You know it's gonna be a long day when you find someone unconscious in a garbage pile.

Poet Merrilee St. Clair stared long and hard at the tattered body, seriously thinking of just leaving him there. He looked like a gangster. Whatever left those bruises and cuts, he probably deserved it. What was she supposed to do with him? Drag him home to mother with a pretty bow around his neck and ask if she could keep him? That'd totally go over well.

He looked like hell. At least. His torso was bare, and she had to admit, incredible even with the bruises. Hard tan muscle all the way down to his pants hem. The pants looked like something from Aladdin, but strangely enough they seemed to suite him. Dirty bare feet stretched out to almost touch her black loafers. His hair was probably strangest. A wild bush of red with what looked like a silly white streak in the center. It was hard to tell.

One clenched eyelid twitched. Poet jumped and swallowed a squeal. How weird would it be to wake up in a trash heap with some weird girl staring holes into your forehead? She ducked her head to hide behind her curtain of jet black hair. She squeezed the shoulder strap of her backpack nervously and watched as the same twitching eye cracked open. A glazed blue iris stared off into space for a moment, before rolling in her direction.

"U-um…"

The eye flew wide open at the sound of a voice. Poet jumped again and almost took a step back. She swallowed thickly and clenched the strap tight.

"Do… Do you need some help…?"

"Ah…" The boy sat up slowly, wrapping an arm around his purple-blotched waist with a grunt. "Hit me… Hard… The bloody bastard…"

Poet quickly shuffled back as he attempted to stand. He looked like he'd be fine at first. He braced against the wall behind the black garbage bags and almost made it straight up when his left foot slid out from under him. He went crashing back into the filthy puddle of sludge growing there. Poet yelped and dropped her pack in her rush to help him. "Ohmigod! A-are you alright? Do you need an ambulance?"

The boy held up a hand to keep her back, wheezing. "Ah'm alright, lass. Don't be frettin' over wee scratches like these here." He flashed pearly whites. "Ah've had much worse, believe you me. A rough little spat between blood brothers, s'all it was."

Poet's pale cheeks flushed brightly beneath her hair. That had to be the most adorable voice she had ever heard. And up this close… Was that..?

"You… Have a horn," Poet said quietly.

The boy's grin widened, a small dribble of blood oozing from his cut lower lip. "Aye, the ladies love it."

Poet doubted that. She blinked and stood back as he tried to stand again, this time with much more success. She reached blindly for her backpack, ready to bolt. A HORN? Was this guy some sort of vampire or something? Well, hell, why not?

"Um, if you're sure you'll be okay, and you look like you probably will be, then I'm gonna be late for school, y'know, so I sh-should probably go." She almost made it out of the alleyway, before turning back around, fists wringing her backpack strap nervously again. "Y-you're sure… You'll be…?"

"The sentiments are appreciated, lassie," he scoffed, still with a light tone despite his battered body. "But it's gettin' ta be a bit insulting. Ah'm as damn near invincible as they come, I am. In case ye hadn't noticed yet…"

Ears twitched out from under his hair. Elven ears. Fangs glinted where she hadn't seen them before in her worry over his well-being. "Ah'm a big strong demon. Rawr."