Iain glanced at the two shapes in the shadows once more - apparently Raven had found something inteersting near the outfield wall.

He kept looking back and forth every few seconds: apparently things were going we- Ok, last famous words.

He couldn't quite make out the details, but it kind of seemed Raven was having some trouble...

He thought for a moment, casting another careful glance at the street (in a movie, that would be the moment security decides to show up), then decided that, if security did in fact show up right then, Raven and Dren could use some extra help unentangling themselves.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:42, Tue 14 Sept 2010.

"Next best thing to a machete." Dren pulled out a sizable folding knife with a serrated edge*, from his hip pocket and grabbed ahold of the railing, with his free hand to swing himself over to the other side. His effort was to cut Raven free, regardless of what might start grabbing him in return.

_{*http://budk.com/Knives/Cold-St...rrated-Folding-Knife}

Dren's blade cut into the vines holding Raven. By the time he got one vine cut away, another had wrapped itself around her. As he cut into the new vine, the one he had just severed would grow and grab her again. He managed to keep the vines from surrounding her more than they already had, so he was keeping the situation from getting worse, but he wasn't making any headway to get Raven free.

Taking a bastard sword on a covert mission was not really an option, but a shorter, less conspicuous sword could have been useful - or so Iain had reasoned when he had taken his wakizashi with him. Apparently he had been right.

Kneeling down, he removed the elegant short sword from its scabbard and started hacking at the vines - paying attention to only hit the green stuff.

The men hacked away at the foraging foliage around Raven's arm. The blades flashed as they slashed at the vine. Suddenly, there was a steady, forceful hissing sound that seemed to eminated from Dren. A large red stain appeared on the side of his chest, spreading quickly as if he had been stabbed in the ribs.

"Dren!" Raven exclaimed. She began tugging violently at the remaining vines, in hopes of freeing herself.

As his sensitive nose picked up the smell from Dren's shirt, Iain was suddenly relieved and worried.

Relieved because, whatever the red stuff was, it was definitely not blood.

Worried because, to a vampire's nose, it stunk to high Heavens, and, from the smell of it, there was at least an even chance that it was poisonous, or corrosive, or flammable... Or all of them together.

"Dren! Your shirt!" He took care not to raise his voice too much, but the tone was still urgent.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:43, Tue 21 Sept 2010.

Dren didn't seem to care. "Jus' get Raven." He continued to do what he was needed, if he was even aware that he was seeping red it didn't show. Only one thing was of concern and his 'bleeding' wasn't.

With both men slashing away, they managed to cut away a fair amount of the creeping covering. When Raven redoubled her efforts to wrench herself free from the weakened grip, she managed to escape the tendrils fully.

With no arm to grow around, the ivy wall filled in the hole that the blades had cut away. Then it stopped moving all together, save the gentle sway of the green leaves as the breeze blew them. If it weren't for the small pile of cut vines on the warning track at the trio's feet, it looked as if nothing was amiss at all.

With her arm finally free of the ivy, Raven grabbed her own, smaller knife. She pulled Dren's shirt away from his body and then used her knife to cut his shirt open. Raven ran her hand across Dren's chest, looking for any sign of injury.

"I'm fine, I-" Dren was about to protest when Raven pulled at Dren's shirt but the moment she started cutting he stopped talking. He just watched, being too afraid to move for a moment and the quickly realized where he was and what was going on. "It's... fine, Pigeon." Dren forced himself to breath and look for what might be hissing and having a sneaking suspicion he wasn't bleeding.

It took Iain a moment before he figured out what the smell was: solvent.

Flammable and poisonous, check and check, and also confusing, given the circumstances, but most likely not dangerous: "Uh, Raven? I think that's spray paint... Maybe something punctured the canisters?"

Raven was upset and not thinking clearly. She quickly reached out to check the red smear on Dren's shirt herself. Her bare hand closed around the fabric, and a look of surprise crossed her face. As her eyes met Dren's, she suddenly let go of his shirt. "I... I don't understand."

Dren's eyes fixed on Raven's. There was a space of 3 heart beats when Dren said nothing or even made a single move. Finally, eyes still on Raven he said, "I'm fine..." And like that the moment was gone.

Back in full action mode Dren shoved the bulk of rope against Iain, "I'm goinna grab some o'th'clips." He didn't even wait as he rolled over the side of the wall and down to the ground below. The goal was to grab a few and then come right back with Iain's help.

Raven stood there, watching Dren as he moved away. She had an almost shell-shocked expression on her face. After a moment, she retrieved her glove that she had tucked into her belt and put it back on her hand.

Dren gathered up the bits of cut ivy. They didn't move or react in any way other then bits of cut foliage.

One and only one light out of the of the multiple banks of spotlights energized. It's beam illuminated the trio by the wall. The gentle breeze kicked up a notch, nudging the ivy into motion, but not animated like it was when Raven was being encased.

The now rustling leaves brushed against each other. Low as a whisper, but clearly audible a word was formed... "Leave ... leave ... leave ..." repeated at uneven intervals. A metallic click like a bolt being thrown back sounded and a door in the wall near the right field foul line pole slowly opened as if pushed by the breeze.

A few moments later, the wail of a single police siren could be heard in the distance. It was joined by at least two others and they were getting louder. The trio quickly check themselves to make sure they didn't leave anything behind and then made a hasty exit through the contently open door. The lone spotlight extinguished as they exited the ballpark.

They ran across the street to the waiting van and started it. As they pulled from the curb, two police cars entered the block that Wrigley field is on and began to circle the park slowly with their spotlights scanning the outer walls of the stadium. Dren casually made the first right turn available and drove away.

