[Jaykobell]

It's not like he liked acting like a defeated little puppy. Still, if that would get him out of here with those papers signed, there wasn't much he could do about it.

Cristobal figured that cutting Kyrie short or interrupting her would be like shooting himself in the foot, so he kept quiet as she introduced herself as well and went on to explain why she would care about someone most people didn't feel the need to consider "human." Her reasoning wasn't very impressive and sounded rather cliché, but despite that, even he couldn't deny that there was a certain genuine feel to Kyrie's words. The more he listened to her speak, the more he started feeling awkward for blowing his fuse right at her. Nothing that would keep him from sleeping soundly, but one the spot, it wasn't really pleasant to feel this way.

At the end of it all — she finally signed the papers too! — Cristobal didn't really know what to say or how to react, though Kyrie's words did leave him pondering. He still didn't believe that she really cared; maybe she did out of respect because they were strangers and she didn't want to look, act, or sound like a complete jerk. Sure, he could believe in professional "care", or more like the concept behind someone being caring and understanding solely out of business practice to get clients or a respectable image for your business. That's what he called "fake": people caring solely in order to win something out of it. In this particular case, Kyrie's reason was, supposedly, because those rabid fanboys had ripped out one of his feathers. She had nothing to win out of caring for something like that — yet she still seemed to care.

"Humph," he eventually voiced out, though it was more like an interjection than anything; just to make her understand that he wouldn't just stand there like a dope, and that he did have the intention to reply to her. "Good for you. Picking my own future isn't something I got to do. Trust me that I wouldn't be doing this crap if I didn't have to." His tone was still bitter, but it wasn't aimed at Kyrie herself — more so at the concept that he'd never managed to actually be in control of his own future. "I got those godforsaken wings, so what am I supposed to do? Deliver crap to people. I'm too much of a freak to do anything else by everyone's standards." And he couldn't really just chop off the wings, either. Why would you chop off your arms? It was the same concept. They were still an appendage of his body and cutting them off would be like amputating himself. The lumps would still be there and people would still catch on that he wasn't human.

Taking the signed papers from Kyrie's hands, Cristobal made sure to double-check them so that the right papers were signed at the right place. God forbid he left only to realize that the wrong papers had been signed or that a signature was missing. "If you care, then good for you," he murmured as he was looking through the papers. "But caring for someone who doesn't even know what it's supposed to mean won't bring anything to anyone. You're wasting your energy." It wasn't even necessarily the fact that he didn't want people to care; it was the fact that one person out of quite a few billions meant absolutely nothing. People were also easy to manipulate, so what was to say that those people who seemingly care wouldn't just turn around eventually? "I wouldn't hope to see me again. Again, you'd be wasting your time. I don't know what kind of story you want to hear — there's nothing more to say. People consider me a freak and they feel like they can control my future, no matter what I think, do, or say."

With that said, he turned around to take a look towards the place they'd come from earlier. If that show was still happening, then those stupid screaming boys would still be just outside the security perimeter, ready to latch onto anything. If wings were a sort of gimmick in this modeling line, his wouldn't stand a chance against those rabid idiots. He sighed with defeat as he rubbed his forehead. "Can I even leave with those stupid kids outside this perimeter?" If those kids would end up ripping out his feathers again, he probably wouldn't have a choice but to accept the car ride.

[Kallile]

She looked at him with a sad smile, not really sure how to console him. There wasn’t a way—not a lasting one that would make him feel any better. At the end of the day she was still just a stranger who had gotten his wing injured and been a pest to him. She was, however, concerned by his reasoning as to why he claimed he wasn’t human.

“Didn’t get to choose your own path? Who’s to say that this is what you have to do with your life?” It wasn’t a concept she heard often—someone being stuck in their position. However Kyrie was understanding that bad things happened in life and debts were owed…perhaps Cristobal was repaying a debt. “I don’t think you’re too strange to do anything anyone else can do. You’re probably better at a lot of things….” Kyrie went quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say next. She had carved out her own future from the moment she knew it was possible—making the most of her younger years to be able to do what she really wanted to.

