Claret had just sat down and put on Criminal Minds with Lord Byron curled up on her lap when she got pinged with another message. And then another. The instant texts were curious, for sure. She thought he'd be a more busy man-- he didn't strike her as someone who responded to everything right away, though she supposed he would sort of need to be in this scenario. She wouldn't be surprised if he had his phone on him at all times, waiting for every little message she may or may not send him. 

It was almost humorous that he felt the need to include the detail that he was "hanging out on his bed". Who says that kind of thing to a near-stranger? It sounded like the prelude to a request for sex. The kind of things straight white dudes send to girls to try and appear normal and then ask to hook up right after. Though given the fact that she was more inclined to believe he was a prude rather than a playboy, she was sure the comment was innocent.

His admittance that he was nervous gave Claret some mixed feelings. On one hand, it kind of reinforced the idea that he was young and perhaps inexperienced, but she had to give him credit and assume anyone would be nervous to take on a job with a life on the line. On the other hand, it meant that he wasn't as confident and smug as he made himself out to be. It meant there was still some soft stuff under that shell, exactly as she thought. If he was willing to admit to the person he was responsible for that he was somewhat nervous about that responsibility, then he clearly didn't have the people skills she thought he did. You don't insist you can deactivate a bomb to the person with a bomb strapped to their chest and then go and say you're nervous about it. Claret was lucky she was more level-headed than most-- If she were anyone else, she'd probably start to doubt his skills.

But he's human, though, and that's what matters. No one's perfect, and though she expected a lot from him, she couldn't expect perfection.

She normally didn't like texting back immediately, but she figured she could make an exception if he's being so attentive on his end. 

Alright

Don't stress yourself out

Relax :)

What are you nervous about?

The taxi ride home was short.

"Home" wasn't anything glamorous or extraordinary. Unlike in most of the city-- especially in Uptown-- where you had to go up for most condos and apartments, Claret instead found herself walking down. Tucked away between two buildings, where an alleyway might be, was a flight of stairs that dipped down just barely beneath one of the neighboring apartment buildings, into a short hallway where a mailbox jutted out of a wall beside a purple door with sticky, glow-in-the-dark stars and moons littering its surface. She fished out her keys from her purse, unlocking two locks on the door, before she stepped inside, closing and locking the door behind her.

Dim lights flickered on, and fast tip-taps could be heard in another room, an audible thunk from the source of the noise inevitably bumping into something, before a chunky black pug came bounding to the front door, jumping around excitedly as it greeted its mother.

"Hi sweetie," Claret spoke, kicking off her heels and picking up the lazy-eyed dog, Lord Byron wriggling about as he tried to give his mother affectionate licks. Claret cradled him in one arm as she walked through the entryway, setting her purse down on the coffee table. 

Her home was a cluttered, dark disaster. Posters and cards lined the walls, and not a single bright lightbulb was in any lamp. She had a lot of things, stacks of books and wads of fabric and strange, artistic sculptures and nick-knacks. Nothing in the house was a matching set. Antiques and bobbles and mish-moshed things creating an almost Wonderland-esque environment. Claret couldn't remember what color the walls used to be-- she'd pasted poster upon poster upon poster over whatever blank space was visible until all there was were letters and pictures of old bands and a few movie posters taller than she was remained. Fairy lights were some of the only things keeping this place lit. She couldn't stand bright lights, so she found a home that was always dark. 

It was mostly underground. "Mostly", only because only about a foot of her home was technically above street level, tinted windows lining the tops of some of the walls where daylight sometimes bled in. She'd covered those windows in veils and curtains a long time ago, obscuring any and all wandering eyes from seeing within.

Her combined kitchen and living room were pretty standard. She didn't have a proper dining table, she mostly just ate at the coffee table or at the kitchen island. Her kitchen was well-stocked. She never went hungry. Granite surfaces were polished and clean-- her home was a clusterfuck, but it wasn't dirty.

