Cimetiére de Montmartre [3]

[Raoul de Chagny]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v109/panfan/cemetery.jpg

Cimetiére de Montmartre

Located west of the Butte, near the beginning of Rue Caulaincourt, the Cimetiére de Montmartre is built below sea level, situated in the hollow of an old quarry that allows a peaceful, almost eerie silence to descend upon the delapidated old gravestones. The cemetery is the archetype of the transcendent, beautific, ethereal, almost otherwordly side of Paris that every romantic tourist wishes to visit.

Amidst the still tombs you can find the immortals of France, both famous and infamous alike. You might wander across the mausoleum of Léo Delibes, Carole Fredericks, Francis Picabia, La Goulue, Jean-Baptiste Greuze, Heinrich Heine, or Vaslav Nijinsky. Just watch your step late at night...disturbing the spirits after sunset could lead to an unpleasant or even fatal encounter

1. No spamming and follow proper RPG rules.
2. For the time being you may be in more than one thread at a time.
3. When this thread reaches 200 a moderator will start the new thread.
4. Have fun and enjoy!

Last post:
Easy "Cat"" Tanner

The approaching footfalls had not gone unnoticed by Easy, and he knew that this could be very nearly anyone. Yet, he had been fortunate here at the cemetery, with only positive encounters to his memory though he had not seen some of them ever after. But, this place was special because it had meant something of tremendous importance to him and, he hoped, to Lilith Eytinge. There was a moment of mourning for their separation. How had living together forced them so far apart? Banishing further thoughts, he looked without seeming to, his body tensing automatically because the newcomer was male, his heartbeat shifting into high gear. Thankfully, this song was at its end.

As the final note faded, he heard, "That was played very well."

With the violin still in position, Easy looked up at the man, studying him for a moment, a sweet smile blossoming as he said, "Thanks. Us struggling musicians need all the encouragement we can get." He heard the "jokiness" in his comment but could not help it, as he had not yet achieved the confidence that others seemed blessed with. "I play here 'cause usually there's nobody to complain." The smile faded then as he realized why the man must be here. "Don't mind me, mister. I always talk before I think. You~um~you gotta be visiting somebody 'cause you don't look like a tourist~the ones lookin' for all the famous graves." The tawny eyes squinted as he continued sizing up the man. "Did I sound like a real violinist?" he wondered.

[Master of the Night]

William Blanchard

"Thanks. Us struggling musicians need all the encouragement we can get."

A small smile graced William's lips as he remembered his own beginnings in piano playing, not that he had ever really pursued a career but he could easily understand how hard things could be. Though he also noted the joking tone, and he could tell that someone that played as well as this young man had no need of encouragement.

"I play here 'cause usually there's nobody to complain."

"Hahah! That I can definitely understand, though I don't think that anyone would complain even if they could hear you."

Will could imagine his mother and father dancing the to the violinist's music were they alive, a careful slow dance in hold. His father had always been that way with his mother, careful as though he thought he might break her. William had always wondered why that was, his mother seemed to be a very strong woman, hardly the kind of person that you would think of as fragile.

"Did I sound like a real violinist?"

He thought about this for just a moment, trying to remember every violinist he had ever heard. This man was good, not incredible but definitely good and seemed to absolutely have a future. "You aren't quite a pro yet, but I can definitely see a future, lots and lots of potential."

[tiannangel]

Mark Blaze

She gave him grin before she walked off in the other direction.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” she chirped, her small smile still on her face. She continued to stroll down the beaten path, stopping once in a while to glance at the graves. He kept his gaze on her as he stayed in his originally position. Stopping once more, she examined one tombstone that looked like it had been there for years.

“You know, I’ve always loved the cemetery. It always gave me this feeling of peace whenever I’m here…” her voice faded away as she kept her blank gaze on the old headstone. Mark tilled his head slightly, he had also loved the cemetery too, especially since it was the only place he could find peace when he was younger. Snapping out of her daze, she shook her head and turned towards him. He was still in the same placed, not moving an inch and keeping his eyes on her. She smiled at him but this time is was slightly evil. Mark’s eyes darkened. What was she thinking to make her smile like that?

You don't trust me, do you? Not that I can blame you much for that though, I barely trust myself sometimes, as it is." she stated as she moved her gaze back to the headstone in front of her. Of course he didn’t trust her, they did just meet and he never trusted someone easily as he used to when he was young. He trusted people completely when he was younger only to be left only with mental and sometimes physical wounds.

“If you’re looking for a truthful question then no I don’t trust you. I’ve learned by past mistakes not to trust people so easily.” He gave his own dark smirk, one that would send chills down the spines of the bravest men. He took a few silently steps towards her until he was behind her. He down at her with a dark gaze, his grim smirk still on his face.

“If there is anyone you shouldn’t trust,” he bended down until his mouth was near her ear, “It’s me.” He whispered lowly, straightening to his original height

OOC: Sorry...Working my butt off on school work, but I thought I jsut had to update my RPs...I've been neglecting them so sorry! BIC:

Vaylin Klythe


Vaylin studied the gravestone in front of her with intensity, but peaking at Mark out of the corner of her eyes. She watched as he slowly walked up towards her. She turned her head slightly at him, tipping it towards one side as he towered above her.“If you’re looking for a truthful question then no I don’t trust you. I’ve learned by past mistakes not to trust people so easily.” He gave her a dark smirk, which clearly was designed to scare the toughest men. He took another few steps towards her, the grin still in place.

Now Vaylin was starting to wonder if this was a good idea. Talking to a man at 5 am in the morning in a cemetery? What gave you the impression of a "good idea"? Her brain screamed at herself. She forced her face not to betray her fear, but unconsciously, her body tensed up. She took note of this and forced herself to calm down. No good showing him that she was a tad intimidated by him.

“If there is anyone you shouldn’t trust,” he bended down until his mouth was near her ear, “It’s me.” He whispered darkly. He straightened up slowly back to his original height, looking at her face. Vaylin gazed at him impassively, before giving a shrug, appearing to brush the remark off. "I see." She stated, and turned around again.

She continued down the track, half glancing at him along the way.
"Well?" She asked, pausing. "Aren't you coming?" She gestured towards the furtherest part of the cemetery, where a massive mausoleum stood. She turned around fully, and crossed her arms and crocked an eyebrow in his direction. She had doubts he would actually follow her, and even bigger doubts on her own sanity. After all, no one really asks a stranger to accompany them through a stroll around the graveyard. Still, she felt like company this morning, and there wasn't anyone else in sight.

[Black Mask]

Mark Blaze


His smirk disappeared as he noticed that the muscles in her body were tense as a bow string, but he did not care, it just meant he was getting to her. Her body slowly relaxed as she made herself relax to mask her uneasiness but it was already too late for that because he already knew. She coolly looked at him as if he was just any other person. Mark knew that nothing about him was no where near ‘normal’. From his height to the way he looked was unbelievable until you saw him. He remembered when a teenager was dared by his friends to touch the ‘monster’ that was in the rafters. He ended up having to be dragged by his friends to the hospital that day. The thought made his smirk return.

"I see." she said as she turned and head down the path in a leisure manner. He kept in his place, thinking that their little ‘meeting’ was over and that she wanted him to leave her alone. His dark grin turned into a scowl as he headed the other way.

‘Of course this little interaction was going to be short lived. What did you expect? You were meant to be alone for the rest of your life.’ he thought grimly. He suddenly stopped at the sound of the other’s voice. He quickly turned on his heel to see Vaylin facing him with her slender arms crossed in front of her and one of her eyebrows lifted in question.

"Well? Aren't you coming?" she asked with a movement of her hand towards the path. He was surprised, but did not show it, that she wanted to continue to be in his presence. Usually, the other person would have been long gone or fainted by now. He kept his blank gray green gaze on her for a moment, thinking what he should do. Well, it wouldn’t hurt if he just walked with her and he has been a while since he had talked to anyone. Maybe it was for the best and if it wasn’t, he knew he could only blame himself.

“Of course.” he answered with a slight nod. It only took a few long strides to reach her side.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

"I play here 'cause usually there's nobody to complain," Easy had offered the newcomer, as he was never certain how picky a listener was. What sounded good to him might be torture to a real music-lover, for which Easy still was uncertain he qualified.

"Hahah! That I can definitely understand, though I don't think that anyone would complain even if they could hear you." The youth returned the laugh, giving a half-shrug along with his rueful grin to show, he hoped, that he knew he had room for improvement.

"Thanks. I mean, you never know, do you? Friends are gonna tell you you sound good, but your teachers usually tell you you have a long way to go or you're lazy or~well~maybe it's must me they say that to." He hoped that wasn't so. And, perhaps he was exaggerating his instructors' harshness because it actually frightened him that criticism was becoming rarer as his skills grew. But, that growth was proving unnerving, as it erased his excuse not to be a part of the world of the Opera House. What if he eventually did belong?

"Did I sound like a real violinist?" He wasn't exactly pushing for a compliment, only reassurance, perhaps because he suspected this man would treat him kindly.

After some thought, which impressed Easy because it wasn't a rush to judgment, the man said, "You aren't quite a pro yet, but I can definitely see a future, lots and lots of potential."

The grin blossomed into an open smile as he visibly relaxed. "Thanks, Mister. I~I sometimes think about givin' it up 'cause I figure..." He shrugged again. "You have to believe in yourself, and..." He sighed, the smile taking on a wistful quality. "I wonder if you get a late start can you do anything with it? Everybody I talk to~everybody at the Opera House, I mean~tells me how they studied a really long time, since they were kids~little kids. What happens when you start late~like me? I mean, I'm sure no~What do they call them?~um~prodigy." Suddenly, he was embarrassed for being so open with this man who must be here for a very serious reason. "I'm sorry. You were~were v-visiting, and here I am goin' on about me me me. You~um~have somebody here?" He held up a halting hand. "No. Forget that. You don't have to tell me. It's none of my business. I~I hope you don't think I'm doin' a bad thing, bein' here." He motioned to his surroundings. "I don't mean to be disrespectful." With difficulty, he forced himself to stop talking.

[tiannangel]

Vaylin Klythe

Vaylin watched as Mark gazed at her with his eyes. He seemed to consider her request for the longest time, before giving a small nod. “Of course.” He stated in a quiet tone, and strode towards her. She hid her pleased smile, knowing he wouldn't want to see her so smug. She had no doubt that he would probably think she was manipulating him or something, and would leave her then.

Vaylin waited for him to stand beside her, before turning and heading towards the large mausoleum. She walked up the steps, and paused on the last one. She silently gazed up at the name upon the archway, before giving a sigh. She placed herself down heavily on the top step, and dusted her hands.

"Raphel's the third person I've known who has died." She stated softly, sparing the tall brooding man a glance. "I remember my first funeral," She said quietly. "It was my great aunt. I was 6, and I had only met her twice in my life. I was small then, I didn't understand why the were putting the lady into a box. Of course, now I know better." She gave a small laugh.

"You?" She asked him, putting her hands down on the cold cement and leaning backwards so her weight was on her arms. "How many have you known?"

[Black Mask]

Mark Blaze


She seemed pleased with his choice, but he did not care. He was only doing this for his advantage, to get rid of this urge for some kind of human contact that plagued him. He was angry with himself when he felt that need, thinking it was being weak when he gave into it. He hated the feeling because he knew he would give in and go somewhere that he would not feel comfortable. She waited as he walked over to her and she started to walk towards the mausoleum she had mention earlier. He had to keep his usually large strides small so he would walk ahead of Vaylin. Once they reached the crypt, he stopped at the foot of the steps as she walked up to the last one. She sighed quietly when she looked up at the archway that had the occupant of the mausoleum name. She took a seat on the top step, wiping off her hands afterwards. She glanced at him.

"Raphel's the third person I've known who has died. I remember my first funeral, It was my great aunt. I was 6, and I had only met her twice in my life. I was small then, I didn't understand why the were putting the lady into a box. Of course, now I know better." she explained, a quiet laugh at the end. Mark saw nothing funny about her statement. Death was a part of life and there was nothing to stop it. People do not know how fragile life is until it’s too late. Many fear death, but he embraced it, making it part of his life. Maybe that was why people were afraid or hated him. Did he remind them of what’s to come or was it that he looked like Death himself if he had flesh? The young woman’s voice broke him from his thoughts.

"You? How many have you known?" she questioned. He stayed in his position at the foot of the steps, looking at her with empty gaze.

“Two, my mother and father. Though,” a dark smirk played on his lips, “I’ve been to many funerals, all of them of people I didn’t even know, but I had a job to do.” he stated with a monotone voice. When he had found out that his parents had died, he immediately went back to his home town. It was all the same, people still hated him and they had taught there children to be afraid of him. He was the one who buried them, he even made their coffins, and of course, no one came just because of him, which made hate himself even more.

[tiannangel]

Vaylin Klythe

He made no move to make himself comfortable, so Vaylin just brushed off the observation. He studied her with empty eyes, before answering, “Two, my mother and father." Vaylin nodded, feeling a prang of pity go through her. Both her parents were thankfully alive, but she had always felt sorry for people whose parents have died because of some accident. Though,” He paused, a dark smirk appearing on his lips, “I’ve been to many funerals, all of them of people I didn’t even know, but I had a job to do.” He stated in a monotone voice.

That piqued her interest. "A job?" She asked. "What sort? Honestly though," she stated, giving him another glance over, "I can't say I can see you in a pair of white robes standing at the front giving sermons." She shrugged, letting him know that she wasn't being entirely serious.

"I guess..." She trailed off, looking at him in the eye. "It would be something to do with burying the people?" She inquired, hoping she didn't sound too rude. She had always wanted to know what it felt like to see so many deaths. Whether it be people who you know, or don't, it would be still a rather awful sight.

[Black Mask]

Mark Blaze

"A job? What sort?” her curiosity seemed have to be provoked, Honestly though, I can't say I can see you in a pair of white robes standing at the front giving sermons." she said, studying him with a glance. Of course, he had once again been the object of someone’s curiosity. That did not surprise him though, it was not everyday you see a seven foot giant in black, but it did not mean he liked it. He was merely used to it.

"I guess... It would be something to do with burying the people?" she asked, meeting his soulless stare. His dark grin grew slightly, morbid thoughts of past times racing through out his head.

“Correct, I used to be a undertaker at a cemetery in a town in Nevada.” he stated quietly, keeping her gaze. He didn’t understand why most people didn’t like cemeteries or anything that related to death. For him, death was something to look forward to, of course if it came for someone else. Not that he was afraid of death, he would welcome it with open arms, but it was much more enjoyable when it happened to someone else, especially if it was painful. It was official, after many years of being tortured and shunned, he had become a sick manic with a twisted mind.

‘Oh well.’ he thought, returning his thoughts to the topic at hand. No more than a few steps away, was a small stone angel, which looked like it had been there for at least twenty years. It had one of it’s small hands held out as if to reach out for help. He walked next to it and without really thinking, started to gently trace the facial features of it with the tips of his leather clad fingers.

“I knew you would not think of me as a preacher, no one never did or will. If you did think that though, you would be either blind or stupid.” his fingers went down the angel’s neck and slowly towards it’s outstretched arm, “I could never be a good person or a normal one for that matter.” as his fingers got closer to the angel’s hand, the darker his voice became, “I will always be doomed to being something from people’s nightmares, a creature of the night.” Once his fingers reached the statue’s hand, he grabbed it, the small hand disappearing in his fist. Without even trying, a loud crack echoed throughout the graveyard as Mark broke off the angel’s hand off.

“To always be a monster!” he finished with a animalistic growl, effortlessly crushing the hand in his grip.

[tiannangel]

Vaylin Klythe

“Correct, I used to be a undertaker at a cemetery in a town in Nevada.” he stated quietly, keeping her gaze. Vaylin blinked, but didn’t look away. “Nevada, I see. Quite a long way away…” She stated. She watched as he walked slowly up to a stone angel standing on the side of the gravel path. Vaylin shuddered and glanced away. Even after she had turned twenty, she had always hated the stone statues. Lifeless, yes, but they held some sort of animosity for her, even now. He traced it’s facial features gently with the tips of his fingers. He then went on without turning around.

“I knew you would not think of me as a preacher, no one never did or will. If you did think that though, you would be either blind or stupid.” Vaylin gave a small quirk at this. But she continued to watch in silence as his hands made their way down the neck of the statue, and traced down the outstretched arm. “I could never be a good person or a normal one for that matter.” His voice became darker as his fingers inched towards the angel’s hand. “I will always be doomed to being something from people’s nightmares, a creature of the night.” He finally reached the hands of the angel, and he suddenly grasped it with his own. A crack filled the air, making Vaylin jump. Mark turned towards her with a growl. “To always be a monster!” With little effort, he crushed the stone hand within his grip.

Vaylin stared at the crumble of rocks in his hand, and then looked at the angel statue. What do you say to a statement like that? Vaylin wondered. Clearly he had gone through something horrible in his childhood. Nothing else can make a person become so full of hate for not only most things that are alive, but even himself. She hesitated, before stating with a small voice, “Only ones who thinks they themselves are monster are the ones that are truly monsters.” She said, still looking at the statue with the missing hand. “If you think that crushing that hand is going to enforce that statement,” She said, now gazing directly at him, “Then congratulations, you’ve succeeded.” She said quietly. She levered herself off the stairs, and cast him a quizzical glance.

"But now, I'm just plain confused." She stated with a small frown. "Do you want people to keep on thinking you are a monster? Or do you want them to see you as a normal person?" She asked. "Because if the first, I commend you, you're doing a terrific job of convincing them yourself without any help. But if the second..." She trailed off, and stepped down th steps slowly. "The buddy, I think you need to rethink you attitude towards life and everything in general. It is rather off-putting talking to a person so hell bent on degrading himself, even to the level of a monster." She stated, reaching the bottom of the stairs.

[Black Mask]

Mark Blaze


From the corner of his eye, Mark saw the young woman jump slightly from the sound of the stone hand being snapped off. She sat quietly after he easily crushed the stone into dust, watching the remains fall to the ground. He wondered if she was going to treat him like the rest. If this encounter was like the others, which Mark was sure of, it would end with him being alone once more and a other person to add to his list of people to keep well away from. He stood silent near the stone angel until she began to talk in a quiet voice.

“Only ones who thinks they themselves are monster are the ones that are truly monsters. If you think that crushing that hand is going to enforce that statement,” her eyes shifted from the statue to him, “Then congratulations, you’ve succeeded.” she said softly then lifted herself from the stone steps. Her gaze was that of confusion as she started slowly down the steps. The larger man kept his soulless gaze on her, not moving a inch.

"But now, I'm just plain confused. Do you want people to keep on thinking you are a monster? Or do you want them to see you as a normal person?" she questioned with a small frown, "Because if the first, I commend you, you're doing a terrific job of convincing them yourself without any help. But if the second... The buddy, I think you need to rethink you attitude towards life and everything in general. It is rather off-putting talking to a person so hell bent on degrading himself, even to the level of a monster." when she finished her statement, she had reached the bottom of the steps. He stood silent with a blank face, slightly not believing what she had said. She actually thought he wanted to be like this. He wished he could be like other people, to be normal and not feel like some freak of nature, but it seemed that he was to meant to be that way. Because of his size and how he looked like, he guessed, people always treat him different, like staring at him, being intimidating, etc. When he remembered what she had said before, he couldn’t help but laugh lowly in self-loathing.

“What ever made you think I wanted to think of myself as a monster?” he asked sarcastically, a little bit of venom dripping from his voice, “I never wanted to be this way. It is because of what others have done to me over the years that I am like this. I merely repeat what some many people had called me over the years.” he sighed quietly and turned his back toward Vaylin, “Even my hometown treated me like the dirt they walked on.” he said quietly, looking down at the ground in misery. They were the ones who probably treated him the worst in his life, especially the priest. Even though he had got over his fear of him, Mark could feel in the back of his mind, there was a small tinge of fear of him. It was a little disappointing because he wanted to get fully over it, but for some reason, he just couldn't.

[witch]

OCC: For Evea & Mark
Evea Perry

Through the old iron gate, through the fallen snow. A twisting, bending path, footprints marking the way. Mist, a swirling mist clinging to landscape a few golden rays descending, spotlights to the stone of carved faces. Yes Evea Perry was at it again her sketch book in hand taking sketches of the cold faces that belonged to the fingers around her though same of it was ease work even in the black and white world that surrounded her to be mirrored on the paper.

For ever since before the wee hours of sunrise had she been here standing in the snow the sleeves of her white and red peasant top (http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j32/witch016/clothes/51l1jd1QzXL__AA280_.jpg) gently dancing in the whispering wind a few bead branches of a bush scraping at her tight fitting jeans. (http://i76.photobucket.com/albums/j32/witch016/clothes/sig-62101teal-fnt-1.jpg)

The statue she was busy drawing made her turn her back on the outside word of the Paris graveyard through she was deeply hidden within her pencil flying across the page as her light blue eyes butterflied from the stone face to the paper and back again.

As the looked at the gray stone she seemed lost in her own world unknown to the shadows around her.

[Black Mask]

Mark Blaze


The graveyard, a place that was a dark and gloomy place where few tread. A place were the dead were put for their final resting place and a place that people tried to stay away from as much as possible. For the seven foot tall Mark Blaze though, it was a sanctuary away from the cruelties of the outside world, somewhere he could feel at least a little accepted. It was such a pity that for most of his life, he only felt somewhat accepted among the dead, at least, that was until he met Easy ‘Cat’ Tanner and his new wife, Cara Andovea. The very thought of his young wife brought a small ghost of a smile to his face. She had brought such joy to his life, joy that had been unknown to him until he figured that he loved her, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. He couldn’t believe that the first time they met, he actually hated her, which ashamed him slightly, but then again he had just met her. The large, shadow of a man stood upon a decent sized hill, which was the highest point in the entire graveyard, surveying the cemetery as though it was his domain, which in reality it kind of was. Grey green eyes scanned over the fog and snow covered graveyard, seeing if there was anything unusual there. He had came here for one simple thing, to be alone. Yes, he loved his wife, but there were times that his usual habits would be far too great to ignore and he would have to do them, even if it disappointed Cara. His gaze immediately stopped on a small figure that stood out among the grey and white that was the tombstones and snow the littered the graveyard. The dark haired man’s eyes immediately turned hard and cold, switching into a almost predatory mood that he was used to when it came to strangers. Of course he wasn’t going to hurt her or anything, but he wanted her out of the one of the only places he actually felt safe at. Keeping his callous gaze on the female, he used the shadows to his advantage to not be seen if she decided to turn around. His footsteps made no sound on the snow covered ground as he made his way toward her, his gaze never leaving her. He only stopped when he was within the shadows made by a large tree that was only a few feet away from her. His black clothing blended perfectly within the darkness, making his large form invisible to those around him, including the woman in front of him. He noticed that she had a drawing pad and pencil in her hands and she was too busy drawing her gloomy surrounds to notice him. His eyes flashed grey for a split second, signaling that his demon half was watching and enjoying this. Only a few minutes later did he begin to speak, remaining shrouded in the shadows.

“You know it is not wise to be alone in a cemetery?” he questioned ominously, his eyes once more glinting grey though she could not see them do so.

[witch]

Evea Perry

Within the darkness of the very rising sun Evea's eyes where glued to her work never once hearing the wind that wrapped itself around her in it's playful tease wisping her hair, though in a pony tail, in a dance of floating blond.

Through her drawing she looked at the stone in a new light wishing that she had brought her camera with her but having lent it to Cat Tanner that was not a choice. As her eyes lifted from the page for what must of been the thousandth time since she started she suddenly felt a strange feeling, a prick in the back of her neck making her think that she wasn't alone.

“You know it is not wise to be alone in a cemetery?”

From out of the shadows he seemed to come a building in a man's form making Evea's heart race as she turned around where her eyes seeing the figure of death from her conjured dreaming or was this blackened man truly before her.

A nervous little laugh escaped her lips though now as she realized that he was real she relaxed as she let out a held breath.

"Then you why are you here if not to be alone?" she questioned.

Somehow she knew it sounded like a challenge, that maybe she should fear a man who walked alone in a graveyard, her head meant to be screaming danger... but Evea knew danger, she knew the risks of being alone, knew that from out of the darkness could come her death therefore this man didn't faze her.

"Maybe you should take your own advise or are you one of the people I should be watching out for?"

[Black Mask]

Mark Blaze


The dark haired man was not at all please with the female here in the graveyard, especially since he was here, wanting to be alone. He would do almost anything to make her leave so he wouldn’t feel as the world was trying once more ruin his small moments of peace. He hardly had times like this to enjoy, to feel perfectly alone. Yes, he had more small moments to enjoy now that he had Cara in his life, but he was hardly alone in those moments. He had always been a loner ever since he was born, it was not forced on to him, and he would always probably be one for the rest of his life even though now he had a wife. He would spend some time with her, doing what he thought a good husband should do, and then he would sink into himself, becoming his usual anti-social self and find somewhere to be alone. He couldn’t help but be like that, the habit was burned into his mind, never to be erased despite his wife’s attempts to do so. Returning his focus on the young female, he questioned her if she knew it wasn’t smart to be alone in a cemetery. She quickly looked toward were his voice came from, her eyes widening when she spotted his large figure within the shadows of the tree. If he truly wanted to, she wouldn’t been able to see him at all, but he wanted her to leave and quick. A small, nervous laugh escaped her, but it did not have the same effect on him as Cara’s laugh did, in fact, he barely registered it.

"Then you why are you here if not to be alone?" she questioned, relaxing slightly and letting out a breath that she held for the last few moments. Mark’s eyes narrowed slightly, not liking how the questioned sounded. Was she so bold that she dared challenged him? It usually wasn’t good for one’s health to challenge him, it was something that he couldn’t stand. The larger man was used to being the one in control and being on top, being also feared by all and remaining unchallenged. It just made him angrier that it was a woman that was challenged him instead of a other man, at least he would have been able to beat him into submission. Well, he could also do that with her, but not only would he be ashamed of himself for doing so, but also Cara would and he couldn’t bare to think of that. He refocused back on the female when she began to talk once more.

"Maybe you should take your own advise or are you one of the people I should be watching out for?" she asked, keeping her gaze on the shadow of a man. His frown deepened to a scowl as he snorted quietly in anger. Yes, she was very brave indeed, but she wasn’t very smart because if she was, she would have know to not do such a act in his presence. No matter, either she will see the error of her ways or she will leave, either way it was good for him.

“It is different for me because I am able to defend myself and yes,” he stepped out of the dark shadows and into the early morning light, showing just how intimidating he was, “I am one of those people you should stay away from. Now, if you wish not to see how much of a mistake you made in coming here without someone with you, I suggest you leave. Now.” he demanded lowly, glaring daggers toward with a dark scowl on his face. His posture and attitude told her just how displeased he was with her presence within the cemetery he called sanctuary and he was dead serious about his threat.

[witch]

Evea Perry

The man within the shadows didn't seem at all please by Evea's being here but that was not her worry.

At first she had only been able to sense she was being watched, a feeling she had long since picked up and developed over the years ever since that first attack on her life. It had taken awhile but over time she had come to know when it was just a cold shiver running up and down her spin and when it was something to worry about.

The seven foot wonder may of towered over her coming out of the darkness as if he somehow belonged to it and when she spoke she could only challenge him his voice having a rough edge to it.

She couldn't help but notice the anger rising in the mans face as she challenged him. She could be quite certain it was something he wasn't used to, much less from a women and she could tell that deep down inside he was holding himself back and she challenged him again already knowing the answer.

“It is different for me because I am able to defend myself and yes,”

Like the creature in Disney's "Beauty and the Beast" his voice know took on a true form as he stepped into the light if Evea's past hadn't been what it was she would of run.

“I am one of those people you should stay away from. Now, if you wish not to see how much of a mistake you made in coming here without someone with you, I suggest you leave. Now.”

His voice spoke with an unhidden demand knowing that he thought she'd leave because of it, well, he was wrong.

"Sorry I don't take demands and what makes you think I can't defend myself? So sorry but I'm not leaving, at lest not just yet and what right have you to tell me to go away? In case you haven't noticed this is a grave yard people come here all the time to spend time with lost souls and I'll stay as long as I like whether you or anyone else like it or not."

With that she turned back to glance at the statue.

"I don't let people walk all over me and I gave up on giving into demands long ago"

[MystMoonstruck]

OOC: Easy will be meeting Devlon Deemer. BIC:

Easy "Cat" Tanner

A dreary day seemed to call for a visit to the cemetery, and, having ended his lesson with Anton Arkady, he carried his violin, with his increasingly-present satchel resting across his back. Its strap crossed his body diagonally, a sensation he had grown so accustomed to that he missed it on those rare occasions when he had no plans to indulge in any of the pastimes he seemed to be accumulating~music, sketching and now photography. Today, the satchel held sheet music and his sketchpad. He had flaunted Arkady's dress code by wearing streetclothes though the jeans were only beginning to show signs of wear. He wore one of the black T-shirts that, in blood-red letters, proclaimed him property of the Opera House, with one of his black silk shirts over it as a jacket. He had selected black shortboots, a pair that had seen better days, as testified to by the scuffed, creased leather. He had been disappointed that his teacher had simply targeted him with an icy look, without railing at him. Frozen silence was not nearly as satisfying as the usual histrionics.

Making his way to his "familiar haunt" aka the Leroux mausoleum, he slipped inside, quickly finding the blanket that would provide somewhat comfortable seating for him. Since rain threatened, he would not sit on the steps but would stay within~his own very private practice hall with its interesting acoustics that added a haunting tone to his playing. Once seated, he set the satchel aside and set down the case, opening it to free Azer and making swift preparations before launching into not the classical music he should be practicing but the melodies he had learned from Iah Raksha's records~the music of Iah's homeland and of those the Egyptian had traveled with since his youth. Easy began weaving the music, linking songs, sometimes merging them. He was capable of playing each separately if necessary but enjoyed testing his growing skill with each medley he created.

Soon, he was on his feet, moving to the music, swaying and sometimes taking dance steps when the notes demanded it. As far as he was aware, this was his private domain, with the threat of rain enough to keep tourists away.

[Pyromaniac]

Devlon Deemer

Dreary, click, wet, click, misting perhaps, click, grey, click, dull, click, often like life, click, melody, click, more middle Eastern, click, violin…stop. Violin? Left, right, ah! Perfect spot, the mausoleum, indeed and an amused look came to a gruff face. He hadn’t shaved, not that he needed it, but the mist did like to stick to the follicle of his five-o-clock shadow.

