Topic: you turn the screws

Sinjin Fai · Date: 2009-01-03 03:49 EST

December 4th, 2007

Sin felt like sh*t.

Exhaustion was waning on him heavily as he passed from the chaos of the Rambling Rose to the cold and bare streets of Rhy'din's downtown. Were he in better health, he would have gone with Seamus and Allen to the hospital, but he was lucky to be still standing after exerting that much energy to transport Seamus to the hospital alone.

It was with a heavy heart that Sin groped for a nearby park bench and collapsed onto it. He had been here earlier, though the light snow had washed away his scent and Winter's, and the memory of conversation had washed out of his mind. Feather-light snow and a duckless duck pond -- that wasn't so bad for bed companions, was it?

He closed his eyes. Between his frozen lover and Sin's own dead body, he was accustomed to the cold -- even now, long after midnight when the cold was as bitter and morose as his mood. In the gathered dark, he exhaled a wheezed breath and forgot the pain of his injuries. Once upon a time, before he had even met Tir, Sinjin used to sleep on park benches with frequency -- why couldn't he now? Home seemed so far away. Looking no better than a battered corpse in a stolen suit, Sin fell asleep utterly alone.

When he woke up again, that was no longer the case.

He had been stripped clean of his destroyed suit and placed to rest in a warm bed. He took a breath; the air smelled old, like books and dust and comfort. Sin shifted tiredly in the thick, tangled bedsheets, confused and groggy as he lurched to sit up.. and slowly, another scent slapped him harshly in the face.

Blood. Beautiful, intoxicating blood.

Sin snapped a look aside where a body was chained to the wall, odd amongst all the other finery in the bedroom; a man, undoubtedly still alive though he was still and silent as the dead, his body unmarred but for a small, gently oozing cut on his neck. All at once Sin realized what, exactly, had stirred him from slumber.

The scent alone was enough. Drawn like a feral, unfed animal, Sinjin slithered quickly forward and latched his teeth onto the man's neck; the Spaniard moaned, he whimpered with the taste of life, but his victim made no sound. Sin didn't question. What was there to question, his mind asked. Providence was at hand and the sinner gave no hesitation to embrace it.

He fed until his hunger fled him on bloody, sluggish wings and control seemed a more approachable goal again; Sin pulled his mouth back and closed the wounds he made, pressing a finger to the man's throat. His pulse was gentle and fluttering, but there. He was still alive.

Sated, Sinjin took a moment to observe the bedroom. In a moment of clarity, he began to realize that he had been here before. Once upon a time, this was Sigma's bedroom -- it looked untouched since whenever Sigma had left. Sinjin suspected that Ambrose didn't have the heart to abandon all hope of his child's return. Hesitant, the sinner found a pair of loose cotton pants hanging over the back of a chair and slid them on, slipping cautiously toward the door as he did. The door was open and the hall was empty, noiseless but for the ticking of a grandfather clock elsewhere.

Like a tentative child with fear of being caught, Sin crept slowly down the hall and toward the stairs, peering between the railing bars toward the living room. He stood stock still and froze when he saw the Elder sitting there.

It was something out of an odd painting, or perhaps a Caroll story. A man dressed in a dark suit, sitting before a table where he was writing a letter on parchment; a hookah lay smoking just beside, smoke curling upwards and tangling thickly in the ceiling fan. Ambrose didn't look up, but his soft voice echoed quietly through the Victorian era home. "Come, Sinjin."

The spaniard hesitated yet again, unsure. Would he run away again? Would he only tease with his presence? Maybe so, maybe not, his mind told him. Only one way to find out.

The sinner crept down the stairs and moved uneasily into the living room; at it's best and neatest, the place still reeked of death. Chaus's old lover, Nymph, had been killed on the same chandelier he now walked under as he sat opposite of the Elder and waited. What was there to say?

Ambrose continued to write. Sin found it strange for a moment, seeing as the Elder rarely picked up a pen for leisurely purposes, but didn't think long on it. All he could do was stare at the man who had avoided him like a plague for so long. When Sin didn't speech, Ambrose's cool cobalt eyes focused on him with a raised brow. "I am sure you have questions."

"I--" Sin blinked dumbly. Questions? "I.. can't think of any to ask," he confessed quietly, looking down at his hands.

"Then I can give you no answers," the Father said logically, passive as ever. Setting aside his pen, he picked up the hookah again. A rare indulgence, but one he enjoyed. After inhaling, the smoke wreathed out of his lips like a dragon; he folded the letter as he spoke. "And I will not idle on them; that is not the purpose of your presence here."

Of course not, his mind replied. Why would Ambrose ever care to heal Sin's broken nature? If anything, the Elder was always the one to break him. "Then what is my purpose?" Sin lost any softness in his tone. If he was here for business, then he would keep it business and forget he had a heart for a little bit longer.

Ambrose tucked the letter in a plain enveloped and reached aside for a stick of wax and a seal, warming both as he spoke. "I am leaving shortly to return to Newport; the affairs of Rhy'din are something I no longer care for." He dripped the crimson wax onto the back of the envelope and pressed the seal into it. "Whether you choose to take the reins or leave it for another fool is your priority." After he gave the seal a moment to solidify, Ambrose handed the letter to Sin.

Sin, unsure of what to do other then give typically snide obedience, took the letter. He observed it for a moment, turning it in his fingers. "Do not open it," Ambrose murmured suddenly. "Until the right time." The younger kindred snapped a look up to his Father; for a moment, there was a raw emotion there they both understood. This was it. This was everything.

Ambrose pushed up from his desk and buttoned his suit cuffs. All at once, Sinjin began to feel an aching urgency. Was this really it? "Will I see you again before you leave?"

The Elder did not pause. He buttoned his suit coat as the hookah extinguished. "I am not one to guess what the future holds, Sinjin." Quietly, he began to move toward the door.

Sin panicked and began to scramble after him inelegantly. "But--" --what about me? "--what about Faye?"

