Lately I go by… Samantha Walters But you can call me Sam I guess.

I can’t lie about my age… I’m 28 if you must know.

Looks aren’t everything… My appearance has changed so often that I barely recognize myself in the mirror anymore. My latest “makeover” has left me with wavy blonde hair that just barely dusts my shoulders. My eyes are green now, thanks to a pair of contacts, and a pair of dorky glasses completes the look.

According to the feds… I was born and raised in Milwaukee, Tennessee. My parents were both farmers. As for myself I’ve traveled around; done a bit of this and that. I recently moved to The Big City from Taunton, Massachusetts. And if that story doesn’t make me sound like a enough of a loser, I’ve yet to be in any serious relationships. Want the real story? Sorry, I’m not at leisure to disclose any details…

I doubt we’ll really get to know each other but… I’m a far cry from the loving, yet timid, woman I used to be. Each new placement reveals to me something new about myself. One day I’d love to settle down and have a peaceful life in a quiet town but for now that’s not an option. I may seem secluded but I assure you it isn’t personal; I have my reasons…

These are some of my favorite things…

• Jogging – This really helps me clear my mind.
• Coffee – I really couldn’t live without it.
• My trusty headphones – They’re best way not to have to talk to people.

I really don’t like these things much…

• Romance movies/books – I gave up on this shit a long time ago…
• Alcohol/depressants – I need to keep my head clear if I’m going to keep my story straight.
• Pickles – Seriously, who likes these anyway?

Anything else… You may laugh at the size of my handbag but seriously, this thing is my life. I never know when the feds might relocate me. I’m not materialistic but there are a few things in there I’d rather not part with.

((Let me know if the text is too eye bleeding...))

[x] [x] [x]

Hello. I'm Lance Williams. I'm a thirty year old male. I have brown hair and blue eyes. I work for NYC Park Police Horse Unit.

Although I live in NYC now, I wasn't actually born here. I came from a small town in New York. It was nothing but farmland and rolling hills out there. As nice as that may seem, it just wasn't enough for me. The moment I was out of high school, I went to a SUNY school to get a criminal justice degree. A few years later, I applied to be a DEC officer. That didn't work out. I guess too many people applied in the area or something? Anyway, they told me to head to the Big City and train for the Park Police. A year later, I made the move and started training for the job. Four years later and I still love what I do. I get to ride around on a horse all day. Granted, it's not all fun and games. I'm patrolling the park and making sure everything is okay. Occasionally, I have to chase after lost dogs or yell at kids to get off things, but it usually isn't super exciting.

Know that you know my past, let me talk about my personality. I was one of those goofballs kids all throughout high school. I thought school was dumb and I was way too into sports and girls. It was around my senior year when I was going to join my pals in doing something illegal. You know, for shits and giggles? Well, something in me told me to back out. Sure, my friends called me a pussy and wimp, but it was better than going to juvy. Like I said, I was a pretty bad kid. Very cocky. College straightened me up, though. I learned how to be serious and professional. Of course, I was still a charmer. I guess you could say I turned over a new leaf. I left the bad boy ways behind and decided to become a charming savant.

On the topic of likes, I have always enjoyed the outdoors. But I also love crowds and people. It's why I left the middle of nowhere to live in the middle of somewhere. I love fishing, hunting, and trapping. I take a week off every year to head north and hunt.

Now there are some things I'm not a fan of such as smart phones. I just don't get how they work. Too many functions and buttons. I also dislike sugars and bad carbs. I don't have this body because I eat junk food and treats. I've grown to dislike them. Oh, I also loathe reading. It's so boring.

---

Sup? I'm Kellie Ann Rosewood. I'm a twenty seven year old female. I have brown hair and olive eyes. I work for a local bar. I'm a bartender..

Although I live in NYC now, I didn't actually come from here. I'm from a small highly religious southern town. I was pretty much run out of town when I was sixteen. Why? I might have made out with a woman. Yeah, can you believe some people are still so up-tight about it. So I dropped out of school and traveled across the country. I moved to Colorado then to Michigan. They didn't feel like home to me, so I moved to Ohio. Still wasn't what I wanted so I moved to the Big Apple. NYC is just what I dreamed it would be. Open, free, and awesome. I love it here and I never want to leave.

Know that you know my past, I should probably explain just who I am as a person. I'm a big flirt. I blame my mum for that. She was a real booty-call girl. Mad props to her for even bringing a kid into this world and raising me up right (well, kinda). You can probably tell that I'm very opinionated and I'm not about to shut up just because I offend you. I say what I want, when I want. I'm messy, sloppy, and quite piggish in nature. But hey, at least I've got killer looks, right?

On the topic of likes, I am a huge fan of dancing, drinking, and foreplay. I also love strip poker, gambling, and raging. I'm really into singing and piano, too.

Now there are some things I'm not a fan of such as people who judge me. I didn't move to NYC to be labeled a whore or a slut. I just can't stand such terms. I should be allowed to love whoever I want, however I want. What else do I dislike? Fatty foods. Not a fan of hiking, fishing, or hunting either. And animals? Yeah, not overly fond of them either. So gross!

