Sunday Morning Rain is Falling

Story: Murderer x Victim. Woo.
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This morning should have been a regular morning. However, when Keira opened the door to her apartment, things started to happen in a rather anti-climatic fashion. First of all, she had been preparing to leave. She had her keys to her car and home one moment, the next she had lost them. Then her dog Caerwyn had to go out. And finally, her boss called to tell her that she was laid off and that she had no reason to come to work. All in all, this morning sucked. The woman, almost 21, had worked for 4 years at the same place, having been promoted from one position to such and such position, and now, she is laid off. That's what you get for investing your time and effort into a corporation at 17.

With an exasperated sigh, Keira Campbell flopped down on the mid-sized couch in the middle of her apartment. She knew she had to do more than this today, and so, she stared at the ceiling, trying to decide what to do. Her gray eyes blinked a few times, she was a little disoriented. Her brunette hair was straightened out of its waves and put into an executive bun, her skin dabbed with a bit of a pinkish blush and her eyes lined by black eyeliner and dusted over with gray eyeshadow.

Finally, deciding she would be able to seek out employment, she stood, shakily at first. Finding her keys, which were where they were supposed to be, she left her apartment, locking it afterwards. She figured she would go to Starbucks first, seeing as she could probably be a Caffienator if need be. Thankfully, it was within walking distance. She wore a black outfit, with a few touches. She wore a white blouse which was jacketed by a black sports jacket, and wore a pair of black dress slacks, and silver ballet flats.

Opening the door to the Starbucks, Keira entered the coffeeshop, her eyes darting about. "Hello. May I have an application, please?" The woman asked, her fingers tugging nervously at the hem of her blouse.



(Will edit later.)

The generic employee nodded and handed her an application that was pulled from a drawer, a slight coffee stain tinted the left edge.
"Anything else I can get you?" the woman smiled. Whether or not the smile was genuine was debatable.

James walked passed the coffee shop, his step very serious. His steel eyes flashed into the store and he stopped, gazing into the dirtied windows. His dirty blond hair moved softly in the slight breeze, blowing some of his bangs into his eyes. The dark bags and stubble showed his long night out, and another ahead of him. He brushed his hair out of his face with a slender finger, his head cocking slightly at the woman at the counter. A businesswoman? Certainly dressed like one. Who was she? He stared. No, that was not the question. The man wrapped his long leather coat tighter around his thin frame as a smirk came across his lips. The question was what he could make her.

He slipped into the coffeeshop, slightly startled by the jingle of the bell above the opening door. He went to the counter, right beside the intriguing woman.

"Can I get you something, Sir?" The voice said, watching him.

He snapped his head quickly to the employee in a grotesque fashion.

"One coffee, please. The largest you have," he spoke. His voice was not particularly menacing. A smooth, rounded tone. If it weren't for the way he spoke, his voice would be a most pleasant one. He spoke slowly, a hushed growl. Delicate, yet powerful.

The woman looked at him once more, feeling paranoid about this strange man in the ratty leather trench coat, and went to make him his coffee. James paid the woman with some crumpled bills pulled from one of his pockets, and dumped the change received into the tip jar. Change made too much noise. He hated that. The man took his coffee, all whilst watching the woman with the bun and business suit. He was captivated. He could do so much with her. And he would get his chance.

"No. Thank you."

Whether or not Keira was particularly pleased about having a chance at working at the Starbucks was debatable. Her eyes focused on the application as she withdrew a pen from her purse which hung at her side. Her fingers twiddled it, tapping it against the table. With a yawn, Keira wrote in a dainty print, each letter in detail of her full name. Keira Marie Campbell, born April 24th, 1989-- She would be 22 just before May. She wrote in her Social security number, work history, and signed the bottom after verifying her consent to drug tests and background checks.

Her eyes went from the finished application and the pen which was set down and darted around the coffeeshop. The gray orbs darted from person to person, assessing them. Her lips pursed and she finally caught a glimpse of James, her head tilting. A small smile took her lips. He looked different than everyone else, surely he was the gentleman who had bought a coffee after she strayed from the counter with the application. Her head bent and she raised her hand to the bun, releasing it, allowing the brunette tresses to fall and cascade over her shoulders.

Yes, James had bought the coffee. He knew, from experience, that women were more at ease when he did something nice for them, less suspecting around him. Oh, yes, he knew. Sometimes it took only the holding open of the door, or a crooked smile. Today he decided to pay for his prize, the beautiful specimen he would dissect, he would discover and explore. She would be so much more than she ever was, looking for a job at Starbucks, after he was through with her. His heart was set on Keira. She would become hers.

The man circled around the shop before arriving at her table, seeming perplexed at the fact it was the only free chair he could find.
"Mind if I sit here?" He asked, flashing a convincing smile. James could play the part well, very well.

Keira's eyes followed the man, her front teeth tugging the swell of her lowerlip. He was attractive, but he was rough around the edges. She was trying to delve into his personality by analyzing his outward appearance. When he approached her, a smile turned her lips upward and her head tilted. "Yes, you can sit here. I don't mind." She cleared her throat and raised her application briefly. "You will have to excuse me for a moment though, I have to turn in this application, and get something to drink, and I'll be back." She tugged her purse onto her shoulder and she stood, the application in hand.

She walked away from him and walked to the counter. "Here you go. And, may I have a mocha frappicino?" She paid the bill and gave the tip, and when she retrieved the drink, she returned to the table. "Anyway, sorry about that." She smiled as she sat down, taking a drink of the cool beverage after unwrapping the straw and slipping it into the round circular area which was cut out for the straw. "I'm Keira Campbell." Keira introduced herself, using a free hand to push a section of her brunette hair back over her shoulder.

His heart sank as he saw her walking away, out of fear she would leave. But as she was true to her word, he relaxed, breathing a soft sigh of relief that his treasure would not get away so easily. His smile returned as she sat back down, and he leaned casually against the back of the chair, shaking his hair out of his face. But it was much more of a twitch than a simple device to clear his eyes of obstructions.
"I'm James," the man chuckled, "Just James. I dropped my last name a while ago. Thought it would make me as cool as Cher," he flashed a smile once more with a light laugh.

With a nod, Keira laced her fingers together. "That sounds interesting. You know, Cher does the best cover of Walking in Memphis that I've ever heard." A grin crossed her lips as she released her hands and took the drink, sipping from the straw and bringing the chocolate-y sweet liquid into her mouth. "So, James.." Her lips wrapped around his name coolly, "Where you from originally?" She asked, attempting to learn more about the man she was across the table from.

"My, my, what a personal question," the man chuckled, delighting in the fact his new prey was so interested in him. This made the game much more fun, making up lies, weaving tales that would make his own mother believe it were true. Then again, his mother was dead. "Well, I grew up in a small town, just north of Boston," he murmured, enjoying the painted picture his mind gave him of this false-life. The man leaned back, grinning. "Your turn."