She had a system... There was an organization to the chaos. Her home was a lot of things, but it was never messy.

Claret set Lord Byron down near his bowl before serving him some kibble, the pug beginning to make quick work of it, sooner inhaling it than actually chewing. 

In the mean time, Claret grabbed her phone.

She texted Five, like she said she would.

hey

Just got home, it didn't seem like there was much traffic

everything seems safe and secure over here

Claret felt relieved that he'd thought of the unfortunate predicament where she needed to contact him for help but didn't have the time or safety to send him more than a quick text or a silent call. She'd thought of those kinds of scenarios before, in all those crime dramas where someone's hiding under a bed or in a closet, and couldn't speak to call 911, or they were running and couldn't text a coherent word. Those were all unlikely but very real situations, so she was glad they were on the same page about that much. But he was right-- ideally he'd be around to make sure those situations never enter the realm of possibility.

He'd done a well enough job of reassuring her that he could keep her safe in theory, but she had yet to see if his smarts and skills were actually beneficial in practice. She wanted to trust that he could do his job, they wouldn't be paying him this much otherwise, but that didn't mean a part of her wasn't still somewhat skeptical. Hopefully he never needed to physically defend her from a real threat, and that this whole thing would just blow over like it never happened. She couldn't attest for his skills in self defense or his ability to keep a level head under pressure, but she wanted to trust him. She didn't have a choice.

"I promise I'll be safe. I'm going straight home after this, and I'll text you when I walk in the door if it makes you feel better. I'll send you my address, too." After a moment of contemplation, she finished the rest of her drink.

"Is there anything else we need to talk about while we're both here?"

She figured that since they had gone through some of the more relevant information already, they could talk more tomorrow. He was the one working for her though, if he had any questions, she was more than willing to answer them. They were about to spend a lot of time together.

Did... did she just break him?

Oh, this was going to be fun.

She had half expected him to berate her behavior and reiterate the professional nature of their relationship, not combust into a blushing flame right in front of her. If sweet words and playful flirting were enough to make him embarrassed, then she had a feeling he'd have a problem with her business, for sure. She'd need to be more discrete about making her other content, or else she'd worry the poor man would faint from the blood rush just knowing what she was doing. God, this was going to be a disaster. A delightfully chaotic disaster. 

At least this meant he wasn't a complete stiff, and was capable of at least some human emotion other than professional confidence, and if that meant she had to be playful around him more often to see him crack like an egg, then that was a challenge she was willing to accept. Unless he confronted her about it and made her stop, of course, in which case she'd be more concerned about ensuring that her antics didn't cost them their arrangement. As fun as messing around with him might turn out to be, she had to remember the reason they were going to be living together in the first place. Ensure her safety, potentially stop some crazy psycho stalker, and then go back to their normal lives.

Claret couldn't keep the smile from her face, though. She could make the best out of this crazy situation, yet. 

"Sure," she replied, leaning back in her seat to show that she was backing off. She was clearly a bit smug about the effect she had on him. "So when can you move in?"

Claret was fine with him taking a look around her home, that didn't bother her a single bit. A private investigator or detective would probably do the same had she gone to them, so she had already factored in the possibility of having her home searched and inspected. Her home was her sanctuary, she'd much rather risk a bit of privacy in exchange for safety, though living in Hiraeth City, much of her privacy had been compromised a long time ago. 

What she was hesitant to agree to was Five's close proximity. Sure, he was going to be her bodyguard, so he had to be around her when it mattered, and if her own home wasn't completely safe, then that meant he had to be within a certain distance to defend her if something happened there. She didn't like the idea of sacrificing the last bit of privacy she had left by having him move in with her (though Lord Byron might enjoy a new friend), and having a young, attractive male in her living space wouldn't dissuade her mounting concerns regarding his impact on her public image. On the other hand, she felt equally as uncomfortable with him staying next door and needing to text him 24/7, as her life could be at risk at any moment and she couldn't guarantee he'd get there in time to prevent something from happening. Living right next to each other sounded close in theory, but all it takes is a few short seconds for her life to be cut drastically short. A few seconds too short. 