That caused Ambrose pause. He looked aside quietly with something that was too akin to sadness; a great weight of emotion Sinjin had never seen on him, and Sin immediately regretted speaking her name. "She will do as her title implies," he whispered without looking at him.

Without another pause to stall him, Ambrose moved forward, quietly opening the front door; the sun was just beginning to rise as the Elder took to the streets. Sin, too stunned to do anything other than clutch his letter and wonder why, scrambled after Ambrose and stopped short on the porch's steps. "Ambrose!" He sounded desperate; his voice cracked. No, no, his mind said. I need you here. Need you.

Once more, the Elder stilled, tipping a brief, apathetic look over his shoulder at the spaniard from his position in the snow-slicked street. Sinjin's heart wrenched in his throat and the words simply could not come out; he could only mouth them over and over again.

For a moment, it appeared he might turn back -- might regard his child's misplaced affection and worry.. but the mirage only lasted for a moment. Mist crawled up from the Elder's ankles and slowly upward, whisking him away.

For a time, Sin stared lamely at the spot where Ambrose had been, his hands shaking, his mind racing in circles.. but slowly, he looked back at the Elder's large, now empty mansion house. Quietly, he slipped inside; the weight on his shoulders increased with every footstep.

By the time he reached the stairs, Sinjin could do nothing but collapse and weep bitter, sad tears.

Sinjin Fai · Date: 2009-01-03 03:50 EST

December 21st, 2007

Tonight, tonight, tonight.

Ambrose could feel the shadows following him, gathering at his heels as the day progressed into night with solitude by his side. He could feel the anticipation, the hunger of impending dark tasting his skin like a starved man tasted water and bread; Ambrose paid little mind to it. There were still other matters to attend to before his day was done.

The doors to Ambrosia swung open, and the elder stepped inside. It was only a little past ten o'clock, but the nightclub was packed with bodies and the peace was kept. Music thrummed through the floor and into each person, pounding, demanding attention on this moment and nothing else -- that is why most people came to Ambrosia, after all. To forget. To lose themselves in a few moments of debauchery or dance or drink, and forget the ills of the daylight hours which they were no longer invited to partake in.

The crowd parted for Ambrose, as it ever did, and the Elder made his way through the sea of dead. They treated him with caution; he was old, they knew, and crazed beyond what their eyes could see -- no one touched or bothered with the Elder for fear of their own lives.

Unfortunately, it was their lives he came for.

He paused in the club's center, amongst the dance and blood-drunk revelries with a curious frown. Whispers and shadows breathed down his neck. Carefully, the elder began to slowly remove his gloves; when the elder bowed his head and closed his eyes, the first few flames began to spread across the building.

It began near the bar. A sharp cry and a jerk aside ended in bottles of alcohol spraying across the bar counter and flames mysteriously erupting soon after. Fire was not kind to kindred, particularly those of thinner bloodlines -- they were quick to scramble away rather than attempt to damper the flames. The fire began to spread with an unearthly potency, crawling across the bar, to the floors and up the walls. The music faltered with the sounds of screams as realization hit hard.

Ambrosia was burning. It was not the first time Ambrosia had burned, but it would be the last.

By the time the alarms went off in Sin's head, the flames of the burning building were already lapping at the sky, filling it with smoke and the scent of rot. "Ambrose," he moaned quietly, scrambling past the few escapees and through the doors of the club, choked back by thick, dark smoke. He threw an arm over his eyes, squinting past the smog as he stumbled further inside. He knew he was tripping over corpses, but he didn't pay attention to the fact now. Where the Elder went, death always followed him. "Ambrose!"

Bleary-eyed, he saw the elder standing in the center of chaos. The bodies piled up as the flames spread out, happily eating away at Ambrosia's interior. Outside, no more than a block away, the great bells of the Catholic church began to strike midnight.

full moon glow in center sky
twist the clouds who reach up high
illuminate black night gray
autumn sighs before the day

The shadows at Ambrose's feet began to boil up as the elder turned cobalt eyes on Sinjin. He slowly began to replace his gloves again as the shadows grew up behind him, sticking together and looming over his shoulder. Four legs, as thin as rails began a body of sticky black shadows, narrow and starved until the vague shape of ribs protruded. A long neck ended in an angular muzzle with shadow-sharp teeth, too many to count, in rows and rows along the inside of its jaws; two eyes, reflecting the fires which surrounded it, lay pinned on the Elder as the bells continued to chime the hour.

leaves once green fade dull to red
drop the sheet of winter bed
soak up tears of heaven's dread
come sleep, don't die, dream instead

It eagerly laid its jaws just above Ambrose's head, as if waiting the singular command to devour him, ill his starved gut. Sinjin panicked. Stumbling across the bodies and flames, he reached for the elder kindred with wide eyes gone gray and helpless. "Ambrose -- Father! Please, don't leave me here! Don't leave me!"

lord and guardian of old
beyond the veil we are told
await souls to hold and weigh
under, over, wait and stay

The last bells of midnight began to chime. "The letter, Sinjin," the Elder murmured quietly, setting his eyes on the Spaniard with serenity, like some great monster was not looming just behind him.

come jackal king
I feel you there

The last bell tolled the hour. The Jackal squealed in hungry delight, its jaws opening wide beyond realistic compare, thick tendrils of shadow oozing from between its teeth as it leaned in and engulfed Ambrose in one swift swallow, engorging itself on the Ravnos as its red eyes turned onto Sinjin. We see you.

The echoes of the last bell ended and the shadows began to disapate, leaving nothing behind. Sin fell to his knees at the spot where Ambrose stood, pawing at it with shaking fingers. But no -- there was no trace of Ambrose there. Nothing but the flames which he started, which now left the building groaning under the weight of instability.

When Ambrosia collapsed, no one saw Sinjin leave it.

Sinjin Fai · Date: 2009-01-03 03:52 EST

December 22nd, 2007

Sinjin was gone.

