"All of this would be so much easier if I were a girl with a cute smile," Johnny muttered by himself a quarter an hour later, watching Dren sneak off into the darkness. Or if the Irish had his Guiness cut off for five minutes.

He spent a slight minute frantically arranging his hair while Dren got into position, before he approached the two front guards with a nervous pace, looking around himself in distress. As he got closer, he pretended to just now notice them, and walked relieved over to them, smiling.

"Thanks God somebody's out at this time of day...night," he said, pointing at the two of them. "Johnny Harrison, Richard from Stars and Stripes, 'trust you've seen me around, the doctor who was desperately in love with the twins, yes?"

“Can I help you?” one of the boys in blue addressed Johnny, the other turned to answer the phone…right as Dren made his move for his entrance.

"If you can keep a secret," Johnny said, lowering his voice and looking around as if to make sure nobody was eavesdropping, "I suspect the reason they cancelled it was Jade got pregnant with the director. But, to be quite honest with you gentlemen, I desperately need a favor. I seem to have misplaced my cell - I could tell you where, but then I'd have to kill you - and really need to make a call to Jennifer." He displayed a slight unease, throwing a cautious look in a direction quite different from Dren's.

The guard on the phone seemingly looked directly at Dren in the shadows, but as Johnny spoke again, his interest was drawn to the young deco… doctor.

"Did I just say...? You wouldn't mind forgetting I just said Jennifer, would you?"

Dren moved like a cat, blending with shadows, and came around to make his move… until the phone rang. Pausing behind the plant that remained between he and the guard turning to pick up the phone, Dren hand’s opened in preparation to quick draw the dart gun. Already calculating the distance between he and his target, the angle he’d have to hold the weapon and the placement of his tranquilizer as well as the potential direction the second guard would move and if his odds of hitting said guard would be better standing up or sliding back across the floor.   All these factors were tabulated, indexed and organized by priority even as the guard picked up the phone, having turned to completely face the Irishman who was too proud to wear a mask…

The guard lifted the phone and turned back to listen to Johnny’s story as he placed the phone to his ear. Dren didn’t have time to proper thank the little shyster at the moment but it was now due, and Dren always paid up what he owed.

Moving quick he darted around the plant and to the front desk, dangerously close the guards but noiselessly. From there he slipped between the front desk and the metal detector and made his way to the stairwell.

Johnny tapped his fingers against his watch, eyeing the guard on the phone with interest. "Cute Nokia. I used to have one of those - true, two years ago, excellent for making calls, just lacked the wow-factor of my recent purchase."

"Look Buddy, do you have a problem? Need ta file a complant? I can't just be shootin the breeze all night." said the officer on watch.

The other desk Sergeant finished his phone call and hung up. "Have you been drinking tonight?" he asked. His face was stone, his tone slightly annoyed.

"Complaints, no, drinks, no more than I can count on one hand. Alcohol makes me all slippery-tongued, so it's all cigarettes for me." As if reminded by his own train of thought, Johnny went on: "I could really need a cigarette, when you mention it, but what I really need is to make a phone call - take pity on a double-booking idiot, would you...?" He resumed to detail exactly how bad a mess he had gotten himself into in the most interesting manner he could.

Dren scanned the halls with a small hand mirror before moving out and quickly darting under a security camera. He finally saw the door he needed but realize he was going to have to take a long way around to avoid direct line of sight. As he inched his way he hoped Johnny was providing a decent distraction and finally made his move to the door he needed. Pressing himself again it he opened his picklock set and began to work away at the doorknob with his eye close going on feel for the tumblers. Ears remained open and notified him that an elevator was approaching the hall a few feet away… that gave him a hole 40 seconds.

click the tumblers aligned with just a barely audible sound.

Ding! the elevator announced its arrival to the floor. “…saw that new movie Open Water last weekend. That’s just gotta suck, knowing your miles from anything and the sharks are eyeing you for dinner. Two uniformed officers stepped out of the elevator and turned left. Each had a Styrofoam cup of coffee and a bag of Krispy Kremes.

“I heard that it’s a true story and it happens all the time! So glad I am in a state that don’t have any creatures that can just eat a man…” Their voices and footsteps faded as they went down the hall to the break room.