Samantha tapped her fingers impatiently against the blackened windows of the SUV. The stop-go traffic was making her feel ill and she hoped their destination wasn’t much father. After a few more sickening turns and a lot more honking, the vehicle finally came to a definitive stop. Her arm quickly looped through her purse and she slid through the door as soon as it opened. The light outside blinded her momentarily and she blinked until her vision mostly cleared, though it made her new contacts grate painfully beneath her eyelids.

“This way.”

One of the agents whose name she could never remember led her to the front door of a relatively nice looking apartment building after punching a code into an electronic panel located just outside. Samantha took one last glance behind her, wondering where exactly they had placed her this time. Nothing within sight was able to reveal their location however and she followed the agent inside. They would tell her where she was soon enough.

The lobby looked clean, which was always a plus, and there was even a doorman. Fancy. The older man nodded to them, obviously recognizing agent so-in-so who he probably believed he was her broker. Inside the elevator the man in the suit pushed the button for the seventh floor and they stood in awkward silence as the car rose to the designated level. Exiting to the left, they passed a number of doors before finally stopping in front of G6. Her guide produced a key from his suit pocket and opened the door before leading the way inside.

Another agent was sitting at the kitchen table and motioned her over but Samantha wasn’t going to waste time with pleasantries. “Where am I this time?” she asked impatiently, taking in nearly the entirety of the apartment in one glance. It was sparsely furnished but definitely nicer than her last living quarters.

“Hello to you too Miss Walters,” agent Thomas replied sarcastically, “Welcome to New York City .” He watched her as if expecting a reaction but she didn’t rise to the bait. Sensing he wasn’t wanted, Thomas sighed and stood, “Well anyway, we’ll leave and let you get settled. Stick to your identity and call me if anything comes up. You have my number.”

Sam followed them to the door and watched them walk down the hall and stand to wait for the elevator. As they disappeared inside, she sighed and leaned against the open doorway. New York City… Wasn’t’ it supposed to be like…dangerous? Still, it should be easy enough to blend in she supposed, given the surplus of humanity that was determined to cram itself all onto one tiny island in the middle of the Hudson…

((Floor plan of her apartment))

ooc: Colors are fine, btw. I find the neutrals to be easy on the eyes :)

---

Thank god for day's off! Having worked one hell of a long week, Lance Williams was finally going to have a day to himself. Even though it was only a day, it would at least give him a chance to clean out the fridge. He could also toss all that old furniture he didn't need anymore. Not only did the old stuff clash with the freshly painted walls, but it also didn't fit with the decor. Coming from a rustic town in the middle of nowhere, Lance decided he was going to redo his house to look more l like home. A pair of antlers were mounted on the wall (a 12-pointer) and the once metal shelves were replaced with wooden ones. The living room was no longer white and gray; instead, it was green, brown, and beige. The once red and black kitchen was now painted in pale mossy green and white, a major change from the last bright colors. The bathroom, once purple, was now blue and brown to match his 'log cabin by a lake' theme.

Admiring the new look of the apartment, Lance looped an arm around his roommate. "Whatcha think, Kellie?

"Not really my style, but if it makes you less of a grump, I'm all for it. You want to tote out that 'godforsaken' end table? I'll grab the metal shelves?"

Kellie was a rather lovely woman and Lance's 'friend with benefits.' The two never really dated, but they did spend some 'adult time' with each other from time to time. In all honesty, Kellie was hoping that the relationship would become more but Lance didn't have an interest in solidifying their relationship. This 'freedom' did come with a perk, though. At least Kellie could invite any man over whenever she wanted.

"Be back in a few," Lance said as he trudged out the front door.

With careful finagling, he managed not to nick the legs of the end table on the door or the wall. Beads of sweat were on his brow, but only because he feared the wrath that would come should he damage anything. Kellie was like that -- if it wasn't perfect, it wasn't good enough for her.

Closing the door behind him (he would bitch if he left it open and let the stale hallway air into the apartment), he set the end table down in the middle of the hallway. The thing weighted a million pounds! He had no idea why so he decided to open the cabinet-like table up. Sure enough, a dozen magazines sprawled onto the ground. And of course they just had to be sex magazines.

"What the...?" Playboy magazine? He never ordered those. Picking it up, he turned the thing over and spied Lance Rosewood on the back. Rosewood? That was Kellie's last name. But Lance was his name. "Well, I didn't see that coming," he mused to himself. Completely unaware of the woman down the hall who was lingering in her arch, Lance dove into the pile to see if the rest of the magazines bore his first name. Sure enough they did.

"Should I keep these?" He was talking to himself. Or at least he thought he was. A light noise from down the way pulled his attention up from the magazines and looking right into the green eyes of his new neighbor, Samantha Walters.

Stiffening, he tried to push the magazines out of sight. That little action didn't work well though, for it sprawled the stack out more. Why, even one of the magazines slid far enough so that it was practically an arm's reach from Sam.

