;. something's gotta give. [Open]

[Anya]

As a demon over a thousand years old, Anya had been around the world. She'd done some pretty crazy things, met some pretty crazy people, been to some pretty scary places. But she'd never been anywhere that was even half as frightening as New York City. After all, all of those...centuries ago, she had lived in a small Swedish village with a population that barely scraped thirty. Then came those many years of being a conniving, evil servant of hatred and vengeance. Ah, the easy days. Anya had mostly just floated around from place to place, called to wherever a easily-manipulated soul could be found. And even in her precious few most recent years as a human, she'd made her home in cozy lil' Sunnydale, California. Sunnydale wasn't exactly a hot spot(not unless you were talking about one for supernatural activity). So this big city life was all very new to her, and she wasn't sure she liked it at all. The bright lights, the never-ending traffic, the crowds of people rushing past her on all sides; all of it overwhelmed her.

Dismally, she reminded herself of the reason she'd actually come to live in New York. She was here to prove D'Hoffryn wrong, prove that she could be selfless and brave and heroic. She was here to save the various civilians from the things that went bump in the night--if said things didn't send her running and screaming first. Anya genuinely wanted to help this time, really. But how could she save any of these stupid people if they wouldn't even stop and talk to her on a fairly normal day like this? Everyone was in such a hurry, and no one seemed to care about anyone else. Anya remembered her friends in Sunnydale, how they'd been the closest thing to a family she ever had, and sighed. New York wasn't so great. It was actually really...lonely.

And on top of that, Anya had come here to play the hero, but she hadn't exactly worked the whole life part into the equation. So she was currently living in a tiny apartment, jobless, wandering in a gigantic city that she got lost in daily. In fact, the whole 'jobless' aspect was the main source of her frustration at the moment. It turned out that fighting zombies didn't exactly produce a huge paycheck. The vengeance demon had actually been lucky enough to get a shot at a job interview. Just for a waitress position at some tiny cafe, but it was something, at least. It wasn't exactly like the economy was booming with a potential apocalypse looming. Only, she hadn't been able to catch a cab, and she couldn't find the damn place with all the people bustling around. By the time she managed to get there, she was forty-five minutes late and faced with a very impatient manager. The incident had ended with a very brisk "Thank you for bothering to show up. We'll give you a call once we make a decision." And Anya wasn't that stupid; it didn't take very long to decide who you wanted to hire to scribble down orders on a notepad. She just couldn't understand why the man had developed such a quick aversion to her. Just because she'd declined to sit next to him during the interview? It wasn't as if she didn't have a reason! She had informed him very clearly that it was only because he smelled strange and badly needed a shave. Some people were so touchy.

As if all of her previously mentioned misfortune wasn't enough, it was now raining. And so there she sat, sitting under a hooded bus stop bench and taking what little shelter it offered. She heaved a sigh and stared miserably at the puddle that was forming near her feet. Pathetic. All this starting life a new business really wasn't as fun as it had sounded. Anya pouted slightly--she figured, given her situation, that she'd earned pouting rights, at least--and turned to glare angrily up at the clouded sky. "Okay, here's the thing," The demon muttered under her breath. "I'm trying here. I really am. It's not so easy being human when you're...um. Not. So can someone up there cut me a break?!"

A woman sitting alone in the rain, mumbling to herself. Great. Now people were going to think she was crazy or something.

[cheryl]

The thing about Marines was that there were hardly ever alone. Whether in uniform of dressed in civilian clothing, there was always at least two around. Usually more. It is said a lone Marine is a Marine in trouble. But a certain little goblin girl paid that motto no mind. She was alone and in full uniform. Unlike the previous times she ventured out in public, rather than wearing her service uniform or her blues, she wore her BDUs, which consisted of digital camo cargo pants, blouse and cap. Normally, this was forbidden to any and all personnel of any branch of the military. They were required to either wear civilian attire or one of their dress uniforms while off base.

These were extenuating circumstances, however. Due to a zombie outbreak in other areas, at any given moment, any place could potentially be a war zone. Therefore, military personnel were dispatched to every important city, even those that hadn't already been hit, such as New York. One Staff Sergeant Cheryl McAllister included.

She walked the relatively safe streets of New York whilst on break. Well, safer than they had been. Usually there was always a random mugging or murdering or something going on. A common foe can unite a great many of people though. It was now an us and them mentality, as it was in other places. People slowly but surely stopped fighting each other and began to rally against a hostile, outside force.