Dren pulled back on the door as he pressed it closed with the shoulder. The constant reversal of force gave him the utmost control and as he door gently pressed against the frame he shifted his body weight into it before slowly releasing the knob putting the door back into place. Gently he locked it again, and sat by the floor, quiet and unmoving waiting for the coast to clear… this was the vital part of the mission. Hours of video footage, drive by casings, requesting a divorce record that didn’t exist under a fake name just to get inside… it had all come down to this.

Dren stayed low as he moved through a labyrinth of filing cabinets. Using a small glow stick that required him to almost press it against the draws as he scanned for the one he needed he started to skip whole sections knowing time was of the essence.

I should have a lash for this… wonder if I can get a few with some lowlight goggles. This would go by much faster if I had some lowlight goggles.

Dren refocused his concentration as he found the virtual treasure chest… placing the tiny glowing stick in his teeth he got out his lock picks and went to work on the finest lock that city government funds could provide – this was going to be easier than he thought.

Dren snuck back up the stairs to the main floor. He waited just a second to insure the coast was clear. Two detectives were heading out of the building. Dren then made a quick dash for the door as the two exchanged pleasantries with the desk sergeants.  As Dren slipped behind the group, he gave Johnny the high sign and into the darkened shadows he went.

Johnny also used the detective’s distraction and quietly walked away, back toward the car. As he rounded the corner, Dren appeared from the bushes. He quickly got into the car and the two drove away.

It was a quiet ride back to the manor. Dren was a like a Zen master, in deep reflection as to what he had just done. The file he had acquired was in the back seat. Dren was itching to read it, but there was that matter of discretion, not to mention that it was rather dark. The contents could wait until a more private time, back at the safety of the manor, preferably locked up in his room.

Johnny parked the car in the garage. As they went to exit the vehicle Dren reached for the file. They got of the car, but as Dren shut the door, the contents of the file spilled out onto the floor of the lighted garage. Johnny could clearly see the name on the papers: Pelayo, Marco.

Dren dropped to the ground using his hand to cover as much of any identifications as he could, trying to slide the papers on top of one another he tried to scoop them into the folder hoping Johnny wouldn’t read anything too incriminating, ”Dinna worry, I got it.” he said as he pawed the pages together.

"Name seems vaguely familiar," Johnny commented. "Think I threatened to kill him, once. Bound to be something juicy on him, what with all the paper and all." He carefully kept the what in the world is this maniac up to now-thoughts away from his tongue.

Sitting comfortably on the couch, a nice girl on his side... Yeah, life was good.

"Penny for your thoughts." Alex didn't lift her head from Iain's shoulder: she just glanced up sideways to him.

"I'm thinking... I love your accent." His arm around her shoulders, Iain let his hand caress her upper arm.

"Really..." She smiled.

"Mh-hm. It's terribly sexy."

She raised her head, still smiling: "Is it..."

He smiled back: "It's like a siren's song. Can't resist it."

Her smile widened: "Then don't..."

They began kissing passionately. Iain's kiss continued down her cheek, on her neck...

GROWL

Alex's eyes widened as the bite of the vampire drew the life from her... Up until the last drop.

The vampire lifted his head, his fangs shining with the blood of the woman now lying lifeless in his arms, and he smiled.

---

Iain sat up on his bed, panting heavily.

"What the..." It had been several months since the last nightmare, he'd thought they'd disappeared completely. Apparently not.

"Trouble sleeping, brother?" The vampire priest was sitting on Iain's chair.

"You are dead." He stated matter-of-factly.

"Aren't we all?" He smiled.

"And that is my chair. And this is a dream. Just a nightmare inside the nightmare."

"Oh, no, brother, this isn't the nightmare... Your life is. How can you be so blind? You have been blessed with immortality, with freedom, with a chance to do everything you want. And you waste it with these... Sheep."

"They happen to be my friends."

The priest chuckled darkly: "Oh, yes, especially the Irish one."

Doing his best to ignore the ghost of the undead, Iain just replied: "Go to Hell."

"Been there, done that... Nice place, really. A little hot, but then again, so is California..."

"Are we done yet?"

The priest's smile became an evil grin: "We are just getting started, brother."

---

Silence.

Too much silence...

Something was missing.

Nobody's breathing. I'm not breathing.