Whatever traces of him were left behind in Rhy'din had been meticulously eliminated, starting in public settings and into the private. His stock at the Medieval Tavern had been eliminated; the room he had there, once used as storage, was now bare. Neither Bess nor Becky had any recollection of someone going up to it.

Ambrosia was now nothing but ash. The newspapers had the fire on the front page, listing it as a mysterious arson that firefighters bravely fought. The kindred nightclub had been packed that night, and it seemed like no one had escaped: the charred bodies were unrecognizable and left a foul stench in the air long after the fires had stopped.

His car, the old antique hearse, had been stripped off any of his possessions or modifications; it now stood bare and empty in the parking lot of the Medieval for either someone to steal or to rot away into rust.

Even his apartment, Sin's personal sanctuary, was now empty. His clothes and possessions were gone; each of his paintings had been methodically burned -- even the blank canvases in the corner. His guitar, his weaponry, his journal -- all of it gone. There was nothing left of Sinjin Fai except a fat mother cat curled on the couch and the letter she slept on.

Sinjin was gone.

Sinjin Fai · Date: 2009-01-03 03:53 EST

December 23rd, 2007

It took him most of the day to find an apartment that was to his tastes. Eventually, he settled on a small three room flat above a cafe on the historical side of Madrid, slightly pre-furnished with a bed and set of drawers. The landlord babbled to him some about the neighborhood and seemed to take pride in her tenants; Tohias just nodded, smiled, and paid for the deposit and rent in cash.

He left everything behind with the exception of a pack of cigarettes and a ring that had been given to him some time ago. As such, there were things which needed to be bought: clothes, perhaps a little food, bedsheets, and most importantly, a new guitar. With a set of keys being the only weight in his pocket, the Spaniard headed downstairs and into the streets.

It was a Sunday afternoon and the churches were just beginning to release their captive Catholics, spilling out children first in waves of anxious energy that they had so careful restrained for hours, followed by the more lethargic adults who hung back to talk and drink coffee. Tohias idled by the cafe below his apartment -- a small place, one whose business seemed to consist of regulars and nothing more -- but when he saw an old man sharing his breakfast with a mangy cat, Tohias made up his mind and decided to sit for awhile.

The old man ended up being good company, though the cat seemed wary, swallowing down its food quickly and sparing nervous glances aside to its new visitor. After a cup of coffee and a discussion of the weather, the conversation turned toward Tohias.

"So, you are new here?" The old man asked, squinting over the other Spaniard curiously.

He laughed shortly. "No. I grew up here as a child. My sister has just had a child and I came to help her take care of it."

"Ahh. I knew you had the look of Madrid about you. Once you are born here, it never really leaves you," the old man confided, reaching aside to pet the skiddish cat.

Tohias glanced over the feline. "Is he yours?"

He shook his head. "No. This mangy cat does not belong to anyone, but he always comes back here again -- usually more torn up then the day before." The old man laughed and the cat shrunk down at the sound of it.

The younger Spaniard laughed too, but it was softer and more thoughtful. By the end of the conversation and coffee, he took the cat by the scruff of the neck and brought him home. The cat resisted, spat and hissed, and eventually found some corner of the apartment to crawl into where he could utter his growls at Tohias in solitude. Tohias seemed to pay it little mind. "You know, cat," he murmured, watching his tail tip flick to and fro. "You and I have a lot in common."

Sinjin Fai · Date: 2009-01-03 03:53 EST

December 25th, 2007

When the sun began to crawl up against the horizon and into his bare windows, it occured to Tohias that this was the first Christmas he had ever been alone.

Even as a child when he first came into Rhy'din, he and Chaus met and had each other; the pair of best friends spent every waking moment together with the exception of work. Chaus paid the bills for their tiny flat with odd jobs from around town and Tohias paid his through prostitution -- after all, many men and women alike would pay highly for a boy Tohias's age to fufill their darker fantasies.

Their holidays were always meager, but well intended. It was on the eve of their second Christmas together that Chaus gave Tohias his first guitar -- the one he still owned to this very day. But when Tohias opened his eyes, he did not see the guitar, nor Chaus, nor anything else.. and he began to wonder if it was time to honor that tradition.

Away from Rhy'din he could not make his visitation to Chaus's grave, but he thought of a more fitting tribute. After dressing and leaving food at for the cat (who was still scrunched up under his bed somewhere), Tohias took to the streets. Christmas morning service was just beginning to end and the streets started to fill with a hustle and bustle that opened the cafes for morning tea and coffee; he was doubtful that he would be able to find a shop that was open, but he was sure it was worth an attempt.

It took him a fair amount of time and well into the afternoon, weaving in and out of the streets of Madrird, into places where familiarity failed him and spilled him out into territories unknown. But in the end, he found what he was looking for; shortly after three, he left a tiny family owned shop with a guitar hanging off his shoulders. When he returned to his flat and opened the door, he saw the cat frozen there, hunched over the plate Tohias left for him with a piece of his stuck half in his mouth. Tohias gave him a wide smile and pointed a finger at him, eyebrows raised. "I've got you, cat," he murmured. The cat went scrambling off under the bed with a growl and a hiss -- Tohias could only grin.

Leaving the cat to his hungry brooding (which reminded Tohias of another cat entirely), Tohias sat down in the only chair in his apartment and began to play; he played and played, kept playing until his fingers went raw and he did not feel so alone.

Sinjin Fai · Date: 2009-01-03 03:54 EST

December 29th, 2007

When I wake up in the mornings, I am staring at an unfamiliar ceiling; when I take a breath, the scent of you is not there with me. The taste of you is not on my lips, my skin -- there is nothing here. Nothing but me. Selfish, isn't it? But when was the last time I was so alone? Even without you, there was him. Always him.

I am sorry I left the way I did. But I did not want anyone to follow -- all I wanted was to be selfish, for a little while. I will make it up to you somehow, I promise.