How unfortunate for the young player that tourists were away, it was the locals one often had to look out for. Though the elder gentleman was not from France he had been living there for more than a few months, so he qualified himself as a non tourist. He would do so anyway just because he was not a sight seer. He did not have a camera with him to flash a shot at every single pigeon and halfwit local building either. Honestly was decay that interesting looking? Not to mention all the tourists that took pictures of other tourists it was ridiculous!

The violin may have been previously known for melancholy gloom and doom, but really it didn’t fit the day. Though the music wasn’t so, and as the retired matador walked towards the front he found himself a bit amused. A young man playing a violin and dancing at different intervals, he had seen stranger that was for sure.

When it seemed to be the right time, or the other had noticed him, honestly no one could ever know for sure. Devlon decided he needed to point something out most obvious, and yet horribly unnoticeable to a non musician.

“Keeping a violin out in such weather will only give it a faster retirement to a place like this” he told the young kid as he stepped inside and looked around, well at least it had a blanket. With that thought in mind he sat down, with only some assistance from his cane and looked at the dark haired youth,

“So tell me did you know the old bat or are you related?” he asked as he looked at the male. Answering his own question he continued,

“nah, you look too American to be a part of any of these tight lipped nasally speaking weirdos” he tells him referring to the French. He had his own opinions about every accent, he didn’t discriminate. Looking at him he made his own evaluation,

“hm, though if your shirt is right you should be getting back to the opera house, wouldn’t want them to lose their pet now would we? Good thing for you I just don’t care enough to do so as long as you don’t tell your owner I neglected their Fluffykins in a big scary cemetery” he tells him as he relaxes against the back of the wall.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy had been so caught up in his music that he had not heard the tapping approach, thus he ended up with a bizarre screech at the words “Keeping a violin out in such weather will only give it a faster retirement to a place like this.” Stunned, Easy could only watch in silence, bow hovering above strings, as the man with a cane made himself at least semi-comfortable on the blanket.

“So tell me did you know the old bat or are you related?” Easy opened his mouth to speak, having not even gotten around to the opening barrage before the sharp-tongued visitor continued. “Nah, you look too American to be a part of any of these tight lipped nasally speaking weirdos.” Now, why was he certain that there was even more coming? “Hm, though if your shirt is right you should be getting back to the opera house, wouldn’t want them to lose their pet now would we?" Now, that brought a grin to the youth's face, an offkilter one that acknowledged the jab. "Good thing for you I just don’t care enough to do so as long as you don’t tell your owner I neglected their Fluffykins in a big scary cemetery.” With that final blow~which had Easy bursting into laughter~the man settled back against the wall, obviously settled in for a stay.

"Fluffykins?" The giggles struck again and Easy crossed the floor to plop down rather resoundingly to the right of the man, a move that left him with a sore bottom because, having violin and bow in hand, he had had no way to break the fall. "Ow," he muttered as he drew his legs into an Indian-style position, resting Azer on his lap, with the bow perched atop. "I like that... Fluffykins, I mean. Lots catchier than Cat," he noted. At that, he proferred his right hand across him. "Easy Tanner, but most people call me Cat. You~you can call me Fluffykins." Once more, he fell into a fit of giggling before managing to get himself under control. "Thanks. I needed to laugh. Ummm.. That true about violins? Is it bad for him~I mean~it? Him," he returned to. "His name is Azer, and he's the oldest thing I know and worth more than I'll ever be. Didn't think I was mistreating him. He never said so. But, what good is he if he only makes music when it's sunshiny? I don't need him as much then," he admitted. "You play violin? That how you know about them? And~uh~this place... No relation, just a place to hang out. It's sort of ~I dunno~important to me. Bet that sounds dumb." He looked down at the violin on his lap. "Guess I should put him away then, if it's bad for him here." The words were said mournfully, as if he was laying a friend to rest, and he reached for the case. Not looking at the man, he hesitantly asked, "D-did I sound~OK? I'm never sure. Even when I don't make mistakes, it don't~um~doesn't mean it sounds right."

[Pyromaniac]

Devlon Deemer

It was strange to see the male actually find some enjoyment from the words which came from his mouth. There was of course the thought that the only reason the youth would wear such a shirt is to draw attention to it. Maybe he should barrage the male with other observations; however the young male didn’t seem to mind his company, or sarcasm. Especially at his last jab at calling the male a stereotypical name for a white Poodle of Fluffykins.

"Fluffykins?" he had repeated and the laughter amused Devlon a bit, he would have to work harder maybe. Really he was bored and the male was offering him entertainment weather he was consciously aware of doing such or not. A brow raised as he heard the rather painful sounding ‘plop’ on the ground and the following ‘ow’ that had followed. Yes a smile was tugging at his lips as he moved his head so his clear blue eyes could watch the dark haired youth. It seemed the name had flipped on a switch, because as soon as the other’s mouth started, it didn’t look like it would stop in the near future,

"I like that... Fluffykins, I mean. Lots catchier than Cat," The retired matador couldn’t help but chuckle a little, though weather it was because he was happy or not was undetermined. It seemed that this male wanted to do something strange, become acquaintances and blue regarded him,

"Easy Tanner, but most people call me Cat. You~you can call me Fluffykins." he offered his cane for the shake and then put it by his side, right now it was the closest thing to a hand shake he was willing to make. They didn’t call him heartless without reason that was for sure, and this ‘Cat’ kept going. Honestly it reminded him much of those alley cats that never could shut up and eventually got kicked because of it. It wasn’t as if the other could really stop Devlon should he wish to call him such a name, but it was interesting to see that he was giving him permission. Surely this youth was depressed, why else would he be so receptive?

"Thanks. I needed to laugh. Ummm.. That true about violins? Is it bad for him~I mean~it? Him," It was definitely never his intention to purposely make people laugh that was for sure. He would have to rework his angle a bit, but no doubt this kid was too young to know he was. There was comfort in that because he didn’t feel like going down memory lane again.

"His name is Azer, and he's the oldest thing I know and worth more than I'll ever be. Didn't think I was mistreating him. He never said so. But, what good is he if he only makes music when it's sunshiny? I don't need him as much then," well that was interesting, though it was rare that he met an artist who didn’t name their instruments. It was a little more than weird that was for sure, but he supposed he didn’t have too much of a bond with his canes. After all they were many and it was like keeping track of all the woman whose nights were spent with him in his youth.

"You play violin? That how you know about them? And~uh~this place... No relation, just a place to hang out. It's sort of ~I dunno~important to me. Bet that sounds dumb." There was a definite quirk of his brow at that, and he laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls nicely. It was not a laugh of humor, well, not fully.

"Guess I should put him away then, if it's bad for him here." the kid sounded sad about that and it was taken as a small victory, and he continued with an unsure "D-did I sound~OK? I'm never sure. Even when I don't make mistakes, it don't~um~doesn't mean it sounds right."

“Deemer, Devlon Deemer, I don’t play the violin but it’s been my experience that wood and rain don’t like each other. Or maybe they like each other so much that the water has to get under the wood’s skin so they can become one and make little mold babies” he tells Easy as he looks straight ahead.

“As for your playing from what I heard of it I can’t remember, my ears are too preoccupied with getting over that screech of a noise Azer made. Though your voice did help drown that out a bit.” He told him as he continued to relax against the stone.

“Not that I really care but Fluffykins sure picked a strange day to run away, I think your fur is getting fluffed up” he tells him reaching into his pocket and taking out a bag of peanuts and opening them,

“peanut?” he asks as he popped one in his mouth.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy had to admit that the older man was difficult to gauge. He suspected that the old guy was disappointed that he had laughed at the remarks, but, for Easy, they had been on-target~no worse than anything he might have said about himself or that experts such as Lazare Moreau and Anton Arkady said. When the man offered his cane instead of a hand, Easy accepted the gesture, carefully shaking the substitute, which made him recall someone he had met what seemed a long time ago. What was the handsome man's name? He thought it might be William Blanchard, and he wondered for a moment what had become of the man who had treated him so kindly. Of courrse, it did not mean that he could expect kindness from this man, but he had made him laugh several times.

“Deemer, Devlon Deemer," the man said by way of introduction. "I don’t play the violin but it’s been my experience that wood and rain don’t like each other. Or maybe they like each other so much that the water has to get under the wood’s skin so they can become one and make little mold babies.” All of this had been said to the other wall apparently, but Easy's gaze had never left off studying the man as he spoke in his gravelly yet surprisingly pleasant voice. Most of the time, he sounded as if he was in on a joke that no one else was, or so it seemed to the youth.

"Mold babies," he repeated, the giggle quieter this time. "I like how you talk, Mr. Deemer. It's like..." He shrugged, a movement starting with one shoulder then traveling to the other. "Word pictures~funny ones. Guess I'd better learn more about taking care of Azer."

“As for your playing from what I heard of it I can’t remember, my ears are too preoccupied with getting over that screech of a noise Azer made. Though your voice did help drown that out a bit.” Easy couldn't help it: He snorted at the insults, thinking that they were high praise compared to what his teachers generally had to say. “Not that I really care but Fluffykins sure picked a strange day to run away, I think your fur is getting fluffed up." Easy continued watching the man as he produced a small sack from a pocket. “Peanut?” he offered, and Easy accepted, taking just one, studying it for a moment then tossing it into his mouth to crunch.

"Fluffykins didn't really run away," the youth began, crossing his arms across himself now that the violin and bow were tucked safely away. "Not exactly. Just used to having hideouts I guess. A friend and me~um~I used to come here~even had a coupla picnics here." He grinned at the memory, but the smile faded as the sense of loss swelled within him. "I gotta have that put on a shirt," he decided, "but it needs more than just 'Fluffykins'," he mused. "Only, this is pretty good 'cause it's just got to bug Monsieur Moreau whenever he sees it." For emphasis, he then unfolded the arms so that he could grip the tail of the Tee, tugging it so that the whole thing could be read: Property of Opera Populaire ~ If lost, return to Lazare Moreau. It was an old joke by now, but he liked it enough to have several identical shirts. "It's better than the Eiffel Tower," he decided, "or as I like to call it, 'the Naked Skyscraper'. Now, that could be an interesting shirt," he realized. "So, what happened? They run out of money and couldn't pay to have it covered?" Suddenly, he leapt to his feet and hurried to the back of the mausoleum, rummaging around till he found what he needed. He returned to the blanket, once more plopping down then wriggling to get slightly more comfortable before handing Devlon Deemer a bottle of water. "Don't worry. It wasn't stashed with a dead person," he quipped, grinning at the grizzled-looking man, deciding he liked him and wondering what would happen if he hit on him. He'd clobber you with his cane, Fluffykins. What'd'ya think he'd do?!

"So, what are you doin' here? Just visitin'?" Then, realizing what he had said, he gasped, eyes widening. "Oh! Oh, man... I shouldn't joke about that. Y-you aren't, are you? Here to~to... You know. Or, maybe you're here to see the famous dead people. Me? Never heard of any of 'em, but I'm really stupid that way. Too much time not in school." He shrugged. "No big deal."

[Pyromaniac]

Devlon Deemer

If he wanted to be insulting he would have to work on it more, but honestly he was too lazy and the kid didn’t seem to mind the random thought rants. So why ruin a perfectly good thing when you are both too bored and too lazy? Not to mention the youth didn’t seem to mind talking, even if he was hesitant about the peanut, not like it was going to eat him. That would be an amusing sight, though it wasn’t amusing enough to distract him, unfortunately,

"Fluffykins didn't really run away," obviously, if he had there was no doubt there’d be a search party, hm, maybe a reward even? That would be amusing indeed, however it would be too much work to kidnap someone and then demand ransom. At the same time though it was the coward’s way, and when did that ever work? Bribes were different, generally with bribes you could hide it from the cops, but with kidnappings someone is bound to report it sometime or another. So really what was the relevance?

"Not exactly. Just used to having hideouts I guess. A friend and me~um~I used to come here~even had a coupla picnics here." Devlon rolled his eyes at that, sure, ‘friend’ everyone was everyone else’s friend. No doubt there was a ‘friend with benefits’ title, though in Devlon’s time they were called whores. What else could you define someone who did such loose things with their ‘friends’ without any attachment? It made no sense to the ex matador, but this generation, or his, didn’t make any sense, so what the heck.

“I gotta have that put on a shirt, but it needs more than just 'Fluffykins'. Only, this is pretty good 'cause it's just got to bug Monsieur Moreau whenever he sees it." Ah so the young man was a bit of a prankster, or maybe he just liked angering his teachers? Or whatever title that Moreau was to him. So had Devlon found a fellow anarchist of sorts like himself?

"It's better than the Eiffel Tower, or as I like to call it, 'the Naked Skyscraper'. Now, that could be an interesting shirt, what happened? They run out of money and couldn't pay to have it covered?" A sort of smirk went to Devlons features as he popped another peanut in his mouth,

“who knows, the architect probably just didn’t bother because of all the French girls he wanted to lay” he told him, hey why else would it look like one gigantic phallic symbol of the male anatomy?

“Then again the French always do just half the work, which is why I prefer Americans, at least if they do something stupid they go all out with it” he tells the youth as he watches him fetch a blanket for himself to become comfortable next to Devlon.

"So, what are you doin' here? Just visitin'?" he heard the question and then it seemed as if the male realized where he was. A sort of bored laugh made it’s way through his lips "Oh! Oh, man... I shouldn't joke about that. Y-you aren't, are you? Here to~to... You know. Or, maybe you're here to see the famous dead people. Me? Never heard of any of 'em, but I'm really stupid that way. Too much time not in school. No big deal." Devlon popped another peanut in his mouth,

“To see some other deranged relative or some weirdo whose name I don’t even want to try and pronounce? Nah, I just thought it would be a good day to see which of the dead decided to mope around this place.” He said as he tapped his cane on the floor,

“no one’s answering so that just leaves the boring living.” He told the kid as he looked at him, “figures you would be a middle school drop out, don’t worry school doesn’t do anything. It just makes you more like everyone else and where would all our prostitutes be if they were educated? Too bad Fluffykins seems to not have an owner, let me guess, rabies?”

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy felt a certain amount of pride that his attack on the well-known structure met with the man's approval. “Who knows, the architect probably just didn’t bother because of all the French girls he wanted to lay." Easy chuckled at that because the French did seem noted for getting together though sex seemed pretty much the same in all the places he had been so far. “Then again the French always do just half the work, which is why I prefer Americans, at least if they do something stupid they go all out with it."

Easy giggled and nodded. "'Specially me," he admitted. I'm very good at being all-out stupid. I should earn some kind of award for it. I'm tryin' for the Foot in Mouth Champion. I'm really good at saying the wrong thing at exactly the right time for it to be the worst thing. Some of us just have the knack I guess." He had proven that by blundering with the "just visiting" question, hadn't he?

Still, the man had answered him: “To see some other deranged relative or some weirdo whose name I don’t even want to try and pronounce? Nah, I just thought it would be a good day to see which of the dead decided to mope around this place.” So saying, he rapped the cane on the marble floor, the sound faintly echoing. “No one’s answering so that just leaves the boring living.” Easy was caught staring wide-eyed as the man turned icy eyes on him. He couldn't help but think that there was something attractive about the man, thinking sadly that the man undoubtedly was straight because that's what his luck had been like for far too long. Unshaven the man might be, but elegant he remained. “Figures you would be a middle school drop out, don’t worry school doesn’t do anything. It just makes you more like everyone else and where would all our prostitutes be if they were educated? Too bad Fluffykins seems to not have an owner, let me guess, rabies?”

The remark about prostitutes shocked the youth to the core, and he looked away, toward the door, his face burning with embarrassment. Blinking rapidly, he tried to wet dry lips before remembering he had the bottle of water. Taking several short sips, he tried to gather his wits about him. "W-what?" he asked, suddenly remembering that the man had ended with a question. "Rabies? Me? N-no. Don't know why I don't have... Well, I sorta do~have~um~owners I mean. W-why did you~did you say that about p-prostitutes? Like~not needin' school and~and... You said 'prostitutes' and me not havin' an owner," he ended rather mournfully, his head bowed, shaggy black hair shadowing his face, now-nervous fingers beginning to peel the label from the bottle.

[Pyromaniac]

Devlon Deemer

Ah, so this stray pet had a soft spot for the street dwellers did he? A glance over at the male, yep, most definitely this cat had quite the many hands stroking it. Or rather the other way around no doubt, especially if that face was anything to go by. Was it possible to turn that color red? Was it healthy? So maybe it wasn’t really red, maybe an imagined red? Who cared, he needed a pill, but his stash had somehow been snatched and all he was left with was peanuts and tic tacts.

There very well may have been quite a bit of delirium setting against Devlon’s mind as he casually observed his Fluffykins and popped another peanut into his mouth. So the youth had admitted to be an American through acts of full stupidity, that was reassuring. It meant that he wasn’t one of those doubters, the silly and moronic people who couldn’t understand what they were doing or were unwilling to realize and own up for it. This perhaps was going to be a good interaction with the youth of tomorrow.

"W-what?" a brow quirked at that as he stuttered, Cat’s reactions gave him away far too easily. Maybe a game of poker or two should help build the boy’s ‘poker face’ as many called it. No, the boy beside him seemed experience, it was always the most talented ones that never really knew how to react in normal everyday situations. Disregarding the fact that most people didn’t know how to react around him, Fluffykins wasn’t doing all that bad. Devlon wasn’t as annoyed as he usually was, probably because of the rain. It always put him in a ‘good’ mood. Then it seemed the memory light bulb clicked, Cat was so readable right now that he knew the exact moment when the light bulb turned on.

"Rabies? Me? N-no. Don't know why I don't have... Well, I sorta do~have~um~owners I mean. W-why did you~did you say that about p-prostitutes? Like~not needin' school and~and... You said 'prostitutes' and me not havin' an owner," Devlon shook his head and gave a not so happy laugh,

“Please, cats don’t have owners, they own not the other way around. No wonder why you’re so good at being bad” he said referring to his music. Only the confused ones played music that was equally mixed and original. As soon as he started to sound like all the other violinists, that’s when he’d be more secure in himself, but what did Devlon know about that?

“Very good Fluffy I did say all that” he said and just because the boy was close to him he looked over, well he looked like he was at least 18,

“I also offered you to eat the peanuts, I’d take some more I might not feel generous in the hour that this weather turns brighter, although it looks more likely to stay.” He told him once more looking to where the door is and the outside. “You want to know what I meant? Come here closer, I’ll tell you” he told him as he popped another peanut and chewed it.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

There was no way around it, Easy realized: This man was making him antsy. It was becoming increasingly difficult to stay still, but he did not want to do anything to spoil the moment. Yet, Devlon Deemer certainly would be shocked and aghast at some of the images coming to mind~no matter how he tried to steer his thoughts. Perhaps that's why the mention of prostitutes had shaken him so deeply, destroying the last trace of calmness he might have had.

“Please, cats don’t have owners, they own not the other way around. No wonder why you’re so good at being bad.” For Easy, this meant the man knew what he was like, not realizing that Devlon meant his music. But, he very much liked what the man had said about cats, for it gave him a new perspective of himself and how he behaved. His misinterpretation oddly had given him a jolt of confidence. Had he realized that it was his music being spoken of in a teasing manner, there would have been a nearly equivalent "ego boo".

“Very good Fluffy I did say all that,” Devlon commended, a compliment that startled the youth, as no one he could recall ever remarked about his ability to retain what companions said. They likely never realized how often he committed to memory whatever was said perhaps because so few people~at least before Paris~had bothered to truly talk to him. “I also offered you to eat the peanuts, I’d take some more I might not feel generous in the hour that this weather turns brighter, although it looks more likely to stay.” His tawny eyes followed the man's gaze to the slightly ajar door, seeing that the rain had taken a serious turn. Easy smiled faintly at that because it meant the man wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. He turned his attention back to the gentleman~for that word certainly suited him to Easy's way of thinking. The youth shrugged and reached into the bag for a grand total of four nuts, musing that it would be difficult to resist these tasty treats if he ever kept them around.

“You want to know what I meant? the man asked, confusing the youth till he recalled his echoing of the word prostitute and the notion of whether he was owned or not. Then, he heard words he never expected: "Come here closer, I’ll tell you.”

Somewhere, Easy had read the phrase heart aflutter, and he guaranteed his was fluttering madly right now as he wriggled closer to the man, his lips parted slightly, as he was having a bit of trouble breathing right now.

"T-tell me what?" he managed to say, his voice like rough velvet.

In contrast to his earlier blush, he had gone ivory pale, ghostly in the faint light cast by the lantern. He realized that he should turn up the lamp, but he did not want to move from his place at Devlon Deemer's side, near enough that he felt the warmth of the man's body. For all he knew, the man meant to play some cruel trick on him, perhaps whacking him with that cane before getting up and leaving him in misery. There would be cutting words, he was certain, because this man certainly qualified as sharp-tongued~yet another phrase he had encountered in his studies.

OOC: I wasn't able to add much, but I wasn't certain what Devlon plans to say or do. If you need me to add more, let me know. I'm lovin' this! :spin2: BIC:

[Pyromaniac]

Devlon Deemer

It was strange how people could turn color, red one moment, deathly white the next, and if you got them on a good day then blue. Had Devlon turned someone blue before without choking them by his hands? Of course, who needed hands when you had words? Not everyone seemed to understand the power behind words, and Devlon used them like one would a weapon. He was the master of making people cry, become enraged, confused, helpless, and any other emotion he felt like making other people feel. The manipulator of feelings he prided himself on not caring so long as the truth was exposed and that individual knew it.

Ah fishing was so easy with the young, impressionable, and curious, of course this male seemed especially gullible. So what lesson would be taught? Not to trust strangers and whack him with his cane? That sounded like a good one, but was it something he wanted to do? Hm, his ego would have to balance his id and superego in a most delicate way, it was rare this opportunity would come, to anyone else but him.

"T-tell me what?" the male had asked with such a pale face. Hm, this was definitely too good to pass up,

“That you can’t learn a lot of things in class” he tells him and notices quite well that the other had moved against him their legs touching, “well, I’m sure you could if you had the wrong teachers and colleagues but you were out before then weren’t you” he tells him and smirks, leaning in and with more speed than people could probably think him of ever having he pressed their lips together, his hand going into his hair and drawing his head closer. Pulling away he smooshed his lips together in thought,

“hm, definitely couldn’t have learned that in school, not to mention if you had you definitely got better.” He tells him once more leaning against the wall like he hadn’t just snatched a kiss away,

“let me guess, California right?”

[MystMoonstruck]

OOC: WOW! I honestly did not see THAT coming! *giggle* BIC:

Easy "Cat" Tanner

For some reason, Easy had expected some great truth from the man, sage advice that he likely would not understand. What he got was this: “That you can’t learn a lot of things in class. Well, I’m sure you could if you had the wrong teachers and colleagues but you were out before then weren’t you.” Easy had opened his mouth to speak or at least try to when suddenly, startlingly, heart-stoppingly, and very soundly, he was kissed, feeling that scratchy scruff on his soft skin, heated breath, fingers entwined in his silken hair. Then, the touch was gone, and Devlon Deemer was back to sitting next to the stunned youth who sat, eyes wide, lips still parted, incapable of rational thought at the moment.

Easy's instinctive "kiss response" must have kicked in, for Deemer commended, “Hm, definitely couldn’t have learned that in school, not to mention if you had you definitely got better. Let me guess, California right?”

"I~I~I... Yeah," he murmured, the golden eyes dreamy, a wistful smile blossoming. "California. Yeah. S-school? Ummm. Not exactly. I~ummm~started early, M-Mr. Deemer." Somehow, he did not feel as if he could call him by his first name till getting permission, and he shivered because there seemed a forbidden quality to this. "Y-you kissed me," he stated, as if to verify that it had happened and wasn't simply one of his fantasies overriding his sense of reality. Was this what victims of his kiss attacks felt? That wasn't likely since most of them did not appear to hope for more~which he definitely did. "I'm~ummmm~better when I'm ready." Now came the blush, a pale pink. "Oh~I started kissin' real early~real, real early. School didn't teach me much~at least not that." His head bowed, toying with the tail of his Tee once more, he giggled, admitting, "I thought you were gonna hit me with your cane." In a move that astonished him, he shoulder-bumped the man in what he knew was a playful, flirty way. "Why'd you do it? I mean, I'm glad you did it, but why?" He peered sideways at the man, unable to figure out this one, but thanking whatever it took for their paths to cross here.

[Pyromaniac]

Devlon Deemer

The youth’s instinctive reaction overtook his brain for that moment in time in which their lips were pressed to each others. The response was very much a reaction of instinct for a few reasons. The first was that the male was not expecting the kiss, because really it was sort of out of the blue. Second being that because it was out of the blue there was no talk about a lead up to such an action so it was no surprise when the youth sat there like a confused fish. Thirdly Devlon probably didn’t seem like the guy to go kissing strangers on their first meeting, and he wasn’t. Truth be told it just seemed like a ‘fun’ thing to do at the time, and the ex-matador never thought of other’s feelings above his own selfish impulses. That would defeat the purpose of calling them selfish after all.

"I~I~I... Yeah," the male had murmured, and Devlon watched as the other’s eyes actually turned dreamy, a smile was unfolding on the other’s face, perhaps because this kitten was a little home sick? "California. Yeah. S-school? Ummm. Not exactly. I~ummm~started early, M-Mr. Deemer." Good, he had been correct, unlike he would really doubt himself, that wasn’t his character. He knew the other had started out young, probably not by his will either. Very little were people in the skin trade because they started out with no prior and unwanted experience. Desperation on someone’s part to where they drive themselves or their own flesh and blood into the skin trade,

"Y-you kissed me," ah the obvious stated he couldn’t help the smirk as he rested his head back and closed his eyes for a moment. The boy continued on with his moment of shock, and Devlon could only imagine him itching for more. What could he say, he had that effect on people, especially Californian sweets apparently.

"I'm~ummmm~better when I'm ready." ah if only smirks could tell all, but he would wait to get his words in, after all he needed to make sure this youth heard him correctly, wouldn’t want to make the situation complicated now would he? Indeed, that was why he was waiting for the boy to relax a bit, so he could set him off later

"Oh~I started kissin' real early~real, real early. School didn't teach me much~at least not that." Devlon made another check mark on his list, another one correct, and he wondered if maybe he could just tell the male his background so he didn’t have to listen to it.

"I thought you were gonna hit me with your cane." he heard the boy tease and bump his shoulder good naturedly. This caused Devlon to open his eyes and inspect his cane before looking over at the boy to hear the million dollar question,

"Why'd you do it? I mean, I'm glad you did it, but why?" Devlon inspected his cane again and then looked at the male,

“well you probably would have broken it with your head for starters.” He told him as he tapped the cane to the side of his body that the boy wasn’t on, the echo sounding clear and a little haunting in the space,

“secondly I couldn’t teach you a lesson if I popped you over the head with my breakable cane which would have made you bleed and probably dirty this sacred place of the dead. Though you probably interrupted this guys sleep with whoever your ‘friend’ is.” He told him and then leaned closer,

“Curiosity thirdly, you can’t learn it in school. If anything you lose interest in everything you thought you would be curious about. Then you might also lose all sense of insanity, conforming you to the way that society thinks you should be. It’s all just one big scheme to make us their little pets so we can bark and hump their legs when they want us to.” He told cat and then leaned in further to the male’s lips,

“and lastly I didn’t kiss you, you did but because you wanted it I decided to oblige a bit and see how far your curiosity went Fluffy” leaning back against the wall once more he closed his eyes.

“So let me guess, you’re about what, 19?” he asked carelessly.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy thought he was prepared for a reply he likely wouldn't understand, but the flood of ideas and notions that came left him stunned and distraught. he tried to follow the mellifluous, droll flow of words but frankly was floundering.

“Well you probably would have broken it with your head for starters.” That put the hiccup in Easy's thought process. He had expected a reason for the kiss, and the man had hopped backwards to his remark about being hit by the cane. “Secondly I couldn’t teach you a lesson if I popped you over the head with my breakable cane which would have made you bleed and probably dirty this sacred place of the dead. Though you probably interrupted this guys sleep with whoever your ‘friend’ is.” It was official: The youth's head was in a spin. This guy remembered everything! He would have to watch out what he said, or it would be thrown back at him when he least expected it.

“Curiosity thirdly, you can’t learn it in school. If anything you lose interest in everything you thought you would be curious about. Then you might also lose all sense of insanity, conforming you to the way that society thinks you should be. It’s all just one big scheme to make us their little pets so we can bark and hump their legs when they want us to.” Not that Easy understood even one-third of that, as he was all too conscious of the man moving close again, and his hands tightened into fists, nails digging in as he resisted closing that gap for another kiss, this time a lingering one if he was lucky. Instead, more words came. Wait. Had he said something about humping legs?!

“And lastly I didn’t kiss you, you did but because you wanted it I decided to oblige a bit and see how far your curiosity went Fluffy.” At that puzzling statement, he leaned back against the wall once more and closed his eyes. “So let me guess, you’re about what, 19?”

Frowning slightly, Easy acted without thinking, moving so that he was kneeling next to the man, his hands on either side of the unshaven face, going after those promised lips in one of the most aggressive moves he had ever made. This was a deeply serious kiss, not the sloppy, hurried one of youth but one that might be expected from someone much older and experienced. Well, experience he had! When he thought that he might burst, Easy backed off a bit, tawny eyes studying the man at very close range.

"Nineteen? Close enough. Now, go ahead and clobber me if you want. You wanted that first kiss, too, Mr. Deemer, or you wouldn't've done it." He gave in to a rueful, crooked grin as he fell back into a seated position, leaning toward the man so that they were shoulder to shoulder. His face a becoming blush-pink, he said quietly, "You listened to me. You really listened to everything I said. You remembered." Then, he giggled. "You said hump!" He hesitated then had to add, "You said somethin'~lose all sense of insanity. What does that mean? Isn't insane a bad thing? You think it's good that I didn't get enough school? I~I sorta liked it. It's just that we moved around all the time, and I never got to catch up. But, I hid in the libraries, and they never looked for me there. I~um~I like poetry," he confessed, head bowed, fingers playing with the Tee's tail again. "Sara Teasdale," he admitted. I know some by heart~like Song Making:
My heart cried like a beaten child
Ceaselessly all night long;
I had to take my own cries
And thread them into a song.

One was a cry at black midnight
And one when the first cock crew --
My heart was like a beaten child,
But no one ever knew.

Life, you have put me in your debt
And I must serve you long --
But oh, the debt is terrible
That must be paid in song."

Now feeling embarrassed and uncomfortable, he shrugged, smiling faintly, expecting taunting words now that Fluffykins had admitted such a vice.