"Well, this is awkward." Hand running through his hair, he laughed. "Hi, you're new. I'm your neighbor Lance and..." his cheeks puffed out, "yeah I got nothing." What was he to do? Try to explain what was happening? The odds of this lady believing him was slim. Why make a bigger mess, he figured.

"Don't suppose you want an end table? I'll deal with the magazines."

Sam followed them to the door and watched them walk down the hall and stand to wait for the elevator. As they disappeared inside, she sighed and leaned against the open doorway. New York City… Wasn’t’ it supposed to be like…dangerous? Still, it should be easy enough to blend in she supposed, given the surplus of humanity that was determined to cram itself all onto one tiny island in the middle of the Hudson…

Sam jumped when the door behind her opened suddenly. Turning slightly to peek out from behind the doorframe, she watched as a man emerged from the next-door apartment. He was carrying a heavy load, which he promptly set down. She continued to watch as he reached down and opened the small cabinet. A wave of magazines slithered across the floor, and Sam’s eyes came to rest on the nearest copy.

Playboy. The swimsuit edition. Sam rolled her eyes, hopefully his sexcapades wouldn’t affect her sleep too much. Or maybe he was the solo type? Dragging her eyes from the photo of a busty woman wearing a bikini top that could barely contain her melons, Sam took another look at her new neighbor. ‘Definitely not the solo type,’ she decided after catching a better look at him. She knew she should duck inside before he noticed her but she lingered, watching with a puzzled expression as tall dark and handsome sifted through his pile of porno.

Finally tearing her gaze away, Sam was about to leave him to his business when her nose began to tingle uncontrollably. Squeezing her eyes shut against the pressure, Sam sneezed. ‘Damn…’ The first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was neighbor guy staring at her with that deer in the headlights look. Carefully controlling her expression, she watched as he attempted to push the magazines out of sight but only succeeded in causing them to slide even further away.

She didn’t even bother to look down at the one that came to rest a few feet away from her toes nor did she blink as he introduced himself, fumbling awkwardly for something to say. “Right.” she said stiffly. “Samantha,” she said simply, making no motion to shake his hand or smooth over the blunt awkwardness of their meeting. “And no,” she added, referring to the end table. “Just keep the noise down and I’m sure we’ll get along fine,” she said in a tone of voice that clearly stated that the conversation was over.

Hefting her bag inside with her, Samantha closed the door behind her with a clack and leaned back against the wall with a sigh. She knew she was being a bitch but it was all part of the plan. Don’t get close to anyone. That was the one rule she had created for herself shortly after joining the Witness Protection Program and so far she had stuck to it. It had been quite easy really, given the frequency of her moves, and she had no intentions of changing things up in this placement. In any case, she’d probably be gone within a month or two, if not from New York then probably from this area, wherever that was exactly. She’d have to go outside eventually to get her bearings but there was no way she was leaving until she knew for sure that Playboy was gone.

When the door closed and the woman by the name of "Samantha" left, Lance let his palm collect with his face. At this point, he saw no shame in talking aloud to himself. After all, he already looked like a crazy man. Seriously, who would have that many magazines. As his eyes jumped down to the stack, he nearly hurled up his meal. Why in heaven's name was there a naked man magazine in this pile. He treated that magazine as if it were poison. Gingerly, he kicked it over to read the name of the back.

A gasping sound of horror and air blew past his lips. "Kellie!" he yelled from his position in the hallway. Seconds after his cry, the brunette appeared. Door open and magazines sliding into the room, she cuffed her laugh. "Well, Lance, it looks like someone hasn't been getting laid enough. I suppose you use Jill when you page through these." Her eyes landed on the man magazine. "Gay too now, I presume?" A giggle pursued her lips before she whirled inside. Of course, she locked him outside. Ah the joys of teasing Lance. He was just a sucker at times. Oh so gullible and just so darn cute when he got all flustered. Using the peak hole, Kellie just watched the defeated man slump down and take a seat on the floor.

Sighing, he rest his head in his hands. What was he going to do? First he gave his neighbor a really bad impression and now Kellie had locked him from the house. Not to mention, she ordered that one with his name. Gosh, if his friends found out... let's just say he wouldn't have friends.

Reluctantly, he rose and started to stack the magazines in his arms. There was no point in hiding them now. Tramping down the hall toward the garage room, he slipped inside and dropped the magazines the large blue recycling bin. He continued doing this until everything was properly discarded, save for the end table. As big and awkward as it was, it did manage to roll rather nicely so he pushed and pulled it toward the elevator. Only one neighbor dared to look at what was happening outside -- it was Miss Nordson, the little old lady who really shouldn't be living on the sixth floor. The second she saw Lance, she started to drool and wander out into the hallway.

"Lancey-dear, do you need help with that?" Her lack of teeth made it heard to understand her, but Lance had years of practice.

"No, I'm quite already," he replied while out of breath from heaving the thing.

