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That was an unfair question.

Maebe's lips parted automatically to let him know she was used to walking in heels, but the words died in her throat when he offered to carry her. Of course she wanted that. He'd get tired even faster if he had to carry her down that many blocks, but she wanted it. She wanted to be treated like the princess of New York City, and she almost said so.

When her lips caught up to her mind, she'd finally compromised with herself. "Not until we're out of Times Square." She reasoned, taking him by the hand and leading him south through a constant stream of crowded streets. "It'll be safer." As it was, people were all so busy taking pictures and bustling from one place to another, that bumping and shoving constantly tore them apart. Each time, she would stop and pull his hand until it wrapped around her waist, and shoved anyone who tried to get in the way, out. Then they would begin again, slowly being pulled apart by the tide of the crowd.

New York was a madhouse.

"Used to." She called out, trying to speak over the hum of voices. "I lived here for a while. Well, not here, but in the city." When her address had been a New York one, it had been with eight other people in a house fit for 2, and she was the only one whose rent came free of charge. Well, not free. It was crowded, and smelly, and tiny, but it had perfect access to the 1 2 and 3 trains and that was all the freedom she needed. Living there meant the entire island was your home, not just the tiny hole in the ground that you called home.

"I moved around a lot, but once I got here, I tried to stay here as long as I could. You can see why." The city was certainly her place; and based on the way some of the people they walked by were dressed, it made sense. If they weren't tourists, they were New Yorkers, and even their clothing looked like it had teeth.

They were out of the thick of Times Square, and continued walking through the streets, which were finally less crowded. People were always around, but they managed to keep just enough distance to never touch, or make eye contact. They crawled around with purpose, like ants headed blindly to work.

"I've been all over here." She bragged, her tone saturated by the smell and sounds. "If I wasn't taking you to a club, I could show you a million things. Broadway's really interesting, and the Village is absolutely beautiful." Now that they were really moving, she was practically skipping. "This whole world is throbbing with creativity and life and joy. You didn't need to be happy, in New York. It's happy enough for you."

"I moved where people moved." She hedged, hesitant to explain her lifestyle before Deus. "I'm not sure if I could ever call one particular place my home. It was someone else's home, and I just lived in it. So, moving day was never really my choice."

She wanted him to keep looking at the wonders of the city. She wanted his eyes to flicker from skyscraper to skyscraper, from billboard to neon sign, and never once look down at hers. She hoped New York City would be enough to keep his attentions focused; and if it didn't, nothing will.

"But it was nice, while it lasted. We're seven blocks away now."

Maebe's footsteps slowed, and so did the world around her. She'd had a so called best friend, two real lovers, and countless other people who said they'd cared. Out of all of those people - people who, admittedly, knew her enough to accept that she wasn't a sharing soul, not many had ever pried about her family. Taym had gotten closest, and he still knew little to nothing - only that she'd been homeless for years.

It was a way of life, for her. She didn't ask questions, and no one asked them back. She'd gotten used to it. When the mold was broken, it jarred her. She didn't understand why anyone would want to know.

"I lost my parents when I was fifteen." Lost was a vague term for what had happened, but she wasn't entirely ready to admit abandonment to another human being yet. "I lived on my own past then." And live, too, was a loose translation for the truth. "With people. Friends. Strangers." Her throat closed, and she knew that was too much. This was probably why no one asked her questions, in truth. It was so easy for her to shut down.

It was the one thing she'd truly learned, and the one lesson she'd always been proud of. She knew exactly how to survive. "Exactly. You get it, Dawson. Thank you."

It was enough to put her back in the slick, easygoing mood that NYC elicited from her. She rested a little too fondly against him when he hugged her around the waist, and the street lights burned brighter in her eyes. "I survived. And there's a million ways to die in New York, and probably a billion in Deus. If I can survive, I'll take that as a win."

Looking up at him, she fell into a formidable lull of nostalgia. Pressed against a man lit only by the colors of a New York street was her past, and for a minute, she lived in it. Her smile was a siren call, beckoning him to connect with her on every stimulated level. She was hunting again.

"Tell me about your family life. Tell me all about what makes Dawson. I want to know who you were, and who you are. Tell me everything."

He succeeded. As Dawson spoke, Maebe found herself easily imagining what life would be like in the world he'd grown up in. It was like a television show, all smiles and warmth and noise and canned laughter. This was why sitcoms were so popular in the first place. People loved to watch a big, happy family, with their big family issues, like getting lost in the shuffle and learning how to say no to drugs and dealing with the First Date. She listened as if she was watching an episode of Full House, enraptured easily by the way he spoke just as much as she was by the way he described an existence that paralleled hers in zero ways.

He'd been watching Powerpuff Girls with his niece. She'd been slapped into unconsciousness. He'd been eating Easter ham. She'd been ordering shitty motel room service with a stolen credit card. There were no parallels. He reminded her of nothing. It was easy, painless bliss.

And the way he talked sunk her into an embarrassingly blissful lull. His drawl was intoxicating, as if it had some kind of physical incarnation that made her heart beat slower and her breathing level out. If they weren't walking, she would have fallen asleep listening to it.

Instead, they were in front of the Marquee. There was a line, but it wasn't as long as normal because they were there earlier than the night life usually began. She gave a long and thoughtful look to the bouncer at teh door, before she slid herself and Dawson into the line. There was no way she was going to convince that man to let both her and Dawson in. Taken women were just not as enticing.

"And here we wait." She told him, snuggling into the warmth his arm was providing like a selfish heat hog. "Shouldn't be more than an hour, probably way less though. We're early." It wasn't even midnight yet - getting in wasn't going to be a problem.

"What's it like, having brothers?" The moment they'd settled in, she begged for more. She wanted him to talk until his voice turned raw; but once they were inside the club, she knew talking was right out the window anyway. Even from where they stood, the music inside was loud enough to vibrate the sidewalk. "Did you guys get along?"

Her eyes had closed at some point, and the weight of her head pressed heavy against his side. "Did you live with them all of your life? Like, was that the life you left behind for all this, or did you live alone for a while?" Had she ever even asked him how old he was? Of course she hadn't. She never asked questions like that. She still had no idea how old Lawr was.. and she knew full well he was a great deal further in years than anyone else she dealt with. If age had ever mattered to her, it would have with him, and it didn't. Maebe snickered quietly at the realization, before butting that little question in - not because it mattered, but because she was curious. More curious than ever.

"Dawson, how old are you, anyway?"

She had opened her eyes to ask it, and when she looked up at him, her peripheral vision felt eyes on her. She knew that feeling, tingling her skin with attention. She side glanced at the man in the suit in front of them, boring eyes down at her, and then turned to bury her head into Dawson's chest.

It was nice to know things were changing. She would have coveted the attention, mere weeks ago. She would have licked her lips and promised him eternity with her eyes. Instead she hid, because she just wanted to hear more of the story. To hide inside of the house with two brothers and a horse and a dog. Just for a little while.