Factoring that in, the crowded area and the fact she was in a military uniform, Cheryl wasn't concerned about being attacked and mugged. That and despite her diminutive, petite five foot zero stature, she was quite the capable combatant.

Her squad was ordered to go on break while others took over. Likewise, they split up, but only into small groups of two to four people. Being a senior NCO, USMC wise, Cheryl had the luxury of splitting up away from the others completely. She valued her me time, after all. Souls seeking solitude will often times find anything other than that, however.

Although she appeared to be nothing more than a short, young, human woman with pale skin and a purple mohawk slanted to the right side of her face, her oddly colored yellow eyes and huge, rigid, elf-like ears gave her goblin heritage away. Goblins were notorious for doing the dirty work of other creatures in the olden days. If not incredibly cunning and dangerous, then they were mischievous little trouble makers, or so the stereotypes say. This led to the derogatory term gremlin, or the G-word.

With all those two physical traits giving her away, when she strolled up to the back of the bus stop bench as it started to rain, the lady sitting there probably wouldn't be too surprised by her appearance. Unknown to Cheryl, she'd probably encountered a great many of goblins, who were much more common in Europe than in the U.S. Her keen hearing had picked up the woman talking to herself, cursing whatever god or gods she believed in about her fate. Though she thought she felt like being alone, taking the chance to sample the local wild life couldn't do any harm, she wagered.

Her eyes were wide, as though shocked, and her lips struggling not to curl into a big toothed grin. As though to confirm the lady's suspicions, she loudly whispered, "You're crazy." If she hadn't gotten the lady's attention before, she probably got it now. And there were other details about her that painted a picture of who and what she was besides her goblin traits. Her uniform, so she was obviously military. Over her left breast was a strip that read U.S. Marines. On the other strip, over her other breast was her name tag, which read McAllister. If she were more familiar with military insignia, the other woman might also recognize other things about Cheryl's uniform. Two different function badges on her left breast, one for a tank driver, the other for a RAY pilot. And on both tips of her blouse's collar was her rank insignia, the unmistakable emblem of a Staff Sergeant.

[Anya]

Being that times were as dangerous as they were, one would think that Anya would have learned to be aware of her surroundings at all times. But between the pitter-patter of the rain and being lost in her own sulking thoughts, she failed to notice that she was no longer alone. So when a whispered voice suddenly sounded from behind her, Anya nearly jumped out of her skin. "What the--?!" The vengeance demon whipped around in alarm, her first thought being that in the event of an attack, she was currently unarmed.

But the newcomer, at first glance a short, pale woman, did nothing that suggested hostility. In an attempt to regain her composure, Anya cleared her throat, and regarded the other woman warily. "You know, you really shouldn't sneak up on people like that. You almost gave me a heart attack!" Figuratively speaking, of course. She wasn't exactly sure that demons could get heart attacks--she'd never bothered to find out.

Peering curiously through the rain, Anya took a better look at the woman, and realized one thing immediately: she was not human, as Anya had initially assumed. Her pointed ears and piercing yellow eyes gave away her identity--a goblin. The vengeance demon tilted her head slightly, processing this realization. She was used to supernatural beings, of course. Aside from the fact that she was one herself, she had frequent encounters with zombies, vampires, witches...but it had been awhile since she'd had a run-in with a goblin. They weren't, to Anya's knowledge, evil by nature, but she knew they could be dangerous none the less. And these days, it was never wise to let your guard down anyway.

Shifting uneasily, she gave a nervous smile, wondering exactly what the goblin wanted from her. Money? 'Cause Anya was not giving up her money. Well...what she had left of it, anyway. And if she'd assumed that Anya was crazy, why had she even addressed her? The demon's light brown eyes fell to the other woman's uniform. Oh, great. She hadn't come to arrest her or something, had she? Anya didn't know much about the military--she'd always been careful to distance herself from things associated with them. She'd witnessed too many human wars to put much trust or faith into the military. When she was the one causing the fighting, that was one thing, but the concept of humans killing each other out of their own free will...it was insane. And frightening. No matter how long she lived, Anya would never fully understand the human race.

And what was a goblin doing in the military, anyway? Why should she care about things like national defense? Well, I'm a freakin' demon, and I've been all about protecting the innocent lately...I have no business questioning her, I guess. Anya shrugged slightly and focused on responding to the stranger's statement.

"I-it's just been a long day, alright? I'm not crazy. So if you came to like, drag me away to the funny farm or something, you can forget it!" She added indignantly.