But I have not forgotten about you. How could I forget you? Even now, you are with me, as I write this letter in the last of the dark. I bear your scars -- I wear them, and I hold each story of them close to my heart. Siempre, my Salvador. This is my long winter. Siempre. Will you wait for me?

Yesterday I saw her. I went to her house out on the edge of the city. You may remember it -- you took me there once. Yes, this house once belonged to a man and his wife with their four children: Donato, Ana, Julia, and Tohias.

She rebuilt it well, stronger than before. My father was a smart man, but he was not handy; perhaps her husband is. Julia is.. just as beautiful as I remember her. And she welcomed me into her home with open arms. Her husband's name is Dominico. He is a strong man, a business man from the city, but he treats her gently and kind. He, too, welcomed me into his home and showed me how he fixed the little house I once lived in.

My niece is the most beautiful thing I have seen in all of my days. They turned my old bedroom into her nursery. She looks just like her mother, but she has my eyes. I could have stood there and watched her sleep all day.

Someday she might have my smile, too -- Julia will rue the day she sees that cheshire grin.

The cat is hungry, the sun is rising, and here I must end this letter. I leave you with this final notation --

Te amo, mi Salvador.

--

He left the letter unsigned, unsure of what to put. Tohias? Or was he ready to call himself Sin once more? He folded the letter and placed it in an envelope after carefully writing the address out. Tohias left food for the cat (who was hidden somewhere in his apartment, growling), and headed out the door with a weight lifted from his shoulders.

The streets of Madrid were already busy by the time Tohias walked out and joined the crowd, a hustle of bodies and vehicles moving to and fro as Tohias walked toward the post office. He skimmed by a news stand at the corner and moved to cross the street before suddenly pausing.

Something. What was it?

Bewildered, the sinner looked back over his shoulder.. and saw Salvador's face.

It was an artist's rendition, albeit a poor one, but some of those features were spot on -- like the barest twist of a smile that Tohias knew all too well. The picture was slapped on the front page of a newspaper with a bold headline directly below: Police Killer Captured.

Tohias turned back to the street vendor, completely forgetting about the letter for a moment. "Hey! How much for that paper?" The Spaniard was already pulling out whatever euros he had in his pocket and shoving them in the vendors hand as Tohias snatched up the paper and opened it.

"He followed me here," he mumbled hushly as he read. "God damn the man."

The vendor quirked a look toward him. "What's that?"

Tohias waved one hand flippantly as he read. "Nothing, nothing. Inspector Montero, hm?" He murmured as he read, perhaps rhetorical.

The vendor nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, yes. They say he's mad, you know? He sits at the cafe and reads over notes from that case from the last year. He's always there after lunch, you see, and always with a newspaper too. I bet he's pretty happy to see this one, heh." He grinned and patted a hand on Salvador's poorly drawn face.

The other Spaniard laughed, but there was something else behind it. "He must! What cafe is this?" He asked the vendor curiously, looking back at him.

"Oh, the Cafe San Rafael. It's over in the east district, I walk by it everyday to go home," the vendor replied, nodding as if he had just given his customer something very special for the hefty tip. Little did the man know that he had.

Tohias thanked him and cut away from the man's little kiosk to finish delivering his letter. So what if Salvador wasn't there? Kavi would have something to read. But after that..

Tohias had work to do.

Sinjin Fai · Date: 2009-01-03 03:56 EST

December 31st, 2007 (Taken from live play with permission from the author.)

When lunch time began to wane into the afternoon, Tohias found the Cafe San Rafael. He idled by through most of the afternoon, dressed plainly in slacks and a button down with a leather jacket that looked like it might've been second hand. He was sitting at a small table with a cup of cafe au lait and a newspaper -- the very newspaper that had Salvador's face imprinted on the front. After receiving a general description of Montero from a few sources, the rest was a waiting game -- and Tohias was a very patient man.

Inspector Elias Fabrega Montero operated like clockwork. He worked a regular schedule at the precinct, except on those times he was working double overtime, as he had done so far this entire week. Discovering the one man he had been hunting relentlessly for the past year and a half (a little more) was in the city had kept him busy. But now that his quarry was captured and under lock and key, and only after the insistence from his superiors, he could try to relax. He was an unimposing man of medium height and average build, with dark hair and dark eyes and the kind of five o'clock shadow stereotypical of a man who frequently worked out of uniform, perhaps under cover at times. The inspector arrived at the cafe at the usual hour, took his usual seat tucked close to the wall, and ordered his usual coffee. Under ten seconds after making himself at home, he had a notepad and newspaper to study in front of him.

For a few moments, Tohias just quietly studied him as he feigned reading the same newspaper he had in front of him for well over an hour. He lifted his coffee for another drink and glanced not-so-subtly over to the inspector and his newspaper, giving a thoughtful grunt as he tipped his chin in the man's direction, speaking in perfect Spanish, only slightly diffused with the Madrid dialect. "Quite a capture isn't it?" He murmured, gesturing to the news of the imprisoned man. It wasn't uncommon for strangers to take company in cafes or even restaurants; no one was a stranger in their own native land.

Montero seemed to be a man who was completely uncomfortable sitting still. He had a way of tapping his heel rapidly that kept at least one leg in constant motion. When he wasn't doing that, he tapped eraser and sharpened end of a pencil on the table, see-sawing it. When he wasn't doing that, he was dragging his fingers through his hair irritably. Today he had nothing to notate in his book, and it drove him crazy. So engrossed in his own mental replays and investigations was he that at first he did not realize someone was speaking to him. In perfectly delayed fashion, he looked up, aside, and then over at a gesturing hand. Looking back down at the front page, he scowled. "It's crap," he grumbled, tossing down his pencil. Also in perfect Spanish. This of course being the country for such a language.

"Oh? Why do you think that?" He asked, intrigued as he turned toward the man. Tohias folded one leg with his ankle at the opposing knee, holding the coffee cup in his hand. "Certainly Inspector Montero has been trying to capture this man for some time now, from what I have heard. I would think it's a fine victory." The spaniard nodded once and took another drink of his coffee.

