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Annie was dead, she supposed. Thats what she had came to terms with. And it had taken her a while to come to terms with it, huddled up in the alleys of a city with a newfound hunger and strange desires. She was starving, which was silly to her, because she also was dead. Unless she wasn't dead, just different, which was also a possibility. All she could recall was that she was here, in this place, whilst traveling. And she had met someone - who she could now scarcely recall - who had spoken to her, and done things to her. All she had was a memory of his, or her, or their, aura. She remembered they emitted a kind of power and intimidation that compelled her into their grasp.

And so, she was dead. Deceased. Done for. Would they be a murderer? She sucked in a false breath and then decided that no, they wouldn't be. Because she wasn't six-feet-under dead. She could move and and talk and cry. Crying she had became quite good at in fact. Mustering what strength she had left, she rose from the ground and lent all of her weight into the wall and combed her fingers through her dark ginger hair. It was damp with rain and probably mud, but she didn't want to think about that. She had been in this alley for hours, huddled under a tarp and surrounded by rubbish, hiding from the searing light of day. Now that the sky was dark, she could move.

She couldn't decide on a reason to move, other than to stretch. But she didn't really feel a need to stretch. Annie was just bored. As much as her throat burnt and her thoughts scattered, it couldn't stop her from feeling caged, so she set out. She dragged her feet, in her worn leather boots, making an insufferable scraping noise on the concrete and kept her eyes down. She looked terrible, truly, with matted hair and grime on her face. Other than that she could perhaps be attractive to someone. She had a crooked nose but plump lips and wide-eyes. Innocent eyes, some could say. She had wrapped so many pieces of filthy cloth and blanket around herself that there was nothing to be even murmured about her figure. And in that state, she adventured.

It was hard for her to focus on anything. Two blocks over she heard trash can tip and she jumped, and then just over the road she heard a rat squeak so she flinched in the other direction instead. For someone whose dead, she was surprisingly terrified. But that wasn't because of her state, not at all, but because she was alone.

Otto Elias hadn't eaten in a week and it showed.

When he looked in the mirror to come face to face with a tired looking skeleton, he grimaced. Otto didn't care about his looks. He didn’t care about his health. He didn’t care about much of anything, but by looking so sickly, he would stick out in a crowd. People would look at him with concern in their eyes and some would notice how close his hand was to snatching the wallet that poked out of their back pocket. And he couldn't have that. No, what he was able to steal would be used for the things he so desperately needed. Any sane person in his shoes would buy a handful of meals and add to their nonexistent saving. Otto bought cigarettes and camera SD cards.

That night, he combed his hair with his fingers a little longer than usual, scrubbed himself raw with a barely-there bar of soap, and dressed in the most casual outfit he could find. Bitten down and slightly discolored nails were painted over with a glossy black polish, and the dark circles under his eyes were almost completely concealed with some makeup he had lying around. He even put in the effort to brush his teeth. And use mouth wash. And floss. If he knew any better, he'd think he was getting ready for something important, like a job interview or a date. Both, when they came to Otto, were a laughing matter.

Before he left, Otto grabbed his camera bag and slung it over his chest, just in case luck was on his side and the sky just so happened to look really nice. The sun had disappeared below the horizon hours ago, and that was fine. In all the years in his trade, Otto had taken far too many sunset pictures. Although he had to admit that they were all gorgeous in their own unique ways, everyone took sunset pictures. There was only so many swirls of pink and red and orange and yellow and purple and blue that he could handle. That his many followers could handle. It had been a few days since he'd uploaded a snapshot to his various photography dedicated social media pages. It would be another few days before the paycheck for his work came in the mail. He could always use the extra cash. Extra cash meant extra cigarettes. Maybe something even better, something even stronger, something even more numbing - if he got lucky.

And so Otto Elias took to the streets, a half empty pack in one hand and a lighter in the other. He was just rounding the corner onto a seemingly deserted street when two figures came into sight. One was a woman covered in rags. Standing right behind her was the ever so haunting hallucination of his dead mother.