[Pyromaniac]

Devlon Deemer

Silence, this was Devlon’s normal response from people, and it felt good to finally stun the boy into it. Since kissing him had done nothing but ask more questions normal techniques would not work. Why not try ordinary ones then, bringing up things the boy had said in the first moments of their chat and switching topics had made those golden eyes stuck. That was the only way he could truly describe them, until he guessed at the age of this Californian.

A frown was his answer, he wasn’t that off right? Not that he saw it because his eyes were closed but of course he was not. This youth had a taste and he wanted another one as Devlon’s ears picked up the slight movement the boy made in his position shifting. Ah, so his Fluffy was getting daring was he? Two hands were next to his face on either side and he decided to keep his eyes closed.

Lips were close to his own as he felt the other’s breath, it wasn’t shaky or nervous like how most shy people were. Especially ones that were unaccustomed to kissing strangers, but this boy was no stranger to becoming intimate quick. Responding the kiss he allowed the lad the leverage he needed and despite the fact that they both had consumed peanuts he didn’t mind the taste of the other. It was refreshing to get a kiss without paying for it, not that Devlon ever paid his company, but he was much more free back when he had his leg. The company came to him, not the other way around, and it was mostly girls that were just in the legal age or a little older.

As the male backed off he still kept his eyes closed for a bit, a thoughtful look upon his normally scowling face. It hadn’t been a bad kiss at all, in fact if he hadn’t known the male was probably in his early twenties he would have guessed the kiss came from that of a 30 year old. Experience, that was all, and when normal kids started out with kissing at around ages 14, unless they’re ambitious 12 year olds, than his Fluffy was broken in much earlier than that. Ah Californian youth, and undoubtedly everywhere else in the world because adults were dumber than sheep and more instinctive than bunnies in heat. It disgusted him, maybe that was why he could stand this youth’s presence for as long as he was. He hadn’t reached full adulthood and wouldn’t make him snap at him like he would should he have been older.

"Nineteen? Close enough. Now, go ahead and clobber me if you want. You wanted that first kiss, too, Mr. Deemer, or you wouldn't've done it." Ah the young and impressionable, this is what he liked about the youth, they were daring. Not all of them forgot that people are that, people, not sophisticates in the least and it calmed Devlon enough. A smirk made it across gruff features as he peeked an eye open to see the other’s soft blush, his shoulder connected with Fluffy’s as he heard him speak and once more closed his eye,

"You listened to me. You really listened to everything I said. You remembered." he supposed it would mean a lot to the kid. He spouted out so many words that he wouldn’t be surprised if people half the time didn’t listen and didn’t remember because they couldn’t. Devlon had a trained ear for fast talkers, live amongst the different language speaking countries and you would get what he meant. Not saying he hadn’t met his fast speaking Americans or Englishmen, but he didn’t come across them as often.

"You said hump!" also something he missed about adults, that childhood immaturity. It was so much easier to handle than haughty looks and criticizing sneers. Did he mention how much he hated his peers? It seemed he lucked out though, there weren’t many his age running around the opera house. That made it workable and he gave off a bit of a laugh and a smirk. He’d save his comment as he heard the question and following story,

"You said somethin'~lose all sense of insanity. What does that mean? Isn't insane a bad thing? You think it's good that I didn't get enough school? I~I sorta liked it. It's just that we moved around all the time, and I never got to catch up. But, I hid in the libraries, and they never looked for me there. I~um~I like poetry," The story wasn’t done, there was no specification of this ‘they’ but he could guess a few things. More than likely it was parents, for parenting screwed a lot of kids over, and there were some that had that in a literal sense. With the pressure of that kiss he could only assume the worst happened. The kid had survived and he had his legs, his health in general. Even with the poem he quoted, there was no way that his parents had guarded him from the harshness of Californian love. And there was only one thing to do.

Taking advantage of the fact they were close once more he wrapped his arms around the boy’s shoulders, drew him close to his body and reached with his other hand to start messing up the boy’s hair in a ‘noogie’ like fashion. After he was done though he told him,

“relax Fluffy, wouldn’t want your fur to fall out, and yes I did say hump, but so did you” he told him with a smirk as he opened his eyes and looked at him. “You’re an outside cat of course you’re smart enough to know where to go, you’ve probably even read the happiest poets around, Emily Dickinson, Edgar Allen Poe…etc.” he told him with a bit of a bitter laugh.

“Fact is you’re still here, and California is way over there somewhere” he said pointing in a highly vague direction. “Fact is you’re a good kisser when you put effort into it, and fact is it’s a lovely rainy day outside to get our good dead friends nice and wet. I guess it’s really the only way to take a shower after you die.”

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Although he felt unusually comfortable with the man, Easy was in no way ready for being wrapped in strong yet gentle arms, and the man did such a strange thing, rubbing his head roughly, puzzling the youth who did not resist one bit but leaned into the odd embrace, his arms encircling the man's waist, clinging to him, as the saying goes, as if for dear life.

“Relax Fluffy," the man began in his droll, teasing way that somehow did not put Easy on his guard. "Wouldn’t want your fur to fall out, and yes I did say hump, but so did you.” The words made him giggle all over again as he nestled against the surprising gift his unpredictable life had given him. This was what it meant to be in the right place at the right time.

Throughout all of this, Easy noticed, the man's eyes had remained close, and he wondered about it. He didn't have the feeling that it was because the man wished to be left alone or was shutting the youth out. It wasn't that feeling at all.

“You’re an outside cat," Devlon said, making Easy not only smile but also rub his cheek against the man's coat in a contented kitten move. "Of course you’re smart enough to know where to go, you’ve probably even read the happiest poets around, Emily Dickinson, Edgar Allen Poe…etc.” Easy nodded at the names, but a passing frown was his response to the sound of the laughter that had an odd sound to it. He peered up at the man questioningly. “Fact is you’re still here, and California is way over there somewhere.” Easy followed his motion, as if they just might catch a glimpse of a place that was becoming ever more longed-for as he remained untouched in Paris. “Fact is you’re a good kisser when you put effort into it, and fact is it’s a lovely rainy day outside to get our good dead friends nice and wet. I guess it’s really the only way to take a shower after you die.”

"You talk sort of funny," Easy mused, "but I like it. You're~like~older, but~but you're different inside~not serious exactly. I don't feel like I'm going to make a mistake all of the time," he stated decisively. "You're~um~different," he had to repeat. "You rubbed my head. What's that about? Does it mean you like me?" Arching his neck, he looked up into the weathered-looking face, attempting to interpret what he saw there, as if he could read the life the man had led in the marks on his somewhat sorrowful-looking face. With the forefinger of his right hand, he began tracing the furrows with a butterfly touch, as if he might hurt the man. The bristles tickled his fingertip, and the expressive mouth twitched, as if uncertain whether to smile or to treat this as deadly serious business. "Does your leg hurt?" he wondered. "I met this other guy who~um~had a~a cane. He sat with me in the stables and talked to me~really nice~only he never kissed me." Not that he wouldn't have minded... "But, he had to get up after awhile and leave because his leg hurt too much if he sat or stood for a long time. Or~or maybe he was tired of talking to me." He had considered that reason though the man had said he had to be somewhere else. "Would you stay if it wasn't raining?" He sighed, snuggling into the man, his head resting on the man's chest, left hand drifting down the stubbled face, his throat, along his shoulder and arm, secretly memorizing the moment.

Speaking so softly that he might have been talking to himself, he confessed, "I~I came here thinkin' 'bout~about somethin'~doin' somethin' I haven't done for a long time. Only, I forgot the letter. You're suppose to leave a letter~a note. They show it in the movies, but I never knew about that the other times. They always look for notes~in the movies and the TV shows. Except, you came and talked to me and sat with me and~and kissed me. Y-you hugged me. You made me laugh. Fluffykins," he muttered the name, giving his head a shake and chuckling. "I think you saved my life, Mr. Deemer." He was embarrassed by the dramatic admission and kept his head bowed low, fearing the scorn might come now should the man think that he was merely being theatrical. However, Devlon Deemer did not know about the switchblade in his pocket~the butterfly blade that had been calling to his flesh with growing persistence.

[Pyromaniac]

OOC:Sorry about the long wait! Finals and studying >< BIC:

Devlon Deemer

The boy seemed to think that because he hadn’t killed him he should cuddle the elder. Not that he minded horribly, it had been a while since he had a young person adore him with attention as his Fluffykins was doing. Even this was different, he never had a person who had a slight cat behavior fetish before, but what else could he have with the name of ‘Cat’? Maybe chicken? Nah, if he wanted to act like anything it should be a raccoon. He seemed like he would have a cute bushy tail, yet at the same time raccoons weren’t as nervous. They were the thieving animals but no one could deny that they had a certain appeal to them. Devlon believed that, so therefore it was true, and if it wasn’t true of the world then they were all ignorant morons with rodent sized dogs that needed to be punted to the moon. If only his leg worked, it was so hard to get proper punting leverage with only one good leg to stand on.

"You talk sort of funny, but I like it. You're~like~older, but~but you're different inside~not serious exactly. I don't feel like I'm going to make a mistake all of the time," The boy confessed as he relaxed on his chest. Once more his more kitten nature coming out as he stayed calm against the ex-matador which was unusual. Once more though, why would he give up the chance on having such a boy cuddle to him? Devlon wasn’t going anywhere and the boy wasn’t grating on his frail nerves, yet.

"You're~um~different," a smirk made it to his lips, "You rubbed my head. What's that about? Does it mean you like me?" ah the impact of words and actions upon the young and confused, was it so wrong to enjoy it so thoroughly?

“I heard that if you pet kittens your stress levels were reduced, who knows Fluffy, perhaps I just wanted to see if petting alley cats did the same. What do you think?” he asked as his hand once more went back to the black heap of hair on his head. It actually was pretty comfy like that, perhaps the boy had freshly showered or his hair had just gotten accustomed to being dirty that when it was clean it stayed for a few days longer.

"Does your leg hurt?" he heard from the voice of the boy whose head he was petting. "I met this other guy who~um~had a~a cane. He sat with me in the stables and talked to me~really nice~only he never kissed me. But, he had to get up after awhile and leave because his leg hurt too much if he sat or stood for a long time. Or~or maybe he was tired of talking to me." Devlon heard the almost disappointed undertone, of course the kid wasn’t sounding too happy. "Would you stay if it wasn't raining?" Ah the question of the day. Who knows, maybe on a brighter day he wouldn’t have even bothered with a kiss, he hated these ‘what if’ questions. It’s all they boiled down to was a headache.

Once more those fingers started to roam his stubble and he wondered if maybe the boy was trying sand off his fingers on his five o’ clock shadow. It would be an amusing thought and a mental picture soon formed. He would have an amazing chain saw like bladed beard so that if anyone tried to touch it their limbs would be lost. That wasn’t too bad of an idea actually.

"I~I came here thinkin' 'bout~about somethin'~doin' somethin' I haven't done for a long time. Only, I forgot the letter. You're suppose to leave a letter~a note. They show it in the movies, but I never knew about that the other times. They always look for notes~in the movies and the TV shows. Except, you came and talked to me and sat with me and~and kissed me. Y-you hugged me. You made me laugh. Fluffykins," shoot, he had stopped someone from killing themselves. Normally he was the driving force to make people miserable, he blamed the weather.

"I think you saved my life, Mr. Deemer." That sealed it alright. Well there was always time to make the boy regret his happy meeting and life saving. He scanned the opposite wall for a bit.

“you know, wrinkles don’t come out by having your hand smooth over them, and being different is something I pride myself on. What with all these morons running around if you aren’t different then you’re nothing more than they are Fluffy” he told him as he kept his eyes closed and then blue eyes looked at the youth,

“You’re a smart boy, if you didn’t bring a note I’m sure that blade you carry would carve through the stone. Though some think it a nice touch to leave notes in blood. That is silly though, I suppose they aren’t really the most punctual though, after all how can you distinguish any sort of lettering if it’s a long note? You have to be clever and come up with one word explanations. ‘Sorry’ for example, it’s not a good thing to say, if they were sorry they could have at least left people some cash. You know insurance policies don’t cover for suicides. Now something like ‘good bye’ if you live long enough to carve out two words kudos to you, still not good. Chances are if you’re leaving them behind you’ll see them soon in hell unless your life means that much to them where they miraculously change their ways.” He tells him once more closing his eyes to think.

“What do you think Fluffy? How much blood do you have? Of course there is always giving me a message but I wouldn’t count on me relaying it. I tend to have selective hearing and might phrase it in the way you really mean it” he tells him.

“Not to mention I’d imagine if you kill yourself in a cemetery you might want to find someone with a more interesting name. You might be stuck with this ghost and he is probably some really ugly dude. So if you kill yourself in a cemetery then I’d do some research first, might find a real hotty, but I doubt it.” He told him and then made a contemplative noise.

“There is always the simple answer, run away from here. Go back home, tour Europe, do whatever you want. You’re a cat, so get with the attitude and wonder. Explore pounce hunt, lick yourself in inappropriate places and not care who sees. Felines, the most annoying creatures on the face of the Earth know the greatest ways to live. I’ll even fund your trip out if you want. Return home Fluffy, Americans have larger penis sizes than most Europeans anyway. So even if you could get lucky the chance of them being satisfying in bed is really slim. Find out for yourself if you want, but I’d make sure they don’t remember, your eyes would be the giveaway. Not many hold that color of yours, they know who you are in the lineup” he told him fully relaxed.

[MystMoonstruck]

OOC: Don't you worry, Pyro my friend! Your posts are always worth the wait, and I am so amazingly, unbelievably and astonishly delighted with the Devlon Deemer encounter! He has Fluffykins purrrrrring! OOC:

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy was puzzled and fascinated by Devlon Deemer, who was like no adult he had ever met. So much of what he said made him smile or even laugh, and life seemed livable once more if it meant more time in this man's presence~and in his arms.

“I heard that if you pet kittens your stress levels were reduced," the man said, making Easy smile winsomely and wriggle as if to get even more comfortable though he was rather content right now, an astonishing sensation considering how difficult life had become. "Who knows Fluffy, perhaps I just wanted to see if petting alley cats did the same. What do you think?” Once more the caressing hand was on his thick, silken hair, and he practically purred.

"Mmmmmmm... Yeah," the youth sighed, eyes drifting half-closed, the luxurious lashes shading the tawny eyes that were rather unfocused from the pleasure of being not only held in a comfy fashion but also caressed with hands and words. The youth had been concerned about Devlon's comfort though, recalling the other man~William Blanchard, but he hadn't given Devlon an opportunity to respond, what with all of the babbling he did (as usual). He felt pleasantly off-balance around the enigmatic man and hoped that he would not be sent away any time soon or that the man would decide that he had had enough of a rainy day, a mausoleum and a clinging boy. He hadn't meant to confess about his suicide plot, and he feared that the man would write him off as some overly dramatic kid.

The man surprised him again by not picking up where Easy left off: "You know, wrinkles don’t come out by having your hand smooth over them, and being different is something I pride myself on. What with all these morons running around if you aren’t different then you’re nothing more than they are Fluffy." Throughout this, the man's eyes had opened and closed at various moment, always unexpectedly. But, it was when the man wasn't looking that Easy found most exciting, making him want to sneak-attack his lips~or throat~or... But, he would behave himself if necessary, especially if it meant remaining in such elevated company for longer than he had expected to be alive. "You’re a smart boy." Easy released a one note laugh that shook his body, followed by a muttered, "Sorry." If you didn’t bring a note I’m sure that blade you carry would carve through the stone." Blade?! Had he told him about his knife?! He struggled to recall whether he had done that or if the man was psychic. "Though some think it a nice touch to leave notes in blood." Easy made a questioning sound at that. "That is silly though, I suppose they aren’t really the most punctual though, after all how can you distinguish any sort of lettering if it’s a long note? You have to be clever and come up with one word explanations. ‘Sorry’ for example, it’s not a good thing to say, if they were sorry they could have at least left people some cash. You know insurance policies don’t cover for suicides. Now something like ‘good bye’ if you live long enough to carve out two words kudos to you, still not good. Chances are if you’re leaving them behind you’ll see them soon in hell unless your life means that much to them where they miraculously change their ways."

Easy had become lost somewhere during the flow of words then panicked as he tried to gather together what actually had been said. Leaving a note in blood was something that had never crossed his mind. Did that mean the man had thought of doing it at some time, or did he like launching into musings about various topics that crossed his path? He no sooner thought that when the man asked, “What do you think Fluffy? How much blood do you have? Of course there is always giving me a message but I wouldn’t count on me relaying it. I tend to have selective hearing and might phrase it in the way you really mean it.” No sooner had "Fluffy" opened his mouth to frame an answer than Devlon plunged onward: "Not to mention I’d imagine if you kill yourself in a cemetery you might want to find someone with a more interesting name. You might be stuck with this ghost and he is probably some really ugly dude. So if you kill yourself in a cemetery then I’d do some research first, might find a real hotty, but I doubt it.” By now, Easy's mind was in a spin, and he was certain that this was the effect he must have on people when he got going, what he called rattling on and babbling. He would have to remember this sensation because maybe he could use it to his advantage.

“There is always the simple answer, run away from here. Go back home, tour Europe, do whatever you want. You’re a cat, so get with the attitude and wonder. Explore pounce hunt, lick yourself in inappropriate places and not care who sees." He couldn't help but giggle at that outrageous image. "Felines, the most annoying creatures on the face of the Earth know the greatest ways to live. I’ll even fund your trip out if you want. Return home Fluffy, Americans have larger penis sizes than most Europeans anyway. So even if you could get lucky the chance of them being satisfying in bed is really slim. Find out for yourself if you want, but I’d make sure they don’t remember, your eyes would be the giveaway. Not many hold that color of yours, they know who you are in the lineup." He liked the compliment, which was really the only one the man had given him outright. Devlon had noticed his eyes. Then, he realized guiltily that he hadn't actually complimented the man in return~or had he? He had commented about the lines on his face, thinking that wrinkles had been a source of horror for him, so much so that he had never imagined himself old enough to have them. What would he be like at Devlon Deemer's age~whatever that was?

For a moment, there was absolute silence in the mausoleum, for he waited to make certain that no more words were coming. In that moment of quiet, Easy found the right words with which to respond: "You said penis!" The purring giggle came again. First it was hump and now it was penis, neither one of the words that generally came up in a conversation~at least from an adult of such advanced age as he supposed this man was. "I need to rewind to figure out everything you said, Mr. Deemer. I'm not sure I can remember or even understand everything you said. Is that true? About~um~size? Haven't found many people over here to be with~hardly any~like~um..." He sighed heavily and shrugged. "I guess they don't like me much over here, not like back in California. I always thought maybe I was a little bit special 'cause of how I look. Back there~on the streets~I was~um~popular." Why pretend about his life? He was certain that the man had read him from the start and probably could tell him more than he knew about himself. Somehow, that wasn't at all frightening. In fact, it set him at ease, as if he had no secrets to keep. "You think I should go back~be on the streets again like before? Or..." He blushed at the thought that came to him, knowing that he dared not voice it. Keep me, he mused, for as long as I'm interesting. There was a sense of wonder at that thought, for he had rarely considered such a change in his life. But, the man would laugh at his immaturity and impulsiveness.

"Y-you talked about~about suicide like you know about it," Easy said quietly, his voice taking on a husky quality revealing his shift in emotions. "You didn't act like it's a big deal~me wantin' to~to die. You ever tried it, Mr. Deemer? I mean... Your face looks kind of sad, even when you joke around. I~I wasn't tryin' to smooth out the lines. I think I like 'em. They make you look..." The sigh was one of exasperation because he could not find the words to express what he felt. Distinguished wasn't quite right, but distinctive was closer. "My vocabulary is lousy," he admitted. "I don't know the words to describe you, how you make me feel, what you're like." He was silent for a moment, a contemplative look on the nearly masklike face. Do what I want? What if I don't know what I want? That's why I got to where I thought I didn't want to be here anymore. I study stuff, take lots of lessons. I promised a friend that we'd try to be part of the Opera House, only Lily's goin' away somewhere." His voice caught, and he had to clear his throat in order to continue. "Without Lily~Lilith~I ain't~um~I'm not sure I want to go on. I~I hurt her and Iah. They're my friends, my housemates, but I hurt them 'cause of how they feel about me. Didn't mean to hurt them. Mostly, people who want me~it don't~um~doesn't matter, y'know?" Feeling suddenly panicky, he had the urge to get to his feet and run away. But, he didn't, instead adjusting his hug so that his right arm began drifting downward, with slim, ivory fingers trailing over rough fabric till he touched the man's left hand, stroking it gently before the fingers began their climb upwards to once more caress the stubbly, lined face, sighing blissfully as he did so. With effort because he felt pleasingly drowsy at the moment, he lifted his head and opened his eyes to study the man. "You didn't freak out~about the suicide stuff," he recalled. "You just talked about how you'd leave a message~and blood. You can lose a lot before you die I guess. At least that's what it looked like w-when I..." Why go into that? "Never mind," he muttered, wishing that he had not brought this up. "I~I want..." He scowled, giving his head a shake. "I guess I don't know what I want. I thought it was somebody to want me like back home~to~to use me~h-hurt me. But, I don't think I'd want you to do that, Mr. Deemer. That feels..." He gave a one-shoulder shrug as his fingers moved over the man's forehead, wondering about the experiences that had created these lines, finding himself increasingly fascinated by the man. "Weird," he decided. "I'm usually all jumpy and nervous or pushin' to get the person mad at me. When you say stuff, you make me smile and laugh, like you're in on this joke about everything that nobody knows about. I think maybe that's true~like you've got all the answers or figured out what questions don't matter." Biting at his lower lip, he wondered if he should ask the question that was uppermost in his mind. Well, one of the runnersup...

"You don't have to tell me, Mr. Deemer, but... How'd you hurt your leg? If it's somethin' bad, I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me. I know you know that. I just had to say it. What are you? Have to be somebody really important," he guessed, "no matter what you do. You're used to tellin' people to go to hell," he was certain, "and I bet you do it a lot." He chuckled at that, imagining such a scene. "When you leave, d-do you... I mean..." He could feel the blush overtaking his fair skin. His fingers were entwined in the man's hair now, and he wished he had the nerve to draw him down into another kiss.

Then, he did.

[Pyromaniac]

ooc: aha! No more classes and finals are done so finally the post! Sorry about the wait and sort of bore of the post, but here it is ^^bic:

Devlon Deemer

Reactions, they always amused the elder male, and this boy held lots of reactions for him. Especially as he mused about the effects of pets and humans, and his fingers combed through the male’s hair. So there was but a twitch of his lip as he heard the male’s response in a purr,

"Mmmmmmm... Yeah," and he couldn’t help but be amused at his Fluffykins. So it was possible to turn people into mush without ever squishing their heads, who knew. Well now Devlon knew and he continued with his ministrations on the boy’s head, hey it was kind of fun. Of course then he went off into one of his tangent musings just to see if his fluffy could figure it all out. It took a moment, and he was mildly amused, this kid thought more about what he was going to say and the response he would give before just blurting it out. A non amused shocked expression came over his features as he heard,

"You said penis!" this he nodded at and relaxed back against the smooth stone of the mausoleum,

“and so did you little parrot” he told him, thinking the boy had responded with the same repeated word when he had said ‘hump’. Ah the immaturity and pure boyish giggle was definitely new, however it didn’t last long as Devlon thought it would.

[b] "I need to rewind to figure out everything you said, Mr. Deemer. I'm not sure I can remember or even understand everything you said. Is that true? About~um~size? Haven't found many people over here to be with~hardly any~like~um..." A smirk was on his lips and he told him,

“I don’t have to sleep with half these jokers to know that a woman is bigger than them. Usually a large attitude means he’s carrying a small package. Not to mention if you go to China you’ll be taller than most everyone so probably also not a good way to find someone bigger. If you’re looking for someone who knows how to use it though I’d go with the silent ones, they’re always thinking of kinky ideas” he told him his explanation, and really had no doubt the boy was popular in America.

“I hate popularity contests, they’re worse than surveys, always making you look on the ‘inside’ and usually not clearing anything up” he told him as he popped another nut into his mouth. Listening on to what the boy had to say he could only laugh a bit bitterly as he was asked about the suicide,

“take a walk into my past and you’ll realize how stupid suicide is. If you’re going to do it do it, if you hesitate once then you’re meant to live. I doubt it’s to try and kill yourself the next day but maybe that’s just me being old fashioned” he told him, though he hardly qualified as ‘old way thinking’.

“You’re right, you have lousy vocabulary, but the fact that you can speak at all means that you were meant to live to give someone else words don’t you think? Hm, the ponderings of life and I think the word you’re looking to describe me isn’t in existence. When describing me you need a set of words to sum me up, handsome, rough in the right places, and impossibly irresistible” he told him, all but feeling the boy’s anxiousness to touch him and kiss him.

“you worry too much. So you hurt two people, the fact that they love you only means they’ll forgive you when they should be forgiving themselves for falling for you. Let me guess, these are two tender hearts right? They’ll bleed if they see a bug limping nevertheless a lost Fluffykins.” He told him in his monotone voice and gave a bit of a grin,

“hm my leg, you could say it was my only moment of suicide, you couldn’t die with the marks on your arm, you should be careful about trying to bite off your appendages Fluffy. Only infected parts should be gnawed off, not the clean ones. So you could say that I am a defected animal, this leg should have been gnawed off years ago, probably long before you were born” he told him peeking an eye open at him. A smirk on his lips,

“Want to see it?” he asked as he told him seriously,

“you shouldn’t be surprised I know about your knife, let me guess, switchblade?” he asks with a knowing look and then a shrug,

“all kittens have claws Fluffy, especially alley cats, the fact that you used them on yourself is no surprise” he told him before once more closing his eyes.

“I’m intrigued that you’re holding back impulses so well Fluffy, probably the most reserved street cat I’ve met” and then thought,

“as for what you should do sorry to say I left my glass ball at home but don’t think so much. You’ll fry your brains quicker and the Chinese just might eat them because cat brains are a delicacy.” He told him simply.

[MystMoonstruck]

OOC: I'm just so happy you haven't forgotten Cat and me! Welcome back! You'll have to check out my new art thread~especially the promised title and then some! BIC:

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Devlon Deemer might never know how each caress and pet name were being treasured by the boy in his arms who would happily remain there as long as the man remained interested in being in his company. He was drawn to this man for some reason and felt more comfortable in his arms than with practically anyone in his life. Here in Paris, there had been so few: Iah Raksha, with his gentleness and deep sadness, someone he hoped would not sacrifice his innocence to him; Lilith Eytinge, who had given him her love; Jules Roland Passepartout, who had passed through his life far too quickly. There had been encounters with nameless ones, leaving him dissatisfied and disconsolate. But, here and now, he thought that he might be happy and content~such an odd feeling.

"'Little parrot'," Easy echoed dreamily. It reminded him of Lazare Moreau calling him little beast~in French of course. He liked little because it made him feel that he was still young enough to be wanted and even sought after though he was aware that that was an illusion.

“I don’t have to sleep with half these jokers to know that a woman is bigger than them. Usually a large attitude means he’s carrying a small package. Not to mention if you go to China you’ll be taller than most everyone so probably also not a good way to find someone bigger. If you’re looking for someone who knows how to use it though I’d go with the silent ones, they’re always thinking of kinky ideas." Easy would have liked to have absorbed this knowledge except he wasn't certain that he understood it~not even enough to ask for an explanation. So, he merely nodded and made a little sound of agreement. Whatever Devlon said sounded wonderful and brilliant, and he thought that the man might be enjoying himself very much simply speaking his mind.

Then, they had discussed suicide, and Devlon said, “Take a walk into my past and you’ll realize how stupid suicide is. If you’re going to do it do it, if you hesitate once then you’re meant to live. I doubt it’s to try and kill yourself the next day but maybe that’s just me being old fashioned.”

"I meant it when I did it, Mr. Deemer, 'specially the first time, after Wolf Quantrell got done with me and then Strat said what he did th-then done th-that. He~he locked me in the closet, and I~I hurt so much and was so scared. I did it with a hanger like that girl showed me. Only~only I forgot to put somethin' up against the door at the bottom, and th-the blood..." A shudder passed through his frail body and he pressed against the man, as if the feel of him could vanquish the memories. "The other times, I just got sick from pills I tried or got caught and bandaged up, mostly by Strat. It's like he always knew where I was~except for libraries. Never knew why he didn't look for me there. Or, maybe he did but there were too many places I could be. Maybe it was just luck. Maybe I should have tried to die there~in one of them. But then, I wouldn't be here with you, and I like bein' here with you."

When Devlon assured him “You’re right, you have lousy vocabulary," he giggled, listening as the man continued. "But the fact that you can speak at all means that you were meant to live to give someone else words don’t you think?" He shrugged at that though he had to admit that a number of people had claimed to like his chattiness. "Hm, the ponderings of life and I think the word you’re looking to describe me isn’t in existence. When describing me you need a set of words to sum me up, handsome, rough in the right places, and impossibly irresistible." Easy nodded several times, more like nuzzling against the slightly rough fabric of the suit. Actually, nearly anything except the polished stone around him would have been rougher than the silken texture of the youth's pale skin.

“You worry too much," Devlon chided, which Easy knew was true, yet he could not help but be concerned about those in his life. "So you hurt two people, the fact that they love you only means they’ll forgive you when they should be forgiving themselves for falling for you. Let me guess, these are two tender hearts right? They’ll bleed if they see a bug limping nevertheless a lost Fluffykins.” At that, Easy made a fretful sound, not wanting Iah and Lily to be teased even in this slight way. Yet, he could not be angry at Devlon since the man did not know the two young people he was attempting to describe.

“Hm my leg, you could say it was my only moment of suicide, you couldn’t die with the marks on your arm, you should be careful about trying to bite off your appendages Fluffy. Only infected parts should be gnawed off, not the clean ones. So you could say that I am a defected animal, this leg should have been gnawed off years ago, probably long before you were born.” There was a pause, then Devlon asked, “Want to see it?” Startled, Easy was uncertain what to say at that moment. Did that mean that the man might disrobe here? He decided to wait, to be patient for a spell as he had been rather forward with the man.

“You shouldn’t be surprised I know about your knife." That meant he hadn't disguised being startled at the mention of it. "Let me guess, switchblade?” Easy rode with the shrug and sighed, thinking that he should say something. 'All kittens have claws Fluffy, especially alley cats. The fact that you used them on yourself is no surprise."

