he wanted. It was the...

Love?

It so sharply contrasted everything Trent had...the reason he'd...no matter what the letter had said, he'd always assumed it was...because Tiger didn't care about him as much as he cared about Tiger.

"Tell your girlfriend to stop staring."

"Stop staring." Trent muttered in dismissive retort, barely even comprehending the request. He was still reeling from the...he blinked, hard, "I mean...for Chrissakes, Tiger!" His girlfriend? Wasn't even his boyfriend. Didn't even know the guy! The blond touched Trent hesitantly, impatiently, obviously seeing that now was as good a moment as any to step in, now that he was...he was leaving. Tiger was leaving.

Another long, pregnant pause of disbelief, then, "Wait!" Trent shrugged off the blond, surprising himself with how abrupt, how sharply demanding, his voice was. The bar might as well have been empty, that's how little he noticed anyone but Tiger. Three long strides, and he touched his lover's shoulders, smoothing his fingertips along the fabric of his hoodie, gripping his slim biceps, not hard, just enough to stop him. "Tiger, wait." His voice softened, slightly, low enough that it was intended solely for the feral to hear. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, what did you call me? Just to have him repeat it, just because it was so hard to believe. But Trent knew what he heard, so...he opted for a better, less pointless approach. "You didn't even ask me what I wanted," he pointed out, threads of anger, regret, intertwining with his voice. "You didn't tell me jack, you just left...like that was going to make it better. What the hell was I supposed to do? What did you expect me to do?" He no longer touched Tiger's body - he released him, but not before tugging on his right arm, just above the crook of his elbow, the gesture meant to coax him into turning around. Trent sought his gaze, wanting to feel it, see it, understand it. "Did you really commit that murder?" Trent wanted to know, and some part of him railed against this, against the persuasive nature of his voice, or the way just touching Tiger seemed to melt away frustration, rage. Some of it, anyway, enough that he could be civilized...as long as it kept Tiger here. He wasn't ready - yet - to let him go again.

[Tiger Callaghan]

The more that he tried to come to terms with leaving, trying to escape this bar and get away from Cillian was the more that he felt his heart break into pieces. As inconsiderate as he was, as much as he really didn't want to go, depression was a key factor in driving him away and wedging out that bit of warmth that was left in him for his ex lover. Cillian couldn't see that if he tried. All that he saw was a blind rage. 'Tiger R STUPID' must have been written across his forehead in some bloody scratches created by the agony that Cillian was suffering from. It had to have been that because there was so much going on in his head right now, that he didn't need to be a psychic to see it. So perhaps it was good that he was leaving or trying to. There were mass bodies of people gathering around to get to the bar, some moving out and making their own dance floor, and he was sandwhiched right between them which was making it insanely hard to escape. If he could just shapechange right here he would. Something fierce to scare the hell out of the patrons of this bar. Or something big, like an elephant, that would allow him to simply step on them without a care in the world. Such violent thoughts, but they'd seem to have been the core of his thoughts for some time now. It was almost as if he was bred into those thoughts, but he'd be foolish to place blame on his parents for the way that he lived his life now.

Simply put he was supposed to be a runaway. That was it. Nothing more and nothing less. His parents never lashed out and if they did not in the sense that it could kill anyone since they never wanted to do that. But Tiger did. He killed people. Slaughtered them aimlessly without a care in the world. And what was worse? He liked it. Even now he tried to forget about that day they had him cornered in a back alley. Prepared to do what they had to do to bring him, including death. But as much as he tried to forget he simply remembered. The way that his feet splashed across puddles because it'd been raining. The way his dark hair fell from its mohawk atop of his head due to the dampness brought on from such a gloomy day. He'd been shirtless because they'd nearly had him before he tore out of it. He wouldn't need it anyways because of what he was going to have to do in the end. He ran and ran and ran, but nothing seemed to get him away from them. They came at him from all sides until they had him in a back alley. Stuck. 'We've got him! He's cornered like a cat. He's going nowhere.' He picked up on that with such a keen hearing brought on from the many great felines and canines he'd taken the form of in his past. They wanted to feel as if they had him, and with such guns aimed at his head, and they ready to pull the trigger if he didn't abide by what they said, he did what he could do.