So, towards the both of them, he started running.

She heard the footsteps and looked up sharply. She felt a stab of what could be anxiety breaking through her thick sadness and stopped walking. That was, of course, a stupid idea. She was full of those. The closer she looked at the person approaching the more she could decipher, and she did notice that his eyes did not remain on her. They were flitting behind her occasionally as his feet pounded on the concrete. She turned, not just her head but her full form to look. And behold, there was nothing. Her shoulders sagged even further, because now she knew that the man was in fact running at her.

Annie pulled the blankets tighter and turned back around. He was gaining on her, and each of his steps made her cringe. He was not a soft runner and it hurt her ears. She pulled hard on a ratty knot of her hair, a reaction she had always had when stressed, and then took off herself. She was clumsy and unsure but still light on her feet, and she split off down an alley way. It was going well until one of her more torn blankets fell from her shoulder and under her foot, which caused quite a spectacular fall. She threw her arms out to catch herself but didn't manage it, becoming a sort of pathetic puddle of cloth and limb. Water from the alley splashed around her but she was filthy enough already, and the flecks of mud didn't look unusual on her freckled skin.

The fall had left her in a bit of a shock, so it took some time for her to get up again, and she did it so clumsily that the boy had had more than enough time to catch up to her. She was acutely aware of this as she could hear him making good progress on the street outside. She shed a few layers of blankets as she stood, and she lost many years in that action. Her true age was easier to decipher without the heavy layers causing her to hunch. She knew the stranger had her now, so chose to turn and face it. She rose her hands to her hair and pulled it forward so it hung around her face. She wanted to look dangerous or feral, more threatening than just a corpse. Perhaps then he would not be a problem.

Otto Elias was not, in any way, shape, or form, cut out for running. Sure, his legs were long, and he didn’t carry enough weight on him to make him slow, but the continuous draw of smoke into his lungs made his breath catch far faster than it used to. His footsteps were loud and clumsy and he barely saw the woman as she looked around and ducked away. All his blue eyes could focus in on was his mom. His mom, her long hair blowing in the wind. His mom, dressed in a hospital gown and without shoes.

His mom, covered in blood.

Otto’s grip held tight on the pack of cigarettes and the lighter, and his camera bag thumped against his thighs with each stride. That was what he should’ve been holding on to. The camera. So he could finally snap a picture or three. So he could finally capture the figure he saw day in and day out, behind his lids and when he opened his eyes, too. When he’d tried to explain to his friends, to his grandparents, to the doctors, they’d called him crazy. They’d diagnosed him with an illness without prescribed medication to help because everyone was afraid he’d take all the pills in one gulp. They’d blamed it all on the drugs and the alcohol and the lack of sleep. But it was real. She was there. He skidded to a halt a few feet in front of the woman only his eyes could see. She looked much too young to be his mother, then. She looked much too young to have died.

“Otto,” she said. Her voice was a lullaby, a whisper of the wind. The smile on her face was a sad one as she watched the male shove lighter and pack into pocket, fumbling with the zippers of his small black bag. “Otto, honey.” The softness of her tone made him stop. He looked up and followed to where a delicate finger pointed - down an alley where the woman from before lay sprawled out on the ground. “Help her,” he heard his mother say. “For me?”

When he turned to look back at his mother, raise the camera and take picture after picture, the young woman was gone. She always did that. Over the years, Otto had fallen into the trap of following wherever her spirit took him and following whatever instructions she gave. Because the male, without knowing her in life, loved his mother. Sighing in frustration, the camera was put away hastily. His attention was turned back to the woman in which he had seen from before. She was getting up, shrugging off the shoulders in which she wore. The sight was a familiar one. When Otto had first arrived at the city, years ago, he had jumped from house to house until his friends decided they couldn’t help him anymore. Then he jumped from dumpster to dumpster until he was able to get back on his feet again. Until he was able to claim a small building in the worst part of town as a place where he, and whoever else needed it, could go to.

