Presence of mind gone, Izira moved through the night. Her expression quickly went from one mood to the next. Everything felt hot, too much heat to even stay focused. She giggled and looked around. The Red Dragon Inn stood before, lights pouring into the night. She heard voices, saw shadows, it seemed merry. Izira wanted to be merry too, tired of the things she felt all the time. Perhaps they would have some other mood available. She would pour herself a glass and everything would be right. Right?

Disheveled hair, she touched it up with her fingers. She was beautiful, a radiant flame in the night. Fingertips ran over the smooth black fabric she wore, so soft. And there below her were her toes, all ten. She counted to be sure, stopping on the steps of the porch as she did so. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Yes, they were all accounted for.

Izira entered the inn, amber eyes bright. Laughter bubbled into the air, happy with her ten toes and the thought of another mood available. Perhaps someone would ask her to dance? It had been forever since she?d last danced. Forever and a day, maybe even two more that than.

So many people. Her eyes go about the room again and again, quite sure that everyone is continually leaving and coming back again. Or they?re changing their faces. Which is rude. A man standing behind the bar nods to her. Not a normal nod? more of an ?I know you? nod. She hesitates. Does she know him? Doesn?t matter. Again her eyes watch the faces, wondering when they?ll stay the same. There is another man that sits at the bar with his hand upon a gun, eyes hidden behind dark shades. She becomes nervous that it may be too bright in the inn, wondering if someone had stolen the sun for the d?cor. Feet carry her further inwards, eyes seeking out the sun.

Lightly she hummed under her breath, a song for the moon. The moon must be lonely if the sun has left its home. But it was not there, not anymore at least. She smiled to herself, knowing the sun will find its way home and comfort the moon. Fingertips dance over wood as she moved through tables and chairs, nearing the bar. She is unaware of the heat of her skin, that the surfaces she touches remain warmed even after her passing.

There are people about the bar, ladies and gentlemen speaking. The man behind the bar, the nodder, speaks to several. He must be the tender, as tenders talk and he was talking. Also standing behind the bar, she reminded herself, another requirement. A knot in the wood beneath her feet stop her a little ways from the bar, Thinking quietly to herself about. Could it be a good omen? Bad? Maybe good! Maybe dancing! Her attention was caught by two men at the bar. One was the man in shades still fingering his gun. Another spoke to Mr. Nod. Maybe one of them would dance with her? She checked one then the other several times, but neither moved to ask her for a dance. She would have to decide a partner for herself.

The armed man was picked, but moved away. Her eyes went to him when she had chosen and finding him gone. The other then by default! Though, he was talking to Mr. Nod. still. She didn?t know how their conversation went but thought to join it away.

"Oh it is, it is." She said approaching the man on the same side of the bar as her. Then watching as both the men continued to speak with one another without acknowledging her. Brow creased, inwardly she panicked. The possibility of finally fading from view entirely running circles in her thoughts. No. No, she told herself. She was alive and solid still! Her eyes first narrowed at the man closest to her before she sent a dark glare at Mr. Nod., as he had certainly seen her before. Why would he try to make her doubt herself now?

Finally the man at the bar looks over to her, "Oh? Who are you?" While Mr. Nod. gave her an expression what was a little puzzled.

He would not puzzle her! She knew her answers, eyes going back to the man who had asked after her. Eyes bright with a wide smile upon her face, "I am. That is most important. You are?" She focused on him, trying to put all her mind upon it. Tired of faces changing all the time.

"Psst." Mr. Nod. says quietly to the other. "If she asks if you're a god, say yes." But the other spoke to her and said, "According to Descartes, our own personal existence is the only thing we can be sure of."

Again her eyes narrowed at nodding tender. She knew the man was not the god nor a god. If he was he would not be here, he would be caring for the sun and taking it home. Her eyes returned to the other. Smiling warmly, "Unless this... Descartes is alive and nearby his words are fairly useless to me presently."

"I'm Lt. Cowrie, of a former name. I'm the commander of Company K, the watch company that will enter service tomorrow." The other responded giving her his name.

She had not understood most of what the man had spoken, but aware she was of The Watch and their job about the city. "A man for the people, hm?" Izira asked as she canted her head, studying the features of his face. He was not unattractive, not overtly handsome either. He just was. Which was good. It is bad when the people you speak with suddenly cease to exist.

"I'm of the people, at least. I was born and raised here in Rhydin. No special aristocratic background. I used to be a lawyer, but I found that stultifying." The man replied. More words that ran circles through her head. Why didn?t he smile? Why didn?t he dance?