“It’s not wasted energy—everyone needs kindness in their lives. That’s part of why I started doing this; so that I could be a better role-model for young girls. I don’t know any of them, and they don’t really know me…but if I make even the tiniest bit of difference in their lives then I’ve done something to make my life worthwhile.” She frowned but did not step closer to the man even though the look on her face told that she truly wanted to step forward and embrace him. “Any story you want to tell would be fine. And if there was a way for me to help, then I wish you would let me help you. I may not be big and powerful…but if there was anything I could do I would. No one but you should get to choose your fate.”

And then, the million dollar question. Looking back to the hallway Kyrie frowned again and shrugged softly, drawing her arms up to cross them uncomfortably as if just realizing the form-hugging outfit had been on her this whole time. Modesty certainly wasn’t very common among models. “You could try, but I can’t say how far you would actually make it. Tonight is a big night being a new season line—we’ve got more of a crowd than usual and when that happens they are a little more boisterous than they usually are. If you want to try then I wish you luck…and if you don’t then you can crash backstage until the show is over and I’ll take you home. I have a dressing room you could use if you wanted, but it’s pretty girly and I don’t figure you’d like that much. But no one else will be in there, so you could at least have peace and quiet.”

[Jaykobell]

There was very little Cristobal could think to say, once again. Kyrie's words sounded interesting and genuine, but there was just one problem: they were also too idealistic. If only the world could work the way Kyrie said, Cristobal's life thus far wouldn't have been such a sob story most people didn't care to listen to. "Good for you," is all he could think for a reply, because anything else would be repeating himself or going off into a pointless discussion that would go around in circles. "Sad to think that's not how the world works. Good for you if it does, but it certainly doesn't for everyone. I wouldn't be in this situation if that were the case." He wouldn't deny that he felt intense jealousy for those who could actually make their own choices and decide their own future — because Cristobal certainly couldn't do it.

That said, her answer concerning those rabid fans didn't really make things any better. But at this point, could they really get any better? He sighed in defeat, crossing his arms. "Whatever. I can crash here or in your room. I don't care either way." Whether the room was girly or not mattered very little to Cristobal — if he had to choose, he would probably prefer to hide in the room for now, considering that would keep the curious eyes away from him. The only problem might be the injured wing that still oozed a little bit of blood; it might end up dirtying her room, despite it having almost entirely clogged up. Regardless, this wasn't a familiar place to him, so he would just take what he could get. "I won't even try to go back in there. I don't want every single feather plucked right off me." He internally shuddered at the thought — ouch. His wings had gotten injured before, but getting a feather pulled right off the wing was just plain painful.

"If you still hold those words you told me after you're done here... I'll take your offer on that car ride, then," Cristobal added as he started folding the signed papers. There was no telling Kyrie wasn't saying those things just because of the circumstances currently happening. For all he knew, she would change her mind after the show and retract her offer under some sort of excuse.

[Kallile]

“I wish the world could work that way—maybe then it would actually be a fair world.” She said honestly. She hadn’t lucked into the things she had; she had slaved over herself to stay in model shape even into her mid-twenties. She couldn’t imagine a world where she wouldn’t have the chances she had been given, however, and though her heart broken to actually meet someone who seemingly had no choice she tried to keep a strong face. It was too close to showtime.

“There’s going to be a lot of costume change activity out here very soon, so you’ll be more comfortable in my dressing room. I’m mostly done in there, so I won’t even be bothering you until afterward.” She offered as she shifted the box in her grip and turned to lead the way, pausing just long enough to make sure Cristobal was going to follow her. “It has food stocked in it, so feel free to help yourself. I never get to touch any of it anyway…kinda silly that they bring it if you ask me.” She said with a tiny smile on her face at the very thought.