"It's called a butterfly blade~a balisong knife I think is it's real name. It sort of~like~makes music when you open it, just rattling really. Only, I like the sound of it and the feel. Never used it on anybody but myself. Always carried one back home~as long as I can remember~maybe after I was~like 13-14. Didn't have one when I got to France, but I wanted one, but Gabriel said I couldn't have his~that I had to wait and maybe things would change. Wh-when Chance and Jamil left me here, I went out and bought one. A few times I thought about it, but today... Except for you bein' here and the letter bein' at Sanctuary..." But, his plan hadn't gone as planned.

“I’m intrigued that you’re holding back impulses so well Fluffy, probably the most reserved street cat I’ve met," Devlon informed him, and Easy felt rather proud of himself because he had been behaving. But, he was lucky that the man couldn't read minds! He grinned smugly at the thought of his secret fantasies. “As for what you should do sorry to say I left my glass ball at home but don’t think so much. You’ll fry your brains quicker and the Chinese just might eat them because cat brains are a delicacy.”

Easy looked up at him at that, a dubious look on his face. "Cat brains?" he asked in a way that revealed the thought that he might be having his leg pulled. "Nobody eats cat brains!" he declared, wrinkling his nose. "But, I seen brains in a grocery store once, when this guy took me shopping for stuff he thought I might eat. Calves brains. That's cows, right?" He shuddered again, this time from revulsion. "Hope I'm never that hungry!" Well, he might be hungry at times, but he certainly was ultra-picky about what he chose, determined to hang onto his youth as long as possible~as long as he lasted. Then, he decided that it was time to ask: "You said that~um~I could see it~your leg? You don't have to show me nothin', Mr. Devlon. Might not be able to trust me," he said teasingly with a nudge and an impish grin to go with the warning. "You can just tell me about it~if you want. It's OK if you don't want to 'cause I know talkin' about bein' hurt can be like it happenin' again. I don't want you to tell me if it'd hurt you. I think you been hurt a lot in your life. I~I'd make it better," he murmured, once more raising a hand to stroke the scruffy face. "Why do I like you so much, Mr. Deemer, everything about you?"

[Pyromaniac]

Devlon Deemer

It was rather calming to be petting the boy, not that he was really going anywhere, but still this uncertain youth wasn’t boring him. He wasn’t entertaining him, but he wasn’t uninteresting, really it may have all just been the rain though. He did wonder if maybe this boy was only about to kill himself that made him so, what was the word, fascinated? Maybe more like a morbid fascination than real fascination, it was like fascination but only gloomier. Could fascination then become depressed and what would it use to be cheerier, perkiset?

Easy looked like he was rather enjoying himself against the elder, but who could blame him? Then again it appeared that the youth was the only one to really get and laugh at Devlon’s rather dry humor. It felt good to be able to actually talk with someone, even if he was just an alley cat.

A smirk crossed his lips, he had him right where he wanted him as he heard the exclamation to cat brains, among other things. Ah youth, so naïve, so gullible, and so impressionable, sometimes it truly was hard to do things…not.

“Yes I hear brains are especially the lovely delicacy. People aren’t too picky, people in Kentucky like squirrel brains especially, however like mad cow there is a mad squirrel disease. So remember alley cat don’t go breaking open the skulls of furry animals for their brains unless you really want to be a zombie” he told him as his hands continued through the black of the other’s hair. For the heck of it he ruffled the locks to see what they would do, not surprised when they seemed to fall in inviting disarray. It seemed even the child’s hair was in tuned with the life style forced upon him, and fingers combed it out into an odd lazy Mohawk just because he could.

“Ah the dramatic tale of how this happened, you can read it in the newspaper if you find one old enough. That would be a great item on a treasure hunt” he thought for a moment and could just envision people trying to find something like that. Maybe in the library archives, but what fun would that be if they actually used the grey matter in their skulls? Not to mention the look on their faces and the questions they would have to ask of strangers, ah what torture it would be.

“Hm, you would make it better now would you? I don’t think alley cats have the power to turn back time, no matter how talented they are.” He told him as he added afterward,

“don’t let it stop your curiosity though, if you did you wouldn’t be much of a cat. More like a gold fish or some other highly forgetful creature” he told him as he laid his head back once more. A smirk on his lips,

“You like me because I have the older sex appeal and confidence youths are still learning, not to mention I’m more experienced than everyone you’ve been with. So if you want to remove my pants and check out my thigh be my guest. I might even shift my hips to make it easier on you. Really though this spot is comfy for marble walls” he told him still remaining relaxed next to the youth.

“So what do you say Fluffy? Want to see how sharp those claws of yours are and cut away clothing or are you more of the conventional sort?” he asked as he opened blue eyes to look at the boy. Almost daring him in a way.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy cringed and made a distressed sound as Devlon told him about squirrel brains and diseases, shuddering at these morbid thoughts that made him want to press even closer to this man who seemed to know everything there was yet still wanted to remain near him. He revelled in being petted and played with, a kittenish smile on his lips as Devlon made random designs with his silken tresses. Indeed, had he been a kitten, he would have been purring and tumbling about, delirious with pleasure. Very few of his lovers and others he had been taken by bothered to be this gently playful, and he was surprised that he was finding it so exciting. Generally, he sought abuse for excitement and would not have minded it now. But, this was bliss.

“Ah the dramatic tale of how this happened," Devlon began, as he apparently decided to explain about his leg. "You can read it in the newspaper if you find one old enough. That would be a great item on a treasure hunt.” That puzzled Easy, who had no concept of how records of newspapers were kept, giving him a mental image of some gargantuan room piled ceiling high with newspapers and someone struggling to extract just one copy as a column of papers swayed. Perhaps he would ask again later, if the man ever wanted to answer him. After all, it might be far too painful for him to relive in the retelling of it, even if it had been long ago. Hadn't Devlon said it had happened before he was born? He tried to picture what the man had been like then but gave up, as he liked the way he was now.

To Easy's fanciful offer that he could "make it better", which he realized sounded very childish, Devlon said, “Hm, you would make it better now, would you? I don’t think alley cats have the power to turn back time, no matter how talented they are. Don’t let it stop your curiosity though, if you did you wouldn’t be much of a cat. More like a gold fish or some other highly forgetful creature." That earned another giggle from the youth, as he definitely preferred being compared to a cat rather than a tiny, golden fish that swam in circles all day unless it was lucky enough to end up in a big aquarium. His mercurial nature and needs were somehow more feline.

“You like me because I have the older sex appeal and confidence youths are still learning," Devlon explained, adding, "not to mention I’m more experienced than everyone you’ve been with." Now, that thought definitely intrigued Easy. He had never thought of it that way, perhaps because he had been introduced to sex so early in his life. Had he ever been with anyone as old as Devlon Deemer? He couldn't recall at this moment, but he knew he would not be stopped by the man's age~whatever it was. "So if you want to remove my pants and check out my thigh be my guest." Easy could not stop the gasp of surprise at the man's repeated offer, and he moved away slightly in order to look more fully at him, just to make certain that Devlon wasn't~What was it Chance said?~pulling his leg! "I might even shift my hips to make it easier on you," he added, and Easy tried not to seem to anxious to do so. "Really though this spot is comfy for marble walls. So what do you say Fluffy? Want to see how sharp those claws of yours are and cut away clothing or are you more of the conventional sort?” Those piercing blue eyes targeted him, shaking him up in a way he never expected. His smile was tentative as he suddenly feared this might be a trick. Wasn't that how his luck had run far too often?

Hoping that he was not being played for a fool, Easy moved away from the man, already missing the feel of his arm around him. Once on his knees, he very carefully straddled Devlon's legs, close to sitting on his thighs but being very careful not to place pressure on the injured leg. Cupping the lean, rough face in gentle hands, he kissed the furrowed forehead as if he could ease the pain and sorrow the man carried within. Then, once more, their lips met, and he savored the feel of the man, releasing his fears of rejection and trying to trust and believe that this was what was wanted. After all, it wasn't as if the man had been overly aggressive, thus he struggled to hold back from his usual wildness. Pulling back slightly, he studied the man, tawny eyes searching as if he could somehow discover what it was Devlon Deemer wanted from him.

"You sure?" he asked softly. "You sure you want to do it here~whatever we do? W-we could go someplace." He wasn't certain where that would be. To tell the truth, he was concerned about the man's age and infirmity, having no knowledge of just how fit Devlon might remain. His biggest concern was to not hurt the man. "I~I don't know what you really want of me D-Devlon. I know what I want you to want." Suddenly bashful, he bowed his head, lashes fluttering as he blinked nervously. "I~I want to~to be with you," he said softly, looking up then, hoping to see understanding, not anger or irritation or disapproval. "I-it's just that~that..." Nervously, he began toying with the collar of the man's shirt, unbuttoning and easing open the shirt front so that his exploring fingers could touch the man's chest, first tracing his collarbones as if memorizing his body, which was true in a way. When allowed, Easy the Cat enjoyed taking his time. Something bothered him though: What had seemed so natural for Lilith and him here did not seem quite right for this roughly elegant man. For youth, a blanket on a marble floor was fine, but was it right for this encounter? "Do you really want to... You know... Here?" he asked timidly. "We could~maybe go someplace else. Depends on~um~what you like: fancy room maybe or... Well, there's Nothing Special, only it's pretty dark and real rough. There's this~this mansion I guess you could call it, only nobody lives there anymore, but lots of people crash~um~stay there when they need to. I dunno though... You in those places..." He grinned crookedly. "Actually, it's kinda hot, huh?" Then, he grew serious. "Guess I'm bein' stupid, thinkin' of takin' you to a rough part of town. Duh, Cat!" He considered Sanctuary, actually liking the idea of it~of Devlon Deemer seeing where he lived, perhaps visiting there again. Perhaps it would rid him of the images that clung to that room where he had been with Jules. He needed new memories.

OOC: What do you think, Pyro? Should we end the party at Sanctuary for this? Or would Devlon like to remain here? If you would like me to continue the scene, I can rewrite it and do so. BIC:

[Pyromaniac]

ooc:two days I'm getting better! xDbic:

Devlon Deemer

It was good that the other didn’t try and hide his reactions, not that he really could have from Devlon anyway, after all he was a master at the art of people. Not that people were art, and if they were it was really bad art, perhaps only their bodies were art. Personalities of people, they were the bad strokes in the picture of life. The blotches and smears of once a perfect painting tainted by the foulness of others seemed to just overcome everything. Sad but true words and actions could not be undone, and he knew this more than he would ever care to notice.

Opening blue eyes he felt like he was daring the young man to trust what he said was truth. He could see the skepticism in those expressive eyes as the boy watched him for a moment. Then reluctantly the other left his position, and Devlon wouldn’t stop the mental smirk if he wanted to. What an interesting and disturbed youth he had stumbled upon.

The boy had then moved on him, straddling his legs and all but sat on his thighs, yet he knew that his Fluffy was doing his best not to upset the leg injury. Ah how oh so considerate of him, and his eyes remained open as he watched the younger advance on him. Once more soft fingers touched and traced a rough face and Devlon allowed the kiss. The boy was using his talent once more, but this was different, those lips caressing his forehead, as if he could take away the years that had put them there, and soft lips met his.

The kiss was desperate from the youth and the elder could feel it. This was not the kiss from earlier, it wasn’t even close. As his lips were pulled away his Fluffy once more fell into uncertainty,

“have you ever been to Mexico?” he asked as his hand went into the male’s hair once more to mess with the strands,

“these floors and walls are softer than most of the beds that I slept on over there. But that isn’t your real concern” he told him as his hand captured the male’s cheek in his hand staring into those golden depths with a smirk,

“you know exactly what you want” he told him, not minding the hands that were exploring the flesh they found beneath his shirt. His own fingers content to keep moving about the black mop of thick hair,

“hm is that concern I hear? Don’t worry about this old man, it makes me feel that much older, but more importantly is why you would want to move. So tell me, who are you trying to forget?” he asked as he once more stared at the youth on his lap. He didn’t want the other to think too hard for a response though and his hands drew those soft lips to once more dance with his own, shifting the boy to a more comfortable position,

“I’m everything you want, but this is not what you need” he tells him as he pulls back slightly to look at the youth’s face.

“So what are you going to do now Fluffy? Follow those hormones and get lost in experience, or let it be for now and see where you stand in a year?” he asks looking at the young face.

“Or we could always just do it and go back to whatever we were doing before but you might just get addicted to me. After all no man can compete with my competence” he told him as he laid his head back a bit and closed his eyes once more.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy had read the phrase his heart swelled whether from pride or some other emotion, and he understood what it described as his own seemed to do that very thing, perhaps from the desperation and longing that filled him. He had come here ready to give up his life, to end it. Instead, he had found someone he wished to cling to for however long the man allowed. He could not understand why he felt this way, what there was about the man that drew him so strongly so that he wanted to be with him. It wasn't a one-night stand he wanted~a mindless moment of sex. He wanted to keep Devlon Deemer in his life if at all possible, even if the man never permitted his touch again. He wanted to sit quietly and listen to him and his odd way of looking at the world. What he had to offer in return, he wasn't certain, except to listen, to laugh, perhaps to learn, and absolutely to adore. He could be a devoted admirer if the man permitted it.

Devlon accepted his touch and his kisses, returning them when he might have simply sat there unresponsive, allowing that adoration Easy could not hide.

“Have you ever been to Mexico?” Devlon asked as he continued petting the youth who thought that he surely could never tire of such pleasure. Easy shook his head "no". He had resided in California for most of his life but had never traveled to that country, and he wondered what the man was getting at. “These floors and walls are softer than most of the beds that I slept on over there," Devlon informed him, and Easy's eyes widened with surprise, for it was as if the man had read his mind, finding the concerns he had about this place becoming a site for lovemaking once more. "But that isn’t your real concern," he continued, confusing Easy, as he had thought that it was the only thing on his mind. A strong, warm hand caressed his cheek, and he leaned into the gesture, his tawny eyes dreamy, lids drifting lower, full lips parted. "You know exactly what you want." Yes, they both knew what he wanted and desperately needed. "Hm is that concern I hear?" Easy nodded wordlessly. "Don’t worry about this old man, it makes me feel that much older, but more importantly is why you would want to move. So tell me, who are you trying to forget?"

How did he know? How could he know that what might happen might ease painful memories while stirring others as he thought of his night here with Lily. "Not forget," he said at last, his voice throaty, the velvet tones roughened. Then, he was being drawn into a kiss that he yielded to, melted into with a soft little moan.

When it ended, Devlon said, "I’m everything you want, but this is not what you need." Easy made a puzzled sound at that, not understanding. "So what are you going to do now Fluffy? Follow those hormones and get lost in experience, or let it be for now and see where you stand in a year? Or we could always just do it and go back to whatever we were doing before but you might just get addicted to me. After all no man can compete with my competence."

"A year?" he asked bewilderedly. "I want you now, M..." He stopped the formality. "Devlon." He sighed the name. "Not that long ago, I would've said here and now and not have thought nothin' about it~um~anything. You really want to do it on the floor of a mausoleum? Or, you want to come home with me~to Sanctuary? Help me get rid of a ghost there, Devlon. Make him go away. Make me remember you when I go in that room. Make me believe you'll come back and we'll go places and you'll talk to me and make me laugh and not wanna die. You don't have to be part of my life. It's not good enough for you. But, I'll be there if you want me," he swore rashly, believing that he could keep that promise. "Make me addicted to you so I think about you and not~not..." He sighed heavily then very carefully wrapped his arms around the man's neck and drew himself to the body that he was reassessing, thinking that he might have misjudged the man. Forgetting his fears that he might hurt Devlon, he began moving his body against him with more urgency, as if he could merge them, kisses straying to a rough cheek then his throat then back to those surprisingly talented lips and wonderfully sharp tongue that shaped such wonderful words.

Breathing quite heavily by now, he moved so that he could whisper in the man's ear: "People always ask, 'Your place or mine?' You want to come home with me, Devlon?" Then, he thought of something the man had said: "What did you mean I’m everything you want, but this is not what you need? What's that mean?" Easing back, he studied the man searchingly. "And, what's that about a year? What'd you mean? D-don't you want me?" Suddenly, he feared that he had misunderstood or had been played for a fool though he could be angry at no one but himself if that was so. "A year?" For someone of his age and life experience, it seemed an impossible length of time.

[Pyromaniac]

Devlon Deemer

Well there was no denying that the boy was responsive, and it amused the retired matador quite a bit. Undoubtedly the boy was ticklish, yet he didn’t think that the other had ever had something like that done to him without there being a health problem. The boy was thin yet very talented, he really must have been a hit in America with how he reacted to everything. So his previous owner decided to dump the foreign cat out of his territory, no wonder why the boy wanted to kill himself.

“hm, you’re going to take me home Fluffy?” he asked after the kisses and his hand once more went up to mess with the other’s hair. There was something very pleasing about messing with the locks of dead and sensitive tissue,

“I’m not a ghost buster, now or in my younger days, but I do tend to scare the living, maybe I can help you with the dead” he told him as his hands slid down the male’s back, testing out his shape. Finding exactly where the boy was underneath his clothes, and indeed he was as lank like as most were in his profession.

When the boy pulled back and started fretting about the meaning behind the elder’s words. The only thing he could do was pet his head in a bit of a pat like motion,

“Easy Fluffy, don’t want you losing any brain cells before I wipe them clean from your head” he tells him as he leans up close to those tantalizing lips,

“Funny thing is you actually want it don’t you Fluffy?” studying the young face up close he gave a shrug and leaned his head back, popping a peanut in his mouth before looking at the male on his thighs and offering him the last one,

“come on you’ll need all the nuts you can get” he said as he placed the innocent looking nut in the male’s hand,

“I think the rain stopped what do you say we lose our undead friends and take on that memory of yours, unless you would rather contemplate further what I meant” he said as he ruffled the male’s hair and then gave it another pat.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

"hm, you’re going to take me home Fluffy?” Devlon asked him, but Easy was so distracted by the petting and playing that he could only make dreamy, purry little noises that might have been taken for an affirmative reply. Yes, he wanted Devlon, but he thought he wanted him most at Sanctuary. “I’m not a ghost buster, now or in my younger days," the man said, and Easy giggled appreciatively, recalling seeing a movie about men "busting" ghosts. "But I do tend to scare the living," he continued in that wry tone of voice as if he knew everything and found it "no big deal", one of Easy's frequently used phrases when on the streets. "Maybe I can help you with the dead.” The youth moaned softly as strong, capable hands moved over him, once more revelling in the sensations he craved more than anything else.

When he had expressed his confusion about what the man had said, betraying his fear that Deemer was perhaps toying with his emotions, Devlon once more petted his hair and said, “Easy Fluffy, don’t want you losing any brain cells before I wipe them clean from your head." As he moved close enough to kiss, so near that Easy's mouth tingled for contact, Devlon refrained from kissing him, saying, “Funny thing is you actually want it don’t you Fluffy?” Easy whimpered as the man studied him, shrugged then rested his head against the wall once more. "Come on," he was coaxed, "you’ll need all the nuts you can get.” Easy accepted the offering, head bowed, eyes burning as he came to believe that the man might mean to leave him perhaps hoping for another encounter. Perhaps it was a game for him. Yet, he had said maybe he could help. If necessary, he would tell him about Jules.

“I think the rain stopped," Devlon noted, and Easy looked toward the partially open door. It was obviously still overcast, but the rain did seem to have let up, perhaps giving them a reprieve in which they could find a taxi. "What do you say we lose our undead friends and take on that memory of yours, unless you would rather contemplate further what I meant,” he said as he ruffled Easy's hair once more giving it a final pat, bringing a smile to the youth's face.

Nodding, he added, "OK," just to make sure the man knew he was willing~very much so. Feeling more confident, Easy allowed himself one last, quick kiss then, in a dancer's move, stood, suddenly aware of the delicacy of their position now as he looked down at the man, excitement rushing through him so that, when he moved away, he was trembling, heart fluttering. He held out his hands to the man, bracing himself to help him to his feet. "Thank you, Mr. Deemer~Devlon. I think maybe you're one of the most special people I ever met in my life. You can laugh at me if you want. It's OK. But, that don't~um~doesn't make it true."

Once the man was on his feet, it was a simple matter of gathering his belongings, storing the items he generally kept here, then walking to the entrance, where they would hail a cab to take them to Sanctuary, where Easy hoped that Devlon could banish the ghost that haunted him, perhaps helping him toward forgetting Jules Roland Passepartout. The thought came to him that perhaps he was replacing one with another. Would Devlon Deemer leave him as tormented? Or, could he possibly become part of his life, someone he could meet and talk to from time to time? He found himself looking forward to the ride home though he would not make any contact with the man~unless he wanted it. He was well-aware that some people would do things in private that they might refuse to do in public. Heck! Even you're like that, Cat! he admitted readily.

OOC: Pyro, would you like to do a final Devlon post here? Then, should I start the Sanctuary story? It will be a double post, but that can't be helped. BIC:

[Pyromaniac]

OOC: sure that sounds lovely ^^ Sorry about the long wait, summer courses ><BIC:

Devlon Deemer

Easily read, maybe that is why the boy’s first name was Easy. Easy to read, easy to understand, easy to get captivated by, easy to well lay, but overall just very easy. He was simplistic to the point of flaw, and he was sure that the biggest flaw on the boy was the need of acceptance and yearning for touch. Perhaps when he was older he would learn that the only person you really needed acceptance from, was yourself. People’s minds changed instantly, their tastes and what they liked and didn’t like, so no matter how good you were there would be a time when people would not like you. That is why only you could be happy with you, and this little alley cat had much to learn.

The ok was heard and once more a pair of lips pressed to his in a quick movement. He watched the more flexible body get off of him and he took the offered hands as he also got to his feet. Once there he heard the other say some words as he dusted himself of the dead dust that clung to his clothes,

"Thank you, Mr. Deemer~Devlon. I think maybe you're one of the most special people I ever met in my life. You can laugh at me if you want. It's OK. But, that don't~um~doesn't make it true." he heard the young boy say and he looked at the boy’s face, and a smirk of amusement graced his lips and made the muscles contort a bit in his own expression,

“You don’t know a lot of people, and good, you’re learning a bit Fluffy” he told him as he pat the boy on the head. His height was a bit more than Cat’s and he clicked his cane as his arm hung around the younger male and pulled him close, like he needed support for a moment,

“off we go then, lead on oh mischievous kitten” he said as he raised his cane and pointed out the door,

“That way” he said and when they emerged from the mausoleum the rain had stopped to but a mist.

[angelofthenight]

OOC: Since you've been so busy I took the liberty of starting our Easy/Kypton scene. Hope you don't mind. Here's the song (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BUfTlEoVqbE). BIC:

Kypton West

Why did people think cemeteries were so dreary? Kypton wouldnt' exactly want a summer home amid all the tombstones and corpses but there was something about them that he found strangely tranquil and somewhat peaceful. Not to mention the fact that no one could come here and possibly know that he didn't have some house on the outskirts of Paris and a million dollars in his pocket. To them he was just another soul, mourning the loss of someone he loved dearly. In all actuality he knew nothing of his family. They could all be dead and he would never know because he moved around to much for any kind of letter to find him. He kept it that way and when he did stay in one city for long periods of time he moved residence a lot.. just like he'd moved from his spot in the alley along Le Rue to another alley on the champs.. completely different part of the city, different crowd of people to sing to.. hadn't changed the fact that he hadn't thought up a new invention in months... he still designed bridges, planes, and rockets but nothing out of the ordinary that someone probably wasn't already thinking about doing. A faster rocket... a more stream line plane... an earthquake proof bridge... all of it was probably well in the works or already made and here Kypton was busting his tail to think up something that was already invented.. it was quiet frustrating...

So Kypton had found himself in the cemetery of all places. He'd brought his small port folio of music and opened it to a completed song that he hadn't really sung yet.. looking at the words he felt the familiar excitement to see what twists he could throw into it. . He walked up some stone steps and found himself in a large dome shaped structure.. a mausoleum of sorts he supposed. He looked around at the statues that towered above him.. concrete angels... their closed eyes and clasped hands chiseled out of the finest marble by steady hands. He'd always wondered what it would be like to be a sculptor.. how much patience it would take not to mention all the time and money... he wondered if any had ever died because they'd gone to long without food or water... to lost in their work to think about anything else. Kypton was like that sometimes... always had been. He'd become so caught up in a homework assignment or school project that he would forget to eat. Lately it had been composition that had been distracting him.. not that he really had money to afford food but it was still nice to do something with your day other then compose.. unless of course it was raining and there was no one out.... like today for instance... today was a free day for Kypton.. and he intended to take full advantage of the seemingly deserted city by working on one of his newest and most recent songs...

He sat with his back against the wall. Looking down at the words he ran his finger across the page covered in notes and lyrics. He always wrote all these notes and then when he actually sang the song for the first time he never remembered any of them. He looked around, making sure he was alone.. he didn't want people to walk on him and think he was some kind of lunatic, singing in a cemetery. At least the dead wouldn't make fun of him if he messed up or held a note to long... or as he often did, got so into it that he wasn't aware of being watched or listened to. Looking at the title of the song.. he always titled his songs before he finished them, he felt that it was almost appropriate to be singing this song in a place like this. So many people had lost loved ones and those loved ones were now buried here. The inspiration for this song had come from talking to a man when he'd been in Barcelona, Spain, he'd lost the only woman he'd ever loved and was still grieving her lost five years later. This song had been written for him... it was a pity that Kypton had no intention of going that way so his friend would never hear it.. maybe when Kypton was dead and buried someone would find his music and make an album out of it.. wouldn't that be interesting.. to have someone else singing his music. He pushed the thoughts from his head and slowly he began to sing.. imagining the introduction of the piano... the low strings in the background...

Who can say for certain
Maybe you're still here
I feel you all around me
Your memories so clear

Deep in the stillness
I can hear you speak
You're still an inspiration
Can it be
That you are mine
Forever love
And you are watching over me from up above

Fly me up to where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile to know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are

Are you gently sleeping
Here inside my dream
And isn't faith believing
All power can't be seen

As my heart holds you
Just one beat away
I cherish all you gave me everyday
'cause you are mine
Forever love
Watching me from up above

And I believe
That angels breathe
And that love will live on and never leave

Fly me up
To where you are
Beyond the distant star
I wish upon tonight
To see you smile
If only for awhile
To know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are

I know you're there
A breath away's not far
To where you are

He had closed his eyes while he'd sang the song. He'd thought of his little brother. He'd thought of his home and the family he'd once left behind without a thought or care about it. He'd thought of everything he'd given up and he felt a knot form in his throat. Why did he long for people to hear this song? For it to touch them the way it had touched him. He opened his eyes and looked down at the lyrics in front of him.. he couldn't even remember reading them.. maybe they'd just been there to make sure he hadn't forgotten the words.. it had happened on occasion.. he'd forgotten the words to one of his own songs but then again Kypton had written quiet a few songs of late and he wasn't sure why. He'd left New York so that he wouldn't have to mess with music and yet he now found he was living off of it.. that it was getting him from place to place rather then the things he invented and thought up. He closed the portfolio and sighed again... tilting his head back he looked up at the stone ceiling.. which had been constructed beautifully in his opinion.. and let his brooding thoughts about his future carry him away from reality.. and into the inner contours of his mind.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy's world had shattered as he heard the news that Chorus Master Lazare Moreau had moved on, left Opera Populaire for someplace he had not learned about. They had provided him the name of another teacher, instructing him to contact him for a schedule of lessons. Stunned, he could only stare at the slip of paper, the writing blurred as if his eyes were refusing to focus. He had wandered without a destination, hoping he would meet no one he was acquainted with, for his world had shattered and fallen to emptiness. When Lilith Eytinge had left, he had been wounded deeply but had attempted to continue, and it seemed to be working, as he had been accepted into the orchestra.

"I didn't want it!" he shouted aloud, his voice grating in his throat, which then was torn by an inarticulate sound that was filled with pain, frustration, anger and grief. "No!" came the shrill cry as he kicked at the wall he was facing again and again then pounding it with his fists, not caring if he ever held a bow and violin again, thinking that he would never want to sing another note. "It's not fair!" he shrieked, furious at fate or whatever it was that toyed with him throughout his stormy life. "Not fair!" he sobbed as he fell against the wall, curling up at its base, his arms wrapped around himself as if in consolation.

When the tears had dried, he struggled to his feet, feeling as if he had been drained of all energy, any will to continue what he had long considered a charade, a pretense. He recognized the wall and the gate now and realized he was at Cimetiere de Montmartre. Perhaps he could take shelter in the Leroux mausoleum, where he had left items enough to allow him to stay till he knew what he wanted to do. Scrubbing at his eyes with aching hands, he stumbled often as he made his way to the crypt, at some point becoming aware of singing coming from somewhere, nothing unusual to him, as he had sung and played the violin on these grounds on more than one occasion.

Once in the structure, he pulled out blankets and a knapsack full of supplies, disturbing one of the many cats as he did so, sending the tortoiseshell scurrying to a far corner to watch him, knowing he was good for occasional scraps though not yet trusting him for even a fleeting petting. Easy had spread the first blanket, keeping it folded in half for the padding, when he found himself pausing to listen once more to the singer. Curious, he left off what he was doing to walk to the door, hesitating before going in search of the singer, his black-clad form seemingly suited to his surroundings. He had expected a voice lesson, thus had worn one of his nicer black suits, a white linen shirt and the shortboots that had become frequent footwear. With his reddened eyes and tearstreaked face, he might have been mistaken for a mourner, and he was in a way, wasn't he?

At the entrance to the mausoleum, one he had never entered, he stood looking at the man seated on the floor, his eyes closed, singing. He was very attractive, the first thing Easy seemed to notice, particularly with males, older than himself he guessed, and dressed for comfort, again a guess. After all, he frequently wore clothing that might make one mistake him for the streetperson he had been and still was at heart (and many nights). Fumbling in his pockets, he finally found a handkerchief for his still-damp face, his eyes burning to shed tears again as the sadness of the song tore at him, for he could find nothing but sorrow in the world now. His bleak outlook tore away at the hopefulness expressed in song though he could hear the beauty of the voice, wondering if he ever would feel the desire to sing again.

Easy stood quietly, supposing the man might sing again, having no words to offer him, one of the rare times he did not wish to reach out to someone. To open to friendship was to invite more pain. To open one's self to anyone else... Was it worth what he felt now? He had to resolve never to respond to anyone ever again. Upon that thought, he turned to leave without speaking to the man who likely never knew he had an audience of one~if he didn't count the colony of cats Easy was becoming well-acquainted with. Perhaps cats were safest. They didn't let you get too close. They took what they wanted and ran. He had allowed himself to become domesticated and needed to remind himself of what it took to be a true alleycat. Now, this Cat was going to slip away, back to where he could hide and heal for a time.