For the past six years, breathing had somehow remained part of Iain's reflexes. Though he couldn't tell for sure if he still used to breathe when he was asleep, when he was awake he unconsciously kept the air flowing in and out of his lungs even though it didn't serve any real purpose anymore.

Lying in bed at night he used to listen to the sound of his own breath - for lack of a beating heart - until he fell asleep.

That sound wasn't there anymore.

"We are just getting started, brother."

He jumped down the bed, turned the light on and looked around for the owner of that voice.

The room was empty.

Tracking down personal information on the internet was by no means Johnny's forte. He went through the obvious google-searches and made a few attempts at browsing the most common free mail-services, but being equipped with not much but a name made things hard. At least he isn't named John Smith, he told himself, tapping in yet another URL into his Firefox.

”Grrrrreat, he’s a bloody Saint compared t'me.” Dren expressed while dropping the not so heavy file down on the desk by his propped up feet and started to rub his nose. His eyes ached from reading and his lunged itched from ‘hunger’. Taking out his pack he lit up and took a long drag and then spoke through smoke enveloped breaths ”Only 'as three parkin' tickets tha 'e’s paid fer an' one ticket-“ Dren coughed a bit to clear his lungs. Then opted to finish talking first ”Sorry. 'e got a speedin' ticket but t'was dismissed.” he leaned back and shrugged lifting the clove to his lips but not ready to jump back in ”Other than a trespassin' charge tha' was dropped in’04, 'e’s lived a dull life compare't'jus' tha' one weekend alone tha' landed me in a Jamaican Jail Cell.” finally finished Dren took a not so long drag and simply waited for that relaxing feeling to over take him.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:40, Mon 23 Jan 2006.

"Sounds a lot like my results," Johnny agreed, nodding in agreement. "But there's this one detail that I'm only telling you because I know you won't use it for any unfair personal leverage because you're not that kind of guy." Stern glance to underline the point. "He's sending a rather substantial monthly amount to some or other singleparent. I think I can add two and two, but the four sounds out of character."
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:02, Sun 22 Jan 2006.

”D’ya ‘ave an address?” Dren covered an area of the file with his hand to prevent Johnny from peaking and simply said ”If it dinna match th’one I’m coverin’, then I won’t say ‘nother word ‘bout it.”

"How about I say two nine oh seven two? Do-" He paused to cough rather violently. "Seriously, I've been in here for half a minute and this air's killing me already. Learned to smoke like a dragon in Jamaica too?"

Dren glared as he put out the most recent cigarette only two thirds down ”Dinna y’start either. I was shootin’ vampires an’ putin’ out magical candles wit’ m’bare ‘ands jus’ a few days ago. I dinna need a lecture about th’risks o’anything I choose t’do t’take th’edge off.”

"Candles. Painful reminder. But, on the other hand," Johnny said, lifting his hand partly in artistic suspense but mostly to wave the smoke out of his face, "if you're going to keep your lightning reflexes blitzy and sharing rooms with people whose lungs aren't quite black yet, you might consider cutting back, or, gasp, smoke filters. I'm not talking about premature death, I'm talking about premature old age and a voice which could saw wood." Johnny shrugged. "God, how three years of med-related studies makes you a mom."

_{Wednesday November 24, 2004}

Nearly a month had passed since the encounter at the Arch. The members of Cornerstone passed the time working on personal pursuits or took the occasional stroll through the various cemeteries on general Vampire patrol. Things had settled into a kind of routine.

November began with the bright colors of autumn, but soon they all turned to varying shades of brown. Morning frost would greet the day on the rolling grounds and twice there was a nice thin crust of snow. The ground became hard and crusty as it was heading into its frozen state for the upcoming winter. The Swan pond would twinkle in the morning as the rays of the sun danced off the crystalline crust of ice that formed in its shallow banks.

Pieran’s health continued to wane. He moved about the house less and less. If it were not for his heartbeat and ragged breathing, he would appear to be more a zombie then human.

_{Wednesday November 24, 2004}

It was just after sunrise when Raven quietly entered Pieran’s room. She sat on a chair next to his bed and watched as he slept. Normally she didn’t like to wake him, but today was different.

