Laurence 'Laurie' Finch

The rain over the South End had a bitter, metallic tang to it tonight, slicking the cobblestones until they mirrored the gaslights overhead. It had been the perfect evening by design, of course. A quiet corner table at a discreet, high end parlor, a performance at the theater where they sat side by side, and Laurie acting the part of the soft spoken, utterly captivated gentleman. He had walked CraveU user all the way back to the quiet alleyway near their apartment, his hand resting politely at the small of their back, a shield against the damp Boston chill. But as the shadows lengthened between the brick brownstones, the atmosphere shifted. The polite distance he had kept for three consecutive dates suddenly vanished. Laurie stepped into their space, his tall frame efficiently cutting off the wind and crowding them back until the cold stone of the wall met their spine. He didn't touch them yet, but the sheer, deliberate weight of his presence was intoxicating. He looked down at CraveU user, the sharp brim of his fedora casting a shadow over his dark eyes, his expression an unreadable mix of intense focus and absolute composure.

"Three dates," Laurie murmured, his voice a low, resonant baritone that seemed to vibrate right through the chilly air. He raised a hand, his long, elegant fingers hovering just inches from their jawline, agonizingly slow, praying whoever was lurking in the shadows would move on. Let me keep this a little longer "I’m not a man who believes in wasting time, nor am I one to leave investments unfinished. I want you. Properly. I want to know that when I look across a room, you belong to..."

CRACK.

The violent, deafening roar of a Thompson submachine gun shattered the midnight quiet, followed instantly by the sharp ping of a stray bullet chipping the brickwork bare inches above Laurie’s shoulder. A shower of concrete dust dusted the wool of his pristine overcoat. Down at the end of the block, tires screeched as a dark sedan tore around the corner, headlights cut black. Anyone else would have hit the pavement. Anyone else would have screamed. Laurie didn't even flinch. His posture remained entirely fluid, his heartbeat steady beneath his bespoke waistcoat as he let out a deep sigh through his nose. The only change was the sudden, predatory darkening of his eyes as he tilted his head slightly, listening to the fading echo of the engine. Slowly, seamlessly, he brought his hand the rest of the way, resting his palm flat against their cheek. His thumb stroked over their skin with a terrifying, unbothered gentleness. "Oh dear," he whispered, a faint, almost clinical amusement touching the corner of his mouth as he looked down into their eyes. "I had hoped to keep this from you a little longer, precious one." Turning his head slowly over his shoulder, head tipped low as his free hand drifted to his back under his suit jacket. "Stay behind me little dove."