Nightly visitor.. (Anyone. Preferably male characters only)

The day was long, almost too long. It was as if every single crazy in the world was out, well, at least every crazy in this grand city. L spent most of his day in bed, snoozing away the morning and mid-afternoon, awaking up around rush hour in the evening. The man stumbles out of bed, half-awake. He scuffles to the bathroom, wiping away the sleeps from his eyes. He somehow manages to turn on the light, illuminating himself to himself. "Woah." L chuckles before looking at all the scruff on his face from forgetting to shave the night before. It didn't take long before he looks down and messes with his boxers, the 'morning' was sticking right out. "Gee L, way to go!" The man chats to himself before sliding his boxers completely off and steps into the shower. Once inside, he turns the water onto hot and blasts his face completely. "Ahhhhhhh...." He moans to himself before doing his usual shower thing. Once out, L was completely relaxed and ready to start the evening. The young man walks up to the mirror, pulls out his razor and beginnings shaving. The soothing shaving gel felt fantastic upon his face, completely goozing over the side of his cheek. It wasn't long before he looked sharp! "Damn!" He winks at himself in the mirror before going to put on his attire for the evening. L grabs form fitting underwear, skin tight jeans, his normal v-neck undershirt, and slides them all on. He was ready! Well, just about! L runs over to his desk and grabs his favorite leather jacket and cigarettes before heading to the door.

Once outside of his apartment building, L lights up one of his cigarettes and strolls the sidewalks. His eyes catch hold of a few men and women passing by, but no one really stood out. "Oh please, where is the entertainment!" L moans before stopping on a street corner, deciding on which way to go from here....

Among the rush hour walking commuters, strolled a foreigner that didn't fit in by far. His auburn hair was done up in a traditional Aerugese style, spiking out on the top of his head. Long bangs blew into cold, jade eyes in the nightly spring breeze. He sighed to himself, almost able to see his breath though winter was far gone. Hiding his pale hands in the folds of his kimono to keep warm, his wooden geta (sandals) flapped against the cracked sidewalk. He felt the chill of solitude and knew not where he was going.

He had been instructed with many warnings from Fang not to stray far from the apartment he was given. Unfortunately he wasn't one to obey orders from one he was not loyal to. Though the prospect of being awarded one of those machines (he's referring to a motorcycle) was enlightening. Shura decided to adhere to the demands of Amestris for that fact alone, and plus, Fang seemed to be a suitable person to befriend. Still...Shura was stranded in a foreign country with no goal and no idea where he was going. It was sad. "Ah~~" He sighed, folding his arms behind his head and staring at the streetlights like a moth attracted to flames. Smiling bitterly at the thought, he realized he hadn't taken his medication since the last time Fang force fed him it. That was probably why he could barely see straight. And why...every breath felt like he was breathing in those very flames.

He coughed slightly on impulse, holding his breath and cursing the involuntary nature of breathing. He couldn't start hacking up blood here around all these...Amestrian people who were already staring at him funny. What was it strange seeing a man with a katana, kimono, hakama, and odd platformed sandals walking around in Central? Clearly. Shura laughed to himself, but a sudden sharp pain burst through his lungs. Shit! Just as he was thinking about it too! Shura knew he was cursed. He ran to a trashcan, clutching his mouth and pretending he was going to throw up rather than hack up a lung. He coughed into the recess of the metal rimmed wooden barrel until his head was spinning and he could no longer pull in another shuddering breath. Falling to his knees, he leaned his head against the side of the foul trash can and shut his eyes. Tentatively, he wiped the blood from his lips, hoping no one saw and that no one would see him here.

L was in the midst of a day dream really. As he was deciding which way to go, his brain decided to take a little detour. Instantly he thought of the night before, in which he found himself taking a deal from a lender that he couldn't refuse. After all, L was the mastermind behind anything shady that went down in central. As he continues to zone out, he still manages to suck in access smoke from his cigarette bud, before exhaling the leftovers out. The process of repeated several times before he completely finishes the toxic substances.

A figure zooms by on a motorcycle, briefly catching L's eyes and snapping him out of his day dream. The person riding the metal machine was wearing something odd that wasn't typically found on the streets of central. Foreigner was his first thought, as his crimson gaze kept a firm grip on the raging riding dare devil. However, he soon realizes it was the crazy man from above him riding the bike furiously. L smirks from pure joy of the instance that was at hand, and knew it wouldn't be long before the man crashes. '3, 2, 1, crash..' L mumbles as he hit the nail on the head, pinpointing the exact moment the man crashed. The crimson fellow winces slightly, knowing the reck was a bit brutal. L taps the side of his check with his left index finger, deciding if going over to see if the man was alright, seemed enjoyable. 'Eh, about time.' L shrugs slightly and drops the cigarette bud to the ground, before turning to walk in the opposite direction. The former criminal walks down the street with both hands slide tightly into his pockets. His mind soon begins to daydream once again, this time he was sitting on the sandy beach, staring out across the rocky ocean waves and how vast it truly was. A large ruckus behind him snaps him out of the daydream. It sounded as if a man was puking, but not a drunken puke. L turns and catches the man leaning over a metal trash can. Now this was a foreigner, and it was obvious by his attire for the evening. His second glance, L caught the man was throwing up blood, not normal vomit. 'Blood!' L says to himself as he slowly approaches.

