[hr][center][img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/b3RmLjEwNi4wMGZhOWEuVUdGc2IyMWhJRWRwYkcxdmRYSS4w/perfect-smile.regular.webp[/img] [img]https://i.imgur.com/fQJYC7v.png[/img][/center]
[right][code]The Evergreen Commons Apartment Complex, South Side, Westwood “Jungleland”
Sunday Evening, An Ungodly Hour[/code][/right][hr]


The sound of shattering glass and blaring car horn beat Paloma’s alarm by five minutes this evening, interrupting the marathon shouting match started by the neighbors two apartments down that had already pulled her back into a semiconscious fugue state. Paloma groaned and reached for her phone, hissing like a vampire that had stepped into sunlight as the screen lit up her room like the flash that comes with the dropping of a megaton bomb. The hissing noise became a steaming shower head, a staccato shout of alarm squeaking out of Paloma as the hot water ran out and she ran out of the shower, hitting her shin on the edge of the tub with a clunk. The broken toaster clunked as the mechanism to eject the homemade bread got stuck as Paloma, back turned with a towel wrapped around her hair as she put the final touches of freshly cut strawberries on top of Barbie pink cupcakes, head turning as she sniffed.

A half-eaten burnt piece of toast was carried in Paloma’s mouth as she left her apartment and entered the hall, precariously trying to balance a tri-stack of glass containers with one hand and her knee as she locked her door. The shouting was clearer out in the graffitied hall, a crying baby joining the chorus as the slamming of something on the ceiling from the floor below became the beat. Shifting the weight of the baked goods as her eyes watered at the acrid taste of the remnants  of burnt rye mixed unfortunately with the fresh stick of cinnamon gum, Paloma popped a pair of earphones in and set the mood for her hike to work as she ignored the wisp of luminescence as she stepped over the body of a drunk man sleeping in the hall. She hummed along to the music, an off-rhythm thunk causing her to turn her head and giving her just the right amount of a heads up to dodge with deftness as the door of the shouting neighbors burst open and a large man bowled through the frame. 

His face red with anger, a strand of light tugging on his collar as another roped through the door towards the voice shouting over Paloma’s music. The tension in the man’s face dropped as he saw Paloma, the rage becoming embarrassment as his eyes followed hers down to the bleeding cuts on his knuckles. He began uttering some kind of apology and asking her if she was okay. Paloma leaned her head to the side to look into the apartment, catching sight of a red-faced woman holding a now screaming baby and noting the dent in the drywall, the woman’s eyebrows raising and a smile coming on her face as she waved to Paloma and said good evening. The screaming baby immediately stopped as Paloma said evening back, turning to Paloma and starting to reach towards her as he cooed and drooled on his shirt. Paloma’s face brightened as she gave the baby a little wave and received a giggle in response, her smile dampening as she noticed the lights leashed around the mother and son as they had also been around the father.

[color=00FA9A]“I don’t have time for this, Sam,”[/color] muttered Paloma to herself as she dipped out of view of the doorframe. The man said something to her, prompting Paloma to pull out one of her earphones. [color=00FA9A]“Huh?”[/color]

“I said it’s Matt, but you can call me Sam if you want,” said Matt. “You going to work, Paloma?” 

“Matt? Matt? You should offer to give her a ride,” said the woman’s voice around the corner 

“That’s what I’m doing here!” 

“It’s dangerous for a young woman to be walking out there by herself.”

“I know! Dammit, Mickie, that’s why I’m going to fucking ask her. Stop butting in all the time. You always butt in. You always do that shit!” yelled Matt, anger resurfacing.

“Why are you being such a fucking asshole?” yelled the woman.

[color=00FA9A]“Oh, let’s, um, let’s maybe stop yelling yeah? It’s cool, really. I actually enjoy the walk. Need the exercise, y’know?”[/color] said Paloma.

“Are you sure, Paloma? It’s no issue at all,” said Matt, the anger gone in an instant. 

“You should invite her over to have dinner, Matt!” hollered the woman. “Show her that we can be neighborly!”

“She’s right, Paloma, you should really come over sometime. Mickie might be a,” the veins in his forehead popped as he screamed and turned his head back towards the apartment, “STUPID! [i]FUCKING! [b]BITCH![/b][/i]” His voice softened as he turned back to Paloma, “But she makes an absolutely killer veggie lasagna.”

