After the incident in the Inn, Tass took her back to the library because she didn't want to be alone. Once there, she went to the room she had occupied the two weks she had spent there, trying to recoup her emotions and getting her life back on some kind of track. She had spent the past few days at Artemus' cabin, focusing more on the physical side now as the time spent at the library was more spent on mental and cerebral matters.

Cain had gotten shot by Alain but Rena also felt it and when she looked at her left knee there was a faint scar on it. A groan escaped as she lightly fingered the scar then slid under the covers to try to forget what happened. That's when the dream appeared again. The first couple of times she ignored it: it was mostly blurs and jumbled images. But after tonight, it became more vivid-more real-more alive. Maybe tonight had something to do with it.

Snow fell in gentle formations across a darkly lit cobblestone street. Many people drifted by casually enjoying the night which didn?t appear too cold despite the falling flakes within the sight. No slush, nor the exhaust from any type of modern vehicle. It appeared a simpler time. A time of people and not mechanics is what was shown through the veil.

A shift in the image with an almost static flicker from a television now revealed a man. Tall and lanky but the proportions were not unhealthy for him. Dressed in a simple button up dress shirt, a pair of wool leggings, and spurred boots he laughed and smiled brightly to the men he sat with. Their table covered in a smattering of beer bottles, cards, poker, chips, and ash trays. No madness or crimson eyes; just a pair of sapphire blue pools surrounded by brown waves touching on auburn. Gone were elongated canines, only a pair of slightly yellowed teeth from the smoking and alcohol but he still maintained a decent appearance.

The vision flickered again and gone was the tavern now replaced by a theatre. Lights dimmed just a little as a spotlight illuminated a vast stage cut off by a red curtain. The crowd grew silent as that massive curtain drew apart revealing a piano placed center stage by itself.
?Ladies and Gentlemen, the Cyndar Royal Theatre proudly presents Cain Romulus?

Soft light filled the room from behind the curtain as the young man from before now strode confidently out to center stage. Gone were the dress shirt, and wool leggings. Now he wore a black tuxedo. Bow tie and cummerbund included with the coattails. Long auburn waves pulled back into a simple pony tail leaving a clean shaven boyishly handsome face open for any and all to see. An innocence clearly apparent in the smile offered to the crowd as he took a seat at the piano.

Another shift and the snow fell heavier, anything beyond the snow hard to see at all. A yell broke the howling wind and then a shriek with the change in angle to an alley. The frayed ends of a dress peek out behind a dumpster connected with feminine legs, but the true focus is farther up this alley. The young pianist stands pinned to the wall, his blood flows free, as a gaunt figure holds him in place. Its head pressed tightly to his shoulder.Gaunt features rear back letting the pianist fall to the ground as the man staggered back. A hand rose to wipe blood from those extremely thin lips before singing softly to itself in a strange discordant tone.

?One, two, buckle my shoe. Three, four, shut the door. Five, six, pick up sticks. Seven, eight, you tasted great. Nine, ten, now you?ll live again.?
Hauled up to his feet and pressed to the wall yet again, weak hands tried to fight off the vampire in futility. There was no escaping what came next.

A final change in the sights shows a dilapidated room in the prolonged stages of disrepair. Alone and shivering in a corner now huddled the pianist. Auburn waves ripped out to clearly show wild and unfocused crimson eyes. Fear filled the air around him like the stench of ages as it watched the gaunt figure from before feed, feeling the link in his mind to that monster. The connections within his mind a nightmare; Songs and mismatched lyrics. But within it the pianist felt the humanity of the one being fed on.

?Ring around the rosy, pocket full of posies, ashes, ashes, we all fall down.?

Slow laughter bubbled forth just as cold hands closed around his soiled shoulders. The pianist launched from the rooms only window and out into nothingness.


She tossed and turned, thrashing under the covers, drenched in sweat. Suddenly sitting up, she looked out the nearby window. Tass had told her nothing could reach her here but nothing was ever full proof, was it?

"Always, known in a matter of time." / "Reflect as I realize..." / "I. I stand. Not crawling. Not falling down. I. I feed. the demons that drag me down. I. I stand. Not crawling. Not falling down. I. I bleed. The demons that pull me down."

The lyrics more thoughts than vocalized words as water pusled and filled the lungs of that thin frame. Distantly it heard rain. Close to the surface. Then open water. And the singer of songs drifted to the surface.

"I'm over." / "I. I stand. Not crawling. Not falling down. I feed. The demons that pull me down." "Nothing, can. Stop the way I think."

Hands found a hold on his flesh, gentle strength pulled him to ground. The scent of posies found his nose. Crimsons flutter open, catch a glimpse of red. Hair. Strong and vibrant.