His nose twitched slightly, registering an aroma that disturbed his unconscious sleep.  “Golanv; lekadem!”  His lids fluttered open as he awoke with a painful start.  “Raven –what’s happening?  Where am I?” He fought to come awake.  His eyes, shot with blood, focused blearily upon her face, soft with the early morning glow.  He absently drew his bed covers higher on himself while struggling to sit upright for his guest.  “I’m sorry.  I was dreaming.  What can I do for you?”

“I have something for you.” Raven smiled as she produced a finely crafted smoking pipe. It was made of ivory and carved in the shape of a dragon.

‘Okay, this is different,’ he thought.  ‘She woke me up to give me a pipe.  A damned beautiful pipe.  But a pipe nonetheless.’

He took it in hand, inspecting its bas relief with evident appreciation.  “Raven, this is lovely but...well, there’s bad news: because of my poor health my doctor has made me swear off smoking.  At least before breakfast.”  He looked at her quizzically.  “I don’t understand...”

“I’ve been studying those books we got from Priestess Ninti. The Solerites knew how to infuse items with various enchantments, including healing enchantments. I’m nowhere near Ninti’s level but, I think I’ve come up with something to counter most of the effects of the poison. It’s not a cure. A cure would require me to remove a curse and… I haven’t figured out how to do that - yet.”

“If you begin and end each day with a smoke of this pipe, the paralysis, the weakness, and any other symptoms you have should diminish to a negligible level in a short time.”

Pieran considered that for a moment.  Counter most of the effects.  Paralysis/weakness should diminish to a negligible level.  Not a cure.  Symptom control.  Pain management.  Palliative care.  In other words, hospice.  He was slow to show delight, even with relief at hand.  He once smoked for pleasure.  Now he would smoke for pain.  What would the Surgeon General think?  It sure put a new torque on the whole dependency habit thing.

He wasn’t ungracious.  It was only that he was frustrated.  After all, Raven was doing her level best.  He knew that.  He too had been doing research; during his convalescence he’d had little else to do and in that time he could only find one theme echoing like old thunder through the books, scrolls, and tablets: No one survived Erinyes poison.

Then again, said the optimist, maybe no one before him had been given enough time.  No victims before him had Raven on their side.  A smile began crawling to his lips.  She was not only his angel of the morning –his own messenger, but she was also his shield maiden and more than that, a newfound sword.  Oh brave new world that had such people in it!

He couldn’t resist the urge to tease her.  “I’m not so sure about this,” he said.  “You would pluck out the heart of my misery, to re-write Hamlet.  After all, I have a good thing going.  This morning I awoke to a beautiful woman sitting beside my bed.  That’s never happened before.  Another beautiful woman, Alexis, visits me with tea and snacks.  Johnny putters around my care.  Dren has made me breakfast.  A vampire cuts loose to have interviews with me.  How Anne Rice is that?  I’ve even had a famous musician show me the magic that will make my flute give Mozart pride...provided I knew how to play it.  You would take all that away from me?

“Still, you did go to all this trouble,” he added, eyeing the long-tailed, draconic meerschaum.  “It would be unmannerly of me to refuse such an elegant and thoughtful gift.  Will any kinnikinnick do for smokes or do you have some special, wacky tobaccy in mind?” he added with a boyish wink.

“Technically yes, you can use anything you want. I think your doctor would recommend something herbal and low in carcinogens and addictive substances. As for the wacky tobaccy, probably best to save that for when you’ve stocked up on munchie food and have no plans to operate heavy machinery.” She smiled at him.

_{Thursday November 25, 2004}


Faintly, the sound of copper pots clanking together could be heard emanating from the kitchen. The sizzle of sausage mixed with sage and onion wafted out and snaked its way up the Grand Staircase. Someone was up early and cooking.

Alex was also up early; it seemed lately that she had been avoiding sleep with even more fervour than usual, rising earlier and going to bed even later than before - if she even reached her bedroom.  It wasn't at all unusual to find her dozing in one of the mansion's many rooms come daybreak for the past few weeks.  Her whole temperament seemed somewhat subdued of late as well; she was slow to smile, her temper seemed to have packed its bags and gone on an extended holiday and there was a general air of disinterest about her, as though her mind was constantly occupied with something else.