As they walked down the line Cristobal was sure to see several models in various stages of show-readiness giving him odd looks and quickly turning to the nearest person to whisper. Kyrie noticed, and though her cheeks burned red she ignored them and kept moving. To bring a guy backstage was one thing, but to lead one to your dressing room was often entirely different. Kyrie knew exactly how it looked, but she was determined to not make light of it. If he stayed out here he would just be mobbed by shallow-headed women all far too interested in his wings and how on earth he wasn’t kicked out by now for not having ‘the look’.

Finally they reached a hall of doors, all with golden stars on the outside with names etched into them. Kyrie quickly opened hers and ushered Cristobal into it. “Well…here it is. Again, I’m sorry it’s so girly.” The interior was does in soft lavender hues with stark white furniture including a few chairs, a large table lined with mainly fruits and sweets but also a few things like shrimp, and an elegant couch off to the side. One wall was entirely dedicated to her wardrobe (now looking a little more barren) and a vanity mirror and stool with several different makeups laid out on the counter.  Several floral arrangements dotted the room with cards from companies, family members, and admirers alike. Just beside that was a small fridge that when opened would reveal several bottles of water and wine alike. Kyrie smiled sheepishly and closed the door as soon as Cristobal was inside the lavender walls.

“I won’t be here long, I just have to put on some finishing touches and take my last few outfits out with me and then it’s all yours until the show is over. But don’t let me stop you… enjoy whatever you like.”

[Jaykobell]

"I don't take what's not mine, regardless if offered," Cristobal answered to Kyrie's invitation to take some of the food in her room. He wouldn't deny that some food would've been nice, considering he hadn't had the chance to stop for too long to eat properly for dinner. His entire day had been delayed one delivery after the other, and in order to make it in time, he'd had to skip almost his entire dinner off. He'd ended up eating a small sandwich on the way here, but that hadn't really satisfied his hunger.

He followed Kyrie quietly without adding another word, and instead focused on giving the curious onlookers some looks. He raised an eyebrow at pretty much the whole bunch of them, giving them a look of "how about you mind your own business?" type of frown. Whether or not they got insulted or retaliated the look mattered very little to him. Kyrie was the one seemingly in charge of him right now, so whatever the other models thought went right over the deliveryman's head.

Upon reaching Kyrie's room, Cristobal did his best to fold his wings as much as he possibly could. They often proved to be intrusive because of their size, and making them compact was actually harder than it seemed, since he couldn't just hide under his skin or clothes. He grimaced and grumbled as he folded the injured wing, feeling the sore spot of the plucked primary stinging and burning slightly as he put pressure on it. Thankfully, the pain lasted only for a short moment before giving way to relief from the folded feathers warming up the sore, exposed spot of the wing.

He made his way inside Kyrie's room and took a quick look around. "It's your room. I'm not sure why you'd apologize because of it being to your tastes," he answered as he made his way towards the bed, but not to sit or lay down on it. Instead of hogging it like any other person would, Cristobal settled for sitting down besides the bed, and leaning against the side of it. It wasn't his, just like the food, so he wouldn't touch it, whether he was offered or not. "I'll wait here, then."

[Kallile]

“I just feel like I need to I guess. My dad and brothers always hated visiting my dressing rooms when I first started…but none of them were ever really in touch with their feminine side. So…it’s just a habit to apologize I guess.” She said honestly as she took a seat at the vanity mirror and started finishing up her face. Product after product went into and out of her hands quickly with a mastery that was really quite frightening.  It was all rough and needing perfected, but the make-up artists rarely liked for models to do their own faces entirely.  Kyrie just…helped them most of the way to the finish line.

She kept glancing at Cristobal out of the corner of her eye, and finally looked at him with a small frown. “You’re really not going to use anything in here, are you?” She asked, slightly concerned. She hadn’t encountered anyone  before who would not touch anything. Everyone always wanted to touch her gowns or fiddle with the expensive makeup or try on her gaudy jewelry she often had to wear. They wanted to say they had been there and seen everything up close. But, even for a man, Cristobal was surprisingly different. Granted, most men would typically kill to be backstage at a fashion show to oogle all the ladies getting ready.

