Shilo could barely breathe from the shock that hit her every sense. Try as she might, she couldn't take her eyes away from the straining bodies pressed together in the semi-lit darkness, the only sounds were the breathy moans and the blood pounding in her ears. She could smell and taste the tang of sweat and salt and the sterile sting of Zydrate in the air, and even physically she could feel them, in the constriction of her limbs, thighs pressed together, and the heat that flushed her cheeks- as well as other, more private places.

Shilo was one of the very few, maybe the only person in the city that could be (or perhaps could have been) described as an innocent. Her father had always, on some level, believed they would be the same together, he in his study and she in her room, and therefore neglected that most important conversation in a young woman's life. The one about changes and feelings and boys. But maybe 'boys' were unnecessary to mention. After all, Shilo had no interest in boys. But such a talk might have made her more understanding, and preferably more cautious, when the budding emotion fluttered in her chest on meeting him. Not a boy. A Man.

Still, one cannot shield a child completely from sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll, least of all when the only barrier is a wrought iron fence. Shilo had an understanding, thanks entirely to television, but maybe it only made things worse. After all, slender males caressing and whispering love-words to well-endowed females in the commercials clashed strongly with muscular stupidity constantly making mistakes about the opposite sex in sitcoms. And in both cases, Shilo felt no connection to the loud, flirtatious women that represented her, nor attraction to the various degrees of manliness she was supposed to fall for.

It made it clear, though, that he wasn't attractive, wasn't sexy, wasn't cool or hot or insert-buzz-word-here. He was wrong, wrongness personified, but she knew the shudder that ran through her on seeing him was not one of disgust, no matter how much she wished it were.

But the sight of a whore and her customer, something Daddy would never have allowed her to see, on TeeVee or otherwise, awoke a curious wonder about him that Shilo didn't know what to do about. And as if the thought of him, the trembling of her hips, the slick sound of her tongue swiping across her upper lip were a charm, he was there, behind her, chuckling loudly in her ear.

"…Kid…" He probably knew her name, but he preferred to remind her of her age, or at least her status, beside him. Young, immature, innocent… well, a kid.

"…GraveRobber…" she was proud at how well she'd mimicked his mocking tone of voice, and the rumble of his laughter was an appreciated reward for it. She was all focused on him now, the entwined couple she'd accidentally walked in upon were lost to her, mere scenery compared with the flesh and blood at her back. He was no action-movie hero, stinking of death, sweat, and nameless toxins, his fingers, at her forearms, crusted with grave dirt and blood, thick greasy hair a muddle of dirty pastel hues.

But the liquid heat in her lower belly swirled, no matter how incredibly wrong it seemed with him so close to her, and she was sure he could feel it, somehow scent her like a dog. This huge, dirty brute of a man, immorality personified, wasn't the ideal prince to rescue her from her tower -because every little girl has this fantasy at least once and Shilo Wallace has had more than enough opportunities for it- but really, he's the only one who could have done it. No delicate kiss to rouse snow white but a grating smash of the glass coffin around her, waking her with blood and sound and darkness.

"Up past your bedtime, I see." A more thoughtful adult might have avoided such a topic. After all, it was fathers that made bedtimes, and Shilo had recently lost hers, but GraveRobber aimed to provoke, to thrill, and rarely to please. Besides, his occasional jabs at her raw wound were making her stronger, and she shrugged; a braver action than she would have dared the first time. He smirked. She knew he did by the curve of his mouth beside her ear. "Naughty. Naughty Shilo Wallace." The moan that echoed from the alleyway sent a tremor of laughter through the immense body, and a tremor of… something else… through the smaller body it pressed against. "Never picked you as a peeping tom." She shook her head, the fibres in her wig scratching against her scalp since her head was held against his neck and chin.

"It- it was an accident." Shrugging was manageable, but she still had trouble speaking to him when he was so close, the rumble of his voice a physical sensation. "I'm not here on purpose."

"Ohhhh?" His voice was so low, so close. She could feel the waxy moisture of his lipstick on her ear. "Not on purpose, huh? And where, pray tell, are you supposed to be?" He hadn't released her arms yet, and the feel of him against her, mixed with the moans of the couple close by, were torture.