[cheryl]

Cheryl was quite surprised by the woman's reactions. Then again, perhaps she should've seen it coming. Not the comment about her having a heart attack. Cheryl was rather pleased that she caught her off guard like that, actually. Rather, it was something not too immediate and much more subtle. Although she was no mind reader, there were certain subtle cues she could read, certain facial expressions and body language that registered a certain way. Then again, her intuition could be dead wrong. But her feelings told her that this woman felt that Cheryl didn't belong in a uniform.

It was fairly biased of the stranger. True, as far as the stranger knew, it wasn't even Cheryl's uniform. As far as she knew, the goblin could've stolen it. They were known for mischief like that. Perhaps stereotyped so. Yes, that word. Stereotyped. Cheryl had never caused any mischief. Except that one time. And that other time. And then the time before that...

She hated to admit it, but the stranger's subtle racism might have some merit. What she also hated was that her ears had perhaps broadcasted her secret thought process and feelings loud and clear. Although her ears were elf-like, they were bigger and more masculine than a typical elf's. True, they were more feminine than the male of her species, but they weren't as petite as an elf's. Furthermore, where as an elf's ears always remained plain, a goblin's moved about quite a bit. Just like a dog, the movement and posture their ears took often depended upon their mood.

Although Cheryl did an excellent job at keeping her facial features in check, letting her slowly growing anger at the subtle racism not show, her ears were a different story. They stood straight, no folds, and were at approximately a forty degree angle from her head. In essence, if her head were a clock and her ears hands on said clock, the face of the clock would read 10:10.

However, the woman's posturing changed. Or maybe Cheryl had seen something that wasn't there. If she had been biased toward the goblin earlier, she didn't appear to be now. She seemed much more accepting. Her ears flicked from the rain, then took on a much more relaxed position. Her giddy little grin returned and she found herself jumping over the back of the bench and plopping down, sitting right next to the woman she just met, immediately after the woman had made the funny farm comment.

"Oh my gawd! A funny farm?! Do they herd clowns there?! I wanna go!" she asked, her voice showing a giddy, but false, sarcastic enthusiasm as she made a corny little play upon words.

[York]

'Hey...Zach. Are you awake?'

It was cramped in New York. Hell, it was the most cramped city that York had ever visited. Veering cars, unfriendly people, smelly sewers that vented upwards into the-once clean air.

'...Zach? Are you alright?'

New York wasn't like the small towns that he normally had to investigate. Even with the unfortunate murder, which was more than likely gruesome and bloody, the townsfolk were still calmer, more approachable, and less angry then well...everyone in New York.

'Zach? Zach? Z- Ah. Welcome back, Zach.'

Agent Francis York Morgan of the FBI, however, was used to such inhospitable conditions. While marginally more unpleasant then their first serial murder case, New York had it's ups. For one, it wasn't swimming with the walking dead. And once he reported in to the Bureau's Headquarters in New York, he'd likely be able to return to secure the safety of the small towns or something along those lines...he hoped.

'Sort of like a bad Romero movie, eh Zach? I can't believe something like this even happened. It shouldn't even be physically possible...the world is a scary place.'

At the moment, York was walking to central park, hoping to observe some of the natural wonder that New York had left. He had a few hours to kill, after all. He didn't have to meet with the SAC (Special Agent in Charge, that is) until 16:00. There was plenty of time from then to no-

...?!

'Wait. Zach. Did you feel that?'

York stopped in place for a moment. He felt a sharp surprise fly into his stomach...in layman's terms, felt something was amiss. As he turned the corner, he saw a small woman, about 5 feet tall with abnormally pointy ears in a marine's uniform- Staff Sergent. She obnoxiously yelped talk of 'the funny farm' into the ear of the unsuspecting civilian, who herself seemed to have an air of desperation and depression about her...as well as make him feel even stronger with his abnormal anxiety.

"FBI Special Agent Francis York Morgan. Just call me York, everyone calls me that. And I'm afraid that I'll have to ask you to stop harassing this woman, Sergent."

He flashed his badge from his pocket in an impressive manner as he approached the group from behind. While he had planned on going to Central Park, harassment was a crime in a sense, and any crime, big or small, should be attended to. Still, he couldn't help but feel...slightly unnerved by the continuing feeling that he got from the stranger...of course, he wasn't about to let that show. He had delt with worse.

'Still odd...we should ask her about that, Zach.'