She had to compromise somehow, and figure out how to make the most of the situation she was placed in. He seemed likable enough, but needing to be with someone at all hours is enough to drive anyone crazy. He could end up being a friend for life if she's lucky, or a complete nuisance if she's not. All she can do is cast the die and hope this ends up favorably for both of them, and that she still has her head intact in a week or two.

He seemed to favor the idea of living with her, and she tried to remain focused on the fact that he's a professional first and foremost, not some guy trying to get in her pants. If he thought that staying with her was the best course of action, then she'd respect his formal opinion. He'd know better than she would, after all.

"I'm fine with you staying at my place for now. It's not big, but I have a futon you can use and I think my dog would like having someone else in the house," she resigned with a sigh, clearly hesitant about this arrangement but willing to try it out. "I'm going to ask that you respect my space and my privacy, though. Just because you're my bodyguard doesn't mean you get to watch me sleep." She half-joked, putting on a smile to keep things light-hearted. She was serious about trying to keep a sense of normalcy in her life, and she hoped he knew enough about being discrete and invisible to be a help and not a hindrance. She was at least glad that he seemed to have that same goal in mind. She took a sip of her drink. "I'm not going to lie and say I'm crazy about this idea, but I'm hoping we can make the best of it, right? I do appreciate that you're willing to do this for me." 

Claret felt like she was going to regret this. She hoped he proved her wrong.

Claret suddenly felt like maybe this wasn't worth all the trouble. He made it seem like this had to be some world-shattering problem in order for his family to have been contacted, and while she knew her own mother was quick to action and perhaps overstated the severity of the issue at hand, Claret couldn't help the pang of embarrassment she felt at his words. It was really no big deal, right? Maybe this didn't even warrant protection. Celebrities get threatened all the time, right? She'd gotten hate over the years, for sure. Trolls tend to be extremely nasty even at the best of times, but the joy of creating her content and seeing all the love she received from the majority of her audience tends to make it all worthwhile. She really was paranoid. Nothing else had happened since the incident, so maybe things would be alright?

No, she couldn't take chances with her own life. There's a difference between receiving a baseless death threat and... this. She wasn't sure if the person was a fan gone too far or a really bad troll... this was more than hate. 

"No, no, it's okay. I understand." She sighed, fishing into her purse at her side to take out an opened envelope smeared with pomegranate red lipstick. God, this was embarrassing. "About a week and a half ago, I received this in the mail." 

She carefully opened it up and dumped its contents on the table. 

A folded piece of paper, also smeared in lipstick.

An ornate gold earring.

Several photographs of Claret going about her day, oblivious to whoever had taken the photo.

And a pair of lacy blue underwear. Smeared in lipstick. And... some other white substance.

Claret closed her eyes for a moment, steeling herself, stifling her nerves as she tried to think about the best way to explain this. Her eyes flicked up to his. "I lost a few things two weeks ago. You know how sometimes you just... lose things? I didn't pay it any mind, really, people lose things all the time. I lost this earring," she picked up the object, "and thought that maybe I had just misplaced it somewhere, or that maybe it fell out of my ear one day." She reached into her purse and pulled out an identical earring to show him. Setting both items down, she picked up the photos, shuffling through them before setting them down again. "I hardly need to explain these."

She picked up the envelope, fingers careful not to touch the makeup smeared on it. "I lost my signature lipstick, too, which I thought was the weirdest thing. I put it on almost every day-- losing it is hardly possible. I bought a new one immediately after, of course. It's the one I'm wearing right now." She pulled out a napkin from her bag, bring it to her lips as she blotted it to leave some of the pigment, setting it down beside the envelope. Though the room was dark, anyone with a trained eye could see the color on the napkin was the same as the color on the envelope-- it was an uncanny coincidence. "I have no proof it's the same lipstick of course, but I can't see how it isn't."