"Really." Izira?s words were dry, dissapointed. Her interest started to fade, and more shadows leaked into her thoughts.

Lt. Cowrie replied, "For serious, Company K has been trained in the latest military discipline and technique."

Military discipline. It didn?t sound fun, it didn?t sound like dancing "Mm. What other techniques do you know?" She smiled naturally, friendly, moving closer to the man. Perhaps he knew a two-step? A good waltz?

While Mr. Nod. behind the bar almost choked on his coffee, Izira remained unaware that her words were taken for a meaning she did not intend. Thoughts far from any ideas of such carnal things, she was unaware of the tender as he set the mug down and stared at her with flat surprise.

"I'm a lawyer. I can argue anything." He stated.

"Any-thing?" She asked, a delicate hand reaching out to touch his chest over his heart. Attention away from dancing. She wondered about arguments as what moved people to fight. She was done fighting, she was submitting. To the heat, to the air, to the minutes that went by. "Do you argue with your heart? Or your mind?" Unaware still of the heat her hand possessed as it was pressed against the man?s chest. She considered his heart and the things that would move him. Unless he fought with his head, then he might be unmovable.

He spoke words to someone else, more words she could not follow. Then, his attention on her again he said, "Please, ma'am. Anti-seduction training was day 2, right after we gave up our old names.? His words almost caused the tender to choke on his coffee again.

She had not said a thing about it. But there it was, with its ugly head in her face. Her mood falling faster as memories pulled in. Did they think there was nothing more to her but two legs to part? She laughed loudly, and her amber eyes flickered momentarily as those irises narrowed at him. "Little Twit. You think yourself even worth bedding?"

"I do, actually. I take it you don't. But then again, you've got a fever, so I'll pass anyway. You should get lots of bed rest until that clears up." The man replied, his words careless to Izira?s ears. The tender set the kettle back on a cold burner and leaned against the bar again, watching Izira with a faintly worried expression. The other continued, "I admit I'm no great catch, but I'm a respectable and educated human being. What are you?"

What are you? What did he mean to imply by that? That she was the same worthless creature that she saw reflected in the eyes of her past? The fire inside of her was already alive, now it started to wake bringing a burning heat to her skin. She was more than he would give her credit to be, she knew this. Had to know it. Had to believe it. She chuckled low and coldly. "A lot more."

"Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to unhand me."

The tender was starting to look uneasy about the exchange.

Her hand? Oh. It was still upon his chest. She didn?t recall. But now, now that he had asked to her move it away. She didn?t want to. He hadn?t said please, hadn?t been kind. So her hand was on his chest? A greater number had taken their liberties upon her. The heat of her hand was like a stove warming up. "Educated human should know that he can just move." Voice low as she spoke.

"Izira-" The tender speaks, placing a hand on the bar and propels himself up, onto it. Hand moving like a striking snake, catching her wrist. "What the hell....?"

The other keeps awfully stoic in the face of the hot hand. "Of course I can. But the Romans, who generally got this sort of thing right, reasoned that a free man doesn't have to move when he's in a place he has the right to be; it's the responsibility of the aggressor to move."

It was only the sudden distraction that kept Izira from ?moving? upon the other. The mental image of striking at him was vivid in her mind. Angrily her attention snapped to the man whose hand was upon her. "Why... are you... touching me...?" She growled.

"He's touching you because he's a lawman and thus has the right to intervene in these kinds of situations. Until tomorrow morning, I'm just an ordinary person, and thus I had to warn you before I did anything drastic. I've had training, of course." The other responded, speaking when he hadn?t been addressed. In her mind his face changed and he was a cocky young soldier she?s had the misfortune of meeting on the road when she was young.

"You're hurting the man." The tender said, pushing her, gently, removing her hand from the LT. He moved off the bar top, onto the customer side of the bar. "What's wrong with you?" Shifting as he lands, he interposed himself between her and the lieutenant.

Nothing was wrong with her. It wasn?t right for that cocky bastard to still be alive. Alive an unharmed. "He didn't seem hurt. Perhaps you should let me hurt him so that statement will be true. Hate to make a liar out of a lawman." A sneer casted at the tender, for protecting the arrogant scum.

The tender let go of her wrist, keeping himself in between her and Cowrie as his eyes studied her. "Seeming doesn't always mean it's so." He tilts his head to one side and asks, a little gentler. "What's going on with you?"

The other speaks, once to her and then to another. His words were jumbled up in her head. A gun went sliding down the bar top, from the man in the shades. The tender reached behind him to stop its travel, without even looking. Then giving it a slap, he sent it back to its owner.