[angelofthenight]

Kypton West

Exploring his mind for him was like exploring a labyrinth of emotions. He himself was never quiet sure what was around a corner or a how a single thought would take him to a completely different one. Kypton could practically feel himself falling, deep into the contours of his mind where he could think to himself without the concern of being ridiculed or made fun of for the paths his thoughts were taking. He knew he had a gift. He'd known it since he was four years old and his mother had raved about how her son was going to be a famous singer and take the industry by storm when he was old enough. He'd known it when he'd gotten up at his seventh grade production of Fiddler on the Roof as the part of Tevye. He remembered the silence in the room, it had been the first time he'd ever really sang in front of all his friends and the student body and they were quiet... there was no whispering as was typical at a show put on by the drama club. At first the students, at least some of them had been laughing but then it didn't take long for them to stop and Kypton felt like he could do anything as he bowed with his fellow cast members... and he felt that was where he belonged...

Perhaps if his mother hadn't pushed him so hard. Perhaps if she had just let him figure out what he wanted to do for himself then forcing music on him. He'd thought once of majoring in musical theater. He loved to act and to throw music into it seemed to be the most amazing possibility. But his mother had pushed him so hard that it practically pushed him away from his desire to have anything to do with music. It was impossible to see himself doing somewhere where he would be controlled by what other people wanted. At least that was how he'd felt at the time, now he realized that it wasn't like that at all but it was a little late for that. Thirteen years ago he'd made a decision and there was no going back. Sometimes Kypton found himself regretting it, regretting all the things he'd given up just so he could make his own way in the world without the oppression and demand of his mother. He'd known that his mother loved him.... she was a very sweet kind woman but when it came to his singing she'd wanted so desperate to see her son famous and though he knew her intentions of seeing that he was well of were good the means by which she was getting there weren't as noble.

Kypton was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of what he thought were retreating footsteps. Naturally, spending years on the streets senses like hearing were heightened so that one could hear every little sound when you were moving through a dark alley or down a dark unlit street. Kypton slowly got to his feet... making sure to avoid stepping on his music as he tried to get a better look at the retreating figure. It was a boy. Kypton could tell that much and he wondered for a moment if he should follow him. He seemed to be trying to get away from him and Kypton wasn't sure that he should. Something in him though urged him to pursue the youth and find out what he was doing here, certainly he hadn't come to just listen to Kypton sing as he had ended up doing. Kypton shoved his portfolio of music back into his obviously worn knapsack that he'd had for the past ten years and slung it over his shoulder. He trotted lazily over to where the boy had gone and found himself in a another mausoleum. He looked around and when he spotted the boy he gazed at him intently for a moment. "You know I don't mind people listening to me sing... but when they don't introduce themselves... then I mind..." he said with a teasing smile, hoping that the obviously upset youth wouldn't take him seriously. "The names Kip..." he told the boy openly, hoping to somehow draw him out of the shell he'd obviously withdrawn into for his own protection or sanity.... Kypton wasn't sure which.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Upon returning to "his" place, Easy had taken a bottle of water from the knapsack, along with a small amber bottle of pills he had received through a Mehmet-connected physician. He had complained of insomnia due to anxiety about his new schedules of rehearsals and lessons. He now had a number of prescriptions, assuring them that he was disposing of the others. It seemed that most did not do what they were intended, leaving him "wired" instead of relaxed or making him feel listless instead of alert and ready for a taxing day. The bottle he held now contained tablets guaranteed to make him sleep, as he already had tested them. He hadn't actually thought out his plans, but he was aware that he had made his bed this morning, made certain that everything was in place, returned the violin Azer to its place in the music room, along with the sheet music he had been working on, and, just before leaving his bedroom, had placed an item on the bed that previously he had intended to bring with him to the crypt. Easy sat quietly contemplating what it was that he wanted to do. He had his knife with him but had begun to question such attempts, as they always seemed to fail, the marks left accusing him of failure. He had never had the right sort of pills before, having tried aspirin once when he was very young, only making himself messily sick. He had watched "Romeo & Juliet" again last night~the one from the Sixties that had him so fascinated though he understood very little of what was said. He had found himself wondering what poison the youth had taken that, although momentarily painful, had left him looking so serenely beautiful. At that time, he had not known what the morrow would bring (morrow being a word with which he had become enamored): the end of his time with Lazare Moreau, who had become his reason for trying to be part of Opera Populaire since Lilith Eytinge had departed. He had been living for those lessons, and now even that had been taken from him. He had hoped that Devlon Deemer might be here again but somehow knew that would be out of the realm of probability. As he viewed it, he had two choices: take the pills, lie down and forget about the world, or go back home, change and go to Nothing Special to get drunk and laid, blowing off the next-day's rehearsal. If that got him canned, who cared?! He certainly didn't! Without Lazare, what did he want with that world?

Scowling, Easy shook the bottle, making the pills chatter within, holding it up so that light suffused the amber glass that had been freed of its label.

"You know I don't mind people listening to me sing... but when they don't introduce themselves... then I mind..." Easy gasped, well and truly startled, nearly dropping the bottle, which he juggled for a heart-catching moment before placing it on his lap, as his legs were stretched out before him. It nestled there in the ebony valley his trouser-clad legs created, and he stared wide-eyed, mouth parted, certain this person had guessed what he had been contemplating. It took him a moment to realize that this was the man from the other crypt, meaning his presence had been detected after all. "The name's Kip," the man said, but Easy hesitated to respond, reminding himself of his plan to shut out the world.

Only days before, he would have been hopeful of the man's interest in him, now he was dead certain that such a thing was impossible~not the way his luck had turned. He had believed he could fit in, for he had responded to Amelia Nightwing and Sophie Capulet, had met a man who seemed fond of him~at least for the moment, and had won a place at the Opera House. A piece of paper had shattered the world he had begun to believe in, for no one would ever understand what he had felt for his voice teacher: unrequited love~given unconditionally. He doubted that Lazare had given him even a second's thought though he had dreamed of it, treasuring the "pet name" he had been called once, remembering how the man had called him by his first name that day at the jewelry store, the day he had been invited to the housewarming~to which he had not come.

After too long a silence in which he had looked away from the man, finally bowing his head, Easy said quietly, "Didn't want to bother you. Just curious." He realized that his voice sounded detached, emotionless, with a rough edge not usually there, perhaps from the screaming he had put his throat through, as if punishing it so that it no longer could form the notes he had been trained to produce. Well, let Moreau come here and reprimand him. Then, he would kneel before him as he had on the roof and beg him for forgiveness. Tears burned his eyes at the memories, and he tried to blink them away, at last scrubbing at his face with the handkerchief in fiercely self-punishing movements. "Y-you sing good," he added, yielding a fraction in his frostiness but thinking that it sounded more like an accusation than a compliment.

[angelofthenight]

Kypton West

The youth seemed troubled and Kypton wondered what it was that might be wrong. He knew that young people, especially teenagers were under a lot of pressures from society to look and act a certain way or do certain things that was far above what they were capable of. Yet gazing at this young man in front of him Kypton was sure that it was nothing like that. He looked as if he were grieving the loss of someone. Kypton supposed that if that was the case then a cemetery was a good place to come and think about that loss. Alive or dead someone, or something very important had left the boy's life and he was obviously suffering from it. Kypton wondered what the boy had been up to, spying the pills in his lap Kypton hoped that it wasn't what his mind immediately jumped to. Having talked to trouble youths and various other depressed individuals Kypton knew that people like that when they were left alone when in the most danger possible... because no one could protect them against themselves. Kypton felt relief wash over him to think that he'd possibly prevented something though he wasn't about to jump to conclusions, for all Kypton knew those pills could be some kind of Vitamin or something harmless like that... nothing lethal like the drugs kids seemed to get a hold of now a days.

He realized after a moment that he was just standing there so he teased the boy and told him that he didn't mind people listening to him sing but when they didn't stop to introduce themselves he minded. Which wasn't entirely true.. He sang for dozens of people on the street corners that he sat for hours at, and often not one of them stopped to introduce themselves or compliment him or anything of the kind. Kypton was used to the indifference of society and how people seemed to not care how good he was because of his circumstances... now maybe if he was standing there in expensive suit they might taken notice of him... but Kypton in an expensive suit? Not even in his dreams or anyone's for that matter. When the boy didnt' make any moved Kypton leaned against the threshold of the mausoleum, looking at the boy who was sitting on the blanket and looking somewhat like a lost puppy, unsure of which way his master had gone. The boy wasn't even looking at him, Kypton tried to see if something interesting had caught his eye, the possibility of the youth being easily distracted popping into his mind but when nothing presented itself Kypton knew that the boy just didnt' want him there... but he wasn't about to leave... the though to of leaving the youth alone with that pill bottle not knowing what was in it left a sinking feeling in his gut...

The boy still didn't look at him but at least he moved his head so that he was now looking at the ground. Kypton waited for him to say something... about to comment on the fact that he seemed to have made quiet a place for himself here in the little mausoleum but finally the silence was broken and Kypton was relieved... at least he knew the boy could talk. "Didn't want to bother you. Just curious." he explained and Kypton nodded and smiled. That was all people ever were was curious. Wanted to see the person that could sing like that... not that Kypton felt he was that incredible.. there were so many more recorded artists that could out do him any day.. he was sure of it. Kypton dared to take a step into the mausoleum, wondering if the boy would completely flip out on him. When nothing happened Kypton slowly and hesitantly crossed small space until he was standing a couple feet away from the young man. He watched the boy wipe at his eyes that were glossed over from unshed tears. What had gotten him so upset was what Kypton wanted to know. "Y-you sing good," he said in a way that didn't suggest compliment int he least but Kypton took it as the boy had meant it... as a compliment... Kypton was grateful for anyone who told him he sang good.

Kypton slowly crouched down so his gaze was level with the boy's though he would still not look at Kypton, he knew he would have to do something to get through to him. "Well thank you..." he said graciously and bowing his head slightly in respect. "That means a lot..." he said and it was completely genuine... it was nice to know that someone appreciated your voice now and again. "Can I ask you name... I can't really truly thank you until I know it can I?" he asked with a light smile then he looked around. "You don't mind if I sit do you?" he asked and when the boy made no move to deny him the chance to stay Kypton sat and crossed his legs Indian style.... he gazed at the boy for a long moment, dark brown eyes unable to hid the intensity of his gaze. The boy looked to be in his late teens... possibly early twenties but in Kypton's mind that was pushing it. He was small... slender... good looking in his own way and Kypton wondered what it was that had brought him here... he didn't know to many people who sought solace in a cemetery but then again it seemed like there were a lot of exceptions in Paris... and who really knew.. Kypton might have just found another very interesting and intriguing exception.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

While Easy normally would have been aware of every movement the man made and would have been sizing him up rather avidly, he found himself startled once more when he realized that the man was crouching nearby, in his line of sight if he chose to raise his head enough to face him, which he stubbornly refused to do, holding on to his desolation.

"Well thank you," the man said in response to the compliment. "That means a lot." To that, feeling miserable, Easy hmmphed, as if to say that he wasn't falling for that. Why should praise from him mean anything to someone who could sing like that? "Can I ask you name. I can't really truly thank you until I know it can I?" Easy remained stubbornly silent, having only to picture Lazare's face and knowing he would never see him again in order to remain frozen, his hands hovering protectively over the bottle. "You don't mind if I sit do you?" Easy heard sounds that indicated the man had found a seat on the cool floor of the crypt. Any other time, he would have been spreading the blankets for their mutual comfort and raiding the knapsack for its tinned items that would have made an impromptu picnic. He would have been smiling and perhaps laughing, answering questions and asking some of his own. He merely sat quietly, feeling detached, as if his spirt had already departed, leaving this shell of pain and torment, as he had tried to do so often throughout his life.

"I..." The sound was barely audible, for he had not meant to say anything at all, unable to think of one thing he wished to say. Had he believed that Lazare's teaching could win him a place at the Opera House, where he would have been happy to show the world what his wonderful teacher could do? Even if Moreau hadn't left, this man's voice meant that he could never succeed. There was nothing in Paris or anywhere else where he was wanted or wanted to be. If he could have, he would like to have gone home to die. To end his life in a mausoleum in a Parisian cemetery seemed far too romantic an ending.

"Like Romeo," he murmured as he looked toward one of the raised stone tombs, the tawny eyes glazed and unfocused, his mind overlaying the movie image. The corners of his mouth twitched into what nearly was a smile that faded quickly. He had the costume at home, the memory of which captured his fancy, as if to trick him into delaying his demise. What would they think of finding a crazy American boy dead~dressed like a character from a movie made perhaps two decades before he was born~n a Parisian crypt? The whimsical thought seemed to lure him away from his plan for the moment.

Unsteadily, Easy turned his head slightly to look in the man's direction. "I'm OK," he assured him, his voice trembling, giving him away. "I'll be OK." As if to convince the man, he scooped up the bottle with his left hand, which shook so that he had difficulty slipping it into an inner pocket. Head bowed again, he muttered, "You can go back to your singin'. Sorry I bothered you." He wasn't used to being rude toward people unless it was getting to know them,, but this man obviously did not need to bother himself with some whiny stranger. Wasn't that what a cemetery was about usually: crying, being depressed and not wanting to talk to anyone? It was as good an excuse as any. The man certainly would not understand a streetboy hopelesly infatuated with his arrogant, wildly handsome voice teacher, someone no longer in his life. At the thought, Easy whimpered, angry at himself for being so weak.

[angelofthenight]

Kypton West

Kypton wasn't sure what to do. He'd tried to make the boy smile and each time he thought he was on the verge of reaching his goal his hopes were shattered by what the youth said or how he reacted. He was looking awfully defensive with his knees in front of him, like he was trying to keep the world out and Kypton let out a breath. So maybe teasing wasn't the best approach. He'd been a lot of places. Met a lot of people. He'd talked to more then one youth like this. He tried to recall one of those encounters. His mind drifted to Sardinia, Italy, an island just off the coast of Italy whee he'd worked on the docks by unloading and transferring cargo from ships. He'd found Raphael, or Ralph as he'd later admitted he liked to be called, huddled among a large shipment of crab and lobster. Kypton had been eighteen at the time and pretty familiar with the language so he tried to coax him out, telling him that he would get in trouble if he stayed there... finally Kypton offered to buy him a shaved ice from a vendor just off the wharf and the fourteen year old had come out and Kypton had managed to get out of him was what bothering him as they sat on the curb and Ralph eagerly ate the shaved ice. Kypton learned a lot from the lad who had lost his parents and was now living with a rich, stuck up aunt who didn't care about much except her hair and her dog. Kypton had met Ralph there on that curb every day for six months.. then one day he just stopped coming.. and Kypton didn't know and would never know what had happened.

So maybe this boy wasn't exactly like Raphael. The one thing that was similar was that lost look in the boy's eyes. He looked like he was drowning and not even trying to keep his head above the water, like it didn't matter to him weather he was sucked under and tossed about by the whims of society. Kypton gazed at the youth for a long moment... he hadn't gotten a reply out of him since he'd walked over here and Kypton was beginning to wonder if the boy knew how to talk and hen he spoke and Kypton smiled. So he wasn't mute after all... that was good to know. Kypton asked the young man if he could sit and when he made no reply Kypton sat down across from the boy, he was not going to leave until he was certain this youth wasn't going to do something stupid. He made a noise that sounded like he was getting ready to say something but Kypton's hopes were aroused for no reason because instead of saying anything the boy turned his gaze away from Kypton yet again and looked everywhere but at him. Either this boy didn't like him or he just had serious issues with making eye contact. Kypton wasn't sure but it didn't give him any inclination to leave.. if anything it made him want to stay and figure out what it was that was eating at him.

The boy seemed lost in thought and Kypton to turned his gaze to his knapsack that was now propped against his leg. He dug in it and pulled out a water bottle that he'd been using for the last two weeks, just refilling when he got the chance. Taking a sip he set the bottle down and rested his hands on his knees he looked at the youth and waited for him to realize that Kypton wasn't about to go anywhere. "Like Romeo," he muttered almost inaudibly and Kypton followed the boy's gaze to where he was looking at a tombstone. Romeo? As in Romeo et Juliet? Kypton had heard the story in Latin when he was living in Greece... he thought it was a beautiful story, the pure tragedy of it making it so. Perhaps it was because Kypton was drawn to darker sadder lyrics that the story spoke to him. He remembered a young girl asking him to sing the theme song from the story and Kypton had sang it just for her... he loved the music and considered singing it on the street corner but since he'd sang it in Italian and he was in France so that really didn't work. Kypton wondered what the boy had meant, 'like Romeo' did that mean he'd lost some love that he would never get back or that he planning to kill himself... or a combination of the two... all the more incentive to stay and figure it out.

Finally the boy looked at Kypton. Well he turned his head in Kypton's general direction and that was better then nothing Kypton supposed. Kypton tried to catch his eye and when he didn't succeed he settled for just having the boy look in his direction... at least he had shown that he knew Kypton existed. "I'm OK," he tried to tell Kypton and the trembling in his voice was a dead give away. If he was fine then he wouldnt' be acting like this. He would at least told Kypton his name if nothing else. "I'll be OK." he tried to reassure Kypton again. He watched as the youth picked up the pill with a trembling hand and slipped it into his pocket. Well that was one worry momentarily forgotten. Now he just had to get the boy to tell him his name so that he could talk him more easily. A person's name was the one word someone would always hear... even if you were in a room full of hundreds of people... you could hear you name from anywhere in the room because it was the most familiar word to you. You couldnt' help but listen when someone used your name. "You can go back to your singin'. Sorry I bothered you." The boy assured him, though the way he said it suggested that was what he wanted Kypton to do. He was pushing Kypton away. Unfortunately for the boy Kypton really didn't care at this point weather the boy wanted him here or not... he felt obligated to stay... this youth should not be left alone... that much Kypton knew.

Kypton picked up his knapsack again and digging around in it he pulled out a score of music.... the song he'd been singing earlier. "No thanks... I think I'll stay here..." Kypton said casually as he leafed through the piece of music. "Besides you haven't told me your name yet..." he told the boy with a smile, though it wasn't returned. Kypton was one of those people who could be patient when he needed to be though it wasn't exactly one of his strong points and at the moment Kypton wasn't sure what to do. Finally he sighed. "Alright I'll sing something... as long as you listen to me..." he said seriously and then he started to hum the beginning to the song he'd been singing earlier and softly he began to sing... he did not restrain his voice.. despite the fact that only audience member was sitting right in front of him he let his voice soar as he heard it in his head and when he finished the last few held notes he broke off and looked at the youth that was now looking at him.. or at least Kypton liked to think he was looking at him. "For the record you didn't bother me... believe me if I didn't want to come over here I wouldn't have..." he assured the youth, which was the truth.. Kypton hadn't exactly felt obligated to go see the boy... he'd just been curious.. wanting to know why he'd just slipped away instead of talking to him after he'd finished his song.. now he knew.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy was realizing that this man did not intend to go away anytime soon, and he was certain it was because he had been unable to hide his emotional state and undoubtedly had led him to suspect his intentions, which is why he had put away the pills. He had hoped that was convincing enough. If he had felt stronger, he might have stood up and walked out of this place or even run, but he felt so weary and sapped of energy that he was certain he would be unable to get to the door without stumbling, revealing his weakness.

Easy had hoped that he would send the man away, back to the other crypt, to continue his practice. Right now, he didn't think he could stand to hear one note of music~neither voice nor violin. He could not imagine ever finding the music within him again. Strange how he had never visualized Lazare leaving Opera Populaire, but then he had not expected Lily to leave them, believing she loved her home at Sanctuary. A scowl passed over his face as he thought of what a mockery the name had become: Sanctuary. What a joke!

So caught up was he in his brooding that he did not realize that his suggestion for the man to leave had been refused, and he was surprised when the man began singing again. He was angry at himself for revealing his lack of awareness, for there had been a time when he had been so well-insulated that nothing ruffled his calm surface. He still was a long way from there. The beautiful voice flooded the crypt, but Easy refused to yield to it, wrapping his arms around himself as if to restrain any emotions that might try to escape. In the state he was in, tears were moments away, and to give in to tears was to break down emotionally, which would lead to him being comforted like a miserable child, which was the last thing he wanted to be. Determinedly, Easy kept his head bowed and his eyes squeezed shut, willing himself to hate the man for his voice for it reminded him of his loss, hating the music for all of the pain that it had brought him since he had come to Paris. All he had to do was think of Gabriel, Ilya, Anton and others~even Jules. No! He must not think of him! The very thought caused him to shake his head angrily, his teeth gritted.

The song ended, the final notes echoing in the air. This time, he was aware when the man spoke: "For the record you didn't bother me... believe me if I didn't want to come over here I wouldn't have."

"Told you," Easy began, his voice roughened velvet now, throaty, without its usual silken quality. "I'm OK. I~I just lost someone." In a way, it was the truth. He had lost Lilith, too, hadn't he, and Jules, though the young Frenchman had never been truly his. But, he had noticed him~out of all of the others at La Valhalla. He feared that it was only a matter of time till Iah Raksha found someone or somewhere else he wished to be. At one time, he had been so proud of his home, only it wasn't his. It was on loan from the Mehmets, just as his entire life was. Rafe Chancery and Jamil Mehmet owned him. All he had done while in Paris was to spend on lessons and the rest, enough to ensure their ownership. "Lost people," he sighed. Then, drawing his legs up to him, he slipped his arms around his knees, resting his head on them, shutting out the world. "Tired," he murmured, "so tired."

[angelofthenight]

OOC: Sorry this took me a while. Baby rabbits got out and I had to go catch them. Two are still missing :( BIC:

Kypton West

Kypton wasn't a very judgmental person. He didn't like to assume things about people until he knew more about them. Yet looking at this boy now as he sat there in such a defensive position, his knees curled up to his chest, with his arms wrapped around them like he intended to keep the world out at all costs made Kypton think that the youth had been in this state more then one other time in his presumably short life. Kypton wanted to help him. He'd meant many troubled people, in many different countries all over Europe and yet he still didn't know what to for this particular kid. He seemed so lost, as if he were drowning in a sea of emotions and couldn't escape. Kypton had stretched out his hand for the boy to take... all the boy had to do was let Kypton help him... but that was easier said then done. The youth obviously didn't want any help... that much could be seen in the way he was shutting Kypton out. The way the boys eyes seemed to look at every where except Kypton was evidence enough of that. Kypton let out a sigh... telling the boy that he wasn't going to leave... then he pulled a score out of his knapsack and began to sing.

His voice filled the crypt and though Kypton couldnt' necessarily hear himself he was still very aware of the fact that the boy was not looking at him. Kypton wondered what he would have to do to get the boy to open up to him at least a little bit and tell him what was the matter. He could try telling him his own problems, that worked on occasion but then again Kypton didn't feel like telling this almost complete stranger that he'd lived on the street for almost thirteen years and now that he had the chance to get off the street he had to admit he was afraid. Not afraid of society itself but afraid of changing his life and doing something that he'd been avoiding for the past thirteen years. Reese wanted to see Kypton on stage... Kypton's on mother had drove her son away with her desire to see him on stage. Kypton couldn't bring himself to tell Reese that he was afraid though he was pretty sure she already knew. Was there something this boy was running from and he regretted the decisions he'd made. On occasion Kypton had regretted what he'd done... leaving his family and all that he had going for him... for nothing and freedom... it was complicated... and somehow he didn't know how to explain to anyone... he barely even understood it himself.

Kypton's voice died away... the last few notes resounding off the stone walls and creating an almost haunting echoing affect. There was a silence that Kypton let last for a few moment to see if the boy would say anything and when he didn't Kypton told him that he hadn't' bothered him.... admitting that if he hadn't wanted to come over here he wouldnt' have. It was completely true... Kypton wasn't afraid to tell people like it was... even if it hurt his feelings... though he would be lying to say that he wasn't being cautious with the kid sitting in front of him. "Told you," the said again. His voice sounded raspy and almost gravely... like he'd been crying.. and Kypton suspected that he probably had... "I'm OK. I~I just lost someone." he explained and Kypton nodded in understanding... he'd lost plenty of people.. that was what happened when you went a lot of places and met a lot of people... you had to lose some of them... that was just life and though Kypton felt bad for the boy he hoped that he didn't react like this to every bad thing that happened... it was extremely unhealthy and what was more.. one of these days when the boy tried to end his life Kypton or someone like him wasn't going to be there to make sure he didn't succeed... if he kept trying eventually he would succeed... he wondered if the youth had thought about that. "Lost people," the boy sighed and Kypton gave the kid an apologetic look though he didn't say anything... at that moment the boy seemed to withdraw into his shell further and shut Kypton out even more. "Tired," he murmured and Kypton raised and eyebrow... this kid had been through a lot hadn't he? "so tired." he repeated and Kypton let out a sigh... he really needed to do something and soon.

Kypton ran through his options mentally. He could try to talk to him and hope that maybe he would jump in. That didn't seem very likely since the boy had been this quiet so far. He could get up and walk away and hope that the boy kept the lid on his bottle of pills. Kypton wasn't someone who left things up to chance and hope though. He could ask him questions until he answered them... that was a thought but as Kypton gazed at the boy he decided that option one would be the best route to breaking through the troubled mind of a teenage boy. "Aren't you at all curious why I'm singing in a cemetery?" Kypton asked, turning his eyes to the ground so he was no longer look at the boy. It was his turn to be guarded.. especially now that he was bringing up such a touchy subject as his past. Kypton took a breath... beginning to draw indescribable shapes on the dusty stone floor. "It's because... for the past thirteen years I've been wandering all over Europe..." he lifted his gaze to look at the boy... wondering if he was paying any attention at all. Not really caring he continued. "I sing to make money you know... like on street corners and by fountains and in parks..." he explained plainly.. he continued to draw on the ground... knowing that if this didn't get the boy to at least ask him questions then he would be back at square one...

[MystMoonstruck]

OOC: I hear "bunnies", I think "plot bunnies"! *giggle* Good luck hunting wabbits! BIC:

Easy "Cat" Tanner

The silence after he had spoken was an uncomfortable one, as the man made no sign of leaving. Easy feared that he had encountered someone who wished to save him, a youth who wished only to be left alone in order to harden his shell against the world, cutting away the ties that held him, allowing him to drift as he used to, making no plans in an almost timeless state of existence marked only as day~a time to sleep~and night, which beckoned him to the streets.

"Aren't you at all curious why I'm singing in a cemetery?" the man asked, and Easy shook his head, a weak movement, as if it took a great deal of energy. After all, he himself had sung here and played violin, even danced as he played though nowhere near a grave, for he had seen a horrific film about people who had done exactly that though they had been drunk and mocking. He wasn't superstitious that he knew, but he certainly would not be disrespectful of the dead. He supposed they wouldn't mind his music though, but some might disagree of course. No one had ever reprimanded him for his performances.

"Done that," Easy said listlessly, wondering if his voice would carry. "Sung here, too." He would at least concede that.

He wasn't sure if the man had heard when he said "It's because... for the past thirteen years I've been wandering all over Europe. I sing to make money you know... like on street corners and by fountains and in parks."

At last, Easy raised his head just enough to peer at the man, the tawny eyes dull now as if all energy had been drained from him. "Been on the streets. Been on street corners," he admitted, "but I wasn't singin'. Never sang till I came here." He looked away then, off into the darkened area of the structure. "Why'd I bother?" he murmured, sighing as he thought of never seeing Lazare again, never being reprimanded, scolded and glared at again. He had relished every moment of his time with the man, and he sometimes dreamed of going to the door of his apartment and making a shrine of it. Only, he feared finding the man there and being dismissed from his presence forever. What if Lazare was leaving because of him?! He gasped at the shock of that thought, arms tightening their grip in a convulsive movement. Perhaps Lazare was fleeing him, the streetrat with the hopeless voice that could not be trained enough for the Opera House stage in spite of Moreau's claim once upon a time that he could make anyone a great singer. Perhaps if the man had told him just once that he was even passable instead of stressing that he never failed... There was a vast difference between the two, at least to Easy's point of view. "Been on the streets plenty!" he spat, the bitterness twisting his features. Where you belong! he amended silently and fiercely.

[angelofthenight]

Kypton West

Trying to get through to this kid was like trying to drill through a stone wall with a chisel. Every little piece at a time made took away that much more stone and yet when you stepped back to look at the progress that had been made in it's entirety he felt discouraged because he couldnt' see where he was getting but he knew that what work he had done wasn't in vain so he had to keep going. The boy seemed so unreceptive of what Kypton was doing to try and bring him out of the shell that he'd drawn himself up into. It was like trying to talk a turtle out of it's shell.. no matter what you said and did until you left the turtle wasn't about to do anything. The only problem was Kypton wasn't about to leave either. He was already to involved. If he left the boy and then came to find out later that the youth had done something to hurt himself Kypton would definitely feel like it was his fault. He didn't want to have to live with that for the rest of his life but more then that he didnt' want this boy to do anything to himself as Kypton was sure he'd been about to do when he'd approached... he was going to get this boy talking if it took all week.. and at this point Kypton was beginning to think that it might.

He'd tried practically everything that he could think of. He was almost out of options. Almost, but not quiet. He tried telling the youth about himself. He even tried asking him a question, hoping for a verbal response and when the boy only shook his head in response to his question of weather he was curious about Kypton or not He sighed. So the boy wasn't about to answer to questions so he simply started to tell him about himself. He told him that he spent his time on the streets... traveling all over Europe trying to make money. He'd tried not to make it sound like he was homeless but that was rather difficult considering the fact that he hadn't quiet figured out how to mask it to the point that no one figured it out. His own appearance gave the circumstances he was living in away almost immediately. "Done that," boy whispered, almost to soft for Kypton to hear... but his hears that were trained to pick out a flute beneath a drum set, keyboard, string orchestra and guitar managed to catch it. "Sung here, too." He admitted and Kypton shrugged... alright.. that wasn't exactly the response Kypton had wanted but if it was all he was going to get for now he'd have to take it.

