these are the days {open!}

[avery carina dawson]

oufittt

Avery had been arrested enough times to know that being in dark alleys was a terrible idea. She'd talked to enough inmates to hear their versions of the rapes, robberies, and attacks they'd committed and, though Avery wasn't scared of much, walking around alone at night gave her the creeps--especially on this side of town. She normally would not have ventured this far, but she was engaged in a tagging war with a few other art majors and none of them were afraid to walk around at night in dark alleys--probably because they were all male.

There was no way that Avery was going to be the only one of her friends to be afraid of the dark, though, so she was currently sucking it up. Her main strategy for avoiding crime was to look just as sketchy as the other criminals. To pull this off, she was wearing all black and a beanie, and walking hunched over and in the shadows. This way, potential rapists would see that she was a fellow potential rapist and leave her alone. If that failed, she had a switchblade [which she was not legally permitted to carry] tucked against her palm.

Thus far, she'd been passed by a few groups of shady looking men, but they'd all ignored each other. She'd left all of her expensive jewelry and her Prada bag at home so that she wouldn't have a sparkly diamond target on her back and it seemed like everyone she passed believed that she fit in. There was no question as to her validity while she was doing her actual tagging--spray painting a raven on the side of an alleyway was not the stereotypical activity of a rich girl. When she was done, her hands were splattered with paint, so she felt like she blended in even more.

Feeling proud of herself, she started home, hands stuffed into her sweatshirt pockets. Every time she passed an alley, she looked down it to make sure no one was lurking. Walking home at night was like driving--she had to keep checking all of her blind spots and make sure to look in at least six different places every ten seconds or so. She couldn't let her guard down--she may have had a knife, but she wasn't bionic.

[townsend george hanneman]

CLOTHIN

Townsend had just finished up a particularly long and uneventful shift at the station, hanging around for the most part, and waiting for calls to come. He had responded to a couple, one false alarm, one car crash, and one kid abusing the 911 line who needed a little bit of education as to what was an emergency and why it wasn't funny to play around like that. Out of most calls, those were his favourites. Kids, for the most part, were awed by the fact that he was a cop, and even if he was a rookie all young and fresh faced, they didn't care. They would listen to what he had to say, because he had a sweet navy blue uniform and big black boots and a real live gun. Kids listened to what he had to say, and they at least faked learning their lesson, because they knew he could shoot them or arrest their dad or something. He had gone through the rest of the day feeling validated and much more confident, and when his shift ended, he walked home with a spring in his step.

The trick to living in the 'dangerous' part of Orange Island was to not let on that you were any kind of law enforcer. It was the Old West out here, and this one horse town didn't take kindly to sheriffs. The second trick was to be a large, well-set man, as Townsend very clearly was. It didn't matter how well he dressed, which was fairly well, considering his sweater and trousers, it mattered that he had big muscles and a face that could look very threatening if he tried.

But right now, he wasn't trying. He put on a beaming, non-threatening smile as he approached a young woman who seemed to be on a mission to get out of there, glancing down every alleyway and overall looking pretty sketched out. She was nicely dressed in the way where someone who is nicely dressed tries not to look nicely dressed. Townsend could tell. Poor peoples' clothes didn't fit as well, and in a place where everybody tries not to look poor, a person making an attempt to do the opposite stuck out like a sore thumb. "Hey," said Townsend. "I know that women walking alone at night get pretty vulnerable, I could walk with you if you wanted." He was already walking with her, keeping pace so that he could speak with her. "Oh, I'm not a creep, I'm actually a police officer, so... If that affects your decision at all." he shoved his hands in his sweater pockets too, looking at her expectantly. Although his smile had deteriorated some, it had not gone away as he looked at her, trusting the woman to point him away from any obstacles in his path.

[avery carina dawson]

Avery was almost more alarmed that the first person to speak to her looked completely normal than she would have been had he been weilding a weapon of some sort. She felt like this was some kind of trap--like this man in front of her was actually the most terrifying rapist of all because he was making an effort to look clean and neat. She couldn't verify whether or not he was actually a cop, both because it was too dark to make out his face and see whether it was one she recognized from all of her time at the station, and because he was not holding his badge, as most police officers did when identifying themselves.

"Where are you headed?" she asked instead of answering, stuffing her hands in her hoodie pockets. Her knife was no longer out, but she still had her hand clutched around it in case he decided to attack. This guy was huge--cop or not--and the only way she would have a chance if he made some sort of move was to be fast and have something sharp.

Even if he was going to attack, though, she wouldn't mind walking with him. If she was alert and could see him at all times, he would have less chances to catch her off-guard and there would be the added bonus of her looking even less approachable to others. Besides, he looked threatening, even in his lame sweater and purple sneakers. She wouldn't have commented on his dress, but once she noticed those, she couldn't help it.

"So you're a cop and a hipster?" She folded her arms, casting a pointed look down at his shoes. "Are you trying to get yourself mugged?"