She twitched the second time the tender presented the question, ignoring it again. It was an irritating thought, his concern, that flitted about in her head like a moth on crack. Eyes snapping to Cowrie. "Did I hurt you, pup?"

The pup spoke, but his words made no sense. His voice barking in her mind, nothing was cohesive. Why was everything changing? Izira?s breathing became somewhat labored, a low growl in each exhale. There were too many colors and things going on beyond.

"What are you trying to do this evening, Ms. Izira?" The pup?s voice finally slipped through in the jumbles that danced within her mind. The tender spoke, but his words were lost.

"I was trying to have a little fun, pup." She snapped. Someone was meddling with magic on her, the fire jumping further to life at the threat. Flames flickered in her irises faintly.

Again the tender was speaking, but he was hard to hear through the flames. "Maybe you could? little fun? other people. ?Slapped? ?calm down a little bit?"

"I don't need to calm." She smiled sweetly, deciding to ignore the in and out conversations. She remembered about finding a new mood, bottled and ready for the feeling. Eyes gazed away from either of the men to the bottles behind the bar. "I want a drink.?

The other adding, "?is correct. I advise you?"

Eyes again narrowed at Cowrie. "I advise you to shut up." The color of her eyes fading behind the lick of flames in them. She was angry at him for still buzzing in her ear. But still both persisted, she watched their mouths move as she heard nothing but the buzz. Then the tender turned to the other, speaking to him coldly? she didn?t know the words but she knew the meaning. Back off. And the other wilted at it in her eyes. The fire dying from her eyes, though the heat of her body remained.

"You want a drink, I'll get you a drink. We'll take it outside, sit on the porch, have a chat. You can tell me what's going on. Now, I'm asking you nicely - take a deep breath, calm down, and let's talk about this." The tender spoke to her. She smiled pleasantly, appeased.

"A drink, yes." A new emotion. She puzzled if the bubbles revealed pictures of what the drink was for.

"All right. What would you like?" He asked with a smile.

Her eyes roamed the bottles, over and over again. So many choices. So many emotions ready for the taking. But which? A bright colored one? A neutral? Maybe something dark that would calm the flames. She pointed at a black bottle. "That one. Yes. Yes, that one."

The tender glances over his shoulder at the one she's selected and nods. He takes a half step backwards, hops lightly so he's back on the bar, leans back and snags it - never taking his eyes off her for more than half a second. He picks up two goblets with the same hand and slides off the bar. "Okay. Let's go outside. You need a coat or something?"

Izira smiled slyly, feeling within her the coiling of the flames. Warmth. "No. No coat is needed. Ever." Putting her hand gently on his arm so that he may lead her out.

He does so, arm held stiffly like a gentleman escorting his lady to the ball - she's still warm, hot, even, but the heat doesn't seem to bother him. He caught the door as an unknown man leaves and holds it open for her, beckoning her out to the tables on the porch. On his way out, Izira noted that he waved to catch the attention of a new tender, and indicates a waiting patron.

She followed the man out, moving into the breeze - though the coolness of it never reached her. Looking around, eyes wide and content. The sky was wide and dark, full of so many possibilities. She could be anyone, under any sky. "This is nice."

"I've always liked the cold," he says with a slight smile, closing the door behind him. Bottle and goblets set down on one of the tables, he pulls the chair out for her. After she's sitting, he takes the seat opposite her - opens the bottle. Looking as though he was checking the contents, Izira wondered if perhaps he wanted a new emotion too. He let it breathe a moment then pours, hers first, then his.

She picked up the goblet, sniffing the liquid that he poured. "Interesting." It didn?t smell like any emotion she had felt before. Tilting the goblet and drinking the full amount. Greedy to feel something new. She set it down, her head drifting to the side as she felt the liquor melt into her.

She is happy in the moment of silence before hearing his voice again. "Maybe we should be reintroduced... it's been a while. My name's Paladin." Turning her attention to him she sees he has offered her his hand.

She took it, a sly smile? the feel of his hand against her own. They were both of the flesh. There was a different kind of warmth in her stomach. A lightness was entering her mind. "I am." A pause. "Pleasure to meet you."

"I hope so." He smiles back. Releasing her hand and takes up his goblet again, taking another small sip - sets it down, lifts the bottle, pours her another dose.

"Tell me Paladin." Izira spoke, smiling as she watched the dance of the liquor into the goblet as he poured. There was a far-off shine to her eyes. Her smile, not quite right, she considered how small she would have to be to drown in that stream.

"Tell you what?" He asks quietly, eyes on her. He sets the bottle down, cups his glass again.