As nonchalantly as possible she got up from her vanity and ventured to the table to begin filling several places with modest portions of everything there was laid out. She already knew what his answer would be—seeing as how he had already told her and her question had been rather rhetorical—so she continued on her mission quietly. Her last stop was the refrigerator where she plucked out a bottle of water and a personal bottle of wine while balancing the plates like a practiced waitress.

With both plates were sufficiently full and drink options in hand, Kyrie walked them over to Cristobal and placed them both bottles and then both plates on the floor in front of him before looking at him. If her blue eyes hadn’t popped before, they were certainly popping now with the addition of her eyeliners and eyeshadows. “Alright then, Cristobal, I am giving this to you. It’s all yours to ignore or eat or whatever you like with it. A gift, if you want to think of it that way.”

She rose back up with a small smile, hoping that would entice him to go ahead and help himself…at least to the plates she had filled up. A small TV otherwise unnoticed up above the vanity mirror suddenly popped on. The view was that of the catwalk and the VIP portion of the audience that was already seated. Kyrie gave a little hop and quickly picked up the package. “Oh, that’s my cue! See you later tonight!” And with that she was out the door.

The TV would continue to play through the entire show, as if perhaps the models might actually come back to their rooms to change and need to know when their turn was coming up. Though Kyrie would  not reenter the room for the duration of the show the TV also captured all of her walks and outfits—so Cristobal could rest assured she had not simply left him, if nothing else.

[Jaykobell]

To Kyrie's answer, Cristobal rolled his eyes at the reaction of her father and brothers. He could certainly understand a man's unwillingness to like feminine colors like pink, but even a color like lavender was fairly gender-neutral — at least to him. Not to mention, it was different; this was her room, so if she wanted it pink with little frolicking cutesy animals, he didn't have a say in it. On the other hand, if someone wanted to force him to wear something feminine, then yes, he would disagree and tell people to keep to their business.

He just raised an eyebrow at Kyrie when she rhetorically asked him if he would use anything. He had no intention of doing so, and he wouldn't have touched the food, either. He'd already started relaxing some, eyes closed and hands in his pockets when he heard Kyrie speaking to him and even calling out his name. It was only when he opened his eyes upon being named that he really noticed the food and the drinks laid out to him. She was giving them to him? His initial reaction was to look at her with a perplexed look before sighing and making a defeated grimace. "Well, now I'm forced to eat it or else it'll go to waste..." was all he answered as he grumbled a little to himself. This girl certainly had a way of making this self-restraint becoming entirely obsolete.

With Kyrie suddenly out the door faster than you could say "see you later," Cristobal blinked at the TV up above, though he didn't really think anything about the whole thing. He stared at the food laid out in front of him, sighing again as he tried to figure out how he was supposed to eat it all and drink everything that had come with it. It was out and about, so if he didn't eat it, it would probably go to waste. Considering Kyrie had gotten it all out for him, if he didn't eat it, then he would've ended up wasting all this food. Well, if he couldn't eat the whole buffet, he could probably eat... most of it?

As he waited for Kyrie to come back and for the show to be over, he slowly ate the food set out for him and drank the drinks given as well — including the wine. Thankfully for Cristobal, alcohol wasn't exactly an unfamiliar drink to him.

Having eaten and drank as much as he could, the deliveryman eventually leaned back against the bed, full and a little more than dizzy from the wine, even though it hadn't been all that much. With a long, drawn-out sigh, he started slipping off into sleep slowly, with only the TV giving some background noise in the room.

