With a flurry of sheets, Luciel sat up in bed. Ears stood up in attention as he grappled with the fading memory of yet another nightmare. Though it was nothing new, it was still unpleasant how his mind used itself against him when he was most vulnerable. They sighed, flopping back down onto their back and staring at the ceiling for what felt like minutes before turning their head to the unwound alarm clock on their night stand.

"Maybeh you should get up~" Luciel mumbled in a tiny voice with a sassy Boston accent before rolling his eyes and replying to himself, "Iz not terrible ouf an idea..." and then rolling over. "Y'havin those dreams again?" he continued in the voice which he didn't initially reply to, closing his eyes as their ears folded back. "Wanna talk about it..." the voice muttered before Luciel rolled back over and grabbed the clock, ears folding back. "Iz not-!" he began, catching himself before growling and giving the clock a violent shake before setting it back down on the stand. "Iz...not someszink so simple. You vould not understand" Luciel groaned as he got up, looking back at the silent clock. "Yes, eit [i]iz[/i] because you are a clock" he chuckled, shaking his head at himself before opening their wardrobe to decide on the day's persona.

The room was decorated with a mishmash of ideas, the  carpeted section of his 'room' linked to the tiled floor of the dining room/kitchen. While at the wardrobe, Luciel held up a pleated skirt with one hand before looking over to the other hand, holding up slim black jeans with the knees torn, lifting an eyebrow. Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, a table held an aquarium with the setting of a forest floor equipped with a saucer of water in the ground and various small plants. Within the foliage hid a tarantula, gnawing on the carcass of a particularly plump cockroach.
Both kitchen and bedroom were remarkably clean, save for the armamentarium splayed out on the table as well as a mop and bucket tipped into the sink. It was a testament to a previous 'job' he'd recently undertaken, resulting in a late night of patching up an unfortunate victim of being in the wrong place at the wrong time...on that note...

Cinching up the ties to the black-red-white plaid skirt after tucking in the white buttoned blouse and slipping into a black and red plaid vest, Luciel quietly eased the door to their bathroom open to check on their patient. Some foxy fox of a woman who'd taken a stray to the side; it was a mess to extract, but she'd thankfully been unconscious at the time and the jack hoped he wouldn't have to waste too much painkillers on her...in spite of the stitching. Still, it looked quite painful, even after the mild sedative. It wasn't like he was a doctor who could simply prescribe oxy. Ya never know when you may need it for your own wound's pains...or for a bump when reality is a bit too much.
She was up, apparently having started to take advantage of the rationed meds he left with a note taped to the bottle: a simple heart and a frowny-face next to it.

The woman jumped, making Luciel jump as well. "P-paerdon~" the jack began, coming off surprised but comforting in their tone which they bent enough to sound like the young woman they had composed themselves to be. The woman set down yesterday's newspaper, one of the reading materials he often left in such cases since the door was locked from the outside...for reasons.
"Where...wh-who are you?" the fox in the tub asked, sitting up with a slight wince, the drugs taking most of the edge off from having a hole punched in your side and thankfully missing organs before getting caught in the ribs.
Luciel smiled, albeit nervously as intended, "Sorry, I am Kaitra. I could not bear to simply leave you zehr..." to which the woman looked down, their hand touching the scar at the top edge of their exposed midriff. "Is...he here? I thought I heard him just a few minutes ago" the woman started, Luciel approaching to offer and arm to help her up. "Nawh, iz off doink...vell...such szinks for ohzer people" he chirped with a wistful sigh before helping her out of the tub and into the kitchen to change her bandages. "And he left you here to do this? He must have a lot of trust in you...what is his name?" she asked, causing Luciel to hesitate for a moment, an ear flicking.

[color=bc8dbf]Introspectiveness...despondence...what was the name for a person who rarely was comfortable with a shred of themselves. I was maybe five different people and a sixth being 'me' for whatever it meant, whichever it even was...it's probably four, now that I think of it. Somewhere in there was a real name, but it was funny how two words could put four people in mortal danger. Nawh...its best to forget such people even existed.[/color]

"Heh, he trusts all of his friends...zough I suppose I never bothered to ask his name. Everyone just calls him-