The woman stood as if she were ready for a fight. Although Otto was not shy of them, he had no gun on him that night. He had no blade tucked under his coat. He had no reason to harm her, and she sure as heck had nothing for him to steal. Could he be friendly? Helpful? The memories of being so cold and alone and helpless flooded in, the instructions of his mother following soon after.

Maybe just once.

His hands were raised, fingers spread, and he took slow, careful steps. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want any trouble. I just thought you were someone else.” An easy lie. The lies were always easy.

She watched him for a moment and left a long, drawn out silence after he spoke. She had barely said a word in this city, not since she died. Then again, she supposed it wasn't that often that the dead could speak at all. A kind of sickness rose in her stomach from embarrassment. Annie believed him, that he was just looking for someone else, and had made a fool out of herself by running. She had always been one for overreacting. She took a step back, a sort of primal action of submission, but then crouched and slowly pulled her blankets from the wet ground. They were heavier now, soaked through.

"I'm sorry." She croaked. Her voice showed how sore her throat was, and how little she spoke. Her eyes grew a little at the sound of her own voice. It was strange to her now. "My mistake." She shrunk into herself, hunching ever more and holding the blankets tighter. Squeezing them caused the water they retained to run down her legs and make her clothes even dirtier, but she was past caring. The only parts of her body she was aware of were her stomach and her throat, and both of which were starved.

She kept her eyes on him, looking up through her matted hair. They were possibly the most dead thing about her, glassy and distant. They did not look focussed or emotive, just glazed and empty, with fleeting twitches of panic. She took another step backwards, and then another. She wanted to get away but was confused and somewhat captivated by the man. She had lacked any interaction at all with anything other than rodents and her brain was starved of stimulation. Just speaking to him was exciting, and stirred something in her.

She noticed one of her rags, one of her thicker, warmer rags, was much closer to him than it was to her. She wanted to venture to get it, and stepped forward just once. She was no longer looking at him, and had even moved her head as she looked so that the stranger new what she was looking at. She wanted her intentions to be as clear as possible - she was not a threat to him, not intentionally. Another step, much smaller than the last. She was struck with anxiety, stabbing through her emotional lethargy and stopped again to look at him.

"I'm sorry." Annie repeated, ever so slightly clearer.

Otto Elias never really cared much about anyone but himself. His grandparents, sure. They’d been the ones to raise him, and he owed them for that, probably eternally. And he cared about his mother, greatly so. But friends came and friends went. There was little time to develop anything meaningful in his heart for them, especially after most of them left with a sharp stab in the back. He’d learned not to care about anyone but himself, and it worked for him. He’d made it out here for three years, and if he kept up his act, he could probably make it for three more. Maybe five, if he didn’t end up killing himself from all his habits first.

If he never showered, if he never changed his clothes, if he never ended up finding that building and stealing and keeping up his photography career like he had, Otto and the woman’s appearance would probably look very similar. Once upon a time, he was in her same shoes. It was weird how he felt like he cared about her like no one had for him. Or maybe he felt that he needed to care about her, per his mother’s request. Either way, he was going to offer help. Small doses of it - what he could manage. How much money did he have on him? What store hadn’t kicked him out yet in fear of him shoplifting their merchandise again?

“No worries,” Otto said, dropping his hands to his sides. Technically, were either of them at fault? He didn’t say anything more, watching her actions with cautious eyes. Surely the rags were doing no good, especially as soaked through as they were. And winter was coming, just around the corner as he had. And just as Otto had, the cold months were going to take her by surprise. How long would she last out on the streets? Two weeks? Four?

“Here.” Following her gaze, Otto knew her intentions. He bent down, grabbed the blanket with one hand, and lifted it off the ground, shaking the dirt off it in the process. It was something one would sleep in rather than what one would wear. Then again, she had no coat. “You, uh. You just around?” he asked, motioning with his free hand to the empty alley in which they stood.