He changed.

Because the lot of them had been humans, aside from the sniffers that found him, they were shocked to see the myriad of changes that tore through his body. The way his bones reshaped, crack and broke to mold into something completely different. Animalistic. His flesh ripped, broke, blood spilt from open wounds with each tearing of his flesh. It was a painful process the first few years he'd learned to do it. Now it became as painless as ever. They wanted a cornered 'cat, and he gave them one. A Black Leopard. One of the more dangerous species in the world. Swift and agile, as well as graceful and strong. It took him no time to mince meat of the men that were after him. Throats were ripped out, chests had been slashed open to great amounts. It was enough that those few men that could recollect their bearings and run did so, and they did so quick. Tiger, distraught, caved in and ran himself disbelieving of what he'd done but so glad that he did. The feeling of losing himself to such savage instincts that overcame him was amazing in his mind. Death be damned. It wasn't to say that he was going to go around and start killing everyone in sight. But that evening seemed to open something within him. A lack of caring for the government which means he wouldn't hesistate to kill anyone else that dared to corner him or try to take him in against his will. He'd lash out and it'd be savage and he simply wouldn't care.

"Wait!"

The word was something he heard, and he recognized it as it fell from Cillian's lips. Large hands fell to his shoulders and caused him to tense and stop for a moment. The tension that made his body suddenly stiff wasn't born of discomfort, but from uncertainty of what was about to happen. It was born of missing a touch like that because this had been the first time that it'd happened since years ago when they were heavily involved in a relationship. Good memories came flushing back. "Tiger, wait." Cillian gripped his picaune biceps and he felt the tension leave him and his body grow suddenly relaxed. If he had to change to escape what was about to happen, relaxation was usually the best way to be. The body to not feel tense, because it made the change harder to accomplish. Already leopards mind that he'd acquired some time ago forced itself into his psyche, causing his stane to shift just slightly. To take on a more primal, yet exotic physical prowess which could have made Tiger stand out all the more. But human thoughts were still there, the change wasn't need just yet. "You didn't even ask me what I wanted," There was a pause and his full lips slightly opened but not much. "You didn't tell me jack, you just left...like that was going to make it better. What the hell was I supposed to do? What did you expect me to do?" When he tugged on his arm a little more for him to turn, he did so slowly allowing him to see the side profile of his hooded face.

"I wanted you to understand that I wasn't trying to hurt you Cillian. Would you really have given up everything to assist someone like me? Leave your life behind?" He paused, and when Cillian asked if he murdered, he pondered on what he should have said. Tell a lie? No. He wasn't able to lie. He always told the truth or a short fib of the truth.

"Did you really commit that murder?"

He turned around fully so that his primal eyes could lock on Cillian's own. He looked up at the taller man just infront of him, suddenly feeling a small chill wrap around his body. He'd been silent briefly and as his eyes traveled along Cillian's body and to the ground he took a small breath before looking up at him once more. "..it was more like a massacre." He spoke honestly, his voice soft. "It only became intentional when they were ready to kill me for not turning myself in as a witch." The last word was spoken silently. He fully claimed himself to be such, screw what the government said. "...I won't let myself be used as a guinea pig. Or to become a slave to their beliefs because they only fear and hate what they don't understand. I possess way too much power for that. And because they were so willing to make an example out of me I ran. I didn't want you to get involved with that, and yet here you are now ready to cart my ass in. Ushering me to their death, because we all know that's what will happen with murder charges on my shoulders -- they'll try to kill me.. which'll result in a death sentence... for them." He took a step back away from Cillian, uncertain of what his reaction was going to be. "I love you baby, I really do... but I won't be a slave to inequity." The french lull of his voice was still soft, knowing that Cillian would hear him over all else. He continued to step back, giving them space.. uncertain if Cillian would close the distance... all he could do now was wait.

[Trenton West]

"Would you really have given up everything to assist someone like me? Leave your life behind?"

