Toby found himself asleep on one of the several benches in the Hall, his hands folded across his stomach, head leaning to the side. Gizmo the puppy was tucked between Toby's right thigh and the plush back of the couch, nose to tail, napping just like his master, twitches taking over a pudgy foot at random intervals.

It was one of the rare times where Toby allowed himself to fully relax. He always did in places of familiarity..his room at the garage, while nice, was not only not familiar but tainted with the presence of that..person. He still hadn't forgiven Kuro..and still wanted to maintain a distance. He shifted in his slumber, the footsteps outside missed by sleeping ears. Doubtless if he would have heard them anyway, even with his advanced senses. The one they belonged to had always been..quiet.

Heaving pauldrons of refined metal brushed callously against the frame of the door, ajar and swinging. A heavy hood clutched at the woman's face, casting shadows across everything but the flaxen, unkept wisps of locks that jutted like straw across her collar, curling from the nape. A gleam of silver, caught in the reflection of brass that attacked her vision like a flashing camera, swiftly drew itself onto the only occupant within; a hunter's calm prowl assessing the presence without outspoken judgment or avoidance. The door, so quick as it had flown open, was tended to quietly; a heel dragging across polished floors to swipe it closed. A meer sound of clicks, and a hefty second breath; this time to take in comforting warmth.

Again, a shift..then another. In the dream, he felt there was something wrong with his eyes, that they looked different..wrong. A hand lifted to rub at them unknowingly, pressing into his eyelids until stars exploded and he sucked in a breath, settling back into his actual surroundings. Sleepy blinks were given to the couch, the wide hall, Gizmo. Then his gaze slid aside. Clicks, metal, familiar..he recognized it. Somehow. Toby drew himself into a seated position, his head turning over his shoulder to seek out the noise, ginger spikes of hair at the back of his pressed flat from the pressure of sleep. Narrowed eyes traveled the small woman, zeroing in on her face. There was a fog around her, in his head. He knew her..like he knew other things. Lips pressed into a flat line as he stood, trying to remember, hands hiding in the pockets of his jeans. He'd been using his jacket as a pillow.

When he looked at her, he saw himself as a child, at her side..even then he was almost as tall as she was. He kept repeating a name, it echoed in his head, and found its way to his lips. "Lisa.." a thread of wonder in his otherwise blank tone. He hadn't seen her in..a year. She hadn't changed at all..

Her motions were swift, fluid; a dancing performance of a deadly art that only she could whisper stories of. No sooner than she was examined was she making motions towards the male, cloak disregarded to reveal a uniform of tightened fabrics mixed with gleaming shimmers of metallic grays. A graceful step, followed with a flowing arm motion, and the behemoth blade was unsheathed from behind a shoulder and launched in a deathly hurl for him.

Cold fear pooled in his gut, tension surging into his limbs, making it hard to decide what to do. The obvious answer was to get out of the way. His eyes went wide and Toby tried to gracelessly avoid the blow. A wound that would have otherwise pierced him straight through the chest bit into the muscle between his neck and shoulder; a deep cut, one that started flowing crimson immediately, even before he hit the ground. Because he did fly back, several feet in fact, a blade of grass under the wrath of a tornado. Her strength wasn't laughable.

Fox-like speed coupled with jackal maneuvers lead the woman on the straight path toward the man, snapping a wrist as she made her approach to catch the airborne weapon, Toby in the other. Silver eyes stared with a cold emptiness, as though going through these motions was but another notch on the belt. He was caught before he fell, flopping into her grip like a limp noodle, face slick with sweat, eyes heavy with pain. He felt the warm ooze of blood bloom on his white shirt, drip down his arm.

With collar in hand, the silver-eyed woman brought him closer, unawares of the full extent of his wounds. "And here I thought I was rid of your sort. Are you alone?" She was brash, yet void of feeling. She spoke bitterly, as if his life was nothing greater than a grain of sand slipping through her very fingers.

There was also a pounding in his stomach, something like the twinges now pinching in his chest..he paid it no mind, having other things to tend to. His heart beat in his ears; faster, stronger.. He heard her speak, but it didn't reach him. Only one question circled his mind: How dare she? This close, she would probably be able to see his jaw clench tightly, white teeth baring in a snarl. A fist curled and he swung it with all the brute strength that he had towards the side of her head, each movement tearing at his wound further but he found that if he didn't think about it..it wasn't that bad.

Her hold tightened as her mood for possible games were on a very thin line that otherwise didn't exist. Vacant silvers narrowed, taking in his appearance, but was short-lived as she was clocked aside the jaw with a fist she didn't see, or sense, coming. Befuddled by the sudden jolt, she slid to the side, letting him go. A groan leaked through clenched teeth as he fell from her hold, legs folding under him as easy as laundry. His right hand came up, clapping down on the fissure between his neck and left shoulder.

Although balanced, she took the necessary effort to ensure she'd remain on her feet, rolling on the balls of her feet to brandish the titanic blade his direction. "Tsk," something that could be described as a chortle as she drew her free hand across her jawline to assess damage. No blood, even if it felt like otherwise.