"Did you see the pretty new girl. She had some fancy men drop her off. I think she's rich. Why don't you marry her."

Dropping the end table on his foot, Lance let out a howl. Hopping up and down for a second just outside the elevator, he shoved the thing off him before whirling around to the hunched over woman. "Are you crazy?" he whispered behind gritted teeth. "She doesn't even like me!"

"Oh nonsense," walker moving forward, she began her snail crawl toward-

Oh lord, she was going to go talk to Sam and try to hook them up. Lance lunged forward but a familiar DING caused him to spun around. The elevator doors started to move, but collided with the end table. Phew, that was a close one! Just as he was about to give the end table one final push, the bell chimed again. Instantly recoiling away from the doors, he watched them slam back into the end table. It did it again and again and again.

"Gimme a minute," he said to the elevator (because elevators can wait, right?). Dropping to his knees, he heaved with his shoulders. It was caught on the golden lip, but it somehow managed to slip over it this go around. The moment the end table was in, the door closed and Lance was pounding the button. "No, no, no! Ugh!" His head rammed into the elevator.

It probably seemed like things couldn't get any worse, right? Well, they were just about to. A frail sounding knock came to his ears and Lance was running down the hallway to silence the knocking old hag.

"'cuse me deary. There's a nice young man out here I would like you to meet." Miss Nordson was persistent, without a doubt, ruining Lance's life. "Oh, I also made welcome cookies for you. I hope you like chocolate chips."

If he could have taken the elevator, he would have. Lance wasn't as lucky. Instead, he was trapped in the hallway. Locked outside his apartment and unable to take the elevator, there was only one thing left to do. The stairs. HA, NOPE. No way he was about to run down those to avoid Nordson and Sam. Well Lance, there's only one other thing you could do right now. Smile and nod. Yup, just smile and nod.

Should Sam open the door and let her eyes look past the old lady, she would spy Lance with a cheesy grin on his face. He would be nodding, too. Looking at this moment right now, he wondered how he ever wooed and won women over. What happened to that slick, cocky man he was before. And why the hell wasn't he appearing. Can this day get any worse?!

Pushing off from the wall, Samantha kicked off her shoes and left them in the middle of the hallway. Starting with the kitchen, she took a quick inventory of her new living quarters. The cupboards were all bare save the one on the far left which contained a mismatching set of dishes. “I wasn’t expecting Martha Stewart but seriously?” she asked herself as she pulled out a brown plastic bowl that looked like it was something straight out of the 70’s, a ceramic plate rimmed with small red flowers, and a clear yellow cup. Tossing the lot in the sink, she went in search of the silverware and managed to locate a fork and a knife, which she likewise tossed in the sink with an angry clang. The spoon was MIA and the fridge was bare, but the latter was normal. The suits usually left a bit of money for groceries.

Sure enough, Sam spotted a small wad of cash on the table as she moved from the kitchen/dining space into the living room. Surprisingly the couch and chair actually looked to be in relatively good shape but even more surprising was the fact that they actually matched. A coffee table that was beat up enough to look vintage divided the space between the couch and where a TV stand would normally sit. The lack of television really didn’t bother her much but it would have been nice to watch the news, for the weather at least, as she didn’t have one of those fancy smart phones that most people spent the majority of their day glued to. Her own phone was a total piece of crap. The lowest of the low in cell phone technology. She would receive a new copy of the same TracFone with ever move. The thing was hideous and couldn’t do more than the absolute basics—that is to say: call, text, and play snake. Sam liked to consider herself the snake Master; she had completely beaten the game more times than she could recall at this point.

Samantha had just peaked her head into the closet bordering the bathroom when she heard some voices out in the hall. One of them sounded like that guy, what was his name again? Lewis? Luigi? Oh yeah… Lance, or “Lance the Playboy” as she liked to think of him following their little episode. A light knock broke her thoughts and for a minute she almost though she had been imagining things until a slurry voice called out from the other side of her door.

As she made her way towards the door, Sam was so focused on trying to decipher what exactly the elderly woman was trying to say that she completely forgot about the shoes she had left lying in the middle of the floor. Stumbling over them, Sam lost her balance and fell hard against the wall. A loud “ouch” and a number of curses spewed forth from her mouth before she could bite them back. Finally managing to disentangle herself from her shoes, Sam leaned hard against the wall and located the source of her pain—the middle finger of her right hand—which was throbbing and had already begin to turn blue. “Did I seriously just break my fucking finger?!” she muttered to herself in disbelief before realizing that someone was still waiting for her to answer the door.

Dropping her hand to her side, Sam approached the door. The peep hole revealed a shriveled old lady clutching at her walker. Sighing impatiently, she threw open the door. She definitely wasn’t prepared to find Lance standing behind grandma with a creepy grin plastered on his face. Avoiding the urge to ask him what the hell he wanted or tell him to get lost, Samantha focused her attention on the little old lady instead. “Yes?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice monotone despite the throbbing in her hand and her annoyance at finding Playboy Lance at her door again already.