"I- I'm- shopping!" The word came out louder than intended, and she flinched.

"Oh, shopping! Are we?" He was mocking her, mimicking her high voice in her ear. "What are we shopping! for?"

"Groceries." Shilo was having trouble keeping her calm demeanour with this man treating her like a child, able to taunt and mock her every word. He no doubt sensed her unease, but didn't let up, as usual.

"Funny place to buy groceries, dontcha think? A little dark… and dank… and late." He chuckled softly, and she felt his fingers flex against her skin, no doubt smearing them with dirt. Shilo sucked in a slow breath, trying to repress the shudder that accompanied it.

"I don't like to draw attention to myself," she breathed out. "It… it's not safe." There was a pause, then GraveRobber released a bark of rough laughter, followed by another, till the alley echoed with his voice, his torso rubbing against her back as he shook with laughter. The loss of control from him gave Shilo the opportunity to twist out of his grip, but instead of leaving she spun to face him angrily. "What are you laughing at?!" He regained control slowly, shaking his shaggy head and chuckling to a slow halt before looking her straight in the eye. Shilo realised too late just how childish that order had sounded. A spoiled child pouting. GraveRobber knew it too, a wide, toothy smile spreading his generous mouth as he straightened.

But there was no reply. He took a step forward, and she back in almost the same instance. He raised an eyebrow and stepped forward again, causing another backwards step. The very slow, very disconnected tango came to a halt when Shilo's back hit a wall, and GraveRobber kept moving forwad till they were almost chest to chest. Shilo was worried, but not afraid- she could never be afraid of him, even if only because he'd had plenty of opportunity to rape her before and had yet to follow through. His heavy forearms settled on the wall on either side of her hand and he leaned down.

"You're right," he whispered hoarsely. "It's not safe." The brick at her back scratched at Shilo's back through the black dress she wore, but at the sound of his voice she pressed back harder. "Especially not for little girls who are all alone." This time, for the first time, Shilo was able to bring a smirk up from the depth of her apprehension.

"Well then." Her voice was much softer than she would have liked, and forced the volume. "Lucky there aren't any little girls here." He blinked, then smirked, causing Shilo to let out the words she had been holding it. "I'm not afraid of you." He turned his head slowly to one side, like a dog, watching her silently through lank strands of hair.

"No?" with a silent 'why not?' he asked as thought it were a perfectly ordinary question. Maybe it was. Maybe it was a question that she should be asking. But Shilo Wallace had said it, and in an instance realised she meant it. Her heart pounding in her ears, her breath whispering through her parted lips, the trembling she tried to keep at bay; these didn't come from fear. Hands pressed against the uneven brick, she pushed herself forward, just a little; just enough.

He tasted the way he smelt; dirt and death and beer and pheromones, only richer, deeper, wetter and better. He didn't pull away, no doubt he found this kid kissing him hilarious, but Shilo pretended that he felt something too for the heartbeat she had his mouth against hers without fear or regret. When her courage gave way she fell back against the wall, staring at his dark, bright eyes. His mouth, still in the shape of a kiss, curved into a slow customary smirk. Control regained, he raised his eyebrows, amused.

"Well well well. I don't think Daddy would approve." He was trying to provoke her, she just smiled. Shilo had gained an upper hand, even if she didn't know how she'd done it.

"Daddy wouldn't approve of a lot of things." Her voice was steady. "I-" a heavy moan from the alley cut her off, and reminded them both of how this situation had started. It also broke the ice that almost formed between them; her soft laughter mixed well with his. She almost began again, but he put his hand up.

"Don't you have groceries to buy?" This was a sudden, harsh dismissal. Shilo felt her throat constrict in anger, but she silently nodded, shaking her head to clear it of his scent and her childish ideals. She ducked under his outstretched arm, biting her lip but tasting his lipstick in the motion. She would have walked away, in no direction in particular, but he caught her hand as it swung. Shilo turned, glaring at him. GraveRobber stared blandly back. "Where you going, kid? Like you said." She tugged her arm, making her stumbling unwillingly into his side. At this point she was more confused than angry. "It's not safe. I better keep you company."

The mix of confusion and emotion that affected Shilo was strong, but it didn't show. She looked up at him and smirked. "Whatever you want, old man."