--Safe Passage-- {Open}

[Kalanie]

<sup>Screw the friggin' government.

That's right! Screw them all! They were never good for anything but getting you all irritated and worked up for nothing! A snort passed from Kent as he kicked a stone, listening to it echo in the tunnel. He allowed his cerulean eyes to gaze around. His peaceful nature had betrayed him when he trusted his old friends to take care of him. No, they ran away to find a better life only to let him lay there and rot, food for the buzzards. He roughly shoved his hands in his pockets as he wandered around the tunnels, forgotten by the passage of time. He didn't really mind that part. Being popular had always been so overrated anyways. A sigh passed from the young man as he haulted and leaned up against the wall.

His ceruleans eyes traveled with what remained of the tracks. He could just imagine how they looked when a subway train was hurling over them at amazing speeds to get from one part of the city to the other. He ran a hand through his messy brunette hair, giving an irritated look as they fell back into his cerulean eyes. They had always been a pain in the butt to deal with but he never had the courage to cut them off. He liked the cut actually - or most of it anyways. Leaning his head against the wall, Kent allowed himself to be swamped by constant memories of the past with his family and everyone else that had mattered to him. As he thought of this, his hands tightened around the handle of his blade. It was opened, thankfully.

Shaking his head slightly, he straightened up and gazed around the tunnel, little light emitting from the way he had come. Fumbling around in his pockets for a lighter, he found what he was looking for and took it out. He flipped it open and lit it, a small hint of light glowing now, shadows casting off the walls like puppets being controlled by their master.</sup>

[Lady Diabla]

A shadow was cast apon the crisp white paper of the sketchpad as the charchol touched the white. It made slow smooth graceful strokes as it ran across the paper with the skill that was made only by practice and a gift. The dainty fingers holding the charchol stopped and put the charchol down. She removed a pencil from behind her ear and with a blur of porcealin skin on the lower right hand corner was the word...

"Nymph"

The shadow grew as the figure loomed over the art. Two large icy blue eyes blinked emotionlessly as they scanned the masterpeice with a experts eye truely. As the sketchpad was closed the owner of the eyes was seen. The eyes indeed belonged to a expert, but the person was young. A young girl infact, a young adult probably only 17 at the most. She had a delicate and fragile appearance, the porcealin skin was smooth and silky the hands dainty yet strong... an artists hands. She had bangs that fell into her large shocking icy blue eyes, her waist length hair pulled into a messy ponytail. The hair hue was such a light shade of platinum blonde you would think it was white. Her heart shaped face brightened as she smiled softly and put the pencil behind her ear again, her face streaked with charchol and a bit of pastel. She got up revealing she wore faded jeans that fit her every curve, the jeans had many holes an espicaly large one on the right knee. Her top was white and plain, aside from a few stray splashes of paint splattered onto it. Although the reason or wether she did it on purpose was unclear and unreadable on her face.
Her feelings were as clear as the charcoal markings on her sketchbook, yet she threw it all away for others happiness over hers.
Something she lived by, more than anything, was time. Time could heal everything. Eventually, the dull marks on her sketchpad faded away, worn out by endless erasing. The single page that was torn out had been carefully folded, hidden in the last page of her sketchbook; a professing love letter she had no intentions of ever sending.

She looked up from her closed sketchbook her seablue eyes glistening in the lighters flame flickering making shadows. She hadn't noticed anyone until he had taken out the lighter, she was so obsorbed into her sketch. She gave a weak rather forced smile and said in a voice so soft and delicate it seemed like a pin drop might shatter the note of tune in her voice,

"Erm...Hi. You look familiar..."

She trailed off as her brow furrowed in concentration and then opened the sketchbook looking at all her sketchs... fortelling the future in those drawings of those around her. She then paused and her eyes softened like a mother looking at a newborn babe, her creations ment everything. She traced her fingers lightly across the crisp white paper and looked up from the sketch to the exact same image of the boy with the messy hair and bright eyes a lighter in hand the flames dancing along the graffitied walls of the subway.

She closed her sketchbook and then smiled in a less forced manner like realization was creeping into her brain and the bashfulness earased.

Socalizing was always difficult for Nymph who had been cut off from civilzation for most of her life until she came to New Pork. It was even worse when she had drawn them before their meeting, well think about it. Wouldn't it be weird if you knew someone you didn't know and had drawn them beforehand? Well trust me loves it isint fun.

She racked her brains for the sketch she had drawn earlier and with frustration flipped throiugh her sketchbook again until she saw the two sketches a girl much like her, her mouth forming a sound "Oh" and the next the sane side profile and this time her tounge behind her front teeth making a "leh" sound and the last and final one looking like she was sticking out her tounge making a "T" and she furrowed her brow once more as she sounded it through... Oh... Leh... T... Ohleht? No Oleht. No,no sitll not right... Olette. She felt her mind buzz as the word felt silky on her tounge as she whispered,

"Olette..."

She looked to the boy and said with a beam,

"My name is Olette! But most everyone around here calls me Nymph."