The old lady, Miss Nordson, glanced up at the woman. For a moment, she didn't say a word. Everything about Sam filtered into the woman's mind and with each passing second a creepy grin grew on her face. Clearly something that happening internally, but no verbal speech occurred to make sense of the situation. With her zone-like scare still fixed on Sam, the woman finally spoke. "Lancy, be a deary and fetch me my cookies." When she didn't sense any stirring from behind, she snapped her fingers. "Come now, Lance, you really going to make old Miss Nordson walk back to her room for some homemade, freshly baked chocolate chip cookies?" Sure enough, the sound of feet moving came from behind and Miss Nordson grinned. "Kid has a soft spot for treats and pretty things." Hand reaching upward, she tried to grasp Sam's hair but missed. Playing it off like she meant to miss, the old woman cleared her throat.

"Welcome to the neighborhood. If you ever need anything, just find me. I'm right across from the darn elevator." Hand raising to her mouth, she leaned into whisper, "I think it's some cruel joke. They want to send me up to heaven so they made the lift up right there." With a sweet, simple giggle she hobbled backwards some. "Oh my," her hand went to her heart as she tried to catch herself from falling. "These feet aren't what they used to be. Used to be a dancer but now I'm just a toddler with wobbly legs."

Her hand motioned beside Sam, asking if she could be invited in. Miss Nordson was ready to sit and she gave no signs of retreating back to her own home. "Oh heavens!" her hand raced to her gummy pink lips. "I hope I didn't leave the stove on." Again, she raised her hand to her lips and whispered to Samantha. "So what do you think of Lance?" Batting those large eyes of hers, she chuckled. "He's quite handsome, isn't he?"

Before Samantha could even speak, Miss Nordson went on. "You know he's a cop, right? If you ever have any trouble, just run to him. He's the finest mounted officer there is. Oh so handsome and very sweet. Why, he makes sure I have dinner every night. Ain't he just a doll?"

It was around that time that Lance emerged from Miss Nordson's apartment. Making his way down the hallway, he looked up to acknowledge the two. They had yet to move inside, mainly because Miss Nordson was too busy gossiping in the hall. When she heard her door close, she took tiny steps to turn around and beam at Lance. "Oh the cookies! Don't they smell wonderful!" She was as proud as she could be. Too bad it was a fleeting feeling.

Clearly his life had become a comedy or some scene in a solid B-movie. Door to his own apartment opening, Lance dodged to miss it. It was a good save until a lamp literally fell from the door frame and smacked him square on the head. The second the hard metal knocked on his noggin, Lance topped into the cookies before he took out his own apartment door. His crashing motion was enough to cause Miss Nordson to jump in sheer terror. Her hands raised to her mouth as she gawked at the ruined door and, ultimately, the soiled cookies.

"Oh no," she gasped. Scurrying forward at a snail's pace, she finally stood beside the cookies that were now melting into the floor. They looked so gooey and delicious. It was a shame they died here rather than in someone's mouth.

"Ohhhh." A moan shot from Lance's body. Hand stretching out, he gripped the railing firmly before raising to a stand. Hand now on head, he winced in pain. If his life were an anime, a large bump would spout up from the center of his head. "Ugh," he murmured. Eyes falling to the cookies, he sighed with defeat. They were ruined. Sucking in a quick breath, his sapphire eyes fell on Samantha. "Sorry," he squeaked out.

Samantha watched as the old lady’s expression slowly transformed from a welcoming smile to a rather creepy-looking grin. She was seriously considered retreating from her apparently psycho neighbors and hiding in her apartment until they forgot that she existed. They seemed insistent on bugging her however as the old lady, whose name was Miss Nordson apparently, eventually snapped out of it and sent Playboy after some cookies. ’Chocolate chip…’ Sam tried to ignore the tiny growl that escaped from her stomach at the mention of the cookies. For all she knew the crazy kook could have laced them with Immodium…

As soon as Lance departed, Nordson fixed on her again and Sam nearly freaked when the old woman reached a shriveled towards her face. A deer in the headlights look flashed across her face and for the first time in her life she found herself wishing that the feds were still there. Granny didn’t seem to notice her preoccupation though as she continued on with her rambling monologue. Sam instinctively reached out to steady her as the old woman wobbled precariously but she managed to catch herself on her own and motioned towards the inside hallway. Sam firmly stood her ground however, pretending that she hadn’t noticed the unspoken request. There was no way the old woman would be able to navigate around her with her bulky walker and there was no way in hell Sam was going to let her in. Give them and inch and they’ll take a mile as they say.

When Nordson mentioned the oven, Sam saw her escape and opened her mouth to suggest that she go back and check on it but was left looking like a fish gulping for air as the conversation changed yet again. ’Great, my favorite subject…’ she thought when Lance’s name popped back up. She was saved the trouble of responding however as Nordson breezed through their dialogue like a one woman play. She bristled when the elderly woman let slip that he was a cop. If she wasn’t already dead-set on avoiding him, she would be now. Cops were trained to smell lies. Did the feds seriously not do a background check on her neighbors?