Despite all of this, it was obvious that she was training harder than ever, frequently spending time working out in the gym, on the grounds and presumably in town as well, considering how exhausted she appeared when returning some evenings.  It was also obvious she was taking care to eat well and generally do everything one should to care of one's body and keep it in prime condition - except maybe the whole sleeping thing.  In an endeavour to put it all to a practical application, she joined as many patrols as she could, constantly trying to improve and stay sharp.

Last night was one of the rare occasions Alex had actually managed to force herself into her bed, albeit reluctantly.  She had awoken before the sun had risen to find several broken objects spread about the floor and felt as though she hadn't slept at all, a half-remembered nightmare lurking in the corner of her mind.  Seeing little point in going back to bed and repeating the experience, she had showered and dressed herself in blue jeans and a plain, fitted white shirt.  She was hungry, and upon catching the smell of cooking sausages, decided to wander down to the kitchen to see what was available, sweeping her hair back into a loose chignon as she descended the stairs.

Stepping into the kitchen, she murmured a quiet and half-hearted, "Good morning." before opening the refridgerator to find herself some fruit juice.

The kitchen was not exactly like Alex had last seen it. Several pots of the copper cookware set were missing from their usually neatly arranged hanging hooks and were now lined up on the center island counter, along with a couple of cookie sheets, the roasting pan, and a couple of baking dishes. The spice rack, normally alphabetical, had several holes in its display. The missing spice bottles now lined up behind to the pots, in alphabetical order. Beside each spice were little ceramic bowls, each with a measured portion of that spice, ready for use. On the wooden cookbook rack, a book of recipes stood proudly, like a musical score set for the conductor. A small stack of additional cookbooks lay beside the rack, waiting their turn in the holder. The coffee pot was making that gurgling sound that signified it was almost done brewing.

Iona was standing by the stove, poking and stirring the meat with a wooden spoon.  She was nicely dressed in a yellow cotton top and designer jeans that were feminine, but not flashy. She wore a white apron with a cornucopia pattern on it. A matching bandana was tied about her forehead to keep the hair out of her eyes and the food as she worked. She held the skillet handle with a pot holder that was fashioned to look like a turkey.

“Oh, Hi Alex,” she said with a bright, cheery smile. “I hope I didn’t wake you. I wanted to get an earlier start this year. There will be a few more for dinner then I normally get the chance to cook for this time. I have always wanted to do the whole Norman Rockwell, scene and now I get my chance.” She absently hummed a tune as she stirred.

As she pulled her head out of the refridgerator, a carton of orange juice in one hand, a blank expression hovered on Alex's features; it was quite clear she had no idea what Iona was talking talking about.

"Huh?"

Iona checked the temperature setting on the double oven set. “Oh c’mon. You know what day it is. It’s the day we get to put aside all those diet plans and feast.” She said with a devilish wink. Noting that Alex’s expression did not seem to change, Iona went on.

“Not had your coffee yet I see. Successful survival of a harsh winter, followed by a bountiful first crop. A celebration for our forefathers?” she hinted. “Its Thanksgiving silly! Marking the first year out from under the tyranny of British oppress… Oh!!” Iona suddenly covered her mouth as she realized what she was saying, and to whom she was saying it to. Her face went red with heat as she was suddenly flustered.

“Oh, oh, I didn’t mean … That is not to say that You are… I am so sorry, I … I forgot.” With a slightly mortified look on her face, she awaited Alex’s response.

Normally, Iona's flustered state would have given Alex some cause for amusement; a grin, maybe even a light-hearted laugh, especially as there was no real way she could take offence at what had been said.  Today, however, it didn't get much of a reaction at all, except a tiny shrug.

"Oh.  Right.  Thanksgiving."

That matter sorted out, Alex returned to the business of finding herself some breakfast, doing her best to avoid getting in Iona's way.  About to open a cupboard, she stopped, turned and looked at Iona again.

"Will this involve Dren and Iain at the same table?  Because that didn't go so well last time..."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:00, Tue 31 Jan 2006.

Lured by the scent of fresh-brewed coffee, Raven entered the kitchen. “Wow, Iona. You’ve really outdone yourself this time. It’s been so long since I’ve had a family-style Thanksgiving celebration that I hadn’t even taken note that the holiday was coming up.” Raven surveyed the array of food and cooking supplies. “Is there anything I can do to help?”