She sighed before picking up the lacy underwear, holding it up with her fingers like it was something she was disgusted by and didn't want to touch. "I lost this pair, too. I thought I just lost it in the wash or something, but... clearly not. I don't want to think about what this person was doing with it, but it's... really gross and creepy." The panties were blotched and dirty with lipstick and you-know-what. "Needless to say, they weren't in this state when I lost them."

She set her panties back down and passed him the folded slip of paper. "And then there's this."

If he opened the letter, he'd see it was typed in standard Arial font. Nothing spectacular at first glance other than more lipstick stains. It would read:



To Miss Claret Vauleaux,

Claret, you are just so beautiful and mesmerizing. I can't stop thinking about you. Every day I look at your beautiful photos and I wish I could hold you and play with your pretty hair and see your pretty smile.

Most people love you for your body, but I love your for your personality. You're so enchanting every time you smile.

I want to talk to you but I don't know what I'd say. I think about taking you home with me and playing with you all night. That would be nice, wouldn't it? I'm too shy to talk to you, so I just watch and admire from a distance.

One day I will finally take you home, and we can be happy together forever and ever. I will love you even after you're cold and still. You wouldn't mind if I played with you after you were dead, would you? I think you'd be so beautiful covered in red.

Most people would say this is "creepy." You know otherwise, don't you? Surely someone as beautiful and intelligent as you knows all I want is to love you. Here is all the proof of my love for you. I can't wait to be with you.

Much love,
Your secret admirer <3

For someone who came across as rather subdued, he had a rather firm handshake. Maybe it was in the nature of the business to have a strong presence and yet no presence at all, but he seemed like the type who could blend in with the shadows and act assertively if he needed to, though judging by his body language, perhaps he wasn't as used to dealing with people directly. Perhaps he was the lurk-in-the-shadows type. This could work in her favor, actually. Maybe she could pretend he wasn't around at all-- ignore him almost entirely and go about her daily life without any knowledge he was even there. But that was the problem, wasn't it? She knew he'd be around anyway.

She'd be lying if she said she wasn't a bit worried about how having a professional bodyguard might effect her public image. People might think he was a lover or a boyfriend if he didn't have the words SECURITY written in big letters all over him, and the last thing she wanted was some sort of scandal. She wasn't a big enough celebrity to be able to bounce back from something controversial. That's one of the reasons she rarely went outside and was absolutely rigid about how she depicted herself online-- one wrong move could end her career. She was able to take the step towards making adult content with little backlash, but that didn't mean she didn't lose fans in the process. Gained some plenty, for sure, but it still affected how people saw her. She was tasteful and sensitive with what she posted... keeping such a fine balance being able to create content that was wholesome and content that was geared towards her adult fans wasn't an easy task, but she'd been doing it long enough that she was aware of whatever threatened that precarious balance.

A handsome young man shadowing her was definitely enough to rock the boat. 

Not to mention the very likely possibility that he didn't even want to do this. She enjoyed believing she was likable enough, but even she could recognize that fame had made her somewhat entitled and accustomed to glamour. If she were in his shoes, she'd absolutely loathe the idea of shadowing some superficial celebrity, even if she was paying a lot of money for it. She had to pity the poor man.

"I really appreciate what you and your family are doing for me," she prefaced, a sympathetic expression on her face, her arms folding themselves on the table as she leaned forward a bit. "But I can't imagine you're too excited to be doing this, either." She wasn't going to sugar coat it. "My mother's just worried about me is all, you really don't have to treat this so seriously."

If she could dispel the tense, professional air, and let both of their guards down, then talking like actual people will come a lot easier. She wanted to make sure they were on the same page about whatever this arrangement was going to be.

Five