Some Bridges Burn

    Now if he had a dollar for every time he came here to fetch his brother, he'd be rich! Another glance to his left and Marshall still couldn't understand what was so appealing about this place. 'Hey, why don't you stand over there and see if the Reapers will get you'. What kind of game even was that? If children wanted to flirt with death, couldn't they at least do it a little closer to home? At least there it would be easier to pick up the pieces. The slightly morbid thought went unreprimanded as the young man shifted from his hour old position.

    Crossing his legs, Marshall gathered his sketchbook in his lap, hoping to gather a new sense of comfort and inspiration. As he nibbled the end of his pencil, a stray lock of golden hair slowly barred his vision obscuring the unfinished drawing before him. If his comic wasn't done today, it's chances of appearing in the newspaper were slim to none. Brushing his hair aside, he rolled up his sleeves and continued his light sketch. Aside from the occasional chatter of birds and the bubbling brook below, he was alone. Every now and then a cool breeze blew past, but the lull of the warm weather was slowly nibbling away at his resolve. Here he was, dressed all snugly, the sun shining down on him...a nap would be nice right about now.

    The black and white sports jacket he bore did nothing but soak up the sun's warmth. Deciding to alleviate the temptation, he reluctantly unzipped his outer layer. He had a task to complete, and it had to be done today. But sleep... Rolling his broad shoulders, he extended his legs in a rather cat-like stretch. Sleep was for the weak..or the week, depending on his mood. In the absence of his jacket, he wore a simple cotton t-shirt. The white material clung tightly to his sculpted figure, revealing the silver cross that hung above it. Perhaps if he closed his eyes, only for a moment, he might garner some...inspiration. Right....inspiration.

    "Excuse me! Pardon me! Oh, sorry! Excuse me!" Maeve exclaimed while she jogged down a heavily crowded street. Normally this street wasn't so crowded but apparently it was today. She didn't want to run into anybody or trip and fall... So, her jog took a different route.

    Now Maeve took jogs on a fairly regular basis, going all over town, but she had to be careful where she went now since The Calling. She didn't want to get in a brawl with a Reaper. That would just ruin her day. So, she did her best to keep out of trouble, humming to the song playing in her ears through her head phones. She had a pair of shorts on her lower half and a thin, long-sleeved shirt on her top half. Maeve's blonde hair was pulled back in a nice, tight, and strikingly neat ponytail. Her long hair swayed, occasionally hitting her in the face while she jogged.

Her sneaker-clad feet hit the pavement and after a while she glanced around her, surprised to find herself so close to the bridge. Hm... She'd just loop around and head back, that seemed smart enough.

    Maeve continued on for a little while longer before she just had to stop, her body on fire. So much jogging... It was exhausting. She was kind of sweaty after all of that. Ew. She wiped her now rather shiny brow, exhaling and attempting to catch her breath. "Oh... Darn," Maeve whimpered, realizing she hadn't brought a water bottle. "Oh well," She'd just have to head back towards home to grab some water, it would be fine. Maeve smiled a little to herself, taking a quick look around. Everything seemed so calm here even with her running music blasting in her ears. She ought to come around here more often.

    The soft sound of shoes slapping against the pavement roused Marshall from his much-needed slumber. Instinctively he cast a quick look to the left. To the left where the bridge tapered off into the ghost town, where civilians had simply left their homes abandoned and the dreaded reapers were said to live. If he watched for long enough, he was sure he'd come across a Seeker patrol scouting the area eventually. But Marshall had no desire to fraternize with old friends. Casting look to the right he finally pinpointed the source of the noise.

    Instinctively his muscles grew tense though the young woman trotting along hardly looked dangerous. In his brief time as a Seeker, Marshall had only met a few Reapers. They looked nothing like her. She seemed soft and gentle in every way and form, although he knew from experience most women didn't like to be called 'soft'.

    But what was she doing near this side of town? Her rather fluffy exterior didn't make her seem like the type to play chicken. And if she was, she'd be sorely disappointed. Neither of the other idiots was here yet, it wasn't dark enough. Closing his sketchbook, Marshall slowly pulled on his jacket despite its uncomfortable warmth. "Are you lost?" His voice rumbled deeply, betraying the power hidden beneath the shell of a sports jacket. It was a stupid question, though. How could someone be lost? The city was quarantined, most tourists and visitors were long gone. Any locals should know their way around by now.

