Misbegotten Interruptions (Open)

It was an absolutely glorious morning to be out.  Of course, if asked Juka would be likely to say that most nights were glorious, but this night seemed especially so.  To begin with, Los Angeles was one of his favourite cities with its warm, sunny days and its mild summer nights not to mention a very active party scene.  Speaking of partying, tonight had been a night to remember.  It was a rave at the Hydra Nightclub and, in the only fashion he knew, Juka had been there all night and had only just left as dawn was just beginning to peak through the night sky.  

Still feeling more than a little bit buzzed from the night's indulgences, Juka turned down an alley, a carefree smile playing across his lips.  The night's music had been excellent, fast and dancy just the way he loved it most.  The people had been a blast and had almost completely avoided those with bad attitudes and trouble to find that sometimes had a tendency to show up at public rave events.  The laser light show met with his undeniably high expectations.  It was the people and the music that made the difference between an amazing night and one that was met with unfortunate disappointment.  Count his one clearly in the win category.

A gentle breeze blew, ruffling Juka's dark red skirt.  It was obvious to anyone who looked upon him just how much time and energy he put into his clothing and makeup and somewhat less obvious whether or not he was physically male or female.  Time was an easy sacrifice to make when didn't actually require sleep, almost an easy sacrifice as money when one was the Fountain of Youth and the only one to whom one could go to literally wish away the ravages of time.  Neither did he consider to be of much important.  It was dance and joy and drugs  and fantasy towards which he truly dedicated his efforts.

Many things  had been said of Juka over the years, some to his face and some behind his back.  Among those things were the fact that he had a nievely positive view of the people around him and, perhaps, a somewhat inflated sense of his own immortality.  Perhaps this was because he could, quite literally, live forever and had all ready lived for decades beyond his apparent years.  Or perhaps it was simply a matter of too many drugs  and not enough sleep.  Regardless of the reasons behind it, the fact that his clothing suggested an obviously well off individual walking around in the very early dawn in a neighbourhood of less than positive repute never crossed his mind as something he should think twice about, let alone avoid all together.

As Juka stepped past another alley, he felt an unexpected sharp pain in the centre of his back.  "Money.  Now."  He froze blinking his eyes as tried to clear the haze of drugs from his mind.

Xander was temporarily staying in Los Angeles while he awaited a commission from an unknown employer. Los Angeles was a new world to him. It seemed like almost yesterday he was  back in Staten Island in the monastery. The idea of the place even came with a list of horrible memories. The multiple shots to treat his "illness", the unfortunate yet euphoric intensity that rushed through his body as he first saw angel wings, or even the unfortunate childhood memories of not being able to associate with other children of his ethnicity.

It was tragic, but he still survived, and he had fun along the way. He spent a few days travelling by air and greyhound towards Los Angeles in order to get away from The Regime; as far as possible was the goal. While they gave him a start to this career as a hero to help those around him, they had other plans that rather seek to destroy this world. Regardless, he was blessed to have these powers, and he hoped to use them to the best of his ability once again.

Los Angeles was a new world to him however. Hollywood, the beaches, the feminine aspects. It wasn't much of a potential home to Xander, but he was intrigued with its nature. The place seemed to be free of morals and rules, some two virtues that restrained Xander for more of his life. The place however, lacked some action, something Xander desired since he first got his powers. He now walked along the night towns looking for some fun. It could be as simple as a typical cat stuck on a fire escape, or a drunk pedestrian causing a public ruckus. No matter the event, Xander wanted to get some action, with or without his powers.

Just as he was about to turn a corner to take a shortcut to the local motel that he resided in, he ran into a peculiar figure in liberating clothing, being held up by a vagabond.  "Money.  Now.", muttered the mugger as he held a shank to the poor citizen, who seemed to be under the influence. Xander wasn't ready to use his powers for the first time, but he did plan on saving this citizen. He walked cautiously towards the scene, before breaking the silence with a, "I would step away from that citizen if I were you chap," gripping the hilt of his sword before advancing on.

Why did bad things always happen to poor Juka? Or more to the point, why were bad people always attracted to poor Juka? He always tried to be a good person, helping those in need and sharing his extensive bounty. He was careful who he gave his gift of youth to, ensuring no one who was especially unsavory received it. Karma, he figured, should be his in positive drove by now. And yet, hear poor Juka was standing in the middle of an alley with some mugger with a knife to his back demanding money.

It wasn't even about the money as money had very little real value to him. The funny thing was, if the man had just asked politely Juka would have gladly given him whatever money he wanted. No, it was the indignity of it all and the sad reality that the world was not the happy shiny place that he so dearly desired it to be. Bad people existed and that was very sad.

"Let me get your money," Juka voice came out sounding more resigned than frightened. Resigned that such a poor unfortunate soul as he could stoop to such lows as mugging an innocent civilian in a back alley probably to get a few hundred dollars for his next fix. Juka enjoyed his drugs as much as the next person and probably more but there were rules to that game and the first rule was that you pick your poisons carefully and you don't let them control you because once they gain control, your life is over.

Juka began rifling around in his pockets, the knife point uncomfortable. If he could turn around too see his assailant, he'd find a man thin and pock-ridden and slightly jittery and unclean. Juka might have felt a rush of relief when he heard the words of a stranger demanding his attacker step away from him had said attacker's knife not pressed more firmly into his back. If it drew blood and he bled upon his beautiful gowns, well, then his attacker would see what he could really do.

"Come closer and he gets it," Juka's attacker all but growled at the newcomer. Juka himself had nothing. The newcomer had a sword. He had...well, he certainly didn't have a sword.