She watched him pick up the blanket and swallowed hard. It would smell of him now, enough that she would notice it. She threw the blanket she was over her shoulder so it would hang as it was before, and so that her hands were free. Annie briefly considered reaching out to take it from him but her fingers only slightly moved before she wimped out of the action. She moved her left foot in half a step backwards, but again failed to commit to it and remained where she was.

"Around." She said the word as if she was considering it, and then nodded very quickly. "Yeah, just around." Another nervous swallow followed. For a moment she remembered that she wasn't like this, she wasn't this skittish or this hesitant. But being dead will do that to you, she reasoned. She looked up to meet his eyes, but only for a moment, and squeezed herself tighter.

She had always been lucky in life. Her parents were lovely, she did well in school, she had enough money to travel. And now this. Living on the streets and starving, unaware of the person that did this to her and ultimately alone. She wondered what she was doing, letting herself rot and emotionally decay, but the answer was even sadder than her situation. Annie wanted death. Beyond this kind of non-life, she wanted to be actually gone. This was not worth sticking around for. She was never like this in life, not at all, she always looked to the future and saw a life for herself. But this undeath was not worth fighting for.

Fighting was not something she would be up to, she decided. Not emotionally and not physically. But she could run, and was ready to at any moment. Her glazed eyes looked past the stranger and to the street. He could grab her if she tried to move past him, that was for sure. She tiled her head and glanced over her shoulder and was sure she could run out that way. But he was quick - clumsy and loud, but quick - and falling was the only thing she was currently capable of. That and a foul smell, of course.

Bo's pulse raced, her heart pounding out a rhythm that sounded akin to war drums in her ears as the blood rushed to deliver oxygen to the organs that felt desperate in deprivation. Heavy boots scuffed against the ground where they slapped down, the sound muffled to her by her own exhilaration. There was a constriction in her chest, a hand pushing at lungs to force them to move as they protested; the result of too many cigarettes she figured but she was strong, stronger than your average. The little vial concealed in the large cross pendant swinging dangerously around her neck saw to that, it gave her fuel to keep running and stoked the fires of her boundless rebellion. That persistent pulse fluttered, visible in the hollow of her throat beneath the harshness of street lights. Bo slowed when she turned the corner, ducking through the after work crowds to throw herself bodily into an alley she knew all too well. It was an escape, duck down here and three blocks up she'd be able to make herself extra scarce. The panic in her expression was warring with excitement, the thrill of the chase had her baby blues blown out like a brilliant high had hit her system. It sort of had, hell, a hit of the hidden substance would send her soaring if she got it from the right source.

Escape would've been a **** ton easier if curly topped skeleboy and the pile of rags weren't blocking her path, Bodie had no time to slow her roll and subsequently felt the collision rattle her bones. She tripped pathetically over her own feet trying to stop but still her shoulder smacked painfully against the young man's side, stumbling back to crumble against the collection of dirty blankets that made up the vague visage of a human. Bo let her body slump, taking the impact with less force than she might have rigid, staring up in a daze. A few blinks had her focus steadying, the young woman all heavy breathing and exercise heated skin where she lay on the dirty, dank ground. She was at their feet, technically at their mercy and all she could do was grin like the joker on laughing juice, jumping inside her own skin. "Sorry to drop in like this, how about a hand? That was almost kind of impressive, right? Almost?" Her hand lifted, moving back and forwards in a so so movement as if asking for a rating of her performance. Queen of clumsy couldn't blame her shoes for this one, it was all her own natural grace having her *** aching and head pounding on the pavement between two strangers. Drug deal? God, she hoped she'd interrupted a drug deal, maybe they'd let her disappear without question. Her face rearranged itself into the best playfully apologetic expression she could muster, trying not to watch the spots of light that clouded her vision as lungs struggled to catch in enough oxygen to steady her system.

In a way, Otto Elias wanted the woman to run. He wanted her to push past him and disappear out of sight, staying the strangers that they were still. He wanted to not have to worry about someone, to not have to spend his money on someone, to not have to waste the precious hours of clear night skies just perfect enough to take shots of constellations and owls perched in trees. If she left then, it would be early enough where people were still out and about. He could snag some cash, some jewelry, a wallet or three. He could duck inside a coffee shop and wipe the whole place clean.