[Kallile]

Several hours later the Tv flickered back off. Waves of models and handlers now ready for the afterparty barged by the door whooping and hollering like hormonal teenagers as they paraded themselves out of the building without once opening Kyrie’s room to see where she was. When the model in question did show back up she was in very different garb from the sleek black number she had been in at first. A plain t-shirt and a tailored pair of jeans with nothing more than a few bobbles that held more memories than glamor to them. Her hair was wet from being freshly washed and pulled back into a loosely curled mess on the back of her head.

Opening the door gently, she was half afraid she would find Cristobal gone. The thought that he might have snatched up some of her personal belongings as he went didn’t bother her half as much as the thought that he might have just up and left to prove a point of not needing her care or her help. So it was quite a shock when she found him right where she had left him—food and drinks almost obliterated with him sleeping.

For a moment she just stood there and stared at him. He really did look angelic—sleeping and minus the grumpy look on his face. Simple words couldn’t express her joy that he had taken up her offer and eaten something too. Carefully she made her way towards him, unsure of the best way to wake him up. Her brothers often flailed like they were under attack…so there was always that possibility. But it was getting late, and if he had a family she was sure they’d be worried about him.

“Cristobal?” She tried gently, reaching out to gingerly touch his shoulder as if he might spring at her in a fury at any moment. “Cristobal, wake up. We’re ready to go now, if you are.”

[Jaykobell]

The sudden lack of background noise — or the increased intensity of it outside Kyrie's — wasn't enough to jolt Cristobal awake. His day had been a long one, and that was honestly why he'd been so pushy about being let go. Going back home to maybe eat a little and then crash on the bed was all he wanted. In some sort of round-about way, he'd gotten what he wanted, if a little more awkwardly than necessary.

Slumped over slightly forward, the deliveryman was still leaning against the bed, but his head was hanging down forward. His wings had loosened up, spreading a little over him on both sides. The injured wing had stopped bleeding, thankfully not making a mess of Kyrie's room. They looked limp as if they were sleeping too, exactly like their owner; which further emphasized how those wings were really biological and just fake or human-made appendages.

He looked fairly deep into sleep when Kyrie finally got back, her entering the room and walking towards him not even making him sleep-move or twitch. Calling out to him initially didn't seem to work either, but he did react more to that by grumbling and making other sleep-sounding noises. It was only when Kyrie touched his shoulder that Cristobal finally caught on, suddenly jolting awake from the touch. His wings followed suit and stretched further, flapping just slightly as they, too, got the brain message that it was time to wake up. Beyond that, there was no flailing or screaming, although Cristobal had woken up with a surprised look on his face, as if he were afraid that he'd missed something.

Initially, it seemed like he didn't even recognize the model in front of him, but that only seemed to last for a few split seconds. Realizing where he was and who he was with, Cristobal put a hand to his head as he felt it throbbing slightly from going from deeply asleep to wide awake in a matter of seconds. Admittedly, drinking the majority of that wine bottle probably hadn't helped. "Ugh... ready to go?" Another few seconds to register. "Right... Going." Sleeping on the job, now that wasn't very professional.

Groggily, the deliveryman got himself up from his spot, carefully keeping his wings under control so they didn't end up just stretching out all the way or flapping things off on the floor. Given a little time, Cristobal was up on both feet and while looking a little drowsy, he was ready to go.

[Kallile]

Kyrie smiled gently at him as he finally stirred awake. She didn’t mean to rush him, but it was late. If she was sure there weren’t others who would be worried about him she would have been fine to just let him stay where he was. She knew enough of the security team that they would have let a sleeping deliveryman slide.

Standing back up and taking a step back to give him space, Kyrie motioned for him to follow her. It had been a successful night, and the woman herself had had a few glasses of champagne to celebrate the success of it before parting from her fellow models. She didn’t desire the afterparties anyway, but tonight she had a special task to further distract her.

She walked slowly do the halls to make sure Cristobal was still in tow and that his wings didn’t catch any of the garments left behind. "So, where do we need to take you back to? Where do you live at?” She asked slowly so the drowsy man might better understand her questions. She needed to give the driver an address afterall. It was one perk of the job that she didn’t complain about—a driver and a divided car to keep conversations private. Her driver just so happened to be an old friend from high school, so it was someone who had everything to gain from keeping Kyrie safe and thus the young woman trusted her completely.