"What life?" Trenton argued with a rueful, harsh laugh, and the older man dragged his fingers through his hair, dropping eye contact momentarily. It was a symbol of his frustration, reluctance. But Tiger's excuse? His reasons? Weak. Weak! When it came to Trent's point of view anyway; then again, he didn't think any excuse would be good enough, that's just how he was - the stiff remnants of military training still coloring his personality from time to time. "I didn't have anything, not my friends, my family, not even a job I really gave a damn about." Because he'd always favor what he was...before he'd been discharged. Felt like he was doing something important, something that mattered. He didn't get that kind of feeling as an investigator; it was...just pathetic, in comparison. And yes, he was still bitter, raising blue eyes to the profile of Tiger's face, his body, even masked by his clothes and his belts. "You were one of the only things that ever went right, that I ever felt good about - we could have figured it out, Tiger." He didn't need to be protected, God knew that, and it bothered him that the feral thought it was such a necessity. There had to be a logical way to deal with it, one that didn't involve always running. If there was one lesson to that, it was that you could never run far enough or fast enough. They would always catch you.

"...it was more like a massacre."

Trent didn't breathe, couldn't breathe, the intoxicating fumes and liquor and sweat and cigarettes lingering in the air. He crossed his arms slowly over his chest, and just...stared, an alien expression - like he didn't know what he should say, what he should feel. Even with Tiger momentarily glancing away, there was no way Trenton could do the same. "It only became intentional when they were ready to kill me for not turning myself in as a witch." He barely suppressed a flinch at the choice of words - it was distasteful to him, but then again, he'd been in denial about what he was, his capabilities, for years before he'd met Tiger. He wasn't going to outright admit to being that...thing. A witch. But what was worse than the name-calling, by a longshot? The confession. Somehow, he didn't know, Trent had always - part of him had always - assumed that Tiger was innocent. That because he was a feral, he'd gotten caught in a compromising situation, that it just looked bad, but wasn't really as...vicious...as it...as the government made it...seem. But here he was, admitting it, admitting he'd fucking slaughtered government officials. And he said it without a single trace of regret, or guilt, or conflict. Didn't he even realize what he was SAYING? What it implied? He just shook his head, incredulous to what he was hearing - I possess way too much power...ushering me to their death...death sentence...I love you...

Even those words couldn't quite dent into what Trenton was feeling at the moment, soft as they were - so soft, nobody could hope to overhear them. "So...because you're so strong, it's o...kay to murder people?! Are you listening to yourself? Just because they treat you like an animal doesn't mean you have to be one, Tiger!" Hell, the way he spoke Trent was surprised the feral was willing to let him take him in at all...would have been just as easy to attack him and escape, right? And yeah, that was a little unfair but...God, he knew Tiger had a hell of a temper, but he didn't...murder wasn't acceptable. It wasn't ever acceptable, well- except when it was sanctified by the United States Armed Forces during times of combat. Hypocrite. Trent had killed people before, Trent had known people who got...fucking medals for killing others but it...he wanted to say it wasn't the same. Instead, he took a deep, even breath, taking the time it cost to inhale/exhale as a handful of valuable seconds to think. Just to think. Tiger had stepped away from him, and it was now that the other man actually realized it, space between them. He breached it, closed it again, stepping towards the feral and - after a brief hesitation, touching him.

Trenton slid his hands beneath the red fabric and Tiger's head, carefully easing it back, pushing the hood off. It made his pulse skip, touching him, even in such an inane way as...combing fingertips through his black hair, palms touching the silky strands. "There are circumstances, I know, that can't be helped. But...you should feel something for what happened." More than relief, or, God forbid, pleasure. The CC's were just following orders, like any good soldier would and...yeah, while he would have...he didn't want anything to happen to Tiger, he wanted him protected, but...there was no way the government would believe, would trust, not now, that he wasn't a threat. It wasn't a misunderstanding, Tiger knew exactly what he had done, what he would do. It was intentional - he admitted it himself. How could Trent turn him in now? It wasn't an exaggeration. He'd committed a murder...more than one murder. They'd crucify him for sure in the courtroom - assuming he even got a trial.