    "Or are you looking for danger?" He added studying her carefully. When he was a Seeker, it was his duty to protect the lives of civilians, it was still his duty. Someone so soft couldn't really be a thrill seeker, could they?

    Maeve was certainly not a thrill seeker. Not a chance. She truly was a soft person, whether she chose to admit to it or not. She was still trying to catch the last bits of breath she'd lost thanks to all that jogging, exhaling heavily when she'd completed the task. She wasn't facing Marshall, her shoulder to him, until he spoke and she swiveled to see where the questions were coming from, her blue-eyed gaze locking in on the former Seeker's face. Barely a second later Maeve was grinning at him, her smile stretching practically from ear to ear. "Lost? No, I'm not lost. Isn't that a silly question!" She exclaimed, putting her hands on her hips and giggling a tiny bit. Lost? Maeve? Never.

    Pausing, she pursed her lips slightly and shook her head at his additional question. "And no, I'm not looking for danger. That also seems like a silly question. I don't know anybody who would purposefully go looking for danger. That seems a little daft... Of course, I suppose you could want to go find danger if it's your job or something... Are you looking for danger? If you are I think I'll just leave you here to do that because I'd prefer to stay away from it if at all possible... Oh! How rude of me! Here I am chatting up a storm and I haven't even introduced myself!" She said suddenly, completely disregarding her own question about whether or not he was looking for danger and disregarding the fact that he might harm her. After all, she didn't know him. All caution to the wind, Maeve scooted right up to him and shot her hand out towards Marshall so he could shake it. "My name's Maeve!" She exclaimed, still smiling wildly at him.

    Chatting up a storm indeed. A deep frown furrowed his brow as Marshall tried to keep track of the sudden rush of words. It was a silly question he supposed. But the answer was worth knowing. As she spoke, he turned his gaze to the left, gazing once more into the empty city district. It was daft to look for danger. That didn't mean many, many civilians didn't do it anyway. But she was right, she didn't seem like the type to go looking for trouble anyway. If anything, she looked more like a pastor's kid then he did. Of course, that was something he would keep to himself.

    Soft blue eyes returned to meet this new stranger only to find her hand shooting towards him. The sudden movement seemed to startle the boy who couldn't have been paying too much attention to her in the first place. Acting on impulse, Marshall flinched away, his own hand shooting out to grab her wrist. His grip was firm and yet gentle. There was a curiosity about the way he held her at bay, as though he wasn't quite sure what her intentions were. That was of course before she introduced herself.

    Reluctantly releasing her wrist, Marshall reached for her hand instead, giving it an uncertain but firm shake. "Sorry. That was unnecessary." He murmured, referring to his earlier action. "Marshall." Was the single grunt that would have to suffice as an introduction.

    The sudden movement startled Maeve, whose brow furrowed ever so slightly when he grasped her wrist, her smile fading a bit. Well this was rude. Grabbing someone you don't know while they were trying to shake your hand? She supposed maybe this fellow was just a little odd. She had no problem with odd people though, glad to meet his acquaintance anyways.

    She stood very still until her hand was shaken, bent towards him at a slightly awkward angle, for once not saying a word. She slowly recoiled post-shake, wrapping her arms around herself in something of a hug before her smile returned and she beamed at Marshall again. "It's fantastic to meet you, Marshall!" She said, back to her chipper self.

    Maeve rocked on her heels slightly before she plopped down right beside Marshall, crossing her legs in front of her. "What are you doing out here? Are you just chilling out? I was jogging but I got tired. I don't usually jog this way either, I take a different route, but there were too many people that way so I had to find a new and different route so I came out here. I don't usually come here, it's dangerous you know, but it's nice and quiet. Ooh! What's that?" Maeve asked, suddenly gesturing to his sketchbook. "Do you draw? Is that for drawing? I suck at drawing. I can barely draw stick people!" She seemed to be having a good ol' one way conversation.

    Shake his hand? Well that's just what anyone would want you to think. With the peculiar events surrounding the city, Marshall learned very few people were trustworthy. Everyone had an ulterior motive of some sort. So what's hers? Releasing her hand, he crossed his arms over his chest, a thoughtful expression obscuring his features.

    Sometimes you met people and you could tell right away there was more to them than met the eye. They had many sides to them, a story and a motive behind each action. They were complex, intelligent, and should never be underestimated. Maeve didn't strike him as that kind of person. Her bubbly chatter gave the behemoth of a man plenty of time to analyze her actions. Her flow of conversation moved so quickly he found himself nodding his head and offering small grunts of acknowledgment without giving too much thought to her words at all.

