The sands rolled, streets desolate, cold, him-unassuming, slightly dangerous(depending on one's inclination...), denim clad and adrifitng barely on his toes, whiskey asunder to that sand ground in the wind as it sparkled in translucent green and grey brown. He struck the air with a mercy fist, catching a moth in streetlight blue in his palm. It fluttered in mad travesty against that palm lined, calloused and hot. He felt like crushing a life, only because he could not control his own. His blood was wounded. He spurted it all over town in his actions. He was contrived. He was a killer of dumb men. He was a warrior without a blade, only his mind, his tongue was his sword. But he hated himself more than anyone, and hoped one day he would choke on that sword to prevent himself from launching random unimportant details and bad punches at the good folk that barred him from further bad actions. His little Saviors, brandishing only words with those beads and feathers in their hair, so Elf kind that whispered in his dreams. Their words like ice on his toes, his spine, his heart. It was a delicate murder. And he hated himself for succumbing. He surrendered to a will he had only glimped, grasped for, lying in a blood soaked cobble stone alley way, his own blood, not anyone elses. He was a sore god damn loser, and that whiskey bottle now empty, there, on thet grey brown sand carpet of a road, it was forbidden. He felt rebuked. Maybe he could be more, he could feel himself talking away, with that god damn rim echoing dirty filty-capped promises, like a dark blind man yellow toothed curmudgeon who asked for money....

But he kept his distance and swaggered down the road, lost in mad twisting roads of thought that bled into the sky. He felt something. Or was that just a horny loin and a mind pregnant on drunken thoughts and transient good impulse?

He swaggered on. He'd find a place to land that denim clad sore whole mass of disaster that he was. Oh, he'd heard of a girl called Tragedy. Maybe he'd find her in West End. She'd called his voice from powerline roads and old conjoined saloon towns battered by severe winds and lonesome ranger itis. Ah, the thoughts tickled his dread in laughter. It wasn't so bad, but he needed a pillow tonight-whether that be cotton or bosom.

In heels she walked down the street curled fingers arching against the palms of her hands, as emerald chasms drifted before her the long road down into nothing. But she liked that. Nothingness echoed more, it gave endless possibility and a dash of wonder-properties and paticulars she favoured that a Whole could never deliver.

And perhaps that was what led her down this road, she could sense him from afar. Yes, most of her friends in this life had been men, but she felt they understood more of her than a woman ever would. She oft was far too intimidating for women, they sought her for a spell of envy and then dismissed her once they realised how True she was. And it sparkled in her a realisation that women were not to be trusted. Men, however uncouth at times, were at least honest in their intentions. With a woman; One could never tell-She should know! The scent on the wind was rough, the riptear of his cologne wafted by and a smile trickled across her lips deliciously. She licked them briefly and took in the nuaces-whiskey(surprise there!*cough cough*), herbal cigarettes of which she could not detect, but that spice itch tickled her nose, the fleece of his shirt beneath a jacket-denim...she knew his appearance long before the vision, and it sent another grin across her face, and perhaps even, a laugh. But it was quiet, and quick, and she headed off into the darkness of the lonesome streets again to find that Ranger and tear him from his oblivion. It would hurt, but his loyalty to her would be boundless, and her being able to rely on someone sturdy, even if that was by heart, however much a drifter he was, was something she prayed to in quiet moments in Moscow, in that always ramshackle apartment....

It was a quality she did not forget of San, and one Exiter very quickly did.