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[sky_from_sea]

It's been awhile (months, at least) since Anna's holed up in vacant apartment buildings.

But--

Well.

Times being what they are, it's almost more comfortable than continuing to crash with Daniel. She didn't pay enough attention then. Obviously.

It came back to bite her in the ass. She knew it would.

And it would be easiest to leave, to run, to

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[wither_wilt]

Salla is making his way back from the docks for his latest cigarette pick up when he sees Anna.

...that's odd.

"Anna?" He calls out across an alleyway.

[sky_from_sea]

Anna whirls to face him, shotgun half-raised.

"Who--"

[wither_wilt]

"Whoa!"

He drops his package and throws up his hands.

"It's Solomon! Solomon! Cute guy that reads you poetry! You like me! I promise! You even let me dance with you, sometimes!"

To his credit, he doesn't duck behind anything and tries to look Anna directly in the eye. She's a bit far away, but he tries.

[sky_from_sea]

She goes still, poised.

Then, very slowly, she lowers the shotgun.

"Salla? Why are you--"

[bass_line_blues]

Preston's spent the day wandering the city in wolf-shape; unlike most of the days when this happens, it's deliberate.

(Difficult discussions, he foresees, lie ahead. He wants to be in control for them, and that means getting the wolf out now.)

So when he sees (smells) Anna nearby, he can change back without much trouble. And does, coughing politely to make his presence known.

"Hey."

[sky_from_sea]

Anna startles, nearly whirling on him, the click of her gun being cocked is loud in the quiet street.

[bass_line_blues]

"Hey," Preston repeats, quietly.

Staying perfectly still. He doesn't raise his hands; he doesn't show his teeth; he doesn't show his throat.

"Just me."

[sky_from_sea]

"Oh."

She's very still, poised to flee.

But she does drop the muzzle of the gun so that it's not pointing at Preston.

"I didn't know--"