[Anya]

There was a very brief moment in which the air between them seemed to chill, and Anya stiffened instinctively. Confused, she wondered if she'd done something to offend the goblin. She didn't think so--she hadn't spoken her thoughts aloud without realizing it, had she? She continued to ponder for a moment, quite oblivious to the truth: Anya was actually very inefficient at hiding her thoughts and emotions. After all, as a demon in true form, one didn't really need to worry about things like expression. But since she was sticking to human form these days, you could usually read her face like a map. It was probably this that had given her away, but she remained blissfully unaware of the fact.

And anyway, seconds later it was if the momentary incident had never happened. In a flash, the goblin had hopped over the bench and seated herself next to the vengeance demon. Anya blinked at her in surprise, eyes wide as she took in the silly grin and the light-hearted words. It took her a second to process the other woman's sudden change in mood, but she wasn't going to complain. This stranger, military uniform or no, didn't seem to care much about Anya's mental state after all. It made her feel a bit more comfortable, knowing that she wasn't going to be evaluated or anything. ...Unless this was a trick?

No, now she was just being paranoid. Of course these days people had every right to be paranoid, what with potential death lurking behind every corner. But for now, Anya decided to count her blessings. At least this goblin, whoever she was and for whatever reason she was here, seemed willing enough to talk to her. Being the chatterbox that she was, it wasn't easy living in a city where no one seemed to give her the time of day. Anya relaxed slightly and brushed her golden-blonde hair out of her face--it was starting to get wet, despite her best efforts to take shelter at the bus stop. She smiled a bit as she considered the goblin's falsely enthusiastic statement.

"...Oh. That's sarcasm. I'm getting better at recognizing it." She informed her companion brightly, before pausing awkwardly. Too late, she realized that her statement sounded strange and rather...well, not human, and she slumped her shoulders slightly. It wasn't exactly that she was concerned about hiding her identity. Not from someone who wasn't human either, anyway. It was just that Anya had been trying so hard to change her behavior; to become less demon and more human, but even after all this time, nothing she said or did seemed to fit into the normalcy of this world. But she didn't have long to sulk...

Since her attention had been brought out of her thoughts by the appearance of the goblin, Anya was conscious enough this time to actually notice that someone was approaching. She turned slightly and looked up into the face of a cautious, serious looking man. He introduced himself, noting his FBI agent status, and upon seeing his badge, Anya's edginess was only reinforced. She'd had few encounters with the elite branch of law enforcement, and none of them had been to pleasant. Turned out, they didn't take too kindly to demons.

It's okay. It's all good. Just...act normal. Human. As York addressed the goblin beside her, Anya's eyes gaze flickered between the two. Oh...good. He'd come over here to tell the other woman off. Hopefully, he hadn't suspected anything out of the ordinary regarding Anya herself.

She clenched her jaw tightly, willing herself not to speak. Don't draw attention to yourself... But if there was one thing that the demon was completely horrible at, it was holding her tongue. "Oh, hello!" She chirped nervously. "My name is Anya. Anya Jenkins. Do you two know each other?" She nudged the goblin beside her, willing her to speak up. "I...we weren't...no harassment going on here. Just. um. You know. Normal, human stuff..." Anya chuckled nervously, then winced. She really, really sucked at blending in.

[cheryl]

Attention to detail. It was hammered into her mind when she enlisted and went through basic training. That little bolt that wasn't tightened up enough might cause her machine to break down at the worst possible time. That glimmer in the distance might be light reflecting off a sniper's scope that was trained on her. That's what they hammered into her brain by chewing her out over strings on her uniform or her bed not being folded preciously at four inches.

Then again, it didn't take intense military focus to register the stranger's comment and the absurdity of it. A human would probably mistakenly assume she was socially inept to some degree. And that she herself was human. Cheryl had made that mistake too. Indeed, there were no outer traits to indicate the woman was anything but human. But even if Cheryl looked 100% human, she was aware that she probably wouldn't be able to act 100% human, and that her rouge would show through when under the scrutiny of a nonhuman.

In this case, Cheryl wasn't able to pass either physically or psychologically for human. The other lady, however, seemed to be failing the psychological part. It was like how two war veterans could sniff each other out, even if neither were in uniform. Subtle traits and behavior. Or how two closet atheists could figure the other out. Nonhumans, that vast majority anyway, wouldn't understand. The woman on the bus stop bench did though, so she would probably suspected Cheryl had found her out when immediately after she made that comment about sarcasm, the goblin Marine squinted her eyes and leaned forward, as though studying the closet demon under a microscope.

It wasn't a look of harsh scrutiny. More of a studying expression. She was curious. It wasn't that she had a problem with her being anything but human, obviously. Cheryl wasn't self hating. Indeed, her Drill Instructor back at boot camp was a vampiress.