"Inspector Montero has been trying to capture him for nearly two years." Still he scowled. Rolled his pencil back and forth a moment, then pulled back his hand as if he had just mentally commanded himself to stop. Stop doing that. He was briefly interrupted by his coffee being delivered, which he much more kindly thanked the server for, and then resumed this seemingly harmless conversation with a fellow brother of Spain. "Inspector Montero finally did capture him." Why not talk in the third person? "And the bastard's not said one damn word since we brought him in." Ah, but there was a hint on his identity. Harmless. Many people knew who he was.

"Ah -- so I thought," he laughed quietly. The other Spaniard moved his chair in a little bit closer, offering a hand with a charming, albeit somewhat amused smile. "Inspector Montero -- a pleasure. I have read much of you. You've done a good thing in bringing in this criminal. Even if he is still yet resistant." The other man gave a sombering nod. "He'll know what's good for him. Oh-- my name is Tohias Sanchez. I apologize." Late introduction!

Friendliness and good manners abound in the children of Spain. The inspector accepted the hand immediately, gave a brief shake, and returned the sentiment politely. "A pleasure, Mr. Sanchez." The man had already heard of him. No sense in offering back an introduction. So he looked back at the sketch on the front page, the headline, and frowned. "It was too easy," he commented. That seemed to be what rattled him most of all about this entire ordeal. "What I remember of the man he was a cold-blooded psychopath. There was no stopping him. More machine than man, a--" What was a good analogy? "Juggernaut," he decided after a pause.

"Really? This man here?" He pulled the paper closer to himself again, frowning some in perplexed fascination. "But he looks so young, too. Hm." Tohias leaned back again and picked up his coffee. "I am afraid I've just returned to Spain after a long excursion elsewhere -- I'm not familiar with the charges against the boy. What happened?"

"Yes, that man there." Though, the inspector took further pause. This time to look Tohias over with mild scrutiny. No reason to immediately distrust him. No reason to relate the whole messed up tale either. If the man was really as interested as he seemed, all he'd have to do was look up old news reports. "At least three counts of manslaughter. One of them was an officer." The fewer details the better. That much was in the paper anyway. Montero picked up his coffee then and took a sip.

"Three? And an officer? I'll be surprised if the boy gets anything less than life in prison, then.." He trailed off, shaking his head as he finished his coffee and crossed his arms over his chest. "Shame Spain doesn't have a death penalty. I hope you have enough evidence against the boy even with his resistance to speak." Tohias seemed upset, even disturbed at such an offense that the boy did; Tohias was certainly a man of strong moral background and conviction, it appeared.

"He deserves no less than a firing squad." Ah the good old days that he had never lived in. Montero heaved out an irritated sigh and leaned back in his seat after setting down his drink. After a grumble and a hand smeared over his face, he seemed to relax a little more. "Forgive my rudeness, Mr. Sanchez, but I have to ask. You aren't a reporter, I hope?" The law and the press never got along real well.

He laughed softly, but it was a warm, rich sound. "Goodness, no. I'd make a terrible reporter, I'm afraid." Tohias gave another roguish, but charming smile as he gestured the waiter for another cup of coffee. "I'm just a little curious about what has happened to poor Madrid in my absence. Forgive me if I'm prying; I'm sure you have enough on your shoulders from that criminal without my questions adding to it." He gave the Inspector a sympathetic smile.

A strong moral background. A charming smile. A child of Spain. So far this Tohias had nothing but plus marks on his character profile. Montero had a quieter laugh. He had a voice that was not used to laughing, and a mouth unaccustomed to quirking more than half a smile. "I completely understand. I wonder the same thing myself often. Only, I haven't gone abroad." What has happened to poor Madrid? "The justice system isn't what it used to be. Rest assured, though, that regardless of his silent treatment the evidence proves enough to condemn him."

"Yes, so I hear," he murmured, frowning slightly as he considered the issues. "I heard the police department has had some problems with the local mafia as well a few months ago." Tohias seemed troubled by the fact, too. "I hope that has calmed down? I am living in an area where there used to be a lot of mob activity from what I have heard, but the apartment was so cheap.." He glanced to the Inspector for reassurement.

Now, Tohias may have made a mistake in bringing that up. The mere mention of the mafia did make the inspector frown and look blankly back down at the newspaper. For a man who had been out of town for however long, that hadn't been specified, this one seemed to be quick on collecting rumors. Montero rubbed his chin and nodded. "It's calmed down quite a bit, actually." Lifting his eyes, he queried, "Which area?" He couldn't confirm or reassure without knowing.

Maybe he caught the look; Tohias gave a slight smile. "I do my research, Inspector. I have a young niece staying with me and I want to make sure she grows up right." He picked up his fresh cup of coffee for a taste and a satisfied sigh. He did miss the coffee in Spain, for as little as he drank it. "I live above Cafe Gijon on Paseo Recoletos." Which, to Tohias's words, had been flustered with mob activity not too many months back.

"Mm. Yes, that was a bad part of town." Information the inspector knew well. He nodded along to what Tohias told him. Soaking it all in and filed away for later. Maybe it would be important. "Better now, I hope?" Mysteries about the sudden lack of activity abounded, but so far Tohias did not seem like the sort of man who would know any of the answers that he had been asking himself recently.

Tohias gave a mild shrug and a chuckle. "I haven't seen any problems so far. It's quiet there -- comfortable. What did happen there, though? I have been trying to find out, but no one has had an answer for me." He seemed hopeful that the detective could shed some light on the subject.

Now it was the inspector's turn to curve a slight smile. The very sort of expression any officer of the law might reveal to say he knew but was not at liberty to discuss. "Nothing you should worry yourself over, Mr. Sanchez." He took another drink of his own coffee. Gathered up his notepad and tucked it into his jacket along with the pencil. "Be glad for the peace and quiet. Enjoy it." While it lasts. That much went unspoken, but was obvious.