Paloma let out a nervous laugh, [color=00FA9A]“Oh, yeah, um, maybe, not tomorrow, but, yeah, I guess, another time, look, I really have to go if I want to catch the ferry.”[/color]

“Oh, okay, yeah, some other time,” said Matt, stepping back into the apartment. He started closing the door then paused, “You sure you don’t want that ride?”

[color=00FA9A]“Thank you, you’re very sweet, but I’m sure,”[/color] said Paloma.

She gave Matt a kind smile that faded as she turned and heard the sound of the apartment door latching. Within a few steps the shouting match was back on and the kid was crying yet again. Paloma shook her head and went to replace her earphone, but the subject had changed from whatever they were arguing about to now Matt and Mickie arguing about Paloma. She couldn’t help but listen in. Matt was shouting about Mickie trying to drag their annoying and nosy neighbor into his business while Mickie shouted about Matt trying to screw the stupid slut right in front of her. Paloma’s jaw hung open as their conversation centered around absolutely trashing her, united in their hate yet still going at each other’s throats. Paloma closed her mouth and shook her head. It didn’t matter what they thought of her, really. She should just move on.

Moments later, she was knocking on their door. 

Mickie opened it. She looked positively delighted to see the woman she thought was trying to steal her man. Paloma smiled at her, a look of mischief in her eyes as she pushed past the woman and entered the apartment. There was no resistance to the trespass, Mickie almost absentmindedly giving Paloma permission to enter as the young woman stepped by. Her eyes scanned the one bedroom apartment. Identical to hers, but feeling so much more cramped thanks to the addition of an entire of another person’s shit, the pack and play, and other baby bullshit taking up half of the living room. Matt looked up from the sink where he was wrapping his hand in a dirty towel and gave Paloma  a warm regard as she set her cupcakes down on the folding card table that was stacked with dirty dishes, overflowing ashtrays, sliced rubber bands knotted together and burnt silverware. 

She was happy to be wearing gloves as she reached out and grabbed an empty syringe off the ground, going the extra mile to add a second degree of separation by picking it up with a tissue from her pocket instead of directly with her gloves. Mickie stammered something about Matt having diabetes and needing insulin shots. Paloma shrugged, not really caring. Paloma tossed the syringe and tissue into the sink in front of Matt, wiping her hand on his shirt. She moved towards the crib and kneeled down over the baby boy.  She carefully pulled off her gloves, set them on the floor, and lifted the child. Paloma wiggled a discolored finger in front of his face as she bounced him with one arm, pulling the finger back as he reached for it and letting him grab onto a handful of hair instead, wincing as he gave it a tug. She turned to the parents, cradling the baby. Instincts pulled at both of them to confront the stranger who had just grabbed their child, but they were unable to make such a move, the air of ease around Paloma telling them that they could trust her—or rather, forcing them to feel so.

[color=00FA9A]“He’s a cutie. What’s his name?”[/color] asked Paloma.

“Michael,” said Mickie. 

[color=00FA9A]“Michael,”[/color] said Paloma, making faces at the baby to get him to giggle. Michael. The deck had been stacked hard against the kid. What a fucking lame name. If the kid didn’t already have it bad enough with these two as his parents, he was now forever going to be a Michael, a Mike, or, god forbid, a Mikey. She watched as the guiding light of the Samaritan winded  its way around Mikey like a snake. What the hell could she do about his life? Call child protective services and shunt the kid into foster care purgatory, gambling on the odds that he winds up in a better situation than a worse one? This was unfair. She wasn’t the one who got knocked up. He wasn’t her responsibility. The light around Michael intensified as it corded around the child’s neck.

[color=00FA9A]“I already told you, Sam. Cut that crap out. Be realistic,”[/color]  she sighed.  The light died as Paloma put Michael back in the crib, staring down at him with stars in her eyes. She pinched his little foot as her stomach tightened and cramped. She never should’ve entered the apartment.[color=00FA9A] “You’re going to break a lot of hearts, cutie.”[/color]

Paloma walked back to the table, grabbed her cupcakes, and stared at Matt and Mickie who were looking at her dumbly. It was a common look Paloma had experienced since becoming Everyone’s Sweetheart, the look of someone who should’ve been pestered by her that instead was forced to be delighted, the mental hoops that they had to jump through to come to that conclusion temporarily short circuiting the brain.  Or perhaps they were just high and she had failed to notice, distracted at first by the juxtaposition between their shifting rage and adoration. She could help them. She could change things. But it wasn’t her choice to make, was it? 