"Yo, are you okay?" L calls out to the foreigner as he briskly paces over to the man. There eyes caught hold of one another, and L felt there was something a little off about the man. Nonetheless, he bends down to the mans eye level and smiles faintly. His smile was relaxing, very inviting, unlike many others around these parts. He kept a firm glance on the man, but with sympathy embedded behind his actions. "You alright bud? I don't believe that's normal..." L extends his hand every so lightly and brushes over the mans back, circling over his right shoulder blade.. Blood was oozing down his chin, but that didn't matter to L one bit. He continues to draw circles way with thumb as he stares at the man intently.

Shura never did have luck. Carefully he raised a set of dull green eyes and focused on the man who had approached. Within a moment, the guy was beside him, brushing over the samurai's back with a cold strangerly hand. A chill skittered down his back, but he didn't shiver; he only stared ahead at the man as if that was the only thing he could do. He was struggling to catch his breath--to do the simple human act of breathing, but his lungs were so filled with liquid that barely any air could fit. He coughed slightly again, pulling out a white cloth he carried in the sleeve of his kimono for emergencies like this. Compose yourself, he demanded, trying to gather the scattered pieces of his consciousness. Sweat gathered on his brow and there was no doubt that he had been wielding a fever the entire day.

Abruptly, Shura stopped wiping his mouth. "Fine," he murmured, eyes changing shape like green flames. The streetlight above flickered. He couldn't be spending his first night of Amestrian freedom passed out against the side of a trashcan with a strange man... And yet... this was the first time anyone had noticed other than Makuro...who was dead...and Fang who had tried to kill him. Shura tried to smile, but it turned into a nervous, rather aloof smirk. "I just have a terminal illness I'm supposed to be dying from."

L's crimson gaze continues to stare down into the mans emerald eyes, they were dull and utterly hopeless. For some strange reason, L wasn't afraid to comfort the hurting man. Apart of him actually enjoyed it, but the other side was battling against it. The silk white cloth the man pulled out of his pocket was pure, without fault. That was, until the blood splattering stained it's fine fabric. L slowly gazes at the cloth, watching it's strings fill with flood. The painful words that squeezed out of the man who was sick, struck L attention once more.

His eyebrows furry inwards out of concern. "Die? What terminal illness is this?" At first, L immediately thought of cancer, but would blood be oozing out this constant from cancer? The second, was something he hadn't really seen himself, but rather heard of. Whenever someone attempts human transmutation, apart of them is taken away. Could something from this mans inside be taken away? In L's mind, that was too much out of the question, so he immediately drops that thought. "Here, let's take you back and clean you up a bit..." L extends his hand down to help him up and faintly smiles at the man. "Please, I promise I don't bite..."

A man was walking among the crowd of people. It was almost the end of the rush-hour hours, but there were quite a few people on the streets right now. It was those people who finished their work hours maybe 15 minutes ago, or perhaps 30 minutes ago, but had spent some time to get home. Amongst all those normal people there walked one man. One man? No - it was a rather big mistake to call him a man. It was not a he - it was an "it". Here, right amongst so many humans, walked a horrible, loathesome monster. It was none other than Kyle Crane. Which was almost chocking from such abundance of human filth. It was as if he was surrounded by a crowd of plagued monsters or rats, rather then normal people. That was at least how he himself felt. He hated humans that much. But this was the most convenient way to travel... not that he was expecting someone to attack him - it was only done so that no one he knows would notice him. He had just returned to Central City, and wanted to keep his profile low.
But after some time he understood that he could bare this no more - he had to get some fresh air. The Homunculus moved away from the crowd and stopped nearby. Oh good - there were two men even here. Oh and it seemed one wasn't feeling well. Aaawww - so pathetic. Oho... seemed like that one was coughing up blood.
A tricky grin appeared on Kyle's face as he came a bit closer. He bowed a little bit and spoke, standing so that both of these men could see him. He held down his hat with his left hand, so that it would not fall off... and it added some unexisting modesty to his looks, and partially took away some attention from Kyle's narrowed eyes. His face carried the same light grin:

"Oh my, what's happening here? Is this guy alright?" - Kyle made a small pause, as if examining the man more carefully. - "Looks as if your organs are gonna come out of your mouth, eh?" - Kyle's facial expression could be called both concerned and sadistic. His voice bore some concern though, but it could be easily mixed with taunt.

WIP