---

Morning came to Chicago and it was as grey as it was the previous day. Another promised day of snow showers had already begun to fall upon the city, but it wouldn't last. The members of Cornerstone gathered in Bin 36, the hotel's restaurant and wine bar for a bountiful breakfast fare. They moved to the upstairs level of the restaurant so that they were away from the rest of the hotel's patrons as they shuffled in. The multiple televisions, all set to WGN, the local Chicago station, displayed the morning news.

* ... Chicago Police spokesman told WGN that although nothing appeared to be damaged, they were looking into an apparent break-in attempt of Wrigley Field last night. A side maintenance door was found unlocked and officials were going to question park staff. Speaking of sports, we now go to Pat Tomasulo. Pat, how did the Blackhawks do last night?...*

Dren found a large, out of the way table, and sat down with a huge egg white omelet, bacon, French toast, bacon, an orange juice and more bacon. He waited for the others to join him for about three second before deciding to pause in silent prayer and then start eating. If Raven showed up first her realized it would be better for him to have a full mouth than risk a conversation she might want to start. Once everyone else arrived he'd be in the clear.

Pieran was next to follow Dren, albeit after slowly cruising the buffet bar.  Hotel breakfasts were not his favorite part of ‘the job’ and after viewing the shingles they audaciously named ‘French Toast’ he made a mental note to fix his own pain perdu once he was back in Cornerstone.  So he made due with fruit, scrambled eggs, oatmeal, juice, and the do-it-yourself waffle iron.

“Morning Dren,” he said, spicelessly, as he reached the table.  He just wasn’t a morning person unless it was on his own terms.  “I’m glad to see you've come back from last night with all your working parts.  Say, did you happen to notice if there was any bac…”  He was stopped cold by the carnage of pan-fried pork fat blanketing Dren’s plate, then tried to stumble on as if nothing had happened.  “…ked fish at the buffet station?”
This message was last edited by the player at 00:45, Fri 22 Oct 2010.

Dren piled some eggs on a sugar accented slice of French toast, then shoved bacon on top via automatic pilot as he looked up at Pieran, "Baked fish? Th' only fish I'd recognize is sushi an' batter dipped'n fried." He folded the bread around his omelet bacon mash up and dipped the whole thing in a small cereal bowl he'd filled with syrup. He bit right into it and held it while he chewed away contentedly.

Pieran stared, wincing through timorous courage at Dren's breakfast Dachau.



Pausing long enough to allow the Irishman his first bites, Pieran took a seat at the table opposite Dren.  "I can't understand why that doesn't surprise me," he said with safe irony.

He settled into his own meal.  Until Moe and Larry would finally arrive, Pieran chose not to ask about the team's headline making knavery ...while for the gastronomic horror across the table, he heard, whispered, words of wisdom.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:08, Sat 23 Oct 2010.

"Good morning folks. How are you... Uh..." Iain stopped and stared at Dren's plate. "Huh."

He sat down next to Pieran and stared at Dren's breakfast: "Well, you may be onto something here... Any vamp who tries to feed on you is gonna have a heart attack at the very first drop."

Pieran was experiencing angina just thinking about it.  But having decided to let it be, he said only, and with soft deadpan, "I guess they probably shouldn't feed off Alien for similar reasons, huh?"

Raven entered the dining area and went straight for the coffee. She poured herself two cups and almost made a third. Hotel cups were never large enough for her. She grabbed a bagel and a yogurt with fruit, and then went to join the others. "Good morning everyone."

She sat down across from Dren. "Hi." Raven glanced at him, and then quickly looked away. She focused her attention on trying to open the yogurt cup, but she kept talking to Dren. "I'm sorry about last night... About you're shirt... I mean, about ruining it." Raven shook her head in frustration. She was struggling to say what she really wanted to say, as the yogurt cup continued to resist her efforts to open it. She was being the flustered and awkward Raven that would show up whenever she faced an uncomfortable social situation. Raven preferred business meetings, or cultural rituals. They both had rules she could understand. Uncharted social territory could leave her floundering like a fish out of water. But Raven had never before been that way with Dren. "I'm sorry." She finally looked into his eyes. "I didn't meant to do that." Raven returned her attention to breakfast. She gave up on the stubborn yogurt cup, setting it aside, and began to pick at the bagel.

Pieran acknowledged Raven’s arrival with his familiar salaam.  But as she took her seat he came to feel that something wasn’t right.  Thus far, out of the two Stoners other than Dren who had come to the table, 100% of them had commented on Dren’s breakfast roadkill.  Hearing none from Raven meant either that she’d seen it all before and was thus inoculated, or that she was utterly distracted by its call for comic satire.  As he heard her stuttering and futtering he came to think the latter.  But as he saw her defeat under the weighty tyranny of dairy packaging, he came to the conclusion that something was cutting her deeper than the skin.  Raven never surrendered to anything, least of all to a cup of bacterially fermented milk.

He wouldn’t press.  He would offer her some privacy.  Maybe even personal dignity.  If Raven wanted to talk she would talk.  So he didn’t ask how she was feeling, or some other awkward and ridiculously absurd question, but took instead the obstinate yogurt and discovering its secret open sesame, popped the aluminum tab coming betwixt her and Greek vanilla.  He set it toward her and shot her a sideways glance, his eyes two burning oceans saying in a hunter’s clarion stillness, “I see you; I invite you.”

He then set himself to the task of enjoying his own breakfast, if it were possible, saying softly in his breath, like a prayer open to anyone with ears to hear, “I walk alone in the labyrinth, my only memory: Baruch bashan.”