Easy lifted his head and Kypton was hoping for a change of expression instead all he got was that same shattered, listless look. The boy looked at him with his tawny eyes... empty and despairing... something in those eyes tugged at Kypton and again he realized that he hadn't tried another method yet... one that he wasn't exactly fond of.. physical contact with anyone except Reese was difficult for him... perhaps it was because he'd lived such a solitary existence for so long. "Been on the streets. Been on street corners," he admitted and Kypton raised an eyebrow. His interest wasn't feigned either. Perhaps he had more in common with this kid then either of them realized. "but I wasn't singin'. Never sang till I came here." He looked away then and Kypton almost felt like they'd taken one step forward and then two steps back... again the youth wasn't looking at him... that wasn't necessarily a good sign. "Why'd I bother?" he asked almost despairingly and Kypton thought about that for a minute. The kid had said he'd lost someone... people.. he'd said he'd lost people. Kypton was beginning to wonder if the person he'd lost had been somehow connected to singing and that was why he wasn't that open to Kypton's help.. because the first impression he had of him was singing.. and that was connecting him to the person he'd lost... why hadn't' he thought of it before. "Been on the streets plenty!" the boy said bitterly and Kypton sighed. He really didn't have a choice did he? Either he'd drew on a last resort or he left... and Kypton had already decided that he wasn't going to leave.

He got up and slowly he walked over to the boy... which really wasn't that far but it felt like it took him a good couple of minutes to cover the distance between them. Carefully Kypton sat down next to the boy and slowly he rested a hand on the kids shoulder. "Look kid... I know that it's hard to lose someone... especially someone that you care about... but if everyone got this hurt over it then what kind of world would we live in?" Kypton asked... placing his other hand on the boy's other shoulder he forced him to look at him. "You can't let this ruin your life... think about the person that you lost... would they want you to be acting like this?" he asked a very direct question.. one that he hoped he would get an answer from. "Now come on... tell me your name so I don't have to keep calling you kid... it makes me feel old... and I'm not that old... " he said with a light smile... wondering if he'd finally be lucky to get through to this depressed youth.. and who knew... maybe by the end of this rather fated meeting he would get to see a ghost of a smile grace the boy's lips.. Kypton had talked to many people in this kid's state.... they were all different.. and Kypton hoped that he'd found the one thing that would help pull this one out of his depression.. at least a little bit.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy was not so deep within himself that he wasn't aware when the man began to move, and he supposed he had chased him away with his doom and gloom. His dark emotions were not something he was proud of, but they had long been his companion, for he had always had more nightmares than dreams, far more pain than any pleasure he had been able to find in the world. He knew that he had tried very hard to be part of the world of the Opera House. He had made friends, taken lessons, reached out to people, and accepted their help. It was simply that the losses were more than he could bear. When he had had bad days, he could count on "holing up" in Sanctuary with his friends, watching movies, listening to music, making music and dancing. But, their times together had become few and far between until the parting of their ways, leaving him drowning in commitments he had tried to make, promises made with and to those friends. Without Lilith and Iah, his nearly structured world was dealt lethal blows. Then came the loss of his first teacher in Paris, someone who meant more to him than anyone, even that man, could have guessed.

Then, a hand touched his shoulder, and his body jerked in response, as if he had been struck, then he froze in place. Dazed, he realized that the man now was seated beside him, something he had not expected. At some other time, he might have melted into tears at the gesture, but he steeled himself against any weakness, gritting his teeth till his jaws ached.

"Look kid... I know that it's hard to lose someone... especially someone that you care about... but if everyone got this hurt over it then what kind of world would we live in?" Easy struggled with the man's effort to make him meet his gaze, and the tawny eyes were hard as the gemstone they resembled when he finally yielded slightly, staring back unblinkingly, lashes flickering only when his eyes burned so that he was forced to. He would not allow himself the usual weakness of admiring the young man's beauty or enjoying a gentle touch, knowing that this meant nothing that could break through to him. Only one thing could do that, and he was not fool enough to believe in it. "You can't let this ruin your life... think about the person that you lost... would they want you to be acting like this?"

His breathing ragged from controlling the storm of emotions within him, Easy's voice rasped when he growled, his teeth still gritted, "He wouldn't give a damn!" It was the truth, but it made his loss no less painful. He was not certain what it was he felt but supposed that unrequited love was as close as he could get. What a laugh, Cat! What a joke you are! he seethed, hating himself and a very large part of the world at the moment with a fierceness that would have shocked those who thought they knew him.

"Now come on... tell me your name so I don't have to keep calling you kid... it makes me feel old... and I'm not that old." Easy stubbornly refused to return the smile, his gaze remaining stony.

"Cat." It wasn't really yielding to give him his streetname. "Usually charge to be touched," he challenged. "You wanna get hands on?" He was reaching for the boychick he had been, the sullen, streetwise boy who provoked until they struck out then rolled with the punches to come back for more. What he had been at 15 or 17, he could be again, couldn't he? He smirked at the man, his expression softening into a coquettish one. "You're pretty enough," he began, "so I wouldn't charge you~much." There. That should get rid of him! he thought smugly, realizing that not so long ago they might be well on their way to being friends. Sure you would, Cat! Till he got to know you...

OOC: Oooh! He's being very aggravating! I hate when he's in these moods! *sigh* BIC:

[angelofthenight]

Kypton West

This kid was like some unyielding force that Kypton couldn't seem to push his way through. He was running out of ideas and quickly. Kypton had never been a quitter though. Nor did he plan on starting now with this kid. He planned to get through to this kid if it took him all day. Which would probably be more inconvenient for the youth then it was for Kypton. All he'd been planning on doing today was to sit somewhere quiet and work on the piece he'd been singing earlier. He had the lyrics and the tune that he wanted. What remained to be hammered out was the instrumentation and what musical voice he wanted to be the focal point of the melody. It was the most challenging part of writing a song for him, figuring out how he wanted it to sound. There were so many different approaches... sometimes he felt like a hamster running on a wheel... the rungs of possibilities passing right before his eyes yet even as he tried to grab at them he realized that catching them was impossible because he wasn't going anywhere. That was he felt now... like the solution to this particular predicament that he'd managed to get himself into. Wait to go Kypton... could have walked away... but he wasn't the type that walked away... except once.. and look where that had gotten him.

It had been one of his last options. To try and get the boy to respond through physical touch. He had never been a very physical person. Only ever really comfortable to hug close friends and family. Now as he sat down next to the boy he kept in mind that it was for this kid's own good.. that he was trying to help him come out of the depressed state that he seemed to be drowning. Kypton could have done numerous things. Including put his arm around the youth's shoulders but that felt like to much and so Kypton simply rested his hand on the youth's shoulder and was relieved when the kid looked at him. He tried to talk to him. Telling him that he knew what it was like to lose someone... how it was hard... especially when it was someone you'd deeply cared about. Seeing this kid like this made him wonder his family had taken it when they'd realized that he was gone. How had they felt when there were no traces of him anywhere... that no one had seen a fifteen year old kid... how had they felt when no body had been found and they just to assume that he was dead... had they behaved like this? The thought sent a wave of guilt coursing through Kypton's body so intense that he felt his hands tremble... if it had affected them like this... how on Earth were they surviving... how would they react if he just showed up on their doorstep? He wasn't sure.. and he wasn't sure he even wanted to find out.

When the boy didn't say anything once again Kypton asked him if the person that he'd lost would want him to behave this way. It was meant as a guilt trip. One to make him think and realize just how melodramatic he really was being. Kypton fell silent and the only sound noise was ragged breaths of the boy beside him. He was obviously struggling and Kypton sat there... leaving him alone to fight his internal battle that was raging behind those stone hard eyes of his. "He wouldn't give a damn!" the boy spat and Kypton glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. What kind of person was he grieving the loss of then? Someone who wouldnt' care if the kid just sat here and wallowed in his own misery. Perhaps that wasn't the best approach then. Unfortunately Kypton wasn't some psychologist. He didn't have some mind tricks up his sleeve... it wasn't like he could simply ask 'how does that make you feel' and everything would be better... this kid was one difficult youth and Kypton wondered if he'd been this difficult for his parents... assuming he didn't still live with them... how had they handled it... he would have been glad to know that.. maybe that would give him some idea about how to get through to the kid today.

Finally he asked the boy something that he'd been wanting to know for a while. His name. He tried to make a joke out of it. Telling him that he felt old calling him kid when really he wasn't that old at all.. he liked to think that he wasn't hat old. Just turn twenty-eight a couple of months ago.. he was in the prime of his life.. at least that was what most people would say. "Cat." the boy said and Kypton was certain he was toying with him... but if the kid wanted Kypton to call him Cat then Cat it would be. "Usually charge to be touched," he challenged and Kypton smiled. He'd met plenty of kids... both girls and boys that had taken tot hat means of making money. After living on the streets you met all kinds of people and if Cat was that kind of kid Kypton was certain he knew exactly how to handle him. He'd just uncovered the key to this locked door... at least he thought so. "You wanna get hands on?" He asked and instead of it making him completely uncomfortable as it might have say six years ago he gazed at the kid... not moving from his spot. Instead he leaned forward slightly, his body turned towards Cat instead of away as it had been before. A smile turned up the corners of the kid's mouth and Kypton realized he'd met one of his goals... the kid had smiled. "You're pretty enough," he began and Kypton's mouth twitched as a smile threatened at it's corners... how many times had he heard that one? Mostly from women though... "so I wouldn't charge you~much." he taunted and Kypton was certain it was method the boy was using to drive the older man away. Kypton had seen to many people like this to know that if he played his cards right he would finally get through to the kid.

Kypton lean forward slightly.. lifting his hand he traced the boys forearm.. let his fingers travel up over his elbow and then come to rest on his shoulder. Kypton chuckled softly and then shook his head slowly. "Is that how you always draw people in Cat?" he said in almost a soft whisper.. sitting completely still.. he didn't want the boy to be distracted by some movement.. he wanted him to hear his every word. "Surely you understand that I can't afford to spend my money on someone like you..." he crooned in an almost sing song voice... Cat wanted to be that way... two could play at that game. "No one would pay a penny to spend even a few minutes with someone as depressed as you..." Kypton smiled slightly, hating every word he said. "Besides when I decided to make such an... investment... I intend on being satisfied..." he muttered.. his eyes were now challenging now.. he'd never slept with another male.. nor was he about to start now.. he just had to get the kid angry.. so angry that he broke down.. then they would be getting somewhere. "If I spend my money in such an indulgent way.. I look for pleasure.. and there's no way that you could please me.. not with that kind of attitude..." he said, chucking Cat under the chin with his fingertips he moved away slowly... his hand was the last thing to move.. as it fell away from Cat's shoulder he was certain that he'd somehow gotten through to him.

OOC: That was.. unexpected. BIC:

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

When Easy had made his challenge, he had expected the man to retreat, and it surprised him when Kypton leaned forward~enough to make the youth tense and his eyes widen just a fraction. The man was moving so that he was uncertain of what was happening but refused to believe that it was in response to his opening play. So, he had tried to be as brazen as possible, outright propositioning the man. After all, other men had hurried the other way as quickly as possible when they realized that he was attracted. An interested individual was far more difficult to come by, though here is where he had met Devlon Deemer. His breath caught at the memory of the older man, and he bit at his lower lip, hissing at the sensation, his eyes dreamy now and unfocused.

Thus, he was outright stunned when the man leaned forward once more, and, in a mesmerizing movement, moved his hand along Easy's forearm, the fingers making their way up to the elbow then past it, coming to rest on his shoulder. His gasp was a tiny sound, upon which he realized that he had been holding his breath all the while. The smooth brow furrowed for a moment at the man's quiet laughter, and he felt a flash of anger that he had been toyed with though, he confessed, he had been asking for it.

"Is that how you always draw people in Cat?" the man asked softly, both of them seemingly frozen in place, eyes locked, neither of them yielding. Weirdly, Easy was reminded of those times he had to corner Phantom, the cat he had adopted at Lilith's insistence. There were times when their golden gazes had fought a battle of wills. "Surely you understand that I can't afford to spend my money on someone like you." At least that was promising, the youth supposed, but he wasn't falling for it, reminding himself of how his first violin teacher had played him so beautifully and, ultimately, cruelly. Those memories helped him brace himself with disbelief. "No one would pay a penny to spend even a few minutes with someone as depressed as you." Easy stopped the words that wanted to burst forth in his defense, but he allowed not one sound to escape, at least for the moment. "Besides when I decided to make such an... investment... I intend on being satisfied." The golden eyes narrowed at that, obviously gauging the man's veracity though still doubting his intent. It was like promising tuna to Phantom if he'd come out from behind wherever he had hidden out. Generally, even when the furry critter emerged, there would be no fishy treat. "If I spend my money in such an indulgent way.. I look for pleasure.. and there's no way that you could please me.. not with that kind of attitude." With those words, Easy was tickled under the chin, so totally unexpected that his breath caught in his throat.

It took a moment to find his balance again as he assured himself this man was trying to trick him into talking. His lips, tremulous, finally fashioned his signature smirk, and he blinked several times seeming to bring the world into focus, as if roused from a dream. "Too bad. Most guys out there like the attitude. Won't get nowhere bein' soft 'n' sweet with most of 'em. Don't usually warn nobody, but, if you don't move back, I'm gonna kiss you, and you know and I know that you don't want that to happen 'cause you're so straight arrow it hurts, man. What you think of that?" As if in slow motion, he began moving, leaving Kip enough time to retreat before their lips met because he knew the man wasn't about to let that happen. Chance would've have said he was calling his bluff~something about playing cards, he recalled. He still was unaware that the games being played were distracting him from his pain at least for the moment. The man would run away, and he would be alone again, which is what he had to do. He must rid himself of ties and make no new ones to replace them.

[angelofthenight]

Kypton West

Kypton was being a complete idiot. He would never ever consider doing anything with a male. He was about as straight as they got, unashamed to watch a woman walked passed him or flirt a bit here and there if he thought they would be receptive to it. He'd had plenty of nights with people like Cat.. all women mind you but in a way it was still the same... they were all the same.. only looking for one thing. Kypton had been told he was a satisfying lover though he hadn't had a woman in almost six years, not since his trip into Dublin the last time. He'd been at a pub... a woman had been sitting in the corner dressed in all her journey he would later come to learn and Kypton had approached her. He hadn't gone back to the fields that night as he'd planned.. instead he found himself in the attic of a small cottage... lying on some old mattress with a woman in his arms... he didn't even learn her name until she looked up at him sleepily and muttered it in his ear. That was the last time and it didn't bother him to realize it. In fact the thought of sleeping with a woman now made him uneasy.. because those kinds of relationship usually led to trouble.. and the last thing Kypton wanted was trouble.

So really all he was trying to do with Cat was draw him out of his shell. He knew that people like this kid responded to physical touch... something that Kypton wasn't very good at. Still he tried his best and then he started to challenge the kid. Telling him how no one would pay a penny to spend even a minute with someone as depressed as him. It was true... Kypton had slept with more then one girl that had been so depressed she couldn't even remember where she was or why he was holding her and instead of doing anything to indulge his desires he'd simply ended up holding her while she cried. Not the most fun times he'd ever had but Kypton was at least glad that she hadn't been alone in that.. it was never good to grieve alone.. just like ti wasn't good to drink alone. Kypton had met more then one guy who preferred to drink alone.. they'd told him that they liked it that way.. then they could sit there and think about their problems, or not think instead of pretending to be interested in some conversation that he could barely comprehend because he was so hopelessly drunk... no matter what Cat said Kypton wasn't about to let him grieve alone.. which why he hadn't left yet.

He knew that he getting himself deeper and deeper... digging his own grave figuratively speaking. Cat was smiling now and that was one milestone met in Kypton's opinion. Though that smile held more implication then Kypton could completely comprehend. "Too bad. Most guys out there like the attitude. Won't get nowhere bein' soft 'n' sweet with most of 'em. Don't usually warn nobody, but, if you don't move back, I'm gonna kiss you, and you know and I know that you don't want that to happen 'cause you're so straight arrow it hurts,, man. What you think of that?" he asked and Kypton smiled and chuckled softly. He could almost gauntness that he was faster then this kid. That if he made some kind of move on him he would easily get out of the way. As if on cue Cat began to lean forward and Kypton move sideways easily... pinning one of the kid's arms behind his back he held him in an uncomfortable but not painful position. He was breathing heavily. That had been a close one.. the thought of kissing a male left a sick taste in his mouth and caused his stomach to turn uneasily... Cat was right.. he was as straight as an arrow... and Kypton would not ashamed of that.. if anything he was glad of it...

He held Cat there for a moment.. trying to get his point across.. then he whispered in the kid's ear softly. "Unfortunately for you I'm about as straight as they come.. quiet a catch with the girl you know...." He said with a bemused smile, then he leaned in close.. hovering next to the kid's ear. "But I must admit that was a nice try Cat..." he taunted and then he let him go.. moving a little ways away, back over to his knapsack where he pulled out an almost empty water bottle and drained it's contents. He tried to think of a place that he could refill it where the water wouldn't make him sick but he wouldn't have to pay for it either. "So what's your real name Cat?" He asked as he continued to dig through his knapsack. He finally pulled out a granola bar and tore into like a starving animal. "You know most of the time I don't act like that but I wasn't sure how else to get you talking..." he explained.. not really caring if the kid had withdrawn back into his shell once more. At this point Kypton was going to stay here until the kid opened up or decided to leave... after all.. by all rights and reasons this was Kypton's home... everywhere on the streets was his home.. unlike this kid next to him who probably had some cozy apartment to go home to... with running water.. electricity.. and air condition.. the air condition was what Kypton missed most during the summer.. and at that moment as he realized how warm it was on the late July day in the City of Lights.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy had half-expected the sort of maneuver the man had done to avoid osculation. He hadn't even had to try for it, knowing he wouldn't get there though he might have if he had done his kissing bandit bit. But, he wasn't in that sort of mood though he couldn't complain about being pinned, could he, and the man's heavy breathing made the full lips twitch as he resisted smiling. Just as he had thought: straight arrow all the way.

Yeah, right, 13 years on the street! Easy thought sourly, finding it difficult to believe that this man had managed to defend his honor for that long. Maybe he was a better fighter than he looked or maybe just a very fast runner.

"Unfortunately for you," the man had whispered in his ear, something that always gave Easy the shivers. "I'm about as straight as they come.. quite a catch with the girl you know. But I must admit that was a nice try Cat," he said as he released him, allowing Easy to move back to his prior position of upright fetal though with his chin resting on his knees.

"That wasn't a try, man," he said softly, not looking at the man who now sat at a safe enough distance to defend his honor. He felt victorious that he had made him retreat with so little difficulty and had the proverbial ace up his sleeve if he decided to be rid of the man~now that he knew how excruciatingly hetero he was. The man was afraid of him, just as other males had been from time to time in his life, as if he might contaminate them. How odd that, even when they knew he slept with females, they still were on edge around him. So, maybe he should see if his theory held out. "I warned you first, remember? So, that don't count. Besides, if we're gonna match notches, I prob'ly started sleepin' 'round a long time before you ever did. First time with a girl, I was 10, and she was 16," he recalled yet again for someone, realizing that the memory was no stronger or more detailed than the first time he had spoken of it here in Paris. Maybe writing about it in his journal would do the trick. "That surprise you~that I been with women, too? Mostly ones older'n me..." Loyalty would not allow him to speak of how he and Lilith Eytinge had been lovers here. He had not spoken about her to anyone, holding their time together in a special place in his mind. "On the streets, ain't no women lookin' for company, not payin' for it. So, you steal or you do what you gotta. I knew how to do that a long, long time ago." All of this had been delivered quietly, in a steady tone of voice with very little emotion coloring the words. "I ain't gonna contaminate you. I know your type, how you look down on boychicks, how some of you use the girls out there. If you stayed Mr. Pure, you're lucky. Me? I never got to make the decision. People made it for me before I knew what it even was." At that, he tucked chin to chest, resting his forehead against his knees, some of his anger dissipated but very weary though proud that he had not broken down. His shield was relatively intact, and he had ammo left.

"So what's your real name Cat?" the man asked, making Easy realize that the battle was far from over. "You know most of the time I don't act like that but I wasn't sure how else to get you talking."

"Alleycat," Easy offered. "That's my full name: Alleycat. Cat for short." He knew that he was being aggravating and difficult, something he excelled at, but the man had asked for it with his persistent presence. The youth was beginning to view this as a practice session for the newly toughened version of Easy Tanner.

[angelofthenight]

Kypton West

Kypton had never really been a complainer. Maybe that was why he actually faired okay when it came to his nomadic lifestyle that he lived. He'd never really been one of those people who required the finer things in life to be happy. His parents had always had some kind of management around to cook, clean, and do various chores for them around the house. They'd even had a nanny for Kypton until it became clear that there wasn't a nanny out there that wanted to put up with him. Not trhat Kypton had ever really been a difficult chld. Quiet the contrary. It was simply that Kypton was very inqiusitive and a lot of nannies bored Kypton to the point that he would become almost irritable. As a child he had not coped with boredom well and then his mother had him on a tight schedule. Piano lessons in the morning, vocal lessons in the afternoon and music theory and scale studies in the evening. It had been that constant routine that had drove Kypton absolutley insane. That was why he enjoyed the easy going pace of the life he now lived... no schedules... unpredictable days with the unknown around every corner... he woke up in the mornings not knowing what was going to happen... it was the kind of life most people didn't realize they wanted it unless they got a glimspe of it somehow.

Maybe that was why Kypton had a hard time just letting this kid's bitterness slide. Not that Kypton was wallowing in self pity or anything like that but Cat honestly coudln't know what it was like to lose someone until he deliberately walked out on someone he cared about for reasons that at the time seemed beyond his control. To spend the rest of your life wondering what it had been like if you'd done something else. Kypton wasn't look for a pity party... only a little perspective for the narrow minded youthi n front of him. Kypton had retreated slightly after Cat's attempt to get him to leave. He tried to turn the tables by admitting to him that he was indeed as a straight as they came and that he was quiet a catch with the ladies... a fact that was true in the women he'd had over the years. He'd been careful in his choices though. Never had he slept with a woman unless he was absolutely sure he woudln't regret it when he woke up the next morning.. if he had even a bit of doubt in his mind he would turn the other way and leave the woman standing there... wondering what had happened to the handsome stranger she'd been talking with... he treid to press Cat's buttons... telling him that it was a nice try. "That wasn't a try, man," Cat told him and Kypton let out a breath that could be considered a scoff... he hadn't suceeded so obviously it was a try.

The kid seemed to be thinking about something, which was okay with Kypton. In the silence the ensued he let his own mind wander to his own experiences that he'd had on the street... of women who had tried to woo him and failed because he wasn't attracted to them or he didn't feel like being social in any form. There had been more then one lady that had waltzed up to him and slipped money into his hand.. like he was some prostitue looking for a companion for the evening. Those were the people Kypton avoided.. the ones that were desperate enough to pay for a release from their solitude. "I warned you first, remember? So, that don't count. Besides, if we're gonna match notches, I prob'ly started sleepin' 'round a long time before you ever did. First time with a girl, I was 10, and she was 16," Cat told him and Kypton gave him a strange look... when had they started comparing such things as the age that they'd lost their virginity at? "That surprise you~that I been with women, too? Mostly ones older'n me..." Kypton shrugged though he knew it was more of a rhetorical quesation.. in truth it did not surprise him in the slightest. "On the streets, ain't no women lookin' for company, not payin' for it. So, you steal or you do what you gotta. I knew how to do that a long, long time ago." he said and Kypton smiled.. he'd met more then one woman who had understood that he wasn't some guy looking to pay or be paid... perhaps Cat didn't know the streets as well as he thought. "I ain't gonna contaminate you. I know your type, how you look down on boychicks, how some of you use the girls out there. If you stayed Mr. Pure, you're lucky. Me? I never got to make the decision. People made it for me before I knew what it even was." Kypton almsot sighed at that. It always bothred him that people thought that they didn't make the decisions that affected their lives... when really the only person that could give consent to other people to allow them to do things to them was the themselves... how many years on the street would it take Cat to learn that one... a long time.. it had taken Kypton almost ten years to figure that one out... and he doubted the boy had been on the streets for that long without knowing the comfort of some kind of home.

Kypton asked the kid for his real name. Hoping that by some mircale he would tell him. It was really all Kypton wanted at this point... though the kid had told him his nickname and had even started to talk some it hadn't brought Kypton to his goal and he, a very goal oriented person.. wasn't about to give up... he'd never been one for giving up. Maybe it was his stubborn nature that made him so adaptable. So many people woudl readily tell him that he coudlnt' laugh more then five minutes on the streets... that he would be eaten alive and he'd proved them all wrong.. without them even realizing it he'd gone and showed all thsoe people who might have ever doubted his chances of survival that they were wrong.. that he was strong and tough enough. "Alleycat," the boy offered and Kypton though about laughing.. about teasing the kid about hsi name but his bit his lower lip and kept his mouth shut... now was not the time to get things with that kind of method. "That's my full name: Alleycat. Cat for short." He let out a breath. The kid was playing him. I twas like a complicated hands of cards and both of them refused to reveal their hands even after they had both gone all in.. now the only questino that remined.. who was going to reveal their hand first?

Kypton wasn't about to do that one. He let out a soft chuckle... a musical laugh almost and shook his head.. amusement dancing ni his eyes. "Really you expect me to take you sseriously when you sit here and tell me that you name is Alleycat... come on kid... believe it or not I'm young but I wasn't born yesterday... "he told him.. still chuckling and shaking his head with the sheer pleasure of his own personal joke. "Look... you sit here and tell me you know the ways of the streets and then you go around acting like this..." Kypton gestured to the boy for emphasis. "Really knowing the streets is not only sleeping around or spending a couple nights with some stranger... that's not it at all..." he said and then he let out a breath and pressed on. "Actually being apart of the streets is to leave everything... family, friends, shelter, a career... and to just live out on the streets.. no money... no concern for food... and just take the lessons that you learn and use them..." Kypton scooted a little closer to Cat.. the closest he'd gotten since the boy's attempt to kiss him. "You claim your some street kid... or alley cat as you put it... if you're such an alley cat then you woudln't be sitting here sulking over someone you'd lost.. because you would have learned already that the best thing to do is to be independent of everyone... that you should guard yourself against ties that.. when severed... actually hurt..." Kypton told him... really he didn't believe a word of what he himself was saying but he knew that it would somehow get through to Cat and that was all that mattered at this point. Kypton wasn't playing games anymore.. he was compleetely serious.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy found himself considering simply leaving this irritation and finding somewhere else to hole up, perhaps his lair under the Opera House. He had caught the expressions on the man's face and knew them well from others. They looked at him and saw someone apparently untouched by harm, never knowing the horrors he had faced, a life of neglect and abuse since birth. He had never known a real home, having been dragged from place to place, never staying anywhere long enough to even try to fit in, having too many secrets to keep, an increasing number as the years passed. He had begun retreating to the streets at a very young age, but his father had seemed to have a frightening ability to track him down. But, anyone looking at him, especially now, would never guess his past. He knew the man's type: unscathed by the streets, with enough talent to live off of that he had never had to sell his body. Obviously, he was a fighter or a runner because it was impossible to believe that no one had ever attempted an assault. Now, he was being baited, lured into talking, revealing more of himself to the man who likely was going to believe none of it.

He heard the man's soft laughter in response to being offered a streetname, and he supposed the man wouldn't believe the truth when he heard it. "Really you expect me to take you seriously when you sit here and tell me that you name is Alleycat... come on kid... believe it or not I'm young but I wasn't born yesterday. Look... you sit here and tell me you know the ways of the streets and then you go around acting like this. Really knowing the streets is not only sleeping around or spending a couple nights with some stranger... that's not it at all. Actually being apart of the streets is to leave everything... family, friends, shelter, a career... and to just live out on the streets.. no money... no concern for food... and just take the lessons that you learn and use them." Easy tensed as the man moved closer to him, mistrusting him for his casual talk of living on the streets. "You claim you're some street kid... or alley cat as you put it... if you're such an alley cat then you wouldn't be sitting here sulking over someone you'd lost.. because you would have learned already that the best thing to do is to be independent of everyone... that you should guard yourself against ties that.. when severed... actually hurt."

Easy was silent for such a long time that he supposed the man must be thinking that he had been ignored, but he needed that stillness to bring under control the turmoil of emotions unleashed by what the man had said. Paris had done this to him. There was no way around that truth. His first friendship had been with Iah Raksha, who offered him somewhere to stay, away from Rafe Chancery and Jamil Mehmet. He had talked to some people at the Opera House and elsewhere in the city, all of them telling him the same thing: Leave Chance. That had been a terrifying thought because the two men were his link to California, back to the streets he had come from. They had liberated him here, perhaps wearying of his Alleycat ways, "slipping the leash", as he called it. He had been abandoned but with more money than he ever had imagined. It did not matter to them because, if he accepted, he would owe them everything and would never be free. He had learned that the streets of Paris were very different from what he was accustomed to, and people who had become his friends urged him to change, to cease being a boychick and to become... What? Lilith Eytinge had believed that he could be on stage. With his acceptance into the orchestra, he was within reach of that with Scarlett Beaumont's support. Why was he turning his back on it? He believed it was because he had been doing it for others~Lily and Iah in particular. But, they were gone, and Sanctuary was an empty shell for him, no longer the haven it had seemed. Then, he had received word that Lazare also had left. He hurt because he had allowed them into his life against his better judgment. Now, this man was saying that that pain negated his having been what he was till very recently.

"You want me to talk," he said quietly, not looking at the man. His voice faded further as he spoke half-aloud, as if to himself. "You look at the clothes, and you think I don't know what I'm talkin' about. Your parents mess with you? They ever do that? You know what I'm talkin' 'bout? Since I was so little I shouldn't've understood... When did I get to say, 'No'? If I cried..." Squeezing his eyes tightly shut, he tucked chin to chest, tremors shaking his slender frame as he relived those moments that no one should remember, as if they were branded into his mind. "Strat... He always said, 'You're mine. I made you.' And, Phaedra... Th-they're so~so beautiful. People would look at 'em and never think what they're like, what they~what they did to me. She s-sold me~once~when I was 'bout 14." His voice broke at that, and he had to stop speaking if only for the fact that, when he tried to talk about these things, his throat locked so tightly that he could scarcely breathe, a painful sensation that recalled other memories of his mother. "I started runnin' to the streets when I was 'bout 12 maybe. Don't know for sure 'cause~well~Phaedra, she didn't remember when I was born exactly. Nobody wrote it down. Even screwed up givin' me a name. Know why I didn't tell you? I figured you'd laugh or not believe me. Most people do. Easy. My name's Easy. And, I never had a friend till I come to Paris~never had anyone to lose~never let anybody get close to me. Stupid Cat!" he spat, angry at himself for his weakness.