He laughed softly and shook his head. "Well, Inspector-- if I have any problems, I know who I will be looking for." The Spaniard gave another of those charming smiles as he finished his coffee. "Well, Inspector -- thank you. I should be heading home again. Good luck in your case -- I'm sure you can corner that boy and make him talk." He had faith in you! That's what that smile said.

"One way or another," he mused somberly over the rim of his cup. Montero took another drink, finishing his beverage, and set the cup aside. "My advice," he said with an inquiring tone that was purely rhetorical. Whether or not Tohias wanted it, he was giving it anyway. "There are quieter and more comfortable places across town that you and your niece may enjoy better. Consider looking into them." Just in case the shit hits the fan again. He expected it just might. "Until then, I'll hope that you won't need to look for me any time soon." He quirked a grin of his own briefly. "Have a good evening, Mr. Sanchez."

He looked back at the Inspector critically, listening to his words with a somber nod. "I'll keep that in mind, Inspector. Thank you. You do the same." And with a nod, the Spaniard stood and turned away to exit the cafe after leaving a few euros on the table for his coffee. He left the newspaper behind; he didn't need it any longer. Why would he? Tohias had everything he needed now. As he ushered himself past the waiter and out of the cafe, the disarming smile he wore dropped; the grin that laid behind it was nothing but cheshire.

Montero watched him leave, and only when the other Spaniard was out of sight did he take back out his notepad. Only to flip it open and write down a name. Tohias Sanchez. That might be important some time in the future. At the very least, he should remember him just in case the shit did hit the fan again. He gave a passing nod to the server, paid for his own drink, and not long after took his leave as well. He never stayed long. The inspector always had so much work to do.

Sinjin Fai · Date: 2009-01-03 03:59 EST

January 2nd, 2008

Tohias Sanchez was a nobody, but Sinjin Fai had his grips on the underground world. The process began slowly, almost elegantly, after he contacted the mob bosses he appointed in Madrid. They wouldn't deny him. They owed him more than simple favors -- they owed him their lives and independence. The day after Tohias spoke with Montero, Salvador's appointed lawyer called and declined the case for various reasons he didn't seem willing to delve into. That day, the Chief Inspector also received a visit from a known Spanish mobster. It wasn't unusual, either. The mafia in Madrid and the police department had come to an agreement of sorts after the mob changed hands several months before. You scratch our back, they would say, and we'll scratch yours. And from then on, things with the mob had been quiet. Until now.

Today the door of the Madrid Police Department opened and a suited man came inside, flanked by two others. He was a man of obvious Spanish descent with a tan complexion and curly hair that had been tied back at the base of his neck, dressed in a dark, well-cut suit with a black shirt and tie underneath. He did not carry a suitcase. He didn't need to. And without a word to the receptionist or any of the officers inside, he moved inside the building with a comfortable, stalking pace. He did not ask for directions. He knew. And while Montero was struggling over his criminal in the interrogation room, the door abruptly opened and he stepped inside. His two escorts remained at the other side of the door as he quietly shut it behind himself. He did not acknowledge Salvador just yet. Oh no. First and foremost, he offered a smile to the inspector. More than a smile: a cheshire grin that the devil himself would envy.

"Inspector Montero?" He offered one hand out to the man. "I am his lawyer. Sinjin Fai."

As far as the prisoner seemed concerned, these few days amounted to little more than a waiting game. For a man who had as many charges stacked against them as he did, the prisoner remained amazingly docile still. They moved him around the station, from cell to interrogation room to interrogation room to cell. They kept him in chains, as it were. Cuffs around his wrists when he wasn't behind bars. He was the picture perfect model of excellent behavior. He had not started any fights. Had not bloodied anyone up, despite the temptations. And still had not spoken a damn word. Even with as intensely as the inspector questioned him. Day in and day out. They had tried every reasonable tactic known to man to get him to say anything. That day he expected them to give up. To finally realize they didn't have enough to hold him (which they actually did) and let him go. He was starting to get bored with this entire situation. And then ... he heard a familiar voice. It was the first time in any so many days that he had expressed a reaction. With his eyes still closed and hands laced on the table top in front of him, all that anyone didn't see was the twitch of a muscle in his brow.

Inspector Montero was just about at his wit's end. He had gone through the entire list of questions in the proverbial book. Had played every role. He tried his hand at bad-cop mostly. His partner, Pires, had done a fine job adopting the good-cop role and keeping him in check. All he wanted to do was grab this silent prisoner by the throat and throttle him. Choke the life from him. He deserved nothing less than death, and not a pleasantly easy one either. They had fingerprints. His own eye-witness report. All they needed was a confession, but this asshole gave them nothing. Maybe his partner was right. Maybe he would talk with a lawyer present. Finding out about the one backing down had seemed nothing short of suspicious to him. Especially with the rumors of a visit from the mafia to the chief inspector. He had an ear pressed to every wall. The last thing Montero expected that day was the man who walked into the interrogation room. Torn away from his fury and scathing inquiries by an introduction left him speechless. All he could do was stare, with his mouth hung open. So it was Pires who shook Mr. Fai's hand instead. "About time you got here," said the good-cop.

"I apologize for the delay. It's been a busy few days." Sin moved beside the boy and pulled out the seat next to him, sitting down with a brief, but meaningful look to Salvador. Hold that temper for just a little bit longer. He folded his hands together on top of the table and looked between Montero and Pires. "I understand that you've had him under interrogation for several days now. I'm sorry to waste all of your time and resources on this case." Perhaps they could see where he was going with this; perhaps Montero would remember the name of Sinjin Fai a little better than Tohias Sanchez.

The presence of his lawyer certainly gave them more than they had got out of him in so many few days. His brows knitted and a frown tugged on the corners of his lips. Jaw set tighter and teeth clenched together, but he still had yet to open his eyes. They remained closed. The rest of him remained an unwavering statue seated in a chair at a table with his fingers laced together. He still had nothing to say. But it was a reaction, a change, that any of them with a sharp enough eye could clearly see.