As they made it to the garage a lone black limo was waiting with a blonde haired driver who looked far too perky for this hour of the night. Kyrie smiled back to Cristobal and slowed to try and get him to walk beside her now that their destination was in sight. “Your wing is looking a little better…but I’m still glad you stayed and are letting me bring you home. I’d rather deliver you there safely myself than let you go home hurt.” A giggle--slightly buzzed but not enough to be fully tipsy—escaped her lips shortly after as the thought of ‘I’m delivering a deliveryman’ crossed her mind.

Opening the car door she stopped and waved him inside as the driver rounded the front of the vehicle and got into her seat as well.

[Jaykobell]

Rubbing his eyes and his forehead gently to wake himself better, Cristobal followed Kyrie out of her room and down the hall, to wherever she had to lead him. He could walk at a relatively average walking speed, though his face could tell anyone who looked at him that he'd literally just woken up. He felt a little dizzy from his mind being so foggy, but overall he could follow his guide just fine. His wings also hung a little limply behind him, crooked slightly and looking like they were just tagging along for the ride, drowsy themselves.

At the question of where he lived, Cristobal blinked and had to think about the answer for quite a handful of seconds. He would be honest and say that he never really got home the normal way; he would just fly over there and call it a day. Very rarely did he have to walk home or get there from the ground-route; even when his papers needed his address, he had to do a double-take because he'd never really remembered it. Being that his head was foggy, it also didn't help to remember. "Er... I don't know," he answered eventually, if only so Kyrie got the idea that he wasn't ignoring her — even if the answer sounded stupid. "I don't... go there the normal way. Close to some sort of shopping mall? Somewhere in the apartment building next to it?" He was pretty sure that was the place, although his pointers were still relatively vague. Hopefully that would be enough, because that was basically all he could think of right now.

As they reached the garage, Cristobal stared at the limo for a few seconds, his brain still loading on what this car was supposed to be. His wing flapped a little, subconsciously, when Kyrie mentioned it, although Cristobal himself didn't say anything about it. Kyrie's joke of delivering him — because he's a deliveryman, right? Clever — would've probably rubbed him the wrong way under normal circumstances, but the words went mostly over his head. He'd heard her, but not to the point of nitpicking them in order to find some sort of hidden insult in them.

Again when prompted, it took a few seconds to register, but his brain was slowly catching up in general. "Uh... sure. Er... thanks... and stuff... I guess?" he blurted out awkwardly, asking the last part as if he were unsure if this was the right way to act or the right thing to say, as if expecting Kyrie to nod or shake her head at his semi-question. Regardless, he did as requested and got inside the limo, making sure to bend the wings this way or that so they could fit properly inside the car. He had to admit he didn't get to ride in cars very often, the very concept was still relatively new to him.

[Kallile]

Kyrie slid into the car after him but only smiled with a slight tilt to her head as he stumbled around for words. But his lack of an address did pose a big problem. Pondering what he had said, Kyrie tapped on the glass behind her to have it lowered instantly.

“Yes Ma’am?”

“Um…we don’t know where we’re going Seza. So…just stop by every shopping mall in the area and we’ll tell you if it’s the right place?”

The blonde-haired driver looked at Kyrie, then Cristobal, and then back at Kyrie before shrugging. “If you say so, it’s your gas money.” And with that the window went back up and left the two alone, sitting face to face as awkwardly as two strangers could possibly be. Only Kyrie was the opposite of awkward, she smiled brightly at Cristobal and laughed a little.

“It might not be the fastest way, but I’m sure we’ll find your house this way. Ah…are you comfortable enough?” The cabin to the limo was rather roomy and situated for several passengers, so leg and elbow room was plentiful. However, most limos were not designed with wings in mind.  “You can lay across the seat if it helps. There’s not really a seatbelt law for these things—they’re built like tanks.”