He slid his hands to Tiger's cheekbones, his chin, cupping the feral's face in his palms, and Trent's gaze obviously slipped to his mouth at momentarily intervals. There were things he wanted, wanted to do, even though his sensible half protested vehemently. He shouldn't question him, argue with him, something. He should...but he didn't. In a handful of seconds, Trent leaned down, compromising the height difference between them, and he kissed him, pressing his lips to those that tasted faintly of rum and Coke, a mouth he'd missed, desired, for so long and couldn't have, and his tongue swiftly, with an almost urgent sense, parted Tiger's lips to deepen the kiss. It was...demanding, he was demanding, he was making a...mistake, especially considering how realistic he was supposed to be. Being around Tiger always fucked up his sense of judgment. At some point in time, Trent actually realized he hadn't...exactly asked permission to do this, didn't know how angry or frustrated the feral was with him and...there were still questions, he...

Trent pulled away, still temptingly close, to look at those green eyes. "Tell me you know that murder is wrong," he requested finally, in a low, almost hoarse voice. "Why...why couldn't you just register? What's so wrong with that? I mean, I..." He shrugged, trailing off. He was registered, and it wasn't...as bad...as so many people seemed to think it was. From his impressions, a lot of AC's refused to do it, which was probably hell for the government's census department. "They didn't want to kill you...they wouldn't have tried, none of it would have happened, if you'd just registered." So what exactly was the problem there? What...was so bad about it that Tiger would rather have a murder rap that his name on a sheet a paper locked up somewhere?

[Tiger Callaghan]

"What life?"

The words were something that played on Tigers' mind. He remained silent however. He didn't interrupt Cillian as he was suddenly having the urge to do. Cillian had more of a life than he did. The government agent, his lover, had an ideal life that he lived. The perfect parents, the perfect job, the only thing that wasn't so perfect in his eyes had been the fact that Cillian was an advantaged citizen -- a witch. What made it worse was that the man that stood before Tiger was too stubborn to realize how perfect his life was compared to Tigers' own. A life strife with running constantly, trying to hold onto that little thread of freedom that he had left. Tiger didn't have ideal parents. He didn't have money or wealth. Or vast resources at his disposal. Of all people, he wanted Cillian to understand that and Tiger was getting the distinctive vibe that his bullheaded ex was not. Where did this leave the two of them in the long run? It left them in an odd position that wasn't ideal for trying to grasp a hold of what they had in the past. The both of them had to understand each others point of views, they had to find common ground to walk across before they could actually move forward with one another. There weren't many people that seemed to understand that about their own relationships, but Tiger did. He understood it quite well because he wanted nothing more than to make it work with Cillian.

For a moment as Tiger observed Cillian's posture the first thing that he noticed right away was that it didn't seem as if he was breathing. Matter of fact it seemed as if he'd stopped breathing after the mention that it was more like a massacre. It meant one of two things. It meant that A. He was about to lash out and try to haul him in. Or B. It meant that he was going to lash out and kill him. Tiger didn't doubt for one minute that everything he'd gone through, everything that he'd done to those government officials had been less than absolute. He held no remorse for what he did, and there was no sign of repent in his posture or the way that he spoke about it. The act of violence that he comitted would simply be what it was. A part of Tiger was wondering if Cillian at any point figured him to be innocent? Did he really not know his shortened lover that well? Nothing that Tiger ever did was innocent. His walk wasn't innocent, the way that he spoke wasn't innocent, he wasn't an innocent person by far which in the past always made things a little harder for Tiger and Cillian. They weren't ideal as couples should have been. They were the exact opposite of one another. Cillian was a by the law sort of guy where as Tiger believed that laws were created to be broken in some way form or fashion. While he didn't exclusively practice these thoughts of his, he did firmly believe that if something permitted him to break a law he would.

For a moment it felt to Tiger as if something was about to explode within Cillian, making him glad that he'd taken those few steps back as he did. He didn't want to be on the receiving end of anything that was about to happen. As physical as they often got in the past with one another in their fights, he didn't feel as if this particular fight would warrant anything healthy in the long run. "So...because you're so strong, it's o...kay to murder people?! Are you listening to yourself? Just because they treat you like an animal doesn't mean you have to be one, Tiger!" It was Tigers' turn to stare in disbelief at what was mentioned to him. His eyebrow twitched just slightly, and his chest rose and fell slowly in frustration. "That's not what I'm saying. I'm saying that I have a right to my freedom! EVERYONE does. Why should that be stripped away with registration papers?" He shouted back in a sharp retort, but he felt his breath stall in his chest as Cillian closed the distance between the two of them again. His body tensed considerably, unable to hide it this time, and he simply watched him for a moment. His green eyes were unable to waver from Cill's own toned hues, so he kept them locked there -- fearless as he'd always been in his life. When he'd slid his hand within the red fabric of the hoodie Tiger had been wearing and behind his head, those hardened eyes didn't soften at all. They remained stern, his gaze slightly cold.

