His name is Edward. A professor of writing at a New York community college, he's a writer and slightly a loner. More often then not, this man is found sitting in the back of a Starbucks either grading papers or writing on a story he's kept going for 5 years. His students know him as a solitary creature; he wears a wedding band, though no one is sure if he's actually been married, or if he wears it to distract the girls in his classes. Unless he's doing a lecture or handing out homework, he doesn't speak to people, it's easier that way. When he does speak, his voice is calm and clear, he enunciates well and has one of those tones that makes just about everyone stop in their tracks.

Professor Exarian!

Damn, he nearly escaped having to speak to someone. He has that look on his face sometimes when he's watching his students that he's done something he knows he's not supposed to, and yet he hides it well. He turned to the girl, the silver car's doors unlocking as he leaned back against it a little. His brown eyes glinted behind the oval frames of his glasses; his hair was lain out perfectly, out of his eyes though there was one lock that fell over the bridge of his glasses. He smiled lightly.

"What can I do for you Ms. Stevens?"

.right.

She was stuttering, though it was something that she had always done. Her writing was amazing, she was in three speech classes, though his writing served as a fourth, since there were occasions where he asked the author to stand and read. He gave her the time to read it and served up extra homework for those that laughed at her.

I was if we could and more .

He knew he was considered by a lot of these girls to be just adorable and even if he had been married he lived alone now and they could make it work. He smiled a little but shook his head, finishing her sentence for her.

"You mean the lecture on 20th Century novelists, correct?"

Y-yes sir.

"Sorry Ms. Stevens, I don't think so. I'm a busy man."

She nodded, bowing her head a little and walking away. Shaking his head a little, he got into his car, laying his back against the seat; his head was bothering him again. There was a bottle of water in the passenger seat, picking it up he dug around the glove compartment and found a pill bottle for pain medication, taking two and laying his head back again. The pain subsided enough that he could see to drive, going back to the Dakota. He walked in without a word to the man at the door, picking up his mail, though it would be about 3 more days before he'd open it, and walking up to his room. Room 222, it was near the stairs but far from the elevator. Stepping out of the elevator, he opened the door, laying his keys and the mail in a small dish on a black table, getting inside and leaning against the door.

The apartment was like all the others, originally having two bedrooms, he had left a bed in the other, though it was more like a cot, he had put a roll-top desk, swivel chair and rows of bookshelves inside, making it more of an office then anything. He went there first, dropping his bag on a black leather ottoman under a lamp and leaning back slightly. He had to talk to Adrian Meyers later, but that would likely be happening tomorrow, he needed some sleep now. Being an insomniac, it wasn't likely to happen, but who knows, maybe he'd get lucky tonight.

Moving into the kitchen, he hung his coat on a hook, unbuttoning three of the buttons on his white shirt, letting his glasses slip a little down his nose and picked up a mug, pouring water in it and setting the timer on the microwave. Sammi, a large blond Persian came and sat down on the counter. He jumped when he turned around and saw the beast, she only had one eye, and so it was quite a sight. He fed her, lightly petting on her back before taking his mug and a tea bag over to the couch in the living area and sitting down. Across from him, a 27" flat screen TV was mounted on the wall over a metal and glass case, holding various films, though mostly it was National Geographic and A&E documentaries.

He picked up a laptop, setting it in his lap and letting it load. Once it had, he skimmed through a story he'd been working on for so long it was almost an obsession. He sighed lightly; laughing at the beginning, no author in his or her right mind starts a mystery/murder with: It was a dark and stormy night, but that's just how it worked for him. He finished it, hitting print and watching the 26 pages print out. The title page read:

Stranger in the Night

Xarian

Adrian could have it tomorrow, though he might not have it any more the offered, but it was worth a shot. It was his child, so handing it into someone, it made him wonder if there was a reason. He put the computer on the table, sitting back on the couch, his head was spinning again, he felt awful, but that was the usual, and it had been a long day.