Une promenade
Et l'univers c'est moi
Apres une cascade
Son eau c'est toujours toi
Une escapade
La vie est dans les bois
Et puis une balade
Son sujet c'est toujours toi

-- Yoko Kanno



The walk to Her grove seemed longer than any of his previous visitations. He stepped out of his quiet apartment and paused on the stoop, hesitant. To his left, the buildings began to crumble away into the West End; to his right, the scents of the Marketplace drifted through the waning evening. He took a breath and stepped into the streets.

The night was cold, dank and wet. Every breath Sin took seemed harsh and unwhole as he sat crouched in the old dockside warehouse, hovering over Tir?s prone body. The man who stood before him seemed much colder and much harder than any chill weather that pressed around him. Tall and dark, the suited man seemed all too calm as he removed his plain leather gloves; a single scar gently curved along the back of one palm, caught by the dull fluorescent lights above them.

I?m going to die here, Sin thought. Here and now. The sinner had pulled out the last of his silly tricks and was left with an empty hand as this man ? this vampire ? pushed effortlessly through everything Sin had. ?Who are you?? Sin asked breathlessly, still hanging low and protective over his fallen lover.

Two empty cobalt eyes honed in on Sin?s gray ones, dull with apathy. ?I am Ambrose.?

Sin?s breathing hitched momentarily; his walk faltered and he pressed a hand against a nearby wall as he gathered his bearings. Once his head had cleared, he saw the path his feet had brought him. Sin looked aside and pulled his hand away from the looming walls that were beginning to form New Ambrosia. The concrete building was long and tall, windowless, with no entrance but for a single, broad door. New Ambrosia was not complete yet, but the construction was well on its way; yet even with the new structure, the memories of the old Ambrosia permeated through.

Bass pounded, loud enough that Sinjin could hear it from outdoors. The surly bouncer hunkered near the door, reluctantly parting way as Sin passed inside. As usual, the club was packed: bodies against bodies in writhing dance, the smell of blood and sex on the air, alcohol and pleasure. Off to the side, the kindred gave a single corner booth a wide berth; a stream of smoke drifted up toward the ceiling from the booth?s high-backed bench seats. Ignoring social faux pas, Sin shouldered his way through the crowd and headed in that direction.

As he sat across from the Elder, he took note of the still full snifter of brandy that joined his cigar; dull cobalt eyes pinned on the sinner as he settled. ?Good evening, Sinjin.? His voice was cool and monotone, barely above a whisper ? how his voice carried, Sin was unsure. ?You are quite bold to come here.?

?Well, it?s neutral ground ? supposedly anyway.? Sin gave a slow, bastard smile that was becoming typical of him. ?Besides ? you had all opportunity to kill me before and you didn?t. I figured you had a reason for that, so you won?t kill me now.?

?Everything is temporary, child.? He finished the cigar, leaving the tail end to rest on the otherwise empty ash tray.

?Child?? Sinjin scoffed. ?I?m no child and certainly not yours.?

?You are a child in mind and body.? He folded his gloved hands over each other, his voice still plain and quiet. ?You are the child of Chaus, sired by Nymph, sired by Diabholtz ? who was my own child.? Ambrose gave a weighted pause, perhaps momentarily pursued by his own thoughts. ?Do you know why I did not kill you, Sinjin Fai?? He eventually asked.

Sin?s grin slowly slipped away as Ambrose spoke; it was the same question that had been plaguing him for some time now. ?No,? he admitted quietly. ?I don?t.?

The Elder observed the young sinner across from him in silence for a time. In the end, he rose with a paper thin sigh. ?You will learn, child,? he murmured, stepping away from the booth. ?In time.?

?Have I learned?? Sin wondered aloud quietly, standing still in the middle of an empty crosswalk. He paused to observe an old building now burned down: the wreckage of an ancient Victorian style home that had once been quite beautiful. ?Have I?? He asked again, speaking to no one as he walked by. Even as he passed, he could smell the ash on the air, as old as it was now ? and he looked beyond it, toward the thick of the wood past the quiet, empty neighborhood.

?What was it like,? he asked, picking at Ambrose?s dusty bed sheets, ?what was it like before you were sired??

Ambrose considered the question the same way he did everything else ? in silent stoicism.

?Warm.?