Then the suit came up and Cheryl's behavior changed completely. Like all suits, he struck Cheryl as being rigid and uptight. And like all suits that worked for the government, Cheryl suspected he cashed a much bigger paycheck than she did every month. That was the rule of thumb, how she, an E-6, could get away with disrespecting O-1s and O-2s. Because she got paid just as much, if not more, than them and had more experience. Ergo she was more valuable. But this was the situation flipped on its head, with her being the expendable one. Ergo, this suit, who identified himself as an FBI agent and told her to stop pestering the other lady, had more power and authority than she did. Despite not being in the agent's chain of command, she was obligated to obey.

She didn't just oblige though. Her entire demeanor went from giddy pest to stiff, rigid and serious Marine. She bolted up from the bench the very moment he flashed an FBI badge. Now it wasn't a goblin talking. It was the uniform, a uniform to the suit. Like all Marines caught off guard, her movements were still smooth and excellent, her posture perfect. In a split second, she went from giddy girl on the park bench to sticking her chest out, broadening her shoulders, putting her arms straight down at her sides and clicking her feet together at a forty-five degree angle. She stood at attention, flawlessly, as any Marine could do.

Her eyes stared straight forward, just like her standing at attention required her to do, not looking directly at the agent. She was about to speak up, when the other woman blurted out something before her. She introduced herself as Anya and defending Cheryl before the Staff Sergeant could get the chance to. How fortunate. She made a new friend without even knowing it. And really, as far as the agent knew, she and Cheryl were old friends. Then again, maybe that didn't matter. Maybe he was a self righteous prick with a badge who was drunk with power. Regardless, she felt Anya nudge her, a gesture for her to speak up.

"Staff Sergeant Cheryl McAllister, United States Marine Corps, sir. And, with all due respect, I wasn't harassing my friend here."

[York]

'Her face indicates otherwise, Zach. At the very least, she's surprised and in some discomfort...Still, perhaps she wasn't harassing her...I mean, she did just meet an FBI agent out of the blue. I might be surprised as well in her position...'

"Hm. I suppose It was wrong of me to assume you were harassing...Mrs. Anya...Anya...Like Anya Amasova, the femme fatal and deurantagonist from The Spy Who Loved Me. Directed in 1977 by Lewis Gilbert, it's one of my favorite Bond movies...'

York put his badge away, and scanned the duo, mainly focusing on Anya. He felt amiss with her, like looking at someone else's half finished puzzle with no idea as to what the picture looks like but still knowing that he was missing a piece...perhaps to convoluted a description. Still, it was the one York drew in his head.

'What do you think, Zach? Did you see the way her eyes flickered between us and her Sergent friend? What do you think she's hiding?'

"...Well then, since I've inconvinenced you two with my presence and accusations, could I offer you both a cup of coffee?"

'...I feel unprofessional about suspecting this woman of something based on a gut instinct...but damn it Zach, I'm way too curious now! You won't hold it aganist me, will you?'

[/size]

[Anya]

Her fingers tapped against the bench nervously, her rigid, tense posture akin to that of a frightened cat. Anya's brown gaze rested uneasily on York now, watching the agent for any intimation that he suspected her. Her feigned smile was frozen in place, but inwardly the demon was getting dangerously close to panicking as her thoughts raced. If this man figured out what she was, what would happen? He seemed fairly calm and level-headed as of now, and it was impossible to tell what his reaction would be. The word "demon" tended to have negative connotations.What would happen if York decided that she was a threat to the city? Would he arrest her? Attack her?

Helplessly, Anya turned to the goblin who had just introduced herself as Cheryl, and did a double-take. Cheryl's sudden formality was enough to briefly distract the demon from her anxiety. For a moment, she had to stare to make sure that she was actually looking at the same person. All traces of easy-going silliness were gone from the goblin's expression, replaced with stony, disciplined solemnness. Once again, she was taken aback by Cheryl's sudden shift in mood. Anya could only suppose that the Marine took her job very seriously. Regardless, something about the goblin's words reassured her a little. She couldn't exactly place why--perhaps because she was grateful to have York's attention shifted away from herself.

She almost jumped when the FBI agent addressed her directly. Anya listened blankly to his musings on her name, momentarily confused. Pop culture reference. Right. When it came to things like that, the demon really didn't have a clue. Were humans supposed to know about these movies? Would it seem odd if she didn't? Not wanting to take a chance, Anya nodded hurriedly and tried to arrange her expression into one of recognition and amusement.