[color=gray]"ANGEL! I knew it was you following me!" the figure called from down the empty street. I'd been following Derrick for a while, even during his mess of a date with that disgusting tramp who still had more class than the ape. Standing under a streetlamp, I slid a hand up my denim coat to draw Sandcastle, letting it glint in the light. I [i]wanted[/i] this job...Sir Lavandou doesn't have friends; they're just one more thing to vainly hold dear before being taken or turning on you, and it was better that it ended this way. [color=bc8dbf]"Zehn you know how zeis ends, Derrick!"[/color] I warned, being sporting enough as I noisily cocked the otherwise silenced PDW.
True to his lack of innocence, he didn't beg or ask 'why'. No, he took advantage of being a block away and darted down the alleyway which I followed, darting down the one before in my pursuit. Where I hoped he'd be waiting with his own gun, watching where he came from to see if I was ironically dumb enough to walk into the ambush, he was unfortunately smart enough to run.
Over garbage tipped garbage cans, his fat ass did all it could to escape, and my shell-catch only held one clip at a time. I needed each bullet to count, and twelve was a tall order while trying to aim in the dark on the run, even if the target was as big as the broad side of a barn.
I suppose he wasn't that fat, but call it a hobby to speak ill of the dead. He'd evaded me for long enough, but I knew he or his heart would give up before I did...this was what I lived for. Metaphors aside, tonight, [i]I[/i] was the predator.

The idiot eventually dashed across a street, thinking it was too late for traffic to interfere...oh but he couldn't be any more wrong. Some woman, maybe a fox I saw out of the corner of my vision had gotten out of a taxi about half a block down. The taxi had begun to speed off before clipping Derrick.

The world we live in, a taxi driver tears off into the night after leaving a poor girl at the mercy of a person wielding a gun while they're chasing a man they just hit.
The ape choked as I approached, doing the sensible thing as to look both ways as not to end up with crushed ribs and a broken leg. [color=bc8dbf]"Iz nohszink personal...and I [i]am[/i] sorry"[/color] I offer, approaching him with my weapon leveled to his skull before the idiot drew his own pistol. Before he could line me up, I already had a round through that thick skull of his, but not before he could reflexively pull the trigger in his impulsive death throes. 

Stupid as always...persistent, but stupid. Who had me come after you? What did you do to deserve this? I frankly don't care. Its unfortunate, but an acquaintance's death had made my pockets heavy for the next month.
Though, it was after I took his wallet that I noticed the result of the errant round. A woman...the woman from the taxi, caught after crossing the street without having ever known either of us or our business, save for the face of a jackalope silhouetted in the streetlamp, apologizing for their mistakes as if it meant a thing...and was nearly as personal as the insane tears he shed.[/color]

Betraying friends, saving strangers. It was bedlam in the streets and in my heart as I carved out the proof-

An eye and a few fingers floating in a pickle jar with Derrick's ID card, Luciel thoughtfully stared at while reaching for the milk to brew a batch of cappuccino. "[i]Angel...[/i]" the woman giggled before grunting with another wince, (bless her heart) containing her excitement to simply be alive. "...He certainly is" she mused, echoed by 'Kaitra', "He certainly is..." though knowingly and sardonic in nature. He made her a traveling cup of cappuccino, swearing she could keep it as a gift of good will before giving her money for a cab as well as a [i]strong[/i] suggestion that she should seek professional medical aid...and forget their face.[/color]

The woman's ride came and went, a hooded rickshaw for price-convenience. 'Kaitra' saw them off with a wave and a grin before hardening back to discontent apathy at the very moment they rounded the corner.

[color=bc8dbf][i]'Did you like her?'[/i] the fridge asked in its stupid, bubbly tone, making a funny 'bbllaaahhh' noise as I pulled out the remains of Derrick and slid it into my attaché case and got into my mid-thigh socks to complete the motif as well as the appropriate kevlar vest under my shirt. "I like everyone. Just...iz nice to help. I hope she gets [i]real[/i] medical attention" I chuckled, lying to myself as I lacing up my black and white converse before pouring the rest of the coffee-drink for myself in a thermos for the day, also stowed in the case...right next to the .45 .[/color]

Topped off with a black and white striped scarf and a half-spritz of a lavander-creme perfume in the mid layer of the fabric wrap, and Luciel was already down the sidewalk. They'd taken the time to fluff up a bit with a shower and blow-dry only to find themselves in the same clothes that may as well still be clean with how briefly they wore them just to get an idea. Long while sleeves pressed with black leather gloves at the end, and you'd think 'she' was important; scarf pulled up around their head at nose-height, one hand in their pocket next to the hanging case while the other edged along, using an umbrella like a cane.

Luciel waited outside after watching Gaspar enter the building, listening to their usual rant before coming in a minute after them.
Their eyes went to the still busted telle and then to Sacha with a cheeky grin, pulling their hand out to gesture to the side in a comically unimpressed manner. "Jeez, Sir. Vehn vill vee get zeht pile ouf junk fixed?" they asked, maintaining the feminine tone and making it clear that they were laying low for the day by their passable appearance as a woman. Though Luciel operated in more accommodating clothes for jobs, showing up to work as his female persona was a big hint that he'd rather not be picked out of a crowd at the moment.

The job had been accepted from the hole and would likely be returned in such a manner, the sign being the waitress with the red anklet. [i]'Order 'sacked pickles' from them and be sure to leave a 'tip' '[/i].
Luciel was in the process of moving to the back room to get into uniform.