Izira tired to think of what she wanted him to tell her, but there were too many questions in her mind and many she thought he wouldn?t even know the answer for. "Everything. Everything there is to tell. Tell it all, it's all very interesting. Very." Voice rushed, a nervous movement in her eyes. Maybe he would know the answers, or they would come to him. They never came to her it seemed and when they did they were wrong.

He takes another sip of his brandy. He pondered his answer before speaking. "Well... in the beginning, there was Void... nothing, formless and meaningless..."

"And then? Then what? More nothing? Something? Less, more?" Her eyes went side to side, the goblet set down. She rubbed at her arm. A void, that is what she needed. A darkness in the burning light. Silence.

"And then came everything. Now, the exact mechanics of this are a matter of some debate. Some folks say their God spoke a word, and everything sprang into being all at once, like it had always been here. Some folks say that it took their one God a week. Other folks, well, their creation myths are a little more complicated, and usually involve someone killing someone else, or cutting his wedding tackle off and making the world out of it, or two deity-like beings making with the sweet sweet loving and the result of this is the world. None of this which makes any much sense, when you think on it, but that's part of the joy of the world. It doesn't make sense." He pauses and takes a sip from his coblet. "The world is not beautiful. Therefore, it is."

He spoke, and his voice was a song in her mind. But the notes were forgotten quickly. And she mourned that she did not have her piano with her to assist in keeping the memory. Memories of other times. Not all of them were good. Many men had touched her, many had said she was beautiful "Am I beautiful?" She asked him, every word he said before that lost. Eyes upon him, wandering and lost.

He takes a sip of his brandy, sets the glass down. He seemed to consider her carefully. She wondered what he thought about when considering her. What made her pretty? What if he could see inside her? See the type of monster she was. "Yes," he says honestly. "You're quite beautiful." His words broke her rushing thoughts, but did not steer her away from the place where they had carried her.

Her smile faltered and she looked as though he had slapped her. "You will not love me." It wasn?t even his face she saw, when she spoke to him.

?Not the way you're looking for," The man said. "My heart was carried off by a slip of a girl a long time ago. Never saw it coming."

A sorrow was coming over her. Attention turned away from the face that did not belong to Paladin. Sadly speaking down at the table, "Those slips are stronger than they look."

"Must be. I hate to think what kind of burden my heart must be to her, heavy as it is most times." She heard the movement of his glass but could not gather enough energy to look up, not yet. "Look, Izi- I am, I can't be a lover to you. For you. I'm sorry, I'm not wired like that... once I care for someone, I cleave to them and only them... I can't spread my heart around. What I can be, though, if you'll let me, is a friend."

"Hm. Friends." She thought it over in her head, of the friends she had before. Now people she once knew, now enemies, now dead. She shook her head. "No bad things happen to those." Eyes still focused on the table top. He was supposed to be her friend, but she was afraid of it.

Silence again, but for her mournful thoughts. Then the goblet was heard to move again. Again, his voice. "Maybe, maybe not. Although, as I've told another lovely young lady who was afraid of her friends getting hurt, I've kinda gotten into the habit of staying alive and in one piece. Kinda mean to keep it that way."

"Worse things than death.... always worse." Like being the one that walks and has death lingering in the wake of her steps.

"Death is not the worst of evils," she heard his voice agree.

"Betrayal." And she was sure that word was tattooed upon her soul.

Head still down, she missed that the man nodded. But she took his silence for agreement. A faint smile, she looked at him. His face was his own again. But still there was no recognition to be seen in her eyes.

He shook his head, set the goblet down, and pushed it towards the edge of the table. He leans forward a little bit, tiny frown between his eyes, studying her. "What happened, Iz?"

What happened? What happened? "I was born." Her eyes wide as though that was sin enough.

"When?"

It was an odd question. When. But she thought and knew the answer. "Twenty-nine year the coming fall." She considered how long it had been since the time of her birth had been acknowledged. How long had it been since anyone cared?

"Younglin'." He said, though he looks too young to drink himself. Of course, she knew of many like that. He could be ageless.

Youngin. As though she had all the time in the world. She knew then that she didn?t. Time was growing short and here death might catch her. And she was young and foolish to be sitting here and waiting for it. A weak smile. She stood. "Perhaps. I like the night am young. Too young to know better. Eve to you... whoever you are." She couldn't be sure as his face kept changing.

He stands as she does, rubbing the back of his head. "Look, Iz... um... be careful, okay?" She thought she saw worry in his eyes for her.

"Careful. Always. Never good." Another weak smile then she turned away. The stars once again catching her attention, she starts counting them as she moves into the night.