Can't We All Just Agree to Disagree?

[clouds just clouds]

Every race has had to deal with a bit of racism. No one is exempt from harsh cruel words, especially when running into a group of testosterone filled guys who were always trying to one-up another. Scratch that. There were actually a few females in the group too, smiling, smoking, and... being themselves. All Coen planned to do was hop onto a boat and leave. As every sangue, and even skygge, go through, he wanted to explore the world. Don't notice me... don't notice me...

Coen held his head down with his hands tightly holding onto the strap of his messenger bag. Usually he's pretty good with direction, and figuring out where to go, but this time his instincts led him astray. Maybe this was a shortcut, albeit an extremely shady short-cut with more than one person asking him if he needed any "special" services. And now he ran across a group of young-ish looking people, but Coen has learned (the hard way) never to judge someone's age with how they look. Especially with ketsuki around. "Who do we have here?" A female voice crooned.

Ugh.. Letha. Why are you so against me? Coen narrowed his gaze and tried to continue away from them, but then...

He was running. As always, it happened too fast and way too disorderly. Someone grabbed his arm, and pulled him towards the circle of people. Someone noticed the weird shapes under his hood; someone mentioned "eradicating the world of demons," and now he was running. Not really a big deal. Coen has ran from a group of jerks before, and he's escaped flawlessly.

Except now, he seemed to be having a bit of trouble. He took a sharp right turn, knowing that if he could get towards more people, he would have a better chance of getting them off his back. Maybe he should have stayed home. It would have made his parents happier. He would be safe in bed, and bored, but safe.

His lungs expanded and deflated in a desperate attempt to refill his oxygen supply. Coen took a lazy turn and rammed his shoulder into the side of a building. He shot down a street, sprinting as fast as he could while footsteps pounded after him.

Coen was so done with all of this! At least there were more people on the street, but not enough to discourage his friends. He passed a bar and took another sharp turn, hoping if he could-

No. Coen gasped heavily, feeling his knees shake as he came to the end of the alley. He pressed his hands against the brick wall and cursed, closing his eyes. Pounding footsteps crawled to a stop, and someone started clapping. A breathless laugh followed along with, "That was a fun game of chase. It's our turn for a little game now, right?"

Coen turned to look back at them, his heart jumping around in his chest. His entire mouth tasted of blood and swallowing felt painful. Yeah. All of you run away, and I'll chase you. If you don't see me chasing you, just keep going. I promise I'm right behind you. He thought sarcastically.

[Runndevil]

'Man, what a mess', he thought to himself.

The bar was a sticky, seedy place. He's pretty sure that was a bloodstain on the wood in front of him. This place wasn't worse than any other he'd ever been to, but it had certainly seen better days. It smelled overwhelmingly of stale beer and cigarette smoke, and the latter was starting to make him wheezy.

He stood, paid for his drink. It struck him that maybe if he quit drinking, he could afford a ticket out of this hellhole.

Seemed laughable.

Ruffling his own hair and shaking his head, he made for the back exit-- he wasn't much in the mood for dealing with a crowded street just yet. Not with his pleasant buzz. That's why, when he stepped out and heard pounding footsteps, he tensed and casually reached for the knife strapped to his hip, waiting for their approach.

[clouds just clouds]

Coen swallowed thickly, staring at the the person who spoke. It was a girl, probably. At least, she looked feminine. His eyes flickered around the other members that were there--one guy was leaning against the wall, trying to gasp for breath. There were maybe... what, five? Seven? The girl walked towards Coen, a smirk twisting her lips. "I wonder how hard it would be to break off those horns of yours."

"Please," Coen looked into her eyes. Now, if he was alright with lying, he would say that he was a seiyr. A goat seiyr. Except, Coen hated people who lied. "I'm not a demon. I'm just trying to get to the ports-"

The girl looked as if she were about to speak, but he didn't give her a chance. Shooting forward, Coen slammed his shoulder into her and tried to dash around the group. Before he could even get that far, a body crashed into him and slammed him to the ground. Grunting, Coen tried to dislodge the person on him. He managed to catch skin in his mouth and bit down as hard as he could.

A yelp left the person on top of him and most of the weight lifted from Coen. "He bit me!"

Coen closed his eyes in desperation. He hadn't drawn blood... if he could only get get some blood-

"Wait, guys, there's someone there." Upon hearing this, Coen looked up and around. Someone stepped on his back, making sure he wouldn't wriggle away. His eyes fell on a man who looked as if he just exited a building. Well, a bar. Great. 

"He's probably just drunk," the first girl sneered. "Just go on your way-"

"Please," Coen looked up at the man. He didn't seem... too drunk. Then again, what does a drunk man look like? "Help me."