[color=00FA9A]“It’s late. The two of you should be more considerate to your neighbors and keep it down,”[/color] said Paloma, her Good Influence putting its hand on the back of their heads and nodding them up and down. 

A frail gesture at being a good neighbor which did little to ease the bubbling anxiety in her chest, but at least the rest of the building would have a quieter, more peaceful night. Paloma sighed as she left the apartment and closed the door, snapping the piece of gum in her mouth. The voices no longer carried through the walls. She caught the eye of an old woman peering through a gap in her door, the chain latch still in place so that it could be opened no further, another nosey neighbor curious to see what all the shouting had been about. The old woman gave her a big, dentured smile as Paloma closed the distance to the gap, seizing the opportunity to cure herself of that creeping feeling of guilt that was mixing poorly with the burnt toast in her belly.

[color=00FA9A]“You won’t believe what I just saw,”[/color] said Paloma, cupping a hand up to her mouth as she leaned forward and gave the old woman the dirt on Matt and Mickie. The old woman’s eyes were wide by the time Paloma finished up,[color=00FA9A] “...It’s so sad, really. Oh well, what can be done, right?”[/color]

There. Paloma felt a weight lift off of her shoulders. It was the old bat’s responsibility now. 

It was quite the hike to the ferry. With the dark settling fully over the broken shell of a city that made up South Cloverfield,  the pushers and the bloodsuckers paraded out of their holes where they would run and terrorize the downtrodden left out on the streets for the night. Still, Paloma was undisturbed in her walk. She chatted briefly with a haggard woman on the corner who had said she liked Paloma’s outfit, returning the favor by complimenting her fishnets and pump boots and offering her a cupcake. She politely waved off a gentleman who tried to pass her off a “sample” in a plastic baggie but accepted the joint, returning it when he told her about the extra punch of fentanyl it was laced with. She returned a tip of the cap from a police officer with a polite smile that faded as she heard the sounds of violence coming from the alley he’d strategically parked his cruiser in front of to block anyone’s view. 

All in all, it was a typical walk to work followed by a typical commute—the other third shifters shifting around to make room for Paloma on the ferry and then on the bus, offering her their seats up front, even when there were plenty of open spots in the back. That was followed by a typical night of work at the hospital, scrubbing, cleaning, and also slacking. Nothing would happen to her anyway even if she was caught shirking her responsibilities, other than a coddling reassurance that they believed she was simply trying her best, but the bribe of cupcakes to the other cleaners and night nurses would hopefully keep the hard feelings away when Paloma wasn’t around. 

[hr][center][img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/b3RmLjEwNi4wMGZhOWEuVUdGc2IyMWhJRWRwYkcxdmRYSS4w/perfect-smile.regular.webp[/img] [img]https://i.imgur.com/fQJYC7v.png[/img][/center]
[right] [b]Interactions:[/b]The  Big Cat Burglar [@Fernstone]
[code]South Side, The Circle, David Smith’s House, Monday Morning 9AM  [/code][/right][hr]

Before she knew it she was back on the ferry and then back on the streets of South Cloverfield, her clothes smelling of the faintest hint of lemon and bleach. The morning light cleared the roads of the “undesirable” and replaced them with honest, hard working blue collars and stupid teenagers pretending to be wise guys. The visual deterrent of earbuds was the only thing keeping strangers from talking to Paloma on the streets. Before the Samaritan she had always felt unsafe on her commute, one headphone out at all times, listening for footsteps trying to sneak up behind her, taking wide berths around alleyways and idling cars, keys threaded between her fingers. Now she merely felt a little annoyed, mostly at herself for still feeling obliged to return every smile and wave that came her way. She should just ignore them. After all, they weren’t really the ones being nice. 

She had ditched the large cupcake containers at work, letting the morning shift fight over the remnants. In her hand was a small carryout box she’d snagged from the cafeteria at work with one final extra special strawberry cupcake inside. In her other hand were two pieces of paper. One of them was a printed out map with a list of directions from the ferry, the other was a torn bit of notebook paper with a list of addresses. About a third of them were scratched off, all of them sharing one thing in common: they were the listed address online for all the David Smiths in the area. Perhaps, unlike the last two, this one wouldn’t be a dead end and actually be able to provide her with some information. She confirmed the street name with the paper and tucked them away into the pocket of her button up sweater. She disappeared around the corner before jumping back and pressing her back against the wall with a panicked look on her face. There was a trio of rough looking guys outside of David Smith’s house. Paloma placed a hand to her heart, telling herself everything was okay. She’d be in no danger and besides, who knew if they were even bad guys? She peaked around the corner and witnessed the cute one of the group rap on the door.