    She knew it was dangerous but she came anyway? Wasn't it better to jog on a street crowded with people then in complete isolation where you could be savagely attacked or..um..eaten? Well, this girl didn't seem the logical type, or even the intelligent type. Although it was harder to take her seriously when didn't shut her mouth.

    "Yes. I do draw. When I have time." He offered no sort of elaborate reply. Why would he when she seemed to be making most of the conversation on her own? In fact did he even need to be here? She could probably hold the same conversation with a tree, or the grass, or any inanimate object. Still, her stick-person comment brought a shy smile to his face. The gentle curve of his lips visible only for a moment before he turned to watch the river instead. "I like stick people."

    At his comment on stick figures she clapped her hands together and giggled a bit. "You do? Do you draw them? Nah, I bet you draw cool stuff, right?" Maeve inquired, wiggling a bit in her seat as if she simply couldn't contain her excitement at the prospect of stick figures. She tipped her head to the side, eyeing his sketchbook. Her fingers laced together and she just sat there, beaming, expectantly waiting for him to open it up and show her it's contents as if Marshall would understand what she wanted him to do without her saying so in the first place. The suspense was killing her.

    Maeve wasn't terribly perceptive when it came to other people, their personal space, their privacy, things of that nature in general. She was intensely curious, so much so that she'd even shut her mouth in hopes Marshall would be comfortable enough to share his sketches with her. She didn't realize it, her mind busy racing, but she had shifted closer, leaning in towards the book with an intent look on her face. She had to see the contents, it would drive her crazy not knowing.

    Poor Maeve had just opened herself up to a world of torment. It was very different publishing your artwork when the only link back to you was your name on a page. But when someone you didn't even know, a stranger wanted to see it in the flesh? Well...that was a few leaps and bounds outside of his comfort zone. Besides, it wasn't as though he had much to share did he? The few abstract lines that made out the basic outline of a man were hardly discernable. There wasn't anything to show.

    As Maeve leaned closer, Marshall became increasingly aware of her short stature. She seemed small before. But this close, well she was tiny. He'd never had a little sister before, and his brothers were growing enough he hardly noticed the difference. But seated next to her, it felt as though she was something so fragile and delicate, that even if he breathed in her direction she might shatter. Eying her as she situated herself more properly, Marshall stared in silence. He met her expectancy with his own. What did she want? "Are you just going to sit there?" Was she going to use her words? Or just assume he was about to show her his privates? Not those privates of course, but it was about the same distance outside of his comfort zone anyway.

    "If you sit for too long your muscles will cramp." He spoke thoughtfully, rolling his pencil beneath his palm without looking away."You should stretch. Or go home." Was he telling her off? Not exactly. The young man was only trying to be helpful, unaware Maeve had not witnessed his entire internal dialogue, only the few short phrases he'd just spoken.

    Chances are that Maeve would still enjoy seeing his lines. At least then she'd know what he had in that sketch book, and not be stuck wondering. Her gaze was locked on the sketch book until he spoke again and she turned her gaze back to his face, pouting a bit. "Well I was hoping you'd show me what's in your sketchbook," She explained, waving her hand as she spoke in a manner that conveyed she was merely curious. "But if you don't want to... That's okay," What Maeve meant by that was that it definitely was not okay and that she'd find out what was in there eventually whether he wanted her to or not.

    She then hopped back up to her feet, stretching her arms and grinning at him again, her pout magically gone and the topic changing suddenly. "You don't talk a lot do you?" She inquired before giggling, her smile curling at the edges of her mouth. "I talk a ton. Just so you know, Marshall, if I begin to bother you with my talking you can just ask me to be quiet. I most likely won't be quiet for long but I'll try," She assured him with a nod, stretching her quad by standing on one leg and pulling her foot back behind her and upwards. At least Maeve wasn't oblivious to the fact that she talked a large amount.

    If he didn't want to show her, it was okay? Was it really though? Why were girls always so...ugh. Would it kill them to be straight forward?Watching her sprout back to her feet, Marshall began to wonder if she'd ever really been sad at all. Was she bipolar? He'd never really met someone who was bipolar, so he couldn't say.

    Watching her stretch, he listened to her continual chatter. "It doesn't bother me." He said softly, continuing to roll his pencil back and forth. The sensation of the wood rolling beneath his palm created a rhythmic, smooth friction. It was almost enough to lull him back to sleep. Almost. "Do you read the newspaper?" He inquired suddenly. Though he spoke to her, his gaze drifted here and there, following the path of a monarch before floating to the water below. "I don't. But you'll see them tomorrow in the art section...maybe." 