"There are circumstances, I know, that can't be helped. But...you should feel something for what happened."

Those words caused him to arch a slender eyebrow. Feel something for what happened? Oh he felt something for what happened. He felt pity for the people that died. Not pity on himself, but pity for them trying to take him in. For trying to use force to get him to register. For trying to enact violence to get their point across. Oh he felt something alright, just not what Cillian was wanting him to feel. He kept these thoughts to himself however, knowing that in the end it really didn't matter.. or did it? Tiger had found his mind suddenly reeling with so many thoughts. He'd completely uncertain as to what he should do about them. Should he say something else? Or should he just let silence get the better of him? Maybe Cillian would take the hint and leave well enough alone. Tigers heart was beating a million miles a minute. It was something that he couldn't stop no matter how hard he tried. But what stopped his beating heart happened next. When Cillian gazed down at his lips and leaned in to close the distance between them further, Tiger had found his lips captured in such a passionate kiss. A powerful kiss that caused him to lift his hands from his side and let them rest against the back of Cillian's larger ones. Tiger wanted to push him away, to let him know that a kiss wouldn't solve the problems that they still had to work through.. and maybe let him know that it was a start, but he'd be foolish to do such. Inside, he wanted this.

At the forceful prodding of Cillian's tongue pushing within his mouth to deepen the kiss, Tiger leaned into it. He lifted his head a bit higher, angling his face just right with the aid of standing on the tips of feet, his own tongue pushing in erotic need against his lovers own. Eyelids had long fallen over his green eyes, the haze of liquor washing throughout his smaller body and managed to relax him just a little. When those strong hands of Cillian's managed to cup his face, and trail against his jawline he opened his eyes and it was all over. The kiss was done, only managing to leave Tiger yearning for more. "Tell me you know that murder is wrong," The words rang through his ears, and for the first time he took a small breath. "Why...why couldn't you just register? What's so wrong with that? I mean, I..." Tiger stared up and into his eyes in bewilderment for a moment, uncertain as to what he was going to say. He'd had a slight feeling, as he'd gotten in the habit of knowing the perks that came with Trenton West. He knew what he liked to eat, his favorite food, his favorite television show and color. His birthday, what made him happy, and what didn't. What his favorite season was, or his favorite holiday. It was the little big things that counted, no one could dare try to replace that. "They didn't want to kill you...they wouldn't have tried, none of it would have happened, if you'd just register." There was the final plea.

Tigers' eyes fell to Cillian's chest for a moment, remaining there and unwavering in the slightest. He couldn't bring himself to pull them away since it almost felt as if the man standing before him was pleading with him to register. What was he supposed to do? Instincts. They tended to always speak to him, to lead him in the direction he knew he should go. "Well I can't register now, can I?" He spoke honestly, more rhetorical than anything. "I've spilt blood, which makes me more than just wanted. So what can I do? Nothing. Remain in hiding, under the radar of the government. I am sorry that I've managed to hurt you... it wasn't my intentions. But I guess I'm a fuck up all around, neh?" It was more of a statement than it was a question. He felt oddly depressed about the situation, about the emotion that was behind the kissed that they shared. It was a reminder to him of what he lost, Cillian was no longer his. And if he was there was no way of really showing it. His eyebrows knitted into a frown and he'd found himself squeezing Cillian's hand a little tighter. Not anything that would create pain but in the sense nof not wanting to lose that touch. For all intents and purposes it scared him shitless that such a man could inspire such depth of emotion and feeling within him. No one had ever been able to do such a thing and yet he'd managed to do it without a care in the world and he'd been doing it now.