[angelofthenight]

OOC: This was kind of forced. But I just didnt' want to keep you waiting any longer. BIC:

Kypton West

It really didn't matter how clever you were or how beautiful you could make yourself look. It didn't matter what talent you had. At the end of the day surviving on the streets was all about your attitude and how you viewed your situation in life. Kypton had been down and out for maybe the first month he'd spent on the streets. It was a little before his fifteeenth birthday and he'd come to a country where he couldn't even understand what people said. He sat on the curb and watched as water flowed beneath his feet as someoen sprayed the sidewalk in front of their store. He didn't look up at people who passed and stared and he made no move to leave when someoen nudged him with their foot and told him to move on. He was drowning in self pity. He was thinking about what he could be doing if he was at home and then when he thought about that he only became more enveloped in his own, self induced depression. He was starving... he had no idea where to get food. He was cold, but he had no place to go to get warm. His clothes were worn and filled with holes but he didn't have the money to walk into the store and buy new ones.. he coudln't even explain to anyone what was wrong because no body spoke English... he felt like he was the lowest of the low.. and as he finally go tup from the curb and moved out of the way of people and into an alley.. he knew that he truly was at the bottom.. the very bottom.. and he coudlnt' seem a way of climbing out.

All it really took was one person. One young woman to come to him and offer him a roll from her basket of bread that she was taking back to her family. Kypton had been unreceptive of it at first but then she'd pressed it into his hand and having not eaten anything remotely substantial for what felt like months but in reality was only two weeks he ate it ravenously. The girl asked if she wanted to get out of the cold... in broken English or course and he nodded his head. She took his head and silently she led him to a small cottage like house that was just up the road from a vineyard. She said most of her family worked on the vineyard and that they were paid pretty well. Kypton thanked the girl's mother for a warm meal and change of clothes and then moved to leave. The whole family gave him a strange look... as if walking out that door made him some kind of alien so he stayed. Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. Gradually he learned the language of the Italians... the girl that was about his age taught him to play the flute an even got him singing again.. she too had an incredible voice of her own and together they sang duet after duet... eventually when Kypton turned sixteen he was given a job on the vineyard.. and it was eventually how he eneded up here.. content wiht his position in life.. almost afraid to give it up now that he'd found the opportunity.. Cat was going to end up just like Kypton had those first few weeks of being on his own if someone didn't step in and do for Cat what the girl had done for him.

He was simply trying to get the kid to talk. To tell him something about himself that would give Kypton some leverage into hsi mind and into the feelings that were putting Cat in such a depressed state. The kid was obviously irritated by Kypton's continue prodding but he wanted answers.. and he wasn't going anywhere until he got them. "You want me to talk," he asked and Kypton nodded almost indiscernably.. a feeling of triumph overwheming him as the kid pressed forward. "You look at the clothes, and you think I don't know what I'm talkin' about. Your parents mess with you? They ever do that? You know what I'm talkin' 'bout? Since I was so little I shouldn't've understood... When did I get to say, 'No'? If I cried..." the kid closed his eyes and Kypton thought about his own parents. They'd never done anything to physically, emotioinally or mentally harm him... they smiply pushed him to hard.. to the point that he'd left... and in a way he pitied Cat for hanging on to that grief and pain long after it was over... somehow the kid needed to let it all go and move on... or else his life woudl amount to nothing. "Strat... He always said, 'You're mine. I made you.' And, Phaedra... Th-they're so~so beautiful. People would look at 'em and never think what they're like, what they~what they did to me. She s-sold me~once~when I was 'bout 14." Cat told him and Kyptn nodded in understnading. He understood that.. doing something that you knew you didn't want to do... he knew it wasn't right to compare his childhood with Cat's but he coudlnt' help it... metaphorically speaking there were aspects of each that were very similar... but Cat wouldnt' understand or see that.. because Kypton wasn't going to open up about his past. "I started runnin' to the streets when I was 'bout 12 maybe. Don't know for sure 'cause~well~Phaedra, she didn't remember when I was born exactly. Nobody wrote it down. Even screwed up givin' me a name. Know why I didn't tell you? I figured you'd laugh or not believe me. Most people do. Easy. My name's Easy. And, I never had a friend till I come to Paris~never had anyone to lose~never let anybody get close to me. Stupid Cat!" the kids spat and for a long moment Kypton was quiet. There was really nothing he coudl say to the kid. I'm sorry wouldn't cut it. He knew that. So many had said they were sorry for what Kypton had gone through over the years on the streets but those two words woudlnt' change what had happened... this kid didnt' want sympathy.. if Kypton were in his shoes he wouldn't want it either... but thena gain.. he coudlnt' imagine being in his shoes just like Easy couldn't imagine being in Kypton's shoes... their situations were unique.. and different.. and though he coudlnt' completely understand what Easy had suffered he knew the streets part pretty well... when you spent some of the most impressionable years of your life on the street.. iterally living on them you learned things that you normally wouldn't... things that you shouldn't learn...

Kypton let out a breath.. his intense brown eyes wandering ove rto a statue of an angel. Perhaps it was meant to comfor those that cam ehere but at the moment it looked like an unfeeling being that could care less about the people sitting just below it. "It was wrong what they did Easy..." he muttered in a matter of fact voice.. no hint of pity in his words. "but sitting here and reliving it and thinking about it isn't giong to change that it happened..." he said, knowing that his words coudl very well upset Easy and they woudl be right back where they't started... at least Kypton knew his name. "Have you ever thought that maybe your expereinces could be used as a well to help you.. maybe you coudl earn something from them rather then viewing them as some kind of hell that you had toe xperience when you were a kid..." Kypton let out a breath and shook his head a slight smile coming to his lips.. not at the conversation they were having.. but it was more of a nervous habit. "I'm not saying I know what you went through because I couldn't possibly.. but sitting here and pouting and fretting over a hand that life's dealt you just because you didn't get the cards youw ant doesn't mean you have to fold and drop out of the game completely..." he todl the kid.. feeling like he needed to say something that woudl make sense to the kid. "You don't need to walk away from the game... you never know... there just be the cards you need to make a pair under the dealers hand.." Kypton pointed out and then he glanced outside as the rain started to come down.. before it had been a drizzle and now it was pouring. Kypton let out a breath and sighed. "Great." was all he muttered... almost forgetting what he'd been saying to the kid now that he realized that he woudl have to trek all the way across Paris, int he pouring rain... to get back to the alleyway where he 'lived'. "You just got to take things in stride Easy.... that's all.. you may havelost some people.. but you'll meet knew people.. and I'm not saying they will replace the ones you've lost... but I'm sure there's someone still around that cares about you and wants the best for you.." Kypton coaxed, wanting the kid to think of the good in his life rather then the bad.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy was fairly certain how the man was going to respond to what he had said, but he waited, hoping for something different for once.

"It was wrong what they did, Easy." So far, the words were the same as from others, but the tone of voice was not, as if the man could not care less, meaning that he might be wearying of the situation. "But sitting here and reliving it and thinking about it isn't going to change that it happened." Easy felt a flare of anger at being judged so harshly, resenting that someone who obviously had remained untouched and unscathed could tell him to dismiss lifelong pain and fear that was second nature to him, things that had shaped him into the messed-up youth he was. “Have you ever thought that maybe your experiences could be used as a well to help you.. maybe you could earn something from them rather then viewing them as some kind of hell that you had to experience when you were a kid."

Easy remained silent, uncertain where to start a response, wishing that he could spill out the horrors, knowing he could never speak about much of what had happened to him. He tried occasionally to pretend that it didn’t matter, that others had lived through worse, that no one looking at him would guess unless they saw his scarred arms or the faint marks that remained when he should be more-severely marred. Healing quickly was a blessing and a curse combined, he supposed. He heard the man sigh, glancing at him in time to see him shaking his head. For Easy, that was a signal that he was tiring of this battle of words. But, as if to prove him wrong, Kypton launched into another round: "I'm not saying I know what you went through because I couldn't possibly, but sitting here and pouting and fretting over a hand that life's dealt you just because you didn't get the cards you want doesn't mean you have to fold and drop out of the game completely. You don't need to walk away from the game. You never know... there just be the cards you need to make a pair under the dealers hand." Frustrated at the man’s refusal to quit, Easy was doubly discouraged when he heard the sound of a drizzle turning into a virtual deluge, meaning he would be soaking wet very quickly after fleeing the mausoleum~whenever he finally broke and ran. “Great," the man muttered, which Easy took as another sign that he was tired of the argument. "You just got to take things in stride Easy.... that's all. You may have lost some people, but you'll meet new people, and I'm not saying they will replace the ones you've lost, but I'm sure there's someone still around that cares about you and wants the best for you.."

At that, Easy got to his feet, restlessness and nervousness overcoming him as he paced, pausing to grab a bottle of water that would give him something to do with his hands. He considered a circuit of the place but settled on about a six-foot stretch, hoping it would be enough to work off his agitation. “I don’t want nobody else!” he snapped, tawny eyes blazing, refusing to look at the man. His lips had tightened and twisted into a bitter expression. Instead of flushed from anger, he was deathly pale in the faint light provided by the lantern. He interrupted his pantherlike pacing long enough to turn up the light, thinking that they were lucky that it was rain and not snow. At one point, he stopped again, not far from the man, staring down at him, a position that made him at least feel he had an edge on the situation. “On the streets, I didn’t need anybody, and I can do it again. I can be what I was, not lettin’ anything hurt me, get at me. I don’t need lessons and rehearsals! What was I thinking’?!” He broke into the pacing once more, head down, black tresses shadowing his face as he continued moving frenetically. “Stupid!” he fumed, muttering to himself. “Stupid Cat! Spent all that money for what?! So you could be normal?! Well, I‘m not gonna be stupid anymore. They left me, couldn‘t stand to be ‘round me anymore. So, why would I want anybody else around me?” It was a rhetorical question, an outward expression of his determination to change himself. “Who needs them?!” There was an agonized, disconsolate sound to the outcry as he swiveled in plae and pitched the bottle to the far end of the mausoleum, the bottle bursting from impact. For a moment, he stood there, as if wondering what had just happened. Indeed, he was unaccustomed to outbursts but realized that his anger had been denied release throughout his life. Everything had to be bottled up, kept to himself, hidden away. To unleash it had seemed shameful. Now, he was just weary enough that he had let his guard down. Perhaps Kypton West would want no more to do with him now.

“Look, man… Why don’t I go? You can have what you need,” he said, motioning toward the knapsack and other items. “I gotta go, or…” He sighed heavily. “Don’t know what I’ll do.” So saying, he headed resolutely toward the way out of this situation.

[Black Mask]

OOC: A new scene for Mark and Cat. BIC:

Mark Blaze


A large dark figure glided between the many headstones and statues that littered the grounds of the cemetery, the fog that laid near the ground disturbed by every step the figure took. Every since the incident at the masquerade, Mark had been coming many a time to try to get away from the pain that his wife was inflicting on him by keeping so distant from him. She would never meet his gaze, hardly talked to him, and she seemed almost frightened of him. Ever since meeting him at the Christmas Gala, she had never been once frightened of him, his other half yes, but never him until now that is. It was literally killing him slowly whether she knew it or not. It caused him mental and physical pain and much stress. It was times like these that he almost stopped eating all together, it had just always been that way ever since he was a child. He could have actually lost a few pounds by now, but no one could tell on his massive and well muscular frame. His grey green eyes were not emotionless as they usual were. Instead, they showed just how much pain and agony he was going through and how much of a toll it was taking on him. He stopped beside a mausoleum and leaned his weight on it, letting out a low sigh of misery as he did.

When would the pain ever end?

[MystMoonstruck]

OOC: Long ago, this was intended as a post for Easy and Mark Blaze to meet again, but that never came about. So, now it has been rewritten to prepare for a meeting with Verity Ravensdale. BIC:

Easy "Cat" Tanner (http://i85.photobucket.com/albums/k76/cynsemele/FallenAngelMythicalMasqueradewithCa.jpg)

Easy had just ended his latest stint as a street performer and presently was splitting the take with his partner of the moment: a girl clad in pseudo-Gypsy garb that was colorful and noisy enough to make for an eyecatching treat as she danced to Easy's music. Dressed in the black-velvet-and-leather fallen angel costume sans wings, he had called upon his repertoire for melodies that matched her dancing as much as her clothing seemed to. He actually had thrown more into her pile since she needed it more than he did. His own would go into a growing stash that, he hoped, would pay off some of the debt he owed Jamil Mehmet and Rafe Chancery. The violin was part of Sanctuary or else he never would have considered this payback scheme of his. With his salary from the orchestra and reduced lessons, perhaps his crazy plan could work. He already had returned the hoarde of gifts he had purchased to be given for Christmas and birthdays now that a number of planned recipients were no longer in his life.

Once the girl was gone, away to another performance site, Easy noticed some people lingering in his vicinity and realized that he still might have an audience and the possibility of more tips. Nodding in their direction, he positioned Azer and began playing again, varying the melodies while including some that might be familiar, as he had learned that certain songs "clicked" with people, including "Speak Softly Love", which he had learned was from a movie titled The Godfather, one he doubted that he would ever watch, disliking murder and mayhem. How strange that such beautiful music could come from such a story. He merged it with another melody by the same composer, Nino Rota, and soon the love theme from Romeo and Juliet began luring others near. By now, he had learned to give nods of acknowledgement as the euros and coins were dropped in the open violin case. At last, his arms wearied of even this pleasant work, and he had to bring an end to his concert, speaking his thanks as he stooped to gather the money into a pouch he stashed in his knapsack, returning Azer to the case, closing then latching it. By the time he stood, case in one hand, strap of knapsack in the other, he was alone. Now, he supposed he should head for home to spend time with his son, and he did take several steps toward the curb, where he believed he intended to summon a cab, doubting that he could walk very far since he so often had weak spells, like the one he was experiencing now.

Then, he stopped in midstep, slowly turning before starting back toward the entrance, uncertain why he was choosing this path instead of the one he knew he should take. At last, he reached his goal: the Leroux mausoleum, a site that meant so many things to him. Now, it was shelter though he didn't think he intended to stay for the night, especially not since the evenings brought cooler temperatures now that autumn was chasing away the last of summer. He slung the knapsack over his right shoulder, counterbalanced with the violin case in his left hand, and he wondered if it was wise to have the instrument out all night. Since he had spoken to Devlon Deemer, he had become more aware of treating the violin with greater respect. Now, going to the crypt made him feel guilty, but he simply was not ready to go back to face the child he knew that he was failing as a father.

Once in the mausoleum, he retrieved the blankets from their hiding place, wrinkling his nose at the smell that was developing mainly due to the dampness. So, maybe it was time to take them home for laundering or simply new blankets. The canisters of items such as beef jerky, chocolate and Breton crackers, all from Chance and Jamil, were still good, and he had with him two bottles of water. If he had to, he could spend the night. He longed to build a small fire just outside the structure, as he and Lilith Eytinge had done on at least two occasions but instead decided to tough it out. The battery-operated lantern would offer enough light for as long as he needed it, but there would be no warmth from it.

You could be home, warm, comfortable, curled up with Phantom, maybe watchin' a movie with Eden. Why're you here? Or, why not even a bar or an alley? Sadly, he could answer none of his questions or rationalize this choice. Even two layers of blankets did not ease the hardness of the floor or keep its chill from him as he sat, legs drawn up, arms wrapped around them, forehead resting on his knees as he hummed the melodies he had played, tempted for the first time in quite a while to sing but not yet yielding to the impulse.

Suddenly, he unwound and reached for the case, soon having the violin and bow in position, randomly playing notes till, rising from the floor, he launched into a melody (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vK_77dhho1o&feature=related) he had picked up somewhere, from one of the many albums he had accumulated. If only he had bothered to memorize the title... Losing himself in the music, he began his swaying, dancing movements, his eyes dreamy, half-closed as the music fed the images of someone long ago and far away, a youth with ebony tresses and golden-brown eyes like his, a barefoot boy dancing around a campfire, reveling in his beauty, gold coins shimmering as they arced through the air to land near him, sometimes to be trod underfoot.

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

Verity did not dwell on the pains of the past. She acknowledged her pains and struggles, gave them time to heal, and pressed onward. That was how she dealed with difficult memories.

So why was she standing at the enterance to the Cimetiere de Montmarte? It was a place of tragedy and overwhelming emotion for countless others, not just herself. The pain and sadness that was buried beneath her feet rose up through the ground, twining around her likes vines.

The first step forward was the most difficult; the ones that followed grew slightly easier. She walked deeper into the cemetery, not stopping until she stood before a pair of sculpted angels, guarding the marble tombstone that lay between them. Taking a final step, she glanced down.

Lisette Gravois Ravensdale: Chanteuse, Epouse, et Mère

Verity did not spend her days mourning the loss of her mother, a women that she had barely known, but at that moment, she could not help but mourn. She could not help but lament the loss of any opportunity she would have had to get to know the woman that had given her life, the woman that, as everyone had said, loved her more than anything in the world.

Before she could prevent it, she found herself crying. She did not sob; instead, she allowed the tears to fall silently, staining her pale cheeks. She felt quite alone in the cemetery, only the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze offering her company.

Then, seemingly out of the blue, the distant sound of a violin met her ears. She instantly thought back to the early years of her life, in which Alistair had played as a coping mechanism. Every year still, on the anniversary of Lisette's death, Chopin's Nocturnes could be heard from the Ravensdale house.

But this melody was not like a Nocturne. It was enchanting, it was passionate. It spoke to her soul, more so than many a song she'd heard. It sounded strangely familiar, and yet she was almost sure that she had never heard it before in her life.

Casting a final glance at her mother's grave, Verity began walking through the cemetery, following the tune of the violin almost unconciously until she stood at the source; the grandest mausoleum in the Ciemtiere de Montmarte.

Inhaling deeply, she stepped up to the mausoleum, peeking into it. A young man played the violin, seemingly in a trance. She stood by the entrance, not wishing to disturb him, only wishing to listen.

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

While dreamily playing, Easy often lost much of his awareness of his surroundings, especially when in such a safe place as the cemetery had proven to be. Living a relatively civilized life had smoothed the prickly edges that kept him alert constantly, perhaps making him feel a bit too safe at times. Thus, the fact that he had an audience of one had yet to dawn on him as he made his turn, catching a flash of color as he did so. Continuing to play, he walked toward the person, his eyes widened in surprise, his heart fluttering, for the tresses brought to mind one person alone: Allegra Zahn. Had she come to take her~well, their~son back? But, how could she have found him here?

At last, he could resist no longer and broke off the song, closing the distance between them and seeing... No, she was not the girl he knew though she had the same hair and fair skin.

"Y-you're not..." Giving his head a shake merely sent his ebony hair into a more-mussed condition, quite usual for him as he rarely seemed to be well-groomed. "No. I~I'm sorry," he mumbled, wondering why he was apologizing, except that he did that a lot. "I thought you were~um~someone else, a girl I knew~know." He blushed at his awkwardness, bowing his head slightly, fighting the impulse to begin playing again if only to fill the silence. "I guess you think this is really strange~me playing here?"

OOC: I apologize for the lateness and the brevity. Once they begin chatting, I'll do better lengthwise. BIC:

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

Verity held her breath as the young man began to move in her direction, continuing to play as he did so. She took in his appearance: mussed black hair, slender and defined body, both ears pierced, somewhere close to her in age. She said nothing, but his eyes widened in evident surprise, Verity to draw away slightly. Was she wrong to listen to him?

Finally, his playing ceased, much to Verity's dismay. He was fantastic; it had been some time since she'd heard someone play with so much passion. He stepped closer, studying her carefully.

"Y-you're not..." He stuttered, shaking his head. Verity's eyebrows drew together. She could only assume that she reminded him of someone he knew...or, perhaps, had known.

"No. I~I'm sorry, He mumbled. Verity was about to assure him that there was no harm done, but he continued to speak. "I thought you were~um~someone else, a girl I knew~know."

Ah. So she had been right. Verity could not help but wonder who this girl was; was she an old friend? A former lover? A long-lost relative? She settled for the simple knowledge that she resembled someone that this man knew.

She was rather surprised, however, when she saw him blush and bow his head.

"I guess you think this is really strange~me playing here?"

Verity offered him a soft smile, attempting to put him at ease. "There was no need for you to apologize," She assured him. She allowed her eyes to wander the mausoleum, finding that it was rather remarkable. "And, to be honest, I don't find it strange at all that you're playing here. Though," She said, folding her arms across her chest to keep herself warm. "maybe that's just because your song suited me so much."

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

A glimpse at the young woman showed him a smile on her lips and no dark look of judgment or even fear that he might expect from someone finding a strange young man, clad in black, playing in such an unusual place.

"There was no need for you to apologize," he heard, causing him to smile in return, raising his head to peer at her once more, seeing her gaze taking in their surroundings, causing him to do so, too, knowing that familiarity often caused a person to see things that a newcomer might or might not. Thus, it was difficult to know what judgment to expect. "And, to be honest, I don't find it strange at all that you're playing here. Though maybe that's just because your song suited me so much."

He noticed her gesture, realizing that there was a chill in the air as evening drew near. Should he offer her one of the blankets? At least one should be somewhat fresh though they all carried a hint of the dankness.

"Suited you?" he asked, very curious about the word choice as he went to one knee to rest the violin in its case before picking up a chenille blanket that had been brought here recently. Rising in a graceful movement, he walked to her side and offered it to her. "You're cold? This should help till you leave. I~I was tryin' to decide if I wanted to stay longer or go home~where I should be. "You liked it~my music? Well... Not my music like I wrote it. I heard it and learned it, but I forgot to remember the title." He smiled crookedly at that confession. "Sometimes I hear music and play along till I know it. I like doing that more than reading the notes. That's lots harder," he admitted. "Are you a musician? I..." He sighed, shaking his head in a slow, rueful way. "You were here to visit somebody, weren't you, visiting a grave? And, you heard the music and got curious," he guessed. "I'm not crazy or anything like that. Just sort of~um~weird maybe? Odd? Different?" He had to giggle at his words, realizing as he did so that the sound certainly might make him seem even stranger. Seem? He was strange, wasn't he? He was a misfit except perhaps on the streets, but not these foreign ones. He needed his familiar territory~San Francisco, San Diego, Los Angeles~far away from here.

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

"Suited you?" he asked as he knelt down to put his violin in its case.

"My mood," she explained quietly. She looked on as this new face picked up a soft looking blanket. He rose, moving with surprising, cat-like grace as he approached her. He stopped beside her, holding out the blanket in offering. She hesitated in reaching for it, though why, she did not know.

"You're cold? This should help till you leave. I~I was tryin' to decide if I wanted to stay longer or go home~where I should be."

Nodding, Verity accepted the blanket, wrapping it around her. "Thank you," she said, not wanting to add anything about her own home. Dear Aunt Simone was the last person she wanted to see at that moment, as she was not in the mood to be compared to her dead mother, a woman that she would never know.

"You liked it~my music? Well... Not my music like I wrote it. I heard it and learned it, but I forgot to remember the title."

That's a shame, she thought. And it genuinely was. Verity had enjoyed his song a great deal, and would have loved to be able to add it to her personal collection. Oh well. Perhaps she would hear it again one day.

"Sometimes I hear music and play along till I know it. I like doing that more than reading the notes. That's lots harder,"

"It is," she agreed. Up until she had reached the age of eight, she had always memorized her music rather than reading it. She had hated reading music; she'd considered it a waste of time to learn to do so...that was, until her father had offered to teach her himself instead of having her voice instructors teach her.

"Are you a musician? I..." He trailed off, shaking his head. Verity bit her tongue, allowing him to continue. She could wait to answer.

"You were here to visit somebody, weren't you, visiting a grave? And, you heard the music and got curious," he guessed. "I'm not crazy or anything like that. Just sort of~um~weird maybe? Odd? Different?"

Verity chuckled. This man certainly didn't seem crazy, as they were having a perfectly reasonable conversation in that moment. But...he was different; playing the violin in a mausoleum was different. He didn't seem to blend in against the backdrop of Paris. Of course, he was an American, so that made sense, but...for some reason, Verity felt as though he would fare well in London.

"I...yes," she replied. "I was visiting my mother when I heard you. My father, Alistair, is a concert violinist, and you were playing something that he hadn't before." She explained.

Pulling the blanket tighter across her frame, she continued: "I myself am a singer," she told him, finally answering his question. "I'm Verity."

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy wondered when he would feel at ease with people, when he could speak to them without this stumbling speech and without feeling as if he had to apologize all of the time. It was comforting when she agreed that reading music was more difficult than doing what he had learned was called playing by ear, which did make some sense. He liked how she smiled at him, as gently as Allegra had, and his thoughts went to the girl he had met what now seemed so long ago, a friendly face and kind words when he was the new kid at yet another school. So, his music had suited her mood, just as it had reflected the strange mood he found himself in. Were they like spirits at least in a small way, at least when it came to music?

"I was visiting my mother when I heard you." she explained, and he hoped he had not caused her pain by asking about it. However, she did not seem to be in a sad mood, not near tears, as he had seen occur at times in this place. "My father, Alistair, is a concert violinist, and you were playing something that he hadn't before." That caught him entirely by surprise, pleasing him that he knew something this man did not but reminding himself that her father undoubtedly knew many pieces he could never play. "I myself am a singer," she said, adding, "I'm Verity."

"Verity," he repeated dutifully. "Never heard that before. It's really pretty~beautiful like..." He bit at his lower lip hard, bowing his head slightly. He doubted that she wanted to be complimented by a young man she hadn't been introduced to and had encountered in such an odd place. Why should she want to hear from him something she already had to be aware of: her remarkable beauty? After a moment, he did look at her, meeting her gaze, wishing that he could see the color of her eyes more clearly, as if to convince himself that she looked less like the girl who had borne his child. Belatedly, he made his introduction: "I'm Easy~Easy Tanner, but people mostly call me Cat." He grinned crookedly, a rueful smiile, giving his head a shake. "Easy's my real name. Don't blame me!" he said laughingly, falling back into an old habit. "Blame my so-called parents! They were sort of after-the-fact hippies." Someone had made that comment once, and he had clung to it, liking the flippancy, making his words ring with that Who cares?! attitude. "I like cats," he declared, "so I don't mind the comparison I guess. They're kinda cool animals."

Then, he remembered her response to his guess about her talent: "A singer? What do you sing? I mean, what kinds of music?" he wondered. "I mostly play music they perform at Opera Populaire. Is that what you'd call classical?" He laughed nervously, feeling rather stupid that he could not even describe what it was that he did accurately. "I like it I guess, but I play other music when I can pick~like what you heard. I like music from~um~I guess they call it Middle Eastern and~well~gypsy-type music. A friend of mine, he traveled with gypsies most of his life, and he had some records with that kind of music on it. He taught me how to do some of the dancing, too. Now, when I play, I sometimes dance. Silly, huh? People are supposed to sit or stand still, aren't they?" Then, a thought struck him. "Would you like to sit down? The blankets help a little, so it's not as hard and cold. Or~or maybe you need to leave. Like I said, I was thinking of going home. I should go home," he admitted, thinking he might have mentioned it before. He was feeling ill-at-ease once more, not wanting to take more of her time than he should yet somehow not wanting to part ways so soon. He wanted to invite her to Sanctuary, to his home, where he would show her the music room and try to start a friendship. But, what would she think of him, making such a suggestion? So, he held back the words.

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

Verity was not sure what to think of this young man. As far as first impressions went, well...he wasn't particularly suave, and he, so far, did not seem to be a class clown (of course, she could certainly have been wrong about that). But, while he wasn't a character, he appeared to be rather thoughtful and, in general, pleasant; the type of guy that got along with most people. In addition to that, he seemed to be honest, a quality that Verity found to be missing in most people.

"Verity," he repeated dutifully. "Never heard that before. It's really pretty~beautiful like..." He broke off, his teeth sinking into his lower lip. His gaze dropped. She couldn't help but wonder what he was going to say; beautiful like a winter's night? Beautiful like a blooming flower? She smiled privately. Perhaps he wasn't going to further compliment her name. Perhaps he was about to compliment her appearance.

Sweet. He was sweet.

"I'm Easy~Easy Tanner, but people mostly call me Cat." He grinned

Verity felt tension and relief pool within her almost simultaneously. He was Easy? At first, she'd thought that he was referring to, well, that kind of easy. But, no: apparently, that was his name.

"Easy's my real name. Don't blame me!" He said with a laugh, one that proved to be contagious, passing to Verity as well.

"Blame my so-called parents! They were sort of after-the-fact hippies." He explained. Verity's smile grew. So he did have a sense of humor. In fact, it was much like his name: easy.

"I like cats," he declared, "so I don't mind the comparison I guess. They're kinda cool animals."

"Duly noted," Verity chimed in. "I like cats, too."

"A singer? What do you sing? I mean, what kinds of music?" he wondered. "I mostly play music they perform at Opera Populaire. Is that what you'd call classical?"

"I suppose so," She said, unsure. "I sing opera there, so that's how I think of it."

"I like it I guess, but I play other music when I can pick~like what you heard. I like music from~um~I guess they call it Middle Eastern and~well~gypsy-type music. A friend of mine, he traveled with gypsies most of his life, and he had some records with that kind of music on it. He taught me how to do some of the dancing, too. Now, when I play, I sometimes dance. Silly, huh? People are supposed to sit or stand still, aren't they?"

"There is no written rule; if the music is calling you to dance, then I think it's important that you listen to what it's saying." She told him. Wow. Now who was crazy?

"Would you like to sit down? The blankets help a little, so it's not as hard and cold. Or~or maybe you need to leave. Like I said, I was thinking of going home. I should go home,"

Verity's smile faded slowly. She hadn't been expecting much to come from this chance meeting, but she had hoped that she would have more of an opportunity to talk to Easy, get to know him; after all, he seemed like someone who would make a good friend, a rare commodity in her life as of late.

And...home. Aunt Simone. Verity really should not have let her be such a bother, but with her constant dramatic mourning for Lisette, she wasn't sure that she could handle being in her presence. After all, she had just been crying over her mother's grave. The transition wasn't one that she was looking forward to.

"Yes...home. I certainly don't need to be home," Nor do I want to be. "But I can see why others such as yourself might need to be. It is getting rather late. It was nice to meet you, Easy."

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy was beginning to realize that he needn't worry about his speech and actions, as the woman seemed to be in a trustful state. He knew that people tended either to relax in his company or to wish they were far away from him. She seemed to be the sort to befriend him, as others here in Paris had during his years in this still-strange city. He supposed he should stop thinking in terms of the streets, but it was a difficult habit to break, along with the prowling and other self-destructive behavior. But, she didn't know about any of that. To her, he was a somewhat skilled violinist, maybe a bit goth, what with his clothing and choice of a concert hall. But, she seemed comfortable enough.

He was pleased to hear her say, "I like cats, too." and wondered if she had noticed the number of cemetery cats that abounded on these grounds. He had taken dozens of photos of them and had translated several especially good ones to sketches.