"Sir! Sir, can you hear me?!"

The frantic words a distant thunder to his weak body. Hands beat at his chest, then lips met his. Soft, tender, worried. Air filled his longues with the taste of vanilla. He murmured weakly as her pushing hands and the air expelled water from his body.

Those soft hands rolled over that thin body, patting his back to help cough up the water as it pooled around this warped being. Finally shown compassion in a world so cold.

"I stand..."

The words barley whispered, and the Savior bent over him, her ear close to his lips but ears heard not a word. Though his ears heard the blood in her veins. Strong, and steady, intoxicating. No. Then the woman turned to get something, and when she came back he was gone. Without a sound, without a trace. Simply gone.

"Thou shalt not kill..."

The children's choir voice played from his lips as spurrs jingle-jangled up the path. A touch to his flowers for strength. Their strength his. Their energy to restore enough of his to find proper food.

?I will break into a thought. / With what?s written on my heart. I will break! / BREAK!?

The night finally came, it was here, it was here. And there be a party to prepare for. Yes sir, yes sir, a party to plan. The plates set and the food placed. There?d me bore than enough for the gathering come to call. A honey roasted ham with slices of pineapple, a succulent turkey sat in it?s pan with breaded stuffing inside of it would be more than enough for any party. The knife and serving fork sat beside each. Next came a large pot of mashed potatoes with the gravy boat close by, corn on the cob sat steaming in its container. Now the peas and green bean casserole with fried onion scattered on top. More than enough for nine people he decided.

?I?m so sick / Infected with, where I live, let me live without this Empty bliss. /Something stinks / I?m so sick. I?m so sick.?

At the end of the long table sat the drinks. A collection of wine, whiskey, and spirits and of course a pot of coffee on a heater, as this would spread into the late hours of the night. This would make the group wonder indeed. If the one birth-named Alain had given them the message, that is. Such would go to waste otherwise.

?With the hand full of this / we can push, out, send out, die out./ So you?ll shut up. Shut up shut up. / Stay sleeping, with my screaming, in your itching ears. / I?m so sick / Infected with where I live / Let me live without this empty bliss. / Something stinks, I?m so sick. I?m so sick. I?m so sick.?

Finally he placed a note on each person?s plate. Alain would receive two as he?d be acting as master of ceremony for the night. How all this must grate on the man. But his will needed to be done. The second note was left upturned for all to read.

?You owe me a television.?

?Hear it! I?m screaming it! You?re heading to it now. / Hear it! I?m screaming it! You tremble at this sound. / You sink into my clothes; this invasion makes me feel worthless, hopeless, sick. / I?m so sick / Infected with where I live. Let me live without this empty bliss/ Something smells / I?m so. I?m so sick.?

Spurs sang their way to the small walking path behind the row of televisions to what had become his rest chamber with the increased security around the docks. Gloved hands glide softly over the girl sleeping there with tender care. She would remain sleeping until the party ends. The singer of songs tosses a blanket over her clothed frame and tucked her in carefully so as not to wake her. Then it was out and to the ladder leading towards the manhole beside the fountain. He?d leave the door open for the guests to come. They?d know where to go.

?I?m so sick infected with where I live, let me live without this, empty bliss. / Something stinks. I?m so, I?m so sick. I?m so, I?m so sick.?

So it was that the warped soul vanished into the night for the party to gather and celebrate.

The Jester stood over the manhole cover left slightly ajar. With a simple tug he pulled it off the opening and left it held aloft over his head as he jumped into the shaft and let it clatter oppressively down over his head. It landed slightly off-kilter, as it was before, and he touched down with minimal sound.

He looked around and listened with mild care. His eye widened and the golden-red danced excitedly as he made a turn and began his trek. Clawed hands folded behind a masked head as he went on his way, thinking what the evening may hold.

He snickered as he felt the slight bump that was the bullet nestled within the mask, and it really only brought about more questions he had no real desire to address at the moment.

The darkness did nothing to hinder him as he moved with a snicker here or there, the impending events keeping him interested enough to move at a generous speed.

When Alain went down into the sewers, Karen was alerted almost immediately. She quickly made her way to the location, and was told two others had followed him down.

"Time fer a party then..." she said, checking to be certain she had the revolver that Alain had given to her. "Ye men stay up 'ere an' out o' sight." she said to her escort. "Ye know who else tae expect... any others, stop 'em."

She headed down into the sewer and followed the others silently... Karen knew tactics and knew guirilla warfare. She knew no mage would detect her approach, and few others would hear her. Being spotted might be a problem though... there were precious few places to hide in a sewer tunnel.