Questions and comments were being fired at her so quickly her head was beginning to spin. She could feel a panic attack coming on and did her best to focus on her breathing and not the crazy old woman standing in front of her. When Lance reappeared in the background, Sam stared at him with a “Dear God save me” look. She could hate the guy and spend the rest of her days avoiding him but right here and now she could admit that she needed his help. Her knight in shining armor didn’t seem to realize his important role however and instead crash-landed into his door when something flew out through the doorway and struck him on the head.

As Norson mourned the loss of her cookies, Sam gawked at the mess on the floor. Oh how she wanted sooo badly to slam and lock the door while her neighbors were preoccupied… Instead she closed the door to her apartment behind her and awkwardly stepped forward to reassure her conscious that she wouldn’t be reading Playboy’s “death by cookie” obituary in the paper tomorrow. ”Are you…um…okay?” she asked awkwardly, trying to ignore the bit of cookie he had stuck to his face. His deep blue eyes provided a nice distraction… Realizing she was staring, Sam quickly looked away. ’What the hell Sam? Get it together!’ she mentally berated herself.

Lawlz, how dare he not realize he was to save her from the blabbering old lady! Clearly, he thought the door was more important. Needed replacing or something. ;)

---

"Oh dear heavens, Lance, you've made quite the mess." Her hands fell on her hips as she gave the male a rather stern look. The wrinkles on her face seemed to deepen and the pink that was stained her lips was started to speckle. Her foot tapped impatiently, too. It was hard to tell whether she was joking or not, for her posture and tone screamed she was pissed, but this glimmer in her eyes said it was all just a joke. Thankfully, a wink came just in the nick of time and Lance caught it. With a laugh, he rolled over on his back before rolling back up to his feet. Brushing the melted cookie off his clothes as best he could, he gave his neck a good rub.

Well Lance, how are you going to handle this one? Girl already hates you. Suppose she's ready to go home, but can't with me and crazy old lady still out there. Guess I should get grammy out of here. But how....

"Sadly, yes. As a knight of cookies, I should have scarified myself for their survival. I failed them. I am not worthy enough of my title." He stopped midway through his conversation as he began to laugh. For looking like quite the fool, he sure knew how to handle the moment and laugh it off. For as odd as he was, at least he was easy to keep happy. Not to mention, he knew how to joke and play around at his own expense. How could a man that laid back be that bad? Oh, right... those magazines. Two or three wouldn't be as bad; too bad he counted 69 of them. The irony not lost on him.

Cleaning his hands of the dough on his jeans, he shot Samantha quick glaze before giving her his hand as a peace offering. "Your first day on the floor and you've already seen too much. I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you." He winked over at the old lady who was hobbling back to her room. She giggled and waved the two off. "Of course, I kid." His face returned to Sam.

"Can we start over?" His puppy dog eyes of blue stared innocently into hers. If he were trying to be cute, he was definitely overdoing it. The pouty lip and the shimmering water in his eyes atop that handsome face of his was far too much. He could have easily been an actor -- in this life or a past one. "I'm Lance Williams, PP-H17. That's officer 17 of the NYC Park Police Horse Division." He pulled his hand away from her and placed them in his pockets.

God, why was this so hard? More like, awkward. Rocking back onto the heel of his shoes, he bit his lips before blowing a puff of air up at his bangs. "This is the part where I say, 'I'll make sure you're safe and ward off the creeps,' but I'm afraid I've earned myself the creepy neighbor award. So I'll just avoid you, nothing personal, I figure it's what you want. If you ever do need anything," he glanced over his back while throwing a thumb over his shoulder toward his door, "you know where to find me."

((Seirously! What a jerk for not saving her! Apparently the cookies were more important...))

Sam watched awkwardly as Lance got to his feet and did his best to brush off the bits of cookie that clung to his clothes. It saddened her to see the sweets go to waste, even if she secretly suspected that they may have been laced with laxatives...

Sam oggled her neighbor as he mentioned his failed attempt at cookie chivalry. What was with this guy? She inwardly cringed as he laughed at his own joke, which she was hard pressed to find humerous. Her jaw dropped completely as Lance delivered her death sentence. The prolonged encounter with her freakazoid neighbors was clearly stressing her out as she nearly forgot that he was still joking. Sam ignored the mostly clean hand that Lance offered her and remained awkwardly silent, completely at a loss for words. At least granny seemed to finally gotten her fill of talking and was shuffling back to her own apartment. 'Good riddance...'

His attempt at a parley miserably failed to calm her as he confirmed his policehood. 'Wait... Did heseriously just say "Horse Division?"?' Did Granny mention that part somewhere in the middle of all of that rambling, she hadn't noticed... Still, ponies or no ponies, anyone in Law Enforcement was someone to avoid in Sam's book. Theoretically she should feel safer knowing that there was a cop living next door, but she was far from reassured.