And yet, if he let her run, Otto let his mother down with every disappearing sound of her feet.

When the woman didn’t make a grab for her blanket, the male wasn’t quite sure what to do. He wasn’t inclined to reach over and drape it around her, but he also wasn’t inclined to drop into the mud puddle where many of the other rags had fallen. Otto could be cold and reserved, but he wasn’t cruel. Not if he didn’t have to be. He held the rag by his side, tossing a quick glance down at the dirty, yet thick material. It was a good find. In need of a good washing, but a good find all the same. He was about to make a comment about how living on the streets sucked (like she didn't already know) but didn’t even get the chance to open his mouth before he was being pummeled into.

Shoulder into his side, Otto stumbled, saved himself from hip checking his camera bag against the nearby brick wall, and grimaced. The pain would have hurt far less if he was on something. He should have been on something. He faintly remembered the nicotine sticks he had tucked away only moments ago. They wouldn’t do much, but anything was better than nothing. Straightening, dusting off the scrapes he'd received on his palm from catching himself and rubbing at the bruise that would soon be forming, blue eyes found the person who belonged to the cause of his pain. She’d knocked into the other woman, too. He should have felt bad. Living on the streets, cold and alone, and now at the injury of some reckless runner and the company of two complete strangers, she was probably scared out of her wits.

“Impressive?” Otto barked out a laugh. “Totally.” The sarcasm in his tone was heavy. When the young woman asked for a hand, Otto squinted in confusion as to why his were now empty. He could’ve sworn… There. The blanket had fallen in his efforts to save himself from the impact. The success of the rag avoiding a mud puddle by a hair was a small one. The male bent down to pick it up, brushing off the dirt from it once again. “Sorry. Hands are full,” he shrugged. Did she deserve the help to get up? Maybe. Although, she had been the one to come literally crashing in.

As the woman collided with her, Annie stumbled back and hit the ground with a fleshy thud. She scampered like a terrified dog to her feet and slammed herself against the wall of the alley, panicking intensely. She was surrounded by the lingering scent of the woman - beyond that of perfume, it was like Annie could smell her very being. And it was driving her crazy. She clutched her stomach and throat and begged the starving to end whilst gasping unnecessarily for mercy. She turned her head away, her face pressing into the cold brick to distract herself.

She heard the girl speak, but didn't register it. Then the first stranger, the man, spoke and it bought some focus back to her. Finally, feeling came back and broke through the shock and she realised all of her rags and fallen from her form. The cold hit her then and she immediately missed them. Now she was left in just an old jumper, thinning and shedding, and jeans ripped in every place they could be. Inner thigh, knees, shins and ratty at the ends.

She turned her head just enough to look at them through her hair, and took the girl in with fleeting, hazy glances. She lay on the ground and Annie could see that her eyes were unfocussed after the fall. Must've knocked her head. She was breathing hard, too. The collision wasn't calculated, Annie decided. An accident. That knowledge provided a little bit of ease. Having missed what the two had said to one another, she looked on a little lost but still incredibly anxious. She edged along the wall in the direction of the man, he seemed like the safer option to her. But still she didn't get too close, for fear of the hunger.

She crossed her arms over her body and shrunk into herself, bringing her shoulders forward and hunching a little. She wanted to get out of there, fast. But this girl was going to ask questions and in her current state, Annie wasn't sure if she could get away. She was never aware of her own strength. Suddenly she was hit with a sense of dread. The girl was running. Quickly, blindly, and at a high enough speed that she bowled through the two of them without being able to stop. Annie cursed herself for not hearing her coming.

"Running!" She gasped out. "You were running!" She pointed, wide-eyed at the girl on the ground. "Was it from something? Someone?" Her own words made her flinch. What if this girl was being followed? By something dangerous? The idea of confrontation made Annie's head hurt.