For once, even Inspector Montero had nothing to say. In that brief moment he actually reflected the suspect seated before them. Dark eyes tracked the lawyer's movements to his chair. He also frowned. Pires, knowing no better, slid into the chair across from them with a sigh. He did the talking where his partner seemed too dumb to do so. "Yes," said the younger officer. New to his badge, probably. Not quite as schooled in the hardships of the world and his chosen field. "Too many days if you ask me, but my partner here is insistent. We haven't been able to get him to say anything." Not even a hello or a could I have a glass of water. Nothing. Montero recognized this man. He now knew him as two different names, and that only made him like the situation even less. He remained standing, vigilant, and decided to see where this was going. Where Pires took it.

"Well," he murmured with a smile. "Perhaps you're better off for it. After a discussion with your Chief, we've come to the mutual conclusion that the evidence you've provided for the murders is too circumstantial. It seems the fingerprints taken from the scene of the crime were damaged during collection, and as admirable as your efforts have been, Inspector Montero.." Sin turned look on the man. "It seems like your superiors are concerned that this case is dead, and now remains merely as an.. obsession of sorts." The spaniard met his eyes with a smirk that faded away shortly after. "That being said, you have no further reason to hold my client. "

His client could not restrain the wicked curve of a smile that turned up his lips in place of the frown. It was a faint and barely there thing, but clearly distinguishable from the expression that had previously been there. Still, he said nothing. And still, his eyes remained closed. But his face told an ounce of knowing. His smile suggested a thought that this was almost too easy. Sinjin Fai was a very good lawyer.

Pires had been so polite and frankly exhausted. He was ready to give in the moment the lawyer mentioned the Chief being in agreement. The younger inspector had his own doubts about this entire case, after all. "Well--" he started to say, and started to rise, but Montero finally had something to say. "Circumstantial," he shouted incredulously. "Circumstantial!?" His partner sighed and sank against his chair. Even during their short year together, he knew that tone. He knew that stance well enough to know that it was hazardous to his health to intervene immediately. Montero stepped over to the desk and slapped his palms down on it angrily. "What the hell kind of shit are you pulling, Mr. Fai?" His eyes, when glaring at the lawyer, spoke another name, however. Tohias Sanchez. One man. Two names. Which was the alias, though? Ooh, this was far from over. "And where the hell do you get off calling this an obsession. He's guilty! I saw it with my own eyes!" Why was his testimony not enough!?

"Perhaps you should take another look at your evidence, Elias," he suggested mildly. "And I can't blame your chief for believing that you're simply looking for someone to place the blame on at this point.. and this boy just happened to barely fit your description." He gave a bastard smile to Montero, shaking his head. "You've victimized him enough, Montero. It's time you end this tirade before it has you losing your badge."

"You," the inspector started to growl. That sound was a prelude, a second's worth of warning before he moved to lunge across the table. "Good for nothing--" But his partner was expecting this. Chair legs scraped when he jumped up from his seat and forced his body between man and table as a blockade. Montero snarled over his shoulder while his partner shoved him back toward the wall. "--lying sack of son of a bitch!" The struggle and shouting was enough to alert the attention of another officer in the hall. A nameless man in uniform who just so happened to have a key. Pires shouted instructions at him to unlock the prisoner's cuffs while at the same time trying to reason with his furious partner.

The prisoner's expression lingered still on that knowing smirk, and finally amidst all this chaos he opened his eyes. Rust-colored irises revealed themselves slowly, and he lifted his cuffed hands off the table so the officer on duty could follow his instructions. For the first time he actually looked at Inspector Montero. Their eyes met, and that seemed to be enough to stop him from flailing like a wild and enraged human animal. The inspector bared his teeth, and Salvador only smiled when the chains fell away.

And so the sinner stood, allowing the man to unlock the prisoner's cuffs as he watched the Inspector. "Justice, Elias, can be served, " he murmured pointedly, hawk eyes set on the other Spaniard. "But you will have to do it.. on my terms." Once the boy's cuffs were unlocked, he was headed toward the door. He entered the interrogation room Tohias Sanchez; when he left, he was Sinjin Fai again. He paused to look at the two mafioso waiting for him on the other side of the door. "See to it the Chief Inspector deals with this situation properly." No sooner had Sin spoke then the two men headed off down the hall and the sinner waited for the boy.

He was not far behind the sinner. As a nameless prisoner he rose from his seat with the same wicked serenity in which he had played this entire silent game these past few days. For the count of some small seconds, he kept eye contact with the inspector, though. Left some mystery between them when he rubbed his chafed wrists and stepped into the hall to accompany his lawyer out of the building.

Montero shoved his partner off of him with a low growl. Those eyes. He knew those eyes, but there was something different about them. They had the same color but not the fire as they had nearly two years ago. The face was definitely the one he remembered, though. There was no disputing that. And that smile. That knowing, canary-eating grin. It was him. He knew it was him! Why did they not believe him!? Pires was talking to him, but the words fell on deaf ears. The inspector was left staring blankly, angrily, at the door to the interrogation room. Oh. This wasn't over. He'd see to it justice was served, no matter what the stakes. "His game, huh?" He spat, wiped his mouth clean with the back of a sleeve. "We'll see about that."

Meanwhile, Sinjin quietly lead Salvador out of the building he had been trapped in for so many days. And once they were outside in the cool night air, he paused and looked at him. He knew it was coming. Might as well get on with it.

All his twisted humor, the faint and knowing smile, faded away with every step he took toward freedom. Once they were outside, once he took his first breath of renewed fresh air, that slightest edge of a frown had returned. What was boiling deep beneath the surface? What anger did he have in store? What words did he have to say? Maybe it was strange that Salvador still said nothing. He did not even return a glance aside. After the brief pause, he only continued walking. As if he had chosen to pretend the sinner was not even there.