Finally finding her voice, Sam cleared her throat. "Um...yeah..." she said awkwardly, unsure of where to begin after all of that. Her stomach inconveniently growled again, reminding Sam of her duty to feed it. Still, it gave her the inspiration she needed to smooth things over. With a huffy sigh, she ran her hand through her unfamiliar locks and forced herself to look into those baby blues. "How about you give me the phone number for the best pizza place around and we'll call it even. Deal?"

With every word and gesture he made, Lance felt himself digging a deeper hole. Yup, at this rate he would be burying himself alive. Only, at her last words, Lance found himself awestruck. Was she really asking him for pizza? Was that the deal breaker? What if he failed. Or worse, what if she got fat because of his suggestion? A look of panic set into his features and he nervously rubbed his neck. How could he tell her anything without worrying about how she would pin it on him? He felt gullible and, in a sense, used.

"I guess that depends on your definition of pizza. I, personally, love the pizza places that donate a portion of their proceeds to non-for-profit organizations. But I'm also a sucker for deep dish pizzas. You can pretty much go anywhere here and you'll get good pizza. Roverta's is the goddess of cheesy deliciousness. Motorino's has a bunch of combination pizzas. The master of paper thin pizza is Patsy's Pizzeria. Their Margarita pizza is to die for -- probably my favorite out of the whole lot." He realized he had been rambling about pizza places for a while now. With a bit of a crazy side grin, he shrugged. "If you're hungry now, just go downstairs and take a right. Literally three buildings over is a quaint little mom and pop shop. A tad pricey but you can't beat the convenience."

At this point, Lance was about ready to be done with this half-sided conversations so he decided to clean up the hallway. He did his best to scope up the chips and dough, but it was pretty stubborn so he would ultimately have to retreat into his apartment and steal a washcloth and brush if he wanted to do any damage to the destruction.

((So sorry for the long delay, I haven’t really been online so much recently…))

Sam watched as Lance’s face slowly took on a panicked expression. Was it seriously such a difficult question? Surely he ordered out on a regular basis… Most males avoided the kitchen like the plague and though she may be underestimating him, Sam decided that he didn’t exactly seem like the master chef type. Sam cringed as the awkward silence lengthened and involuntarily scrunched her toes in her socks. The young woman was closed to telling him to forget it and booking it back to her apartment when he spoke up.

Lance started listing off more pizza places like he was a connoisseur. Not-for-profit pizza? Was that seriously a thing? Deep dish, extra cheesy, combos, thin crust, margarita… WTF? Pizza was pizza, no? Obviously Sam was not accustomed to the myriad of choices that came with living in a bit city. Mom and Pop’s sounded convenient but she didn’t want to waste a ton of her grocery money on just the first night’s meal. In any case, she wasn’t going to stick around and let Playboy watch her wrestle with making her decision. “Thanks,” she said, waving dismissively before disappearing inside her apartment.

Quickly closing the door and locking it behind her, Sam shoved her shoes to the side of the hallway with her foot lest she trip over them and break another finger. Taking a look at the injured digit, Sam was happy to see that the bruising wasn’t too bad yet though it throbbed painfully. Sinking down onto the couch she heaved a large sigh. After all that, he hadn’t actually given her a phone number. She had been hoping to just call something in and have it delivered directly to her door. Surely the doorman would have a phone book but that defeated the purpose as she would have to risk going out into the hall to ask. Groaning, she draped an arm over her face. Maybe if she managed to fall asleep she could forget her hunger…

Could it have gone better? Duh! Should it have gone better? Eh, maybe not. With how busy he was and how little time he got to himself, Lance played off the whole event as if it were nothing. Another bridge burned, he told himself. Yeah, such things took a toll on you, but he was a cop. Not everyone liked him and he assumed it to be the natural way of life.

As she went back into her place, Lance followed up with his elevator incident. He cleaned out all the spilled magazines and successfully lugged the useless end table to the curbside. While he was out beside the streets, Lance got this weird feeling. He did his best to rid away the thoughts but they were relentless, each idea coming back with more detail and rigor.

"Fine," he muttered to himself. "You win, I'll cough up the dough and put this misery to rest."

A kid nearby cocked a brow at the man talking to himself. Lance's gaze dipped down and he laughed. "The things you'll get to look forward to, kiddo. Men do crazy things for women, don't you forget that." Ruffling the lad's hair, the mother (nearby) glanced up and giggled. "Hello Mrs. Thomson." With a light tip of the head, he scooted away before getting pulled into one of her long-winded chats about her liquid diet.

In minutes, he was ordering up two pizzas. While he waited, Lance took a seat and paged through the paper. With Sam being new, he figured the girl might like to know about some great deals in town. Page after page, he circled different numbers, locations, and things. He even highlighted the local theater which costed half the price. How? Well, the movies it played were two months late. It was well worth the wait though, at least in Lance's mind.

Onto another page, he started glancing down the wanted and looking ads. He saw a few things that he thought the woman might like, but decided to play it smart and just leave those pages alone. He didn't want to assume anything and, god forbid, piss her off anymore.