She fidgeted as if the idea of lying across the seats wasn’t a half bad idea, but shook the idea firmly out of her head. “I really hope you weren’t too bored or anything. Um…you got any family that might be waiting up on you? I have a  phone you can call them with…” She offered, a little less sure of herself than a moment before. That was the last thing she needed: labeled as a home wrecker because she brought someone’s husband home at an ungodly hour of the night.

[Jaykobell]

Cristobal wouldn't deny that the car space was actually very convenient. He could let his wings rest a little; it took him as much energy to control them as it took someone to walk or move their arms about. Not a lot of energy, all things considered, but you would probably get tired fast of keeping your arms tightly tucked against your sides after a while. Being able to let his wings spread a little was certainly appreciated.

His lack of familiarity with this particular type of car, however, was a little awkward. Even if Kyrie felt good enough to smile at him as brightly as possible, Cristobal was busy looking this way and that and trying to observe this strange, particular car. Needless to say that he'd never been in a limousine before, and considering he felt awkward in a regular car, being in one of those fancy ones just made his experience more awkward than anything else. He looked like he was trying to fit in, for lack of a better image, as he gave uncertain looks at almost everything present in the car. Similar to how he'd had used Kyrie's bed, his problem went deeper than just extreme courtesy — the issue wasn't that he didn't want to use the things offered, it's that he felt like, whether invited or denied, he didn't have the right to use them. It was the display of his lack of self-confidence at its best.

That aside, he did listen to what Kyrie was saying. He wish he could say where he lived exactly, but the words eluded him. Even the shopping mall; even though he did his groceries there, he couldn't remember the name of the mall. Some of the shops, sure, but then the other malls could have them too, and they probably did have them. Ah well, they couldn't be too far from his place, right?

Again, despite being invited, Cristobal categorically refused to lay down on the seats. The fact he was actually in the car was already more than he would've expected. The first few comments and offers had left him quiet, but as Kyrie went on, she did say things he could answer to. "Not bored. Just tired," he replied a little placidly, feeling himself slipping on and off dreamland as the car rolled on. He was quickly brought back to reality when Kyrie mentioned something that, to him, was so over the top that it made him laugh inside. Not outwardly, but his expression did change to something slightly mocking and full of disbelief. "Are you for real...?" he asked quietly, shaking his head as if Kyrie had asked him something genuinely impossible. "I thought I told you people don't want to deal with freaks like me. I have nobody waiting for me. It's only me, myself, and I. Nobody else," he replied grimly after, his now-serious look so dark that there was no way he couldn't mean it. He was all alone, and he knew there was no other way for things to be otherwise.

[Kallile]

Though trying to be her usual self it felt…different to do so around Cristobal. Not in a bad way, but his genuine curiosity about the things he was seeing made her feel like a bit of a rich snob and she instantly hated it. It was everything she wasn’t—this car, the chauffer, the entire life felt like she was living in a lie she had to keep up because she didn’t know what else to do.

At first his backlash surprised her and the young model just blinked at him a few times as if she was trying to remember a point where he had said that. She did, eventually, and thanked the dimmed lighting of the car’s cabin for hiding the fierce blush that took over her face. “No, you did. But…I’m dealing with you and wanting to deal with you, so I guess that makes me an equal freak.” She laughed a little awkwardly and before she knew why she was talking again. She couldn't blame it on the drinks she had had--she was well aware of what she was saying and doing--but perhaps she could blame them just enough to make sense of the sudden need to tell someone else, anyone else, how she really felt inside.

“But all models are, really. I mean…who wears clothes for a living? Standing up in front of people so they can pick apart every flaw and imperfection they see in you. And then you get to wake up the next morning and read lie after lie about yourself in the paper. And we still go back every time. It kind of takes a freak or…or a glutton for punishment to do that to themselves over and over and expect to feel different at the end of the day.” In truth, only her sister knew that she really hated this portion of her life, so why she was telling a stranger who she was just trying to help she didn’t know.