[color=51684c]”Oy, David Smith, open up! This is one of Gideon’s men- I’m here to check up on you! To make sure you’re alright?”[/color]

She tucked back away. Gideon? As in Gideon Cross? She didn’t know him personally, but everyone in South Cloverfield knew of Gideon Cross. Nothing but good things were said about the man in public around here, largely because everybody had a different horror story about what happened to the last guy that talked shit about Gideon within earshot of his boys. Paloma mouthed a silent scream and thrashed quietly back and forth in frustration. As if hunting down strangers and interrogating them wasn’t annoying enough already. Maybe they’d move on if David didn’t answer. Surely, they would move on? A polka dot ribbon peaked around the corner, followed by a pair of alert eyes that only grew wider at what she witnessed. 

The cute guy was getting undressed and she also probably wasn’t a cute guy after all. Paloma made a hmm noise that became a sound of disgust as the cracking of bones echoed down the street and the person started to shift, muscles expanding, fur and tail sprouting. Paloma blinked with confusion as their underwear grew to fit their new body, begging the question of why they bothered to discard the rest of their clothes, and silently hoping that this wouldn’t awaken anything inside of her. The last thing Paloma wanted to do was ruin her healthy, platonic relationship with Frosted Flakes by suddenly fetishizing its mascot. As if it sensed this concern and wanted to double down on it, the Samaritan took this moment to turn the Messiah Complex back on, a trail of light visible only to Paloma threading out to Tony (Tonya?) the Tiger. What? Were the two other guys unable to help the weretiger fit Mr. Smith into a nice pair of concrete shoes?

Paloma jumped out of her hiding spot as the tiger kicked down the door with one blow. She’d be screwed if her one big lead was eaten by a tiger. Paloma’s aura stretched out to Gideon’s men. If the other two were Paranormal like their tiger friend then they would feel the strange sensation that the weretiger felt when Paloma made herself known. The sensation wasn’t anything majorly disruptive, just Everyone’s Sweetheart skipping up to their physical forms and going in for a hug that was rebuffed by an Emotional Field. It was the feeling of a spiderweb brushing against the arm or a person with one spritz of perfume too many walking by, a mild sense of something’s off that soon became nearly unnoticeable. 

[color=00FA9A]“Oh, heeeeey!”[/color] hollered Paloma,  leaning forward and smiling wide, her voice like helium squeaking out of a leaking balloon, her hands folded peacefully in front of her and still cradling the cupcake box. [color=00FA9A]“Love the fur. Super trendy, and it’s cruelty free? Wow, amazing. You’re great. All of this is really great. Look, I don’t want to be a party pooper, and if anyone asks I wouldn’t dare say a thing, I mean, who would believe me? So by all means please feel free to carry on…in just a moment.”[/color]

Paloma took a tentative step forward, reminding herself that they wouldn’t hurt her, they wouldn’t hurt her.

[color=00FA9A]“Um, first, would the two of you mind keeping your striped friend from doing anything violent?”[/color] asked Paloma, a wave of Good Influence rippling off of her. She doubted they were blind, but if they were One-Eyed Open they would be compelled to follow her request. However, if they had Emotional Fields perhaps they would just be gentlemanly enough to listen to someone as sweet and harmless as little ol’ she. She took another step forward, this one with a bit more confidence, her eyes on the weretiger. She held out the box. [color=00FA9A]“I’ll even throw in a cupcake. It’s strawberry. Homemade. Full of love and sugar. I just want a word with Mr. Smith. Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking for. Just five. And then I’ll be gone. Forget I saw a thing. Because, I mean, what was there to see? Nothing. Nothing at all. So c’mon, be a good little kitty and just step to the side.”[/color]

A smirk crossed Paloma’s face as popped her gum and drew up to her full, unintimidating height of just shy of five and half. Shaking the cupcake box in one hand, she turned her other palm out to the tiger and with a wink said, [color=00FA9A]“Or I scream and draw a crowd. Trust me, I can get really loud. Is that what you want? An audience? It’d explain the unnecessary exhibitionism.”[/color]