Her gaze lowered to the sidewalk as she fell uncharacteristically quiet, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. She didn't immediately respond to York's offer, her hesitation simmering. Coffee actually sounded wonderful--it had been a very long day, and she was cold and slightly wet from the rain. It was tempting. But really, the sensible thing to do now was to leave before she gave herself away. Yet if she refused, or tried to make up some kind of excuse--and she wasn't the best liar--it would only give the York another reason to suspect her.

"Coffee..." Anya mused aloud, standing up more slowly and warily than Cheryl had. The demon knew she needed to relax. And it seemed that York was only being polite by offering to treat them. And...if she could get him to trust her, perhaps he would be willing to give her the benefit of the doubt if he discovered what she was. The vengeance demon nodded once."I...well...coffee would be nice. Thanks. That's very kind of you." She managed to say. Well, at least that hadn't sounded too abnormal. She turned to Cheryl and regarded the goblin hopefully. In the likely event that Anya would end up saying something extremely stupid, it would definitely help to have the other woman there so that the demon could get away with...well, saying less."Coffee sounds good, right Cheryl? You'll come too?" She prompted, and the look that she fixed the goblin with was quietly pleading. Anya had sensed that a moment ago, Cheryl had most likely realized that she hadn't been conversing with a human. They barely knew each other, but the blonde could only hope that the Marine would register her silent plea and keep her secret.

[cheryl]

Although she served in the American military, Cheryl was not a native born American. Her accent appeared bland, mid western and at times even valley girlish. But in fact, she was from the UK and at one time spoke with a somewhat noticeable Irish accent. Her father, a big, hulking specimen of goblin akin to what might be written about in one of Token's works, was a military man.

That was who the James Bond reference made by the FBI agent reminded her of. Papa was the parent Cheryl had been closest to, so when he died, she fled to America in a vain attempt to escape her pain. Ah, but he loved James Bond. Being from the UK, he almost had to. And he'd subject poor Cheryl to Bond films. Some of them weren't that bad, but truth be told she hated James Bond. However, those movies did give her quite a love for Aston Martin.

She felt herself getting distracted, dreaming of a much happier, simpler time. How she'd love to be a little girl again, in her father's lap, watching some corny Bond movie with him. Emotional anguish started to rise and she batted her eyes rapidly, willing herself to return to the present day. She also relaxed her stiff and rigid posture, though that didn't translate into dropping her formality altogether. It was out of reflex and respect that she snapped to attention in the presence of the FBI agent. He was outside her chain of command. He didn't wear a uniform, nor did he have brass emblems on his shoulders or collar.

Clasping her hands behind her back, she thought back to the Bond reference, saying "Wow, that's....accurate?" In truth, she wasn't sure what to say, but felt the need to respond. James Bond had sentimental value to her, obviously, but she wasn't a hardcore Bond fan. She was impressed by the nerdiness of the agent and had it been a subject she knew a lot about, she would've felt compelled to challenge him on his knowledge.

Anya didn't say anything else until Agent York offered them coffee. Cheryl's new found friend seemed to reluctantly accept the offer, either caught off guard or too shy to be so aggressive as to give an outright "Yes". The nervousness only reinforced Cheryl's growing suspicions that her companion wasn't human either. Not that that was a crime. There were no laws against it. But this was a man's world, or rather a human's world. Certain biases existed.

But at least Anya accepted the offer. Cheryl on the other hand almost caused a scene. Although she didn't drop her formality and professionalism around the suit, he'd inadvertently crossed the line from being a professional with a government job to a person. Now it wasn't so much the uniform talking to the suit as it was Cheryl talking to York, and York had just offered coffee after being somewhat rude.

Strong, independent, fearsome and tomboyish. These traits are probably why Cheryl, a goofy and silly troublemaker by nature, took to the military so well. They also made her fairly irked by the agent. Her eyes narrowed and regarded him with a suspicious stare, her mouth contorted to a semi frown and her big ears shot straight up, like a doberman who heard an intruder. What, are we on a date?! she thought to herself and wanted desperately to blurt it out. But that could've caused a scene. Most importantly, it would probably give her nerve wracked friend a heart attack.

Besides, she caught a look at Anya out of the corner of her eye and the other girl was silently begging her to come along. Did Anya feel threatened by this man? Or did she merely long for social interaction but was far too afraid to take the plunge alone? They'd known each other for less than five minutes and Cheryl felt like she was already her defacto guardian.