Sin?s fingers brushed along the tree trunks as he walked, the path marked with elongated claw marks carved into the bark. He recalled Icarus and his mother helping him find the grove in that long, lonely winter where everything he cared about collapsed. Augustine?s death, and Salvador?s long slumber. Sin hesitated, looking down at the decaying leaves and the sprouts reaching up around them; Spring?s breath was finally reaching this place, just like it had a year ago. ?I thought I would die then,? he murmured, leaning his shoulder against a tree. ?I was so close to ending it all. So damned close. All that was left..? Sin closed his eyes.

He opened his eyes, but he couldn?t interpret what he saw. There was light, somewhere, pouring into a dusty bedroom ? not his bedroom. Someone else?s, someone who he couldn?t recall. Everything felt cloudy and distant ? as if he was viewing a dream world instead of a real one. Sin slowly rolled up to a sitting position, pushing back the unfamiliar bed sheets. It was only then that he noticed Ambrose sitting in the wing backed chair off to one side.

Had Sinjin been in his right mind, he would have found the sight of the Elder peculiar; his suit jacket rested askew on the back of the chair and the sleeves of his gray shirt had been rolled up hap-hazardly. He seemed disheveled and human as he watched the younger kindred, chin resting on his fist.

Sin cast another look around and finally recognized where he was: Sigma?s bedroom, long gone unused. It took Sin several attempts to get his voice to work correctly, swallowing back the dry feeling in his mouth. ?Why am I here? I don?t remember.. coming here. I remember..? What did he remember? Sin clutched his temples in his hands for a moment and shivered.

?You are dying, Sinjin,? he murmured plainly, his cobalt eyes half-lidded, but still decidedly focused on the Spaniard.

Sin made a short and bitter noise, dropping back on the bed. His skin was pale and sallow, pockmarked with recent burns ? some of which refused to heal and seemed to be increasing rather than decreasing. ?Good.? He was ready to die ? for the first time, he welcomed it. What was left for him here? He didn?t know any more and didn?t care.

Ambrose frowned quietly. ?You forget.? He simply said. When he rose, Sinjin felt a sudden pressure build above him, push him down against the bed. Panic sluggishly hit Sin?s veins and he attempted to struggle; it was useless. There was no strength left in him any longer.

When Ambrose rose, Sin hissed like a feral cat and bore his teeth. ?Forget what? I haven?t forgotten anything!?

For a moment, Ambrose loomed over him with a look of contemplation ? and something deeper. Something, at that moment, that Sin couldn?t place. When he stirred again, Ambrose moved in closer; he brought his wrist to his mouth. Sin barely saw the action itself ? but what he did smell was the intoxicating scent of Ambrose?s old and powerful blood. Sin tried to jerk his head aside and resist, but he soon felt cold blood against his lips and latched on like a hungry child to a mother?s teat. Instinctual, despite his desire to do otherwise.

?You forget your promises, child,? Ambrose spoke, though Sin did not hear him then. ?I do not.?

Her grove was still cold and chill, but it didn?t surprise him, nor did the feeling of eyes piercing him ? eyes he couldn?t see. Dry, brittle bones crushed beneath his boots as he walked further inside, eyes pinned on a single stone rising above the death around it.

Sinjin had never been in so much pain in his life. Battered and bruised, Ambrose tossed him like a rag doll against the brick wall; Sin could only give a whimpering cry from his pierced lungs, blood seeping from his lips. ?Father, please?please, Ambrose, no. No more, Father, no more..?

Chill cobalt eyes descended on him as the Elder stepped in close; Sin felt the weight on his chest double. ?No more?? He echoed ? so calm, so perfectly calm. ?Perhaps someday, Sinjin. When you learn.?

He could still smell Salvador here ? a weak, lingering scent from the first hours of Spring. Sin?s walk became something of a stumble after he tripped on a collapsed skull. When he reached to catch himself, his fingers fell against words written on a cold stone that chilled his fingers to the core. Words he didn?t understand, but he knew what they said ? whispered to him in the middle of the night by one of the promises he had once forgotten.

Sin sat beside Ambrose on the park bench, tipping his head toward the tree the Elder had focused on. ?I always meant to thank you,? he said suddenly, looking aside to Ambrose.

?Oh?? The memories always hung thick in this particular park; Ambrose had yet to pull his eyes away from that one old oak.

?Mm. For not killing me, back then. For.. showing me. Helping me.? Sin suddenly made a quiet noise. ?I hope I haven?t been a terrible pupil.?

?No.? Ambrose tore his eyes away from the tree where Diabholtz died and focused in on Sinjin. In the momentary quiet, the Elder smiled. ?Just a familiar one.?