Ouch. The sinner frowned and bowed his head, but said nothing. He deserved that, he knew he did, and he felt crushed for it. But what could he do? Sinjin picked his head up again with a weighted sigh. "I wasn't trying to run, Salvador," he murmured quietly. "I was trying to remember."

So many days spent in silence. A vow he had taken not to say anything at all. Cooped up behind bars, caged like an animal again. But that cell had not been able to keep him. A tangle of words rolled through his head, and it was enough to stall him. Though he wanted nothing more than to be far away from his place, this building, there he stood a few paces away from the front doors. Stopped to close his eyes and tip an ear back toward the sound of Sin's voice. Jaw set tight again. Teeth once more clenched. A growl sighed out through his nostrils, nearly inaudible. He's listening, but still had no words of his own.

And Sin didn't really expect him to say anything -- nor did he expect him to say after all that. He tipped his head to the side and looked at the boy's back for a moment. "I do love you. Always." And here, in the land of their native tongue, the words fit. After that, he turned aside. He wouldn't make Salvador stay here.

For days on end old scriptures had haunted him. Even when the inspector screamed and shouted in his face, all he heard had been static and paper words. "Once upon a time," he said, voice low and parched from so many days of having not said a single word at all. "You found a boy who you took in your arms." Sound familiar? A slight alteration of the gospel, but a recitation all the same. "Later, he became a man who did the same for you." He pulled his eyes back open only to watch the sinner through the corner of one over the slope of his own shoulder.

The spaniard had been about to walk away but he paused. scripture. Those words were ones among many that he knew too well. "Now he takes me back again, and walks with me down the next path of my life," he whispered, altering the text just so. He turned to look back at Salvador, masks fallen away and leaving him utterly exposed for what he was.

What he was is what made Salvador smile again. Faint and reserved solely for Sin. A twist and curl that struggled at the corners of his mouth. "Do we even need words any longer?" A precise recitation that was fitting. Whatever anger he might have been harboring had evaporated in that small breath of time.

He exhaled the remainder of his worries away in a single breath. "Even if we don't -- let no one forget them. " All at once, Sinjin moved toward Salvador again. He couldn't help it any more. He had to touch him -- had been so many days without the scent or feel of him. When he finally reached him, he inhaled his scent deeply with a small, shuddering sigh. God.

Salvador turned to meet him, to face him. Opened his arms to the sinner so he could sink in against him and take that desperate breath. scripture was forgotten in an embrace. He closed his eyes again and tipped shared that much needed moment of recollection. A scent. A body to feel. Then he sighed out the rest of his ire. "You weren't supposed to know I was here," he murmured. It was supposed to be a secret! A surprise, maybe, if he ever decided to reveal himself.

He curled his arms around the boy fiercely, tucking his head against Salvador's neck for a moment. "How am I not supposed to know when your face is on all the papers?" He asked with a hint of humor on his tone. "I didn't want you to come. I needed.. time. To figure out what to do. Who I am without him. But.." He pulled his face away to look into the boy's eyes. "..I'm glad you're here." He missed you.

Tch. Papers. The smile melted away and was replaced with a self-deprecating frown. He turned his eyes away. Not precisely reluctant to meet Sin's gaze. Only lost to a flood of static memories still. "That was a mistake." An error on his part. He hadn't expected to get caught, to even be seen. But when he turned back his eyes, he twitched up a smirk. "I was watching you." The whole time. Waiting for the opportune moment. Was that now? Stoicism returned with that thought, that blank wonder written on his face. "I'm never far." No matter how far you run, Sin. Remember? Even in dreams. So he couldn't really say he had missed him too.

And the sinner smiled, even for his stoicism. "I know. That's why I love you." Silly boy. There was just.. one more thing he needed to reconnect his mind with Salvador. And after a moment, the back of his knuckles pressed against the boy's jaw and he leaned in to kiss him. Oh he needed this.

The smile was there again mere seconds before lips met. Salvador was still. A cold wall of flesh and blood that stood resolute to catch a kiss. What a strange pair they might make in the middle of the street, in the night. What might people say as they passed? He had never been one to care or to listen anyway. Lifting his hand to the side of Sin's face, he indulged himself in what they probably both needed very much.

Sin didn't even consider it. Image was the last thing on his mind. Instead, he cupped Salvador's jaw with a pleased sigh as he kissed him warmly. Though.. not too warmly. He could save the rest for when they got back to the apartment. Tempting himself with that potential, Sinjin pulled back with a slow smile. "Come stay with me?" Please? And then he grinned a little bit. "I'll cook you dinner. " The kid was probably starved, too.

Sinjin Fai · Date: 2009-01-03 04:00 EST

It's done. It's finished. It's so perfect I could almost kill myself and it would function perfectly without me.

Sinjin's pen hovered over the words he just wrote. He did not intend for it to sound as morbid or ominous as it seemed to come off -- but as he reread it, he knew it was true. What Sin had created was a nearly perfect machine, a mockery of Ambrose's skill in business that Sin could not compare to, but could fake quite well.

Once upon a time, the kindred society in Rhy'din had been like any other: there was a Prince, a hierarchy, an organization that functioned just as well as any other city. The difference was that Rhy'din was not like any other city. Long before Sinjin was sired, even before he arrived in Rhy'din, that organization had fallen apart into messy groups, warring sects, and chaos. Ambrose never intended to correct that chaos; he was simply a controlling factor in it, along with others. Now, Sin found himself in a similar position.

And so the night was kind to Sin in these days, his days; the smell of death and stale blood no longer followed his shadow, or clung to his heels like a bad dream. No, this was his dream now -- and he watched it pass him by like an absent puppet master.

He dropped the pen on the page of his journal, unfinished, and abandoned the book for Salvador to find like he always did. The night was still young, still whispering his name like a needy lover; Sinjin glanced over his small apartment and turned to answer its call.