When his order was called, he advanced forward and tipped the family. "Thanks," he chirped before pushing is way out the door and down the sidewalk. He successfully dodged a cyclist and chided him for using the sidewalk. Naturally, the rider just flipped him the bird and Lance made a mental note of the guy and the time. He would write a formal report so someone else could pursue the bratty rider.

Once back into his own building, Lance took the stairs up. As he was going to eat some pizza, the guy figured he might as well burn off some calories before indulging in the food. Granted, the sweat on his brow was really starting to make his question the whole 'exercise' thing. Why was it so important anyway? Did he need to be fit? He rode a horse after all! Still, the idea of being a hefty cop with rolling curves and tummy's tucked under tummies didn't seem appealing. In fact, it would kill his game.

Pfft, if he had game.

Tiptoeing past his own door, he skittered down the hall and quickly placed the pizza outside Sam's door. The newspaper and magazines were properly placed atop the still warm box. Slicking back his hair (wait, why was he trying to impress the door?), he knocked. Before any movement stirred from within, Lance was running down the hallway, his pizza still in tow. Forcing the door open, he reeled inward and quickly but quietly slammed it shut.

He exhaled before draping a hand across his brow.

"Uh," his roommate stood before him.

Having to think fast, he grasped at straws and started to develop a probable story in his mind. "I saw Granny's door opening and, well, decided I didn't need to spend the rest of the day hearing about her dead husband or anything." His forced himself to shutter, which caused his roommate Kellie to smirk.

"Totally understand. The old hag needs to croak before I choke." Seizing the pizza, she brought it into the room and helped herself to, well, nearly every slice. Lance tried to hold back his curled lip of disgust as he watched Kellie's grimy fingers tramps over nearly ever slice. Thankfully, two remained unscathed. Pulling them from the pile, Lance moved out onto his back balcony that overlooked the city.

"Days off are tough," he sighed before biting into the pizza. So cheesy, so fresh, so... delicious.

---

//sorry for the lack of color and fancy. I'm on an ugly version of Mozilla that strips away color and images. ^^;

((It's all good!))

Sam had almost succeeded in falling asleep despite her throbbing finger and the hunger pains in her stomach when a knock sounded at her door, dragging her back from the refuge of unconsciousness. The young woman groaned audibly, dragging her arm off of her forehead and staring up at the ceiling as she debated the merits of getting up. She didn’t have the energy to deal with any other awkward encounters with her new neighbors but a masochistic curiosity dragged her to the door even so.

Her sock feet treaded as lightly as possible on the hardwood floor as she crept to the door like a ninja. Peering though the peephole, Sam was confused when the image of an empty hallway greeted her. She put her ear to the door and strained to hear any possible noise on the other side but there was nothing. Annoyed and confused, Sam returned to the couch.

She lay there for a good half hour or so trying to fall asleep but there were too many thoughts circulating in her head. The things she would need to buy tomorrow and how little money she had plagued her. She would have to find at least a part time job to supplement the meager income that the suits provided every month. Thinking of her grocery list only served to make Sam hungrier and sleep impossible however and eventually she gave up.

With another groan, the young woman stood and went to the sliding glass door at the end of the living room with the intention of looking down the street to see what there was to eat besides the pizza places Lance had mention. Sam cautiously peered outside with her hand on the door latch before opening it and drew back from the door when she noticed said neighbor lounging out on his balcony. ’Now’s my chance,’ she thought as she padded back to the hallway to slip on her shoes.

With her phone in her pocket and her keys in hand, Sam checked the peephole one last time before carefully opening the door. She had only pushed it an inch or so when it met a slight resistance. Frowning, the blonde pushed a bit further so she could poke her head out the doorway and froze when she saw a pizza box and a stack of papers posed on the other side.

Pushing the door open the rest of the way, Sam looked both ways before lifting the box and carrying it into the apartment. She cracked open the box and the smell of pizza wafted out of it, making her mouth water. There was only one possible culprit who could have done this and he had definitely won some mega brownie points. Lifting a slice of slightly cold pizza, Sam took a bite and nearly sighed in satisfaction.

As she ate, the blonde sifted though the papers that had been left atop the box. She started with the newspaper. She lazily glanced over the headlines and focused on the forecast before turning the page. As she flipped thorough the paper, she found certain ads circled and smiled when she realized they were sights and attractions in the area and smiled at the thought that had been put into the delivery.

Beneath one inky circle in the classified section, the blonde saw an ad for a restaurant only a few blocks away that was looking for a waitress. Sam carefully tore out the ad and stuck it up on the fridge with a dinosaur magnet that the last tenant had left behind and put the remaining pizza in the fridge to save for later.

((I'm going to unsubscribe from this. Please ping me if you reply!))

zigbigadorlube: A wise move. I just haven't been into roleplaying lately. Way too busy hanging out at a beach or playing video games. Sorry about not killing this sooner; I really thought my muse would return but... eh, it's just not there. :\ It was fun while it lasted, though.