His chest hurt, the same pain as las night..when he had kicked the table at Kuro. He was angry, furious. She had been his friend, he couldn't say the same for how she felt about him, but in his mind..it was different. She had saved him. Nothing could beat that out of his system. He didn't want to fight her..he wanted to find out what the *hell* was going on. Claymore weren't supposed to attack Humans. Under any circumstance. But as he tried to rationalize that in his mind, the searing in his heart grew more urgent, the snarl that he had bitten back now ripping through his throat. Little did he know that his pupils had become slits.

He threw himself to his feet, knees bent. His mind wasn't behind this, only the sheer need to inflict damage. He sped forward, another fist curled, swinging at her sword arm. He needed to get the weapon away from her.

Her movements were lighter than a bear, yet she seemed easily accessable to such a strength that it almost rivaled logical explanation. Her blade granted her unspoken range, and it could easily double should she decide to swirl it in a motion in front of her like a makeshift hurricane. Sweeping the floor in a ballad of grace, the claymore in her hand swirled in flourishing twists that disturbed the airflow in a cone-shape in her immediate front.

It'd expanded without hesitation, the self-enabled vortex hooked him in the chest and sent him sprawling some feet away..where he'd roll several times until on his side, not facing her. It took him some time to realize that his attack hadn't really done anything..and to also realize that the world now looked sideways. Toby sucked in a lungful of air, a loud wheeze in the otherwise lull of battle noises, flopping onto his back. His fingers dug into his shoulder, slick with blood, trembling for several more reasons than just the mere pain of it. He wasn't unconscious by any stretch..but he didn't make a move to get up.

Yoki..the telltale essence of all Yoma; it denoted their power as well as their presence. Lisa could sense it..all Claymore could. But why was it in *him*? "I..I don't..know, I..woke up like this..one day, I don't know what.." His words were broken, he was worried, fear was what he spoke now - not anger. His argument sounded lame to him, especially since she had come here to kill a Yoma. What he'd just said hadn't helped his case..and unlike every other instance, he knew it. Another choking sound came from his throat. The world swam before him, tears hanging on his eyelashes, then plunging down his white face. Still, he made himself look at her.

Brandishing a weapon like a queen would, she crashed it through the buffed floor, careless of its craftsmanship or rarity. It was her form of an outburst, and one that she clearly intended to share with him. "Those weak eyes, that childish whimper... tears. I have little doubt that you are lying to me, now," she coldly declared, a finger aimed at him. "You have defiled yourself in the most inappropriate manner, child."

His head lowered, eyes closing. He really wasn't anything more than simply that..a child..stuck in an aged body that was now bleeding. He clenched his left hand into a fist, the congealed blood cracking on his skin. "Defiled..myself. You weren't here..how could you know. How could you anything that happened to me when you were gone?" It wasn't like he knew, either, but his tone, hardening into what passed for his normal voice nowadays, said differently.

She would agree with him. "You said you do not know how this came to be. Now you wish to tell me the same of myself? You were dead to me, child. Left in the hands of a woman who also clung to little hope and a bleak future," she slipped past the blade, lowering against it to find comfort. It beat everything save the solitude of nothingness. "Now here you are, infected and without explanation. Perhaps my goal of slaying you was intentional."

"I am *not* infected." The vehemence in which he spoke caused his voice to rise, almost to a yell. Of that, he was certain. Sure, he was different..aged. So he could run fast, had impossible speed, strength..didn't need to sleep or..eat..often.. His narrowed eyes soon started to widen, staring at her with wonder, not with fear now that she'd abandoned her blade and, hopefully, her mission. He knew that was a far stretch, especially since she was here on Organization business. "I'm.." He trailed off, still looking dumbstruck like a deer in headlights.

Lisa lowered her head, shaking it in the meanwhile. "To presume yourself clean, 'not infected' as you say, is nothing short of an idiot's claim," she stated callously. "To have the blood of a monster pulse through your veins, after being so pure, marks you nothing short of a monster yourself. I would find something greater to defend yourself with, child. Your death will be swift should they not find you first."

His mouth shut with a click of teeth. She wouldn't lie to him. She had come to kill him, on a mission..that must mean what she said was true. He had..yoki.. Toby sat back, getting off his knees, still clamping down on his wound. It felt like it had stopped bleeding..and he didn't feel as much pain. He wondered if that was because he was now used to it.

He peered at her as she spoke. She could be talking about herself..Claymore were far from pure, they were half Human, half creature..but they were treated like those monsters they hunted. He lowered his head, chin almost touching his chest, using his hand to wipe at the half dried rivers of tears still clinging to his cheeks. "They..others..like you." If he had yoki, he would be in danger. He would be sensed, and he would be attacked. He'd gone and dismissed the thought he had earlier, chalking it up to impossibility. The Organization stopped doing *that* years ago.

"Exactly like me," she said, silver eyes rising to look directly at him in the darkest manner possible. Although a standard glance or stare from a Claymore was typically sinister, this was particularly moreso than average. "You are not of the Organization, so I can only assume this was done as a side-project, without rules or methods. But they've certainly kept their tabs on you, barring names. You are to be killed; wiped clean from the record and ebbed into the dirt like a smudge of paint."

...