Her aggressive facial features relaxed into much calmer ones. While her ears lay back down, she said "Coffee's okay, I guess. I'm expected back on duty in an hour though."

[York]

York had never looked directly at the Marine for too long, his attention was always focused on Anya, but now that she began to speak and be spoken to, his eyes scanned over her features. He wasn't well versed in all the...odd...creatures that went bump in the night, but he was sure that this girl was a 'goblin' or some other cal. Before, he had thought the ears were just a personal quirk, an odd feature. The yellow eyes and how they moved denoted her true heritage.

At first, it seemed as though a wave of nostalgia was entertaining her, but then there was anger in her face, suspicion, likely at his casual demeanor. Military hated lack of discipline, so while he didn't anticipate such a reaction, it didn't surprise him. Then, she became calmer, containing herself. There was obvious reluctance...yet his deal was accepted. Why would she do that? It could just be that her friend accepted and that made her want to follow astute...but there was a silent pleading Anya's own acceptance. She was helping her hide something from him

'Zach, what would a goblin help a normal human, if she is that, hide? I mean, it could just be the fact that I'm here...but still, I can't help but think that there is something more here...Yeah Zach, I know, it's pretty unlike me to follow a hunch, but If I get evidence to support it, it should alright, right? Besides, if there's really nothing, the coffee should make up for the interference I've caused in their daily lives.'

York tapped his tie as he thought and talked, before looking around for a moment, finally speaking as opposed to just internally monologuing.

"Excellent. I've heard the cafe's here have excellent coffee- any particular suggestions as to where to head?"

[Anya]

In the moment before Cheryl answered, Anya waited apprehensively. For a fleeting second, the goblin's expression grew cold, and it almost seemed as if she were going to refuse. Anya fidgeted a bit, unable to stand still during the short pause in their conversation. But then the Marine relaxed, her ears easing back to their former position, and agreed to come along as well.

The demon beamed gratefully at her new friend, her relief allowing some of her usual perkiness to resurface. "Great!" she declared cheerfully, before turning to fix York with an expectant gaze. He seemed almost contemplative, his expression unreadable as he tapped his tie. Anya tensed slightly before the agent spoke, asking for their input concerning which cafe to go to. That was probably what he had been thinking about, or maybe she had just imagined it altogether. Shrugging it off and noting once again that she really needed to calm down, the demon considered York's question.

"Actually, there's a cafe just down the street..." Was the first thing that came to mind, so naturally, she spoke it aloud. Oh. Wait. Anya bitterly reminded herself of the little incident with her job interview that had taken place at that very same cafe earlier. After she'd practically been kicked out, she figured that they probably wouldn't be welcoming her back any time soon. Not that she...cared or anything. Just one more failure to add to her quickly accumulating list. She backtracked sheepishly."Erm. But let's not go there. The management is unfriendly and obnoxious, and they hate it when you mention their poor personal hygiene." The demon babbled bluntly.

She wasn't exactly the best person to ask when it came to navigating the city, and she hoped that her suggestions wouldn't get them lost. Hopefully, York and Cheryl were a bit more familiar with New York than she was. But really, there was a cafe of some sort on every other street, so how off could she be? And actually, if she remembered correctly..."There's a place just a few blocks from here that makes a really good cappuccino." After mentioning this, Anya fell silent once again. She decided that between her nervousness because of York, and her relief at Cheryl's decision to come along, she was chattering on a little too much.

The demon looked between her two companions, waiting for a response. It had stopped raining by this point, but before now she'd been too preoccupied to notice. Anya glanced up at the gray, clouded sky, furrowing her brow slightly. Was a little sun too much to ask?

[cheryl]

"Excellent. I've heard the cafe's here have excellent coffee- any particular suggestions as to where to head?" York would ask. Cheryl was relatively new to the city. As such, she hadn't figured out the best haunts for this sort of thing. Sure, she could point out where to find the best video arcade, best bar, best club or the best burger joint, but coffee house? She knew of only one place, but only because fellow Marines frequented it while off duty. That meant it would be swarming with jarheads, especially at this hour.

Fuck, Cheryl thought to herself. Although her father was a military man, that did not translate into her upholding her family's military tradition. Although she loved the Corps, it wasn't her first choice of occupation. Coming to America, she had to fight and scavenge, steal and commit crimes just to survive. She was caught though and given a choice: jail time or join the Marines. As the old joke goes, if she'd chosen jail, she would've gotten out today.