She just smiled sadly at him for a moment before dropping her eyes to stare at her shoes. “And besides…that makes two of us. I’ve never had anyone to call for a long time. Not even the people who raised me.” It wasn’t that her parents didn’t care about her, but she was the most well-off of their children and the fact remained that they had stopped doting over her a long time ago when she had reached this level of fame. “Silly to think I might have actually been married by this point. But no one really wants anything more than just a pretty face from me.”

She looked back up at his slowly, but her eyes settled on his wings first as she made a small gesture towards them. As she spoke her eyes travelled back up to meet his. “So honestly, I’d trade this life for your wings any day, if they're the one thing that make you feel this way.” She gave a genuine smile before shaking her head in realization of all the things she had just told him. He didn’t seem like the type to run to the presses…but she didn’t suppose she’d care if he did. She’d put him through a personal hell tonight, so why couldn’t she afford him the same luxury?

[Jaykobell]

He had to admit he had rarely met anyone this talkative, but Cristobal figured it could really be worse. He was a man of few words, and when he did say any words, they came out harsh and aggressive. Imagine someone as talkative as Kyrie with Cristobal's character — what a scary thought.

Her answers, though, did surprise the deliveryman. From his perspective, this girl had everything she wanted: a luxurious car, a prosperous career, fame, most likely a huge house and even just that food from earlier had been so much more than he was used to. Despite that, she seemed to dislike part of it, even comparing it to him and the freak analogy. It was intriguing; he couldn't remember the last time someone had expressed displeasure to him. Someone "human", of course; most of the other "stork" people were bitter as well, although no one measured to Cristobal's negativity. Sometimes he wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

It was a surprising thing to hear that her family also didn't seem to bother with her, and that she wasn't married. Cristobal would've assumed that Kyrie was already married and maybe even with kids; who would skip their chance at marrying someone like a model? Well, apart from Cristobal himself, but he wasn't a reference.

As he listened quietly to everything Kyrie mentioned to him, for a moment, he felt like he could actually relate to someone other than one of his own kind. He didn't relate exactly on all levels, but he could still understand some of it.

The feeling sort of evaporated entirely when Kyrie brought the wings into the discussion. Under normal circumstances, people saying they would give anything for Cristobal's wings could send him flying into a rage. Fortunately, if only for Kyrie, he was too tired and numb from the drinks and food from earlier to care to moan and whine about it. He did, however, laugh at her comment — although it wasn't a positive laugh. "I felt like maybe I could sort of relate to you..." he started with quickly once he was done chuckling, "... but not if you think having these is a good thing." As if on cue, the wings flapped a tiny bit and spread some, ruffling themselves a little afterwards.

"You probably think it has to be awesome to have wings, right? It's anyone's dream to fly just once, right? You're delusional if you think having these brings you happiness. Fine, you don't like your job; then why don't you just quit?" Oh, it was easy to say, sure; but that wasn't his point here. "Easy, right? Yeah, well, I can't do that. I didn't even have any parents or siblings — no one. How many feathers did you think the kids in school plucked off me? The moment I got old enough to get a job, there was nowhere else for me to go. Teachers would ask you what you wanted to become when you got older. You could answer anything — an astronaut, a doctor, a film director. I never got to pick any of that. It was like a taboo — to think a freak could fit in with normal people. You get to make your own choices; I don't."

He leaned back against the back of the seat, his wings adapting to him and moving out of his way. "Would you ask to go to jail willingly? Would you give up your freedom for no reason? That's exactly what you just said," he added, words neutral and sounding almost like he didn't really care; he was too numb to put rage or even comedy into it. "If you feel like a freak here, then quit your job and find something else. You can do it. Nothing and no one can stop you from doing it. You're not bound by some invisible chains, so don't try to find any."

Well, in general he was a man of very few words.