[Runndevil]

'Help me,' he'd said. How many times had he heard that one before? David shook his head and took his hand off the knife, raised his fingers to his mouth and let out a loud whistle.

A step forward, and another step, a wicked look and a cold tone. "What the hell is going on here?"

He wasn't-- wasn't sure what he was doing, wasn't sure what was happening, other than the fact that this kid was alone and there were four or five strangers skulking about, and that didn't seem very fair. He bared his teeth, a mockery of a smile, and took another step forward. The one closest to him took a step back, before she remembered herself and puffed out her chest, preparing to answer.

Seething, he held up his hand and snarled, "Nope, don't care. If you punks want to keep all your fingers, I'd suggest leaving, now."

David's world shifted around him, tinging everything with softer shadows, sharpening every movement. He tensed, dropped his hand back to the knife, and slid into a fighting stance-- you know. Just to be safe.
"I'll give you until the count of three, yeah?"

"One."

"Two--"

[clouds just clouds]

Coen jerked up with a hiss on the count of two, surprising the person on top of him. He jerked forward, grabbing a knife from one of the other members. With a clumsy twist he sliced skin with it, "Holy shi-" the person cried, holding his hand. With the bloody knife tight in his hand, Coen felt grim determination settle on him as he stumbled back towards the man who seemed as if he were going to help him.

Before he could even concentrate enough, the sound of a gunshot went off and rung his ears. A female held a gun unsteadily in her hands, and she missed her mark, but her eyes were serious. "I'm not f*cking with you!" She screeched. "Give us our toy and leave us alone."

Coen grabbed gasped, stumbling closer to the man. The knife shook in his hands. He cut someone. He actually cut someone.

[Runndevil]

The gunshot woke a primal, angry part of him, and the world around him seemed to slow down from the rush of adrenaline in his ears. David took another step forward, one hand reaching out to grasp the stranger and pull him behind him, the other unsheathing the knife and throwing it at the girl's shoulder.

"Get down!" He shouted behind him, his voice rough from disuse. Barking out orders didn't suit him very well, but as he rolled up his sleeves and snarled at the rest of the strangers, he certainly didn't seem like a timid person.

He rushed one of the people behind the girl with the gun, cracking into them and stepping down onto their knee, shattering bone and cartilage. Then he put him in a headlock and placed his other hand on his jaw. "Take another step forward-" David tightened his grip around the wimpering man's windpipe, "And I'll snap his neck."

[clouds just clouds]

A chill ran through Coen and dropped a hot, nauseating rock onto his stomach. The girl must have barely dodged the knife, because it didn't stick out of her shoulder, but it did bleed. Her eyes were feral with anger. The world blurred slightly in front of Coen with the sound of bone--cartilage?--cracking and he nearly dropping the knife.

"Okay," the girl said, slowly putting the gun down. She held up her hands. "Just let him-"

One of the other members got up and ran. The girl took one look into the eyes of the man trapped in a headlock before turning and running too. The rest that could run followed. "Don't," Coen pleaded, "don't kill him."

He had never seen a dead body before and didn't want to see one now.

[Runndevil]

David dropped the stranger to the ground, head spinning as he watched the others leave. It had worked-- they were going to be fine. He shook his head, stepped around the whimpering man, and bend down to pick up his knife. "I wasn't going to kill him."

He wasn't, however, above taking the knife and slowly wiping the blood off on the guy's shirt. You know, an innocent scare tactic.

Once that was done, he wandered over the the boy-- teen?-- and carefully, gently, put a hand on his shoulder. "You alright, kid?" A verbal answer might not have been enough, so he was subtly checking him over, looking for injuries himself.

[clouds just clouds]

Coen felt his nausea begin to recede, but the man with the broken knee began moaning on the ground, which didn't help. At all. Shaky breaths left Coen and he stiffened when the dangerous stranger came close to him. "I'm fine, just a little bruised and winded," his tail twitched uncomfortably, and his eyes watched the strange man with caution. "Thanks to you, that is," he shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, in an attempt to find comfort. "Ugh, to think I was just trying to find the docks…" He couldn't call his parents and tell them what happened. Even if he wanted their comfort, they would just force him to go back home and never allow him to leave. "Well..." Coen paused, looking up at the stranger, a bit hesitant.

"My name is Coen Pendledon," he was about to switch the knife from his left hand to his right when he quickly thought better of it and let it drop to the ground. He held out a hand for the stranger. "Is there any way I can make this up to you?" He turned his head to look behind him. "I can't say that those are the last of those guys... there were more when I first ran into them." A sigh left him.