    By 'them', he was referring to his artwork of course. But did she really need the specifics to catch on? Offering her another shy smile, Marshall said nothing else. That was enough conversing for the month, wasn't it?

    "The newspaper? Yeah, I do... Wait, are your sketches going to be in the newspaper?!" She gasped wildly, bouncing up and down a few times. "I knew you drew cool stuff! I could feel it! That's so cool! No, that's amazing! Absolutely wonderful! I've never been in the newspaper! I bet it's awesome! I bet everyone will be like: Oh, hey, you know that Marshall guy?" She paused, leaning to the left and tapping her chin as if she were some random fellow, even dropping her voice for effect. "Yeah, I know him, why?" Maeve asked, leaning to her other side, hands on her hips, as if she were another, different, random person. "His fantastic artwork is in the newspaper," Maeve said, back to the original random guy. "You'll basically be famous!" Now that was probably blowing it out of proportion a bit but Maeve was excited for Marshall, ecstatic even.

    Now back to behaving like herself again, Maeve grinned. "So, will it have your name on it if it gets in the paper so I can see it and show it to people and be all like: Hey, I know the guy that drew this! Isn't his work just fabulous?" Maeve inquired, going back to stretching. This time she sat back down on the ground and reaching for her toes, having extended her legs out in front of her.

    Needless to say, her antics made her....different. Marshall watched her little performance, mouth parted in a rather bewildered expression. What...the heck? Without much further prompting, she reminded him of his youngest brother, Carter. Although was it rude to compare her to a ten year old boy who suffered from ADHD? Probably. But so was calling her fluffy and soft, so he'd past the point of remorse a long time ago.

    A shy grin scrawled across his face, cheeks tinged with a flourish of embarrassment. She was going to be sorely disappointed, or at least, he believed so. But rather than protest and argue, he simply ran a hand through his hair, using the distraction to tug uncomfortably upon the golden locks. "Yes, my name will be on it. How old are you again?" Marshall was more than eager to have the conversation diverted away from him and his drawings. It was embarrassing. Of course, he wanted to be a comic book artist one day, and he was good at what he did. But he didn't want to be famous or anything. He didn't want people coming up to him all gushing and....doing whatever she was pretending to be doing right now.

    "I'm seventeen," Maeve said with a nod. If she were a normal seventeen-year-old girl, she ought to be doing homework or something like that given the time of day it was, but Maeve wasn't an average seventeen-year-old. Nope, she was brilliant, whether she showed it or not. She pulled one leg in, reaching for the opposite foot, grinning at him. "How old are you? Wait! No, let me guess..." She said, eyeing him for a moment. "You... Are..." Maeve paused, pursing her lips while she thought.


    "You're nineteen," She decided with a nod. He looked nineteen according to Maeve's standards anyways. "You're either nineteen or twenty five," She added, not certain suddenly. Maybe he wasn't as young as she thought? Her mind was racing, her thoughts whirring around until she finally settled. "No, you're nineteen," Maeve decided firmly.

"I'm-oh..." Marshall dipped his head, giving her a chance to guess. For a nineteen year old, he often found his age and his appearance constantly contradicted one another. His broad shoulders and muscular build went beyond that of the average nineteen year old. His smooth sculpted jaw-line and pensive expression often gave others the impression of maturity. However, Marshall's clean-shaven face and casual attire only reinforced his rather 'boyish' looks. All calculations included, he found Maeve's estimate wasn't much of a stretch.

"I'm nineteen." He spoke softy, gathering his pencils and erases. Slipping them beneath the cover of his sketchbook, Marshall tucked the moleskin bound book beneath an arm. "Shouldn't you be getting home soon?" It wasn't that he was trying to get rid of her. But didn't she have homework or something? Marshall knew some students didn't go to school anymore with the recent events, so he avoided implying anything about school work directly. "Very soon the sun will set." And all the idiots and thrill seekers would be out looking for danger. Casting Maeve a thoughtful look, he decided once more she couldn't be one of them.

Neatly gathering his feet beneath him, Marshall stood. If he hadn't towered over her before, he surely must've now. But he made no comment as he checked his watch instead. "I have to go too. Would you like me to walk you home?" The prospect of a race did occur to him, but he decided against it. With all his drawing supplies and whatnot, this perhaps wasn't the best time.