But she took a shine to the Marines, strangely enough. But nonstop formality and rigid, uncompromising discipline could be suffocating for such a fiercely independent tomboy. She needed a break, ergo she spent as little break time as she could around other Marines. The thought of spoiling her one hour break by spending it around other jarheads didn't sit well with her.

Wait, she didn't have to speak up and admit to knowing any place to eat or drink. She felt relief wash over her. Maybe she could even convince them to go to a bar instead, or beer garden as they called it. No wait, that would be especially flooded with off duty Marines. She decided not to speak up, instead looking to the side and going "Umm..." to feign thinking up a place to go. Anya spoke up though, saying she knew a place that made good cappuccino. Fortunate, since no self respecting Marine would get caught drinking pinky up at a place that served cappuccino.

Except maybe Cheryl. Or an officer.

She did a little mock, cynical cheer, smirking and raising her arms up slightly. "Yay," she said in a giddy but faint tone. She was happy and excited, of course, but that didn't mean she couldn't be sarcastic and dry about it. "Let's all go there and get coffee stuff then."

[York]

[WAAGH! Sorry guys for the sloppy rpin', I was just trying out this new dynamic with dialog with Zach replacing descriptions. Mark it as failure, and once again, sorry 'bout that.]

"Cappuccino, huh?...Hm...I don't know if I'd like that. I'm very particular about my coffee, I'll have you know. And the only way to have a proper cup of coffee is to pour the milk in yourself. I mean, don't get me wrong, Cappuccino is really good, it can't tell your future very well."

A grin came over his face as he put his index finger up, as if he got an idea. It wasn't a grin like 'funny joke, huh?'. It was a grin of pleasantness, like he was enjoying himself of events had just gone his way, totally forgetting that he was an FBI Agent and that he was faux-investigating Anya. Then, he his hand on his ear and turned away from the group for a second, and whispered to himself.

"Where do you think we should go, Zach? Do you want to skip out on coffee all together and just go and do something else? Maybe they have an arcade around here or- wait. Weren't we just doing something important?"

Deciding he had spent too much time to the side and making himself seem off, he turned around and cut short his conversation with Zach. Gradually, he released that he was still suspecting Anya and Cheryl of...something, and that he wasn't there on a leisure walk down to Starbucks, as much as he felt like it was.

"So...I take it neither of you are locals..."

A meaningless observation as to make small-talk and to let York get back on track. He should have known better then to have started something like this when he was off-duty...

[/size]

[Anya]

OOC// It's all good, don't worry! =P Im having a couple rping issues too...concerning writers block. So...blah.


Tell your future?! Anya blinked at him, nonplussed. Coffee was one of the few simple pleasures in her life. She wasn't sure she could handle it if it started telling her anything. Then again, maybe this was some kind of special FBI thing. Or just a York thing, specifically. She didn't question it.

The demon smiled slightly when York grinned, and under the impression that he was going to continue speaking, raised her eyebrows expectantly. But instead of speaking to them, the FBI agent turned away abruptly turned away. Surprised, Anya lifted her head to look over his shoulder. For a moment, she assumed that he'd seen something across the street that had caught his attention. But the sidewalk across from them was quiet and empty. This puzzled the demon, and she turned her attention back to York only to realize that he wasn't looking across the street at all. But she couldn't see what he was doing, either.

Her gaze slid over to Cheryl as she wondered if this made any more sense to the goblin than it did to her. But before she could comment, York had turned around and was speaking to them again. Anya could only stare curiously, not quite sure what to make of this. But then his words hit her, and her bemused expression was replaced with one of guarded unease. After her fairly odd behavior, it didn't surprise her that York could guess that she wasn't from around her. Cheryl, on the other hand, Anya couldn't answer for. The other girl hadn't really given any indication as to where she was from. Anya supposed that it would make sense for her to be new to New York City as well--weren't the military supposed to travel a lot?

As for her own answer, Anya supposed that she really could only tell part of the truth. No, she wasn't from New York, as York had guessed. Where she was from was an entirely different--and very long--story. "Nope. I'm from Sunnydale--it's a small town in California. So, you know, long way from home." She told him casually. Truth be told, the vengeance demon actually wasn't from anywhere near California. But out of the many places she'd been to in her life, Sunnydale had been the closest thing to a home that she'd found. And she would continue to consider it as such.

"New York, though, it's...different. Big. Busy. ...Loud." Scary. Anya frowned a little as she looked around to emphasize her point. She wasn't sure that she'd ever find any familiarity in the tall gray buildings. Never the less, she withheld a sigh and turned to Cheryl, curious to hear the goblin's answer.