Why was he not especially surprised when she said that she, too, performed at Opera Populaire? Lydia's words came back to him that, no matter where she went and to whom she spoke, there always seemed to be a connection to the Opera House. Maybe it was another twist of fate, a term he had come across at some point. Twists of fate had led to so many things in his life, sometimes being at the wrong place at the wrong time, as with Wolf Quantrell or the exact right spot, as with Iah Raksha, Lilith Eytinge and even Lazare Moreau.

"I sing opera there," she said, "so that's how I think of it." Her reassurance that classical was the right word meant a great deal to him, as he was painfully aware of his language weaknesses. He had not meant to throw so much information about his musical likes at her, but she still did not look irritated or bored. It was only when he spoke of leaving, of going home, that he saw her stop smiling, making him wonder if she was in need of talking to someone, even if it was only a youth who played nameless music in a house of death.

"Yes...home," she said in a voice that sounded sad to him, as if tears might be very near. After all, she said that she had been visiting her mother's grave. "I certainly don't need to be home." Her tone sounded much like his: to have a home but feel reluctant to go there. "But I can see why others such as yourself might need to be. It is getting rather late. It was nice to meet you, Easy."

That sounded like a dismissal, yet she hadn't returned the blanket, and she hadn't moved toward the entrance. He felt caught among several possible choices: packing up things and returning home; risking staying the night, which could be extremely uncomfortable; or asking her to come to his home~a stranger's home, even if they had exchanged names and knew of their mutual connection to Opera Populaire. He trusted her. Would she trust him?

Easy squatted near his makeshift bedding, first properly putting away violin and bow before beginning to fold blankets as neatly as possible. "Verity," he began, his voice sounding slightly roughened because his mouth had gone dry from nervousness. Carefully, he cleared his throat and tried again, this time looking up at her. "I~I don't want to sound like~like I'm hitting on you or somethin' 'cause I'm not. B-but, you seem sorta sad~like..." Looking down at what he was doing, he sighed heavily. "You don't sound so ready to go home, and I thought that maybe you could come with me to Sanctuary~that's what we called the house~and talk some more if you want. I could~um~show you the music room. We could have something to eat or drink or... The only ones there are my kid and my cat. If you~if you want to stay over, there are at least three-four other rooms. I used to have a couple of roommates, only they left. So, there's lots of space." Gathering the items into his arms, he stood up to return them to the proper niches. Returning from that errand, he picked up the case, settling the strap across him, looking around to make certain that he had left no trace of his presence. Picking up the lantern, which he would bring with him next time, he tried to meet her eyes with a level gaze, hoping that he looked as harmless as he knew he tended to be. After all, he wasn't about to pounce on her, and he hoped she would see him that way. "Would you like me to see you home or somewhere else? Or, would you like to visit my home? I promise that Eden and Phantom are well-behaved." He smiled shyly at that, knowing it was rather a weak attempt at humor. "I~I like you. You're really nice. And, we work the same place. I guess it's crazy to think you would trust me just like that, but..." He shrugged, a raise and heavy drop of his shoulders. "How 'bout I catch us a cab and you can decide what you want to do?"

[MysticMasquerade]

Verity Ravensdale

Verity didn't know what she wanted, but as Easy secured his bow and violin, then folding his array of blankets, she found that she didn't want for their meeting to end so abruptly.

"Verity," He began, a hint of nervousness in his voice. He cleared his throat and met her gaze, then continuing. "I~I don't want to sound like~like I'm hitting on you or somethin' 'cause I'm not. B-but, you seem sorta sad~like..." He paused, looking down and sighing. Verity inclined her head curiously, waiting for him to continue.

"You don't sound so ready to go home, and I thought that maybe you could come with me to Sanctuary~that's what we called the house~and talk some more if you want. I could~um~show you the music room. We could have something to eat or drink or... The only ones there are my kid and my cat. If you~if you want to stay over, there are at least three-four other rooms. I used to have a couple of roommates, only they left. So, there's lots of space."

Sanctuary.

The name sounded more promising than Verity cared to admit, but she was left little time to dwell on the possible refuge she could find at Easy's house, blinking at the mention of his kid. She had to admit, she was a little surprised; he couldn't have been much older than her, if at all. And yet, he had a child. Of course, she had no problem at all with this; she liked kids. Her friend Cara was younger than her, and she had a sweet daughter. Perhaps Easy's child would be just as good.

Easy stood, holding a lantern and looking into her eyes.

"Would you like me to see you home or somewhere else? Or, would you like to visit my home? I promise that Eden and Phantom are well-behaved." He said with a shy smile. "I~I like you. You're really nice. And, we work the same place. I guess it's crazy to think you would trust me just like that, but..." He shrugged, a raise and heavy drop of his shoulders. "How 'bout I catch us a cab and you can decide what you want to do?"

Narrowing her eyes at herself, she grinned. Well, they were co-workers in a sense. And, if she was being honest, she she was curious about his home.

"I like you, too, Easy," She revealed. "And I'd love to hang out with you."

[MystMoonstruck]

Easy "Cat" Tanner

Easy knew that he had a pessimistic outlook on life, but that mainly was because so many things in his life had gone wrong or had been fouled in some way. Either he made the misstep or another's words or actions twisted what happened. He could pinpoint the good moments in his life, but heartbreak was connected to each one, and he could blame himself much of the time. So, he had promised he would stop reaching out to people and involving them in his life. Yet, here he was doing it yet again~drawing this woman into his life, his music having brought her to him. Surely he could make certain there would be no lasting connection. He was merely giving her a place to relax for however long she needed.

"I like you, too, Easy," she said, and he smiled gratefully for her kindness. "And I'd love to hang out with you."

He nodded, smiling rather meekly, feeling as if a favor was being bestowed. After all, she was chosing to trust him. He knew he wasn't anyone to fear, but not everyone might view him in that way. She said that she liked him, and she wanted to be with him longer, which was nice to hear considering how many people seemed to be ready to escape his presence as quickly as possible. With one last glance around, he accompanied her through the grounds, out to the sidewalk, where a taxi would take them to a place that might once again live up to its name.

OOC: The two of them will be traveling to Sanctuary now. BIC:

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

OOC: Santiago/Phoenix BIC:

Santiago Ortiz

For a man who spent so much of his time trying to escape death and the macabre, Santiago had been spending far too much time in the graveyard today. He’d been here for an hour already, walking up and down the rows and rows of headstones, reading epitaphs and names; birth and death dates. He moved slowly, careful not to tread on someone’s resting spot. Given that Santiago knew no one buried here, his presence must have seemed a little strange. He was a foreigner, trolling the local cemetery, peering at the mossy gravestones as though looking for something specific. And in his way, he was.

He didn’t much like cemeteries. But back in Spain, he had plenty cause to frequent them. Friends, felled by rival gangsters, filled several local churchyards in their hometown. Professors, mentors, and relatives sickened and died.

Today marked the fourteenth anniversary of his mother’s death.

Back home, Santiago made a single, yearly visit to the cemetery to see both Mama and Gisele. It was a ritual Santiago created for himself. To wake at dawn, dress in mourning, venture to the florist’s, and then, when he was ready, make his way to the cemetery to pay his respects. He couldn’t do that anymore, now that he was something of a fugitive from the long arm of Spanish law. In France, Santiago was flowerless. He still dressed in mourning, which, admittedly, was not so different form every other day’s outfit. He could not visit Mama or Gisele. But he needed to be near a graveyard.

It was strange, though. Typically, Santiago spent his one day of mourning awash with grief. Typically, anguish painted itself over his sharp features and the solemn man was positively gloomy.

Today, he was somber, but it wasn’t misery that etched itself on Santiago’s face. He was just… thinking.

He wondered what his mother would think if she could see him now. See how he was living his life. Surely, if she was up in Heaven or wherever and had seen her son turn away from the values she tried to instill in him and take to the streets, gun in hand, she would have wept. Santiago knew that. But what would she think of him now?

He still wasn’t a family man. His mother had always hoped Santiago would meet a nice girl—she had even hinted a few times that he and Gisele should have considered marriage after school—and settle down. Santiago shut his eyes. He remembered the smell of his mother’s cooking. Sweet, doughy bread and salty, savory seafood permeated his nostrils. He could almost taste it. He could hear his mother’s voice, rich and lively, prattling on about how when Santiago found the right girl, that it would only be a matter of time before she had a whole house full of people to cook for come Christmastime. Grandchildren and the like. Would she be disappointed to know that Santiago had little interest in children, even though he’d found the right girl? That, even though he’d found the right girl, marriage wasn’t even at the forefront of his mind? Would she have been pestering him to hurry up and marry Rachel or would she just be glad that he didn’t leave a trail of broken hearts in his wake like some Don Juan?

He did have a steady job, now. That was one thing she could have taken pride in. His mother had been the one to support Santiago’s artistically-inclined dreams. It had been the only time Santiago ever saw her go against Carlos. She encouraged Santiago to apply for the scholarships and to move to Madrid during the school year. Her hands, weathered in some places, but soft and comforting elsewhere squeezed his shoulders as he stared at his scholarship essay, trying to get every last detail perfect. She murmured words of encouragement and sent him letters to ease the months away from home as he studied. Would she be proud to see her son in such a prestigious position, even though it had taken him far too long to get there? Would she be able to overlook all the broken paths he’d taken to become stage manager? Would she just sigh and shake her long-suffering head at her son who chose to work so far from home? Would she be disappointed that he never went back to the family business of fishing? That he lived so far from the sea? That he lived in an apartment in Le Marias and not along the Seine at the very least? Would she think his whole embracing of Paris to be a rejection of his family and heritage?

What about the motorcycle resting at the curb? Would she have had a heart attack over it—Santiago could imagine her groaning at the sight of it and pressing her fingers to her temples—or would she just be glad that Santiago remembered his helmet most days? What about the cigarettes? Santiago picked smoking up after she died. Would she have taken his pack and thrown it out or merely sucked in a sharp breath and sigh? What about his friends? Would she disparage Cam’s lesbianism—or take Santiago quietly aside and ask him just what sort of people he surrounded himself with these days? What about Myron? Would she think the American was too brash, too rude? Or would she just be glad Santiago was finally running with an unarmed crowd?

The November wind whistled through the otherwise silent cemetery as it blew past the graves and trees. Santiago paused in front of a gravestone, finally finding what he sought.

He didn’t know the woman buried there. But she would have been Mama’s age. Her birth month was the same May as hers had been. He could stop here to ask. His eyes settled on the ground where the body had been interred. It was long grown over with grass and weeds. The grass, though, was now dying and brown. Santiago stared and stared for a long moment. He wasn’t very good at praying and over a decade still had never made talking to dead people easy or natural.

“Well,” he said quietly, staring at the cloudy sky. “Should I summarize my life or just ask what you think?”

Not that he expected any answers. If he got one… Santiago could be sure he’d finally lost his mind.

[Daroga]

Phoenix Mercer

Technically for Phoenix this had always been an unofficial first day of spring. Sure the official first day of Spring for Australia was in late September but once it got to November and it was undeniable that summer in December and her family annual surfing trip to the coast was on the way, it truly felt like spring. Since she had crossed the equator and now found herself neck deep in autumn instead of spring was still taking a little getting used to. Granted fall here was amazing, but then again what season in Paris wasn't heralded as the greatest on Earth. In the spirit of the season and the change that it brought Phoenix had chosen to use her day off to get out and enjoy the season. And the only logical place it seemed to go, for her, was the largest graveyard in Paris.

Phoenix's father, among his many odd habits and tendencies, had too energetic joy in introducing his daughter to the various customs of cultures across the world. The commercial nature of Halloween had appealed to him far less than the the more traditional nature of the day of the dead celebrations. So every year he would take his daughter out to local cemeteries and tell her traditional stories from around the world about how people celebrated this honoring of their ancestors. Usually they would venture to older graves and make up stories about the names they found there. It was hard to mourn ones ancestors when they were all buried halfway around the world in your parents native land. Today Phoenix had attempted the same sorts of stories that she and her father had once created. But they had lost some of their amusement and wonder without him here to share them with. So instead she had spent her walk with her handy digital camera attempting to capture the moment and thy mystique of this grand old place.

To some people the things Phoenix could do naturally could be considered an art. She had certainly always marveled at the beauty and power of creation and design. There was a sort of divine harmony to some engineering to her when everything worked in just the right way in just the right place. But perhaps it was the influence of all of the more traditional art and artist that she had been exposed to here in Paris and at the opera house that made her pursue her simple photos in a way that went beyond those of a traditional tourist. She spent five minutes trying to compose a snap of an angel statue to that the lichen on her face seemed as compelling on the small digital screen as it had in real life. And the way she had, quiet by accident, caught a ray of sun breaking down through the yellow leaves to land perfectly in the outstretched hand of a small child stature on another grave marker had sent a wild thrill up her spine. Sure these shots wouldn't be making it to the Louvre anytime soon but they would sure look great blown up and framed in her small bare apartment.

As the day trudged on Phoenix found herself wandering out of the older areas of the cemetaries where the air had seemed to press down with the weight of the history it contained in its mossy beds, to the newer areas. Here the marble of the headstones still shone with high polish and all the names and dates were clearly visible and legible with very little of the character giving crumble she had been amusing herself documenting. Phoenix was about to put her camera away and ponder the possibility that any of plethora of bakeries in France would make pan de los muertos like her mother did every year to placate her father's strange proclivities (and hopefully not burn it quite like her non-domestic mother did) when she was struck by a figure ahead on the path.

Generally speaking Phoenix did not take picture of strangers. In fact she usually felt almost rude to pull out a camera in a group of people she knew. She hated being that one always sticking a flash in people's faces to capture moments when she would much rather be experiencing moments. Besides there were few things she found more distasteful than the staged nature of most pictures. It was always too easy to point out flaws in staged photographs rather than candid ones. But there was something about this man that almost demanded the pseudo, wannabe, artist in her to document. He was tall dark and lean and though she couldn't make out his features clearly at this distance he seemed deep in very personal thought as he stared at the grave before him. It was a striking silhouette that drew automatic reaction. It was as though grief were somehow tangible around him. Though that could have had alot to do with the aid of a perfect setting. Still the more she pondered how lost in his grief he seemed to be the more a story like the ones she and her father had woven began to form for her. Maybe this was the grave of his lost love or someone to whom he felt responsible or maybe... maybe...

Maybe it was Sr. Ortiz? Phoenix did a slight double take as she slowly began to recognize the features of the man she had been staring at. It was. She was almost sure of it now. She was sure she recognized the Stage Manager. But it didn't quite compute. Why would Sr. Ortiz, who she knew was Spanish, be mourning someone in a French cemetery? It seemed to present the same logistical problem as trying to mourn your ancestors in an Australian cemetery when your family was six generations American in every direction your family tree sprouted but your own. Phoenix bit her lipped and cocked her head to one side for a moment. It was a curiosity, and she was truly terrible at resisting a curiosity. Her mother had always told her that if she'd been born a cat she would have burned through all nine of her lives each week. But at the same time it felt a bit intrusive to even be looking at him, especially now that he she realized she knew him.

Phoenix weighed her options for a moment and made a concession to herself. She had to pass him to leave this place. Well sure there were other paths and other gates and she technically could have gone another way without going too far out. But this was the shortest route and therefore the most convenient--she meant logical. So she would walk past him. It was a free country, she was pretty sure, so there was no harm in that. And if she managed to catch a glimpse of the name on her way by... who would it hurt? She didn't even have to say anything to him. Plucking herself up Phoenix tossed the end of her scarf over her should before pushing her gloved hands and her camera deep into the pockets of her peacoat. He probably wouldn't even know she'd been there and she wouldn't bother him at all.

It wasn't a bad plan and it had all the best of intentions. But it ended up where most well intentioned plans do when as she passed ten feet behind the man keeping strictly to the path, and straining her vision to read the name without breaking her stride, she heard him say staring up into the sky, “Well, should I summarize my life or just ask what you think?”

"I hope you're asking God because I seriously doubt this "Marie Bissette would know," she said immediately slapping her hand over he mouth and stopping dead in her tracks with a wide eyed terrified expression to realize she had uttered what should have been a thought out loud... and louder than she should have to boot. "Oh my God..." she muttered through her fingers. Phoenix Osris Nirvana Mercer she chastised herself this time safely in the confines of her own mind in a tone that sound not unlike her mother, not only was that none of your business... but really stupid! She stood frozen for a moment turning back and forth once or twice as she was torn between two impulses. One to run away before he saw or recognized her and the other to begin apologizing profusely and hope he would just chalk it up to the nuttiness he had so clearly prescribed to her on their first meeting.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Santiago Ortiz

"I hope you're asking God because I seriously doubt this "Marie Bissette would know," a familiar, accented voice called out to him.

Well, Santiago wasn’t going crazy, but he must have looked it to Phoenix Mercer, the Opera’s head of Maintenance. Santiago shut his eyes and groaned. Why were there opera people everywhere? Didn’t Paris have other employers? Surely, the city was large enough to sustain multiple industries. It was just Santiago’s luck that every time he pulled away from the Populaire for whatever reason, there was almost always someone associated with the place to catch him doing something. Hennings caught him playing hooky. Sauveur caught him killing a man. MaCarthy caught him shopping in Chanel for that stupid tuxedo. This would just go onto the list of inopportune meet-cutes Santiago was accumulating.

"Oh my God..."

He opened his eyes and swiveled his head to look at her. The Australian looked embarrassed and, Santiago couldn’t help but think, rightfully so. She was intruding on a personal moment. Of course, Santiago was embarrassed, too. Not blushing, not covering his mouth (as Señorita Mercer was now doing), but he clamped down on the inside of his mouth. He hazarded a glance at the tombstone.

Marie F. Bissette, loving wife and mother.

She was right; Santiago was talking to a gravestone of a woman he didn’t even know. To each their own brand of crazy. Santiago sighed and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he did. After what seemed like an eternity, he looked back at Señorita Mercer.

How on earth was he supposed to explain this?

Two years ago, Santiago would have lied. No sting of remorse, nothing. He would have looked Señorita Mercer dead in the eye and told her that the woman interred in the earth before them was a maternal aunt. Or a family friend. Or a mentor. Or a lover. Or something. He would have had no trouble fabricating an alibi and remembering it long enough to keep up the façade. But a lot had changed since Santiago moved to Paris. He’d quit the gang. He’d bought a studio apartment. He’d taken the stage manager position at the Populaire. He’d killed two men. He’d fallen in love. He’d made friends.

Santiago didn’t really have it in him to lie about the stupid, mundane stuff anymore.

“Would you believe neither?” he asked earnestly, turning towards her. “I’m not exactly in direct communication with the Almighty and like you said… Marie Bissette wouldn’t know—or much care—about a stranger’s life.”

Santiago shoved his hands into his pockets and his posture slouched a little. He cast another glance at the tombstone and shook his head. He supposed he’d need to explain at some point just why he looked like a madman, talking seemingly to himself then.

“I’m not a fan of churches,” he said with a shrug. “So this is as close to ritual prayer and reflection as I get.”

He bit his lip. That was true. As a child, religion had been thrust upon him the way many parents shoved their beliefs onto their children. Something about having kids seemed to reignite the flames of religious fervor in people and Sancha and Carlos were no exception. Santiago could remember being six or seven and having his mother scrub his face with a rough cloth as she muttered about how Santiago needed to look his best for God. He remembered her dragging a wet comb over his tangled, mussed hair, shaking her head and likely wishing she’d been given a daughter instead; one who knew how to keep tidy and presentable or, who was, at the very least, enjoyable to get ready for Mass. He remembered sitting on the hard pew, staring at the broken sunlight peeking through the stained glass and wishing the old, robed man in front would stop talking in Latin and let him go outside to do something worthwhile.

He remembered being a teenager, sitting with Carlos after his first kill, and hearing a message about the sinfulness of suicide during the homily—pointedly referring to Gisele and Joaquin’s apparent double-suicide the week before—and feeling a burning sensation of indignation that the local priest was condemning the girl he loved for something Santiago had caused.

He remembered being a young man, sitting in the church, again with his father, this time a few weeks before he made the permanent move to Madrid. He felt uneasy as the priest warned against the surge of gang violence in the area. He remembered the vivid imagery of fire and brimstone the man painted for him—the fate that he was surely going to meet without proper repentance.

The very last time Santiago sat in a church had been during Catalina’s wedding. And while it had been a joyous occasion, there was something Santiago found ironically distasteful and hypocritical about the church filled with gangsters.

He really didn’t like churches.

Santiago cleared his throat and refocused on Señorita Mercer. She didn’t need to know all that.

“What about you?” he asked, not quite abruptly, but almost. “Am I interrupting something…?”

He trailed off expressively, half-gesturing towards Señorita Mercer as the thought entered his mind that maybe his speaking out loud had snagged her attention while she was trying to have a private moment with someone deceased. After all, his moment of communication with the dead had been disturbed. It wasn’t such a stretch.

And if he wasn’t interrupting a mourning session, what on earth was the Aussie doing in the graveyard?

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

OOC: Ashton Greene and Santiago Ortiz BIC:

Santiago Ortiz (http://media.photobucket.com/image/olivier%20martinez/Rollergirl_0/Squishy%2520Misc%25201/OliveGreen2.jpg)

Even by his own standards, Santiago Ortiz looked a bit scruffy. His beard had not yet grown out fully, but the Spaniard had no plans of shaving the stubble anytime soon. He was single now, wasn’t he? He had no one to please but himself these days. And it pleased Santiago to clamber out of bed and throw on his clothes and brush his teeth and call himself “ready” for the day. He still missed the sounds of Rachel moving about their tiny flat, getting ready alongside him, but Santiago was slipping into his new routine with more ease than anticipated. Not because he didn’t miss her, but because he had missed himself. It felt terrible to come home to silence, but it felt good to leave his boots at the foot of the stairs and to smoke in the living room. He told himself it was no different than when Rachel was pulling long hours. He was just as alone as before. But the thing was, Santiago was lonely. In his own company, he didn’t speak. He didn’t know where to begin. Santiago didn’t know himself well enough to strike up internal conversation. He still lacked goals. And it was somehow exciting and terrifying all at once. Santiago wasn’t sure if he’d like the man he’d become in the last few months, but for the time being, he’d just have to get reacquainted.

He looked at home in the graveyard. All things considered, he liked the anonymity of graveyards and few people ventured into the February slush. It was a lonely place and Santiago was able to let his guard down. Though not dressed in mourning, Santiago’s perpetually pensive face was more somber than average. He had a lot of thinking to do today and surely, thinking here would give him some clarity. Last time he’d been here, Santiago had come to pray and think. Today was—on the surface—not all that different. He was again here to meander between gravestones and reflect on his life. Last time, Santiago asked his mother’s spirit if she was pleased with him. He’d accomplished things then. Now, he had nothing to show except an empty apartment and a production of Romeo et Juliet that was decent, but nothing that would shake up the artistic community. He was something of a failure, Santiago supposed. Though free from the gang, he was itching for the excitement it once brought him. Though in a career he’d spent twenty years crafting, Santiago was apathetic. Though he found a girl he loved, he let her go because he failed to make himself important enough in her eyes. Though he had friends, they all had success markers Santiago lacked. He tried desperately not to compare himself to Myron or Cam, but the facts spoke clearly. His friends were wealthier and somehow happier with their lots than Santiago was. They were the only standards the Spaniard really had to go by.

[masquerading rose]

Ashton Greene

There was something oddly comforting about a cemetery in the morning. There was some air of mystery. It was filled with people with a history, a life, loved ones, or not, and, depending on your belief, a future. Really, there was little difference between the living and the dead. A pulse, a few breaths and heartbeats were really all that separated the alive from the deceased. Well, that, and six or more feet of earth.

Ashton always felt at ease in graveyards, weaving idly between the grave markers and gifts form loved ones; wandering up steps of mausoleums or reading next to the fences. She could remember many times she would find her mother’s grave, lay on the dew-covered grass and sleep. She would wake up, rub her eyes and not feel the least bit confused. She would make up stories or guess about the people in the graves, how they lived, how they died. Some were beautiful, some were boring, all her tragic. Was it disrespectful? Ashton had no idea. Was it fun and interesting? Of course.

Ashton rolled out of her bed, crept into Lucian’s room, quietly kissing him goodbye and tiptoeing from the house. She didn’t want to wake him; she didn’t want him to know she was gone. The way some frequented church, she frequented the cemetery. It was an almost obligation. It was almost habitual. And she couldn’t tell Lucian. Lucian, surely, would find it bizarre, creepy. He would wonder and second guess just what kind of woman he was dating, just what kind of woman his son was marrying. She supposed to a person who didn’t understand her view on cemeteries would find her strange, awkward. But the truth was, the patch of land under which her mother was put to rest was where she figured out most of life’s problems. Sure, her mother wasn’t buried here, but her mind felt just at ease here as it did near her mother. She would jump over graveyard fences after it was locked up for the night and hide away there, not caring if she was caught sleeping there in the morning. Sometimes, she skipped school and lessons to talk to her mother. Her father never found out, and somehow she passed them all.

Today, the surrounding area was occupied by another. He wasn’t a mourner. He wasn’t a fan of the deceased artists buried here. In fact, he looked familiar. But Ashton couldn’t place it.

She stood beside him, looking at the headstone he looked at. “Good morning,” she said, not even sure if he spoke English. It was just a simple gesture at a greeting. It seemed almost mandatory to greet the only other living person in the immediate vicinity.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Santiago Ortiz

Santiago shoved his hands into his pockets and dug his feet against the moist earth. He wished—as he did every so often—that his mama was still alive. She’d know what to say or what to do, no doubt, to get Santiago back on track. But there was nothing Santiago could have done to prevent her death. Sancha Guadalupe de Ortiz died of a malignant tumor when Santiago was only sixteen. It was no one’s fault and unpreventable. The only other person who would have possessed the resources to talk Santiago through this bout of depression was Gisele. And as he so often admitted, her death had been his fault and entirely unnecessary.

He shut his eyes and thought of the large, wooden dining table in his parents’ apartment. He and Gisele sat there at fourteen and Santiago sketched her for practice during the summer holidays while his mother fried up chorizo on the stove mere feet away. Santiago captured the sweep of his friend’s jaw-line in a single, deft stroke.

“You ought to draw your maman,” Gisele said, snatching the picture from Santiago. “You waste your time drawing me, me, me at school. Draw someone else for a change!”

“My mother?” Santiago asked in disbelief, looking past Gisele to Sancha in the kitchen. “Why?”

He should have done it then. He really should have. Sancha Ortiz was, from an artist’s perspective, a handsome woman. Her eyes were light brown, flecked with green. Her cinnamon complexion lined majestically, but unblemished by defect. Her black and silver hair was more often than not, swept into a loose bun. Her smile was weary, but genuine. Her figure was no longer slim and girlish, but it would have been a lie to say that Sancha was plump. Her wrists were thin; hands, large. There were few photographs of her and Santiago had none in his possession now. He really ought to have drawn his family more. But in his hazy, infatuated state, all he could draw was Gisele. All he’d wanted to draw was Gisele. Maybe if he had known that would be his last year with his mother, he would have used her as a model.

That’s the regret you want to focus on now? Santiago thought, opening his eyes. Why not think of something more immediate? Something fixable?

He could focus on his botched relationship with Rachel, but it would do little good. He never got a yes or no from her about seeing her again. Some Brit swept her away before a decision could be made. Thinking about it didn’t make Santiago sad any more. It made him angry. He ran his tongue over his sharp, canine tooth. He didn’t want to think of Rachel. He wanted to find meaning outside of his love life. His youth had been meaningful. With his family and friends… And he’d thrown that away, too. Wasted it. Maybe meaning was wasted on him. He blinked and flicked his gaze to read the engraving on the angel statue. It was in French and worn from the seasons. Santiago squinted, trying to decipher it. He could tell by the bottom of the engraving, it was a Bible verse, but which, he couldn’t say. Santiago wasn’t much of a church-goer. In fact, he hadn’t attended since he lived in Spain. And, honestly, until Myron’s wedding, Santiago wasn’t going anywhere near a church if he could help it. The closest he came to spirituality was this. Visiting the local graveyard and musing on those he’d loved and lost. In Spanish Catholicism, the barrier between the dead and the living was a thin one. You spoke to saints, honored the deceased. Some Spaniards adopted New World traditions of their former colonies. And though Santiago hadn’t gone to that extreme, his old line of work brought him close enough to death to make the veil between this world and the next very thin, indeed.

He contemplated reaching for a cigarette, when Santiago felt a presence hovering near him. His shoulders tensed on reflex and he slowly turned his gaze towards the stranger joining him.

“Good morning,” the girl said in simple English.

Santiago studied her. She was slim, blonde, and vaguely familiar. He supposed she just had one of those faces. Pretty, but plain in a world where every other performer Santiago met strived to be slim and blonde. But unlike the ballet tarts and opera singers Santiago so often saw in his line of work, this girl was up in the early, post-dawn hours, trolling a cemetery. She, like Santiago, was not dressed in mourning. He pursed his lips into an amused, almost-smile and cocked his head.

“It depends,” he said in accented English. “If your idea of a good morning is wandering a cemetery in the middle of February, then… Yes, it is.”

[masquerading rose]

Ashton Greene

Ashton looked down at the tomb at her feet. The faded lettering depicted a cross and the writing indicated a woman. A French woman. Ashton wondered if there were many pictures of her. There had to of been, since the people in the graveyard weren’t just ordinary people—they were admired and beloved artists. Like her mother. Unfortunately, her mother wasn’t world renowned. She wondered if the pictures of this woman were of her sharing a chocolate bar with her young daughter. She wondered if they danced around the kitchen together, if she had blonde hair and hazel eyes. She wondered how she died. She wondered if she died of a brain tumour, leaving behind a husband, and two daughters; she wondered if one of them was sixteen. This was maybe why Ashton enjoyed graveyards. She saw her mother in the graves, her mother’s life in the names on the headstones. It connected her to her mother further, and also, somehow connected her to the real person in the ground.

Being in the graveyard reminded her of being home, talking to her mother, holding her hand and spending every second with her she could. She skipped ballet, quit piano, stayed home from school. She locked herself away with her mother, getting closer with her in her final moments. Actually, while her mother was on death’s door, Ashton felt safest there. It was when her mother was happiest, smiling, and not in pain.

“It depends. If your idea of a good morning is wandering a cemetery in the middle of February, then… Yes, it is.”

Ashton knew nothing about this man, and the end of the day, still wouldn’t all she knew was that he, too enjoyed aimlessly wandering in graveyards and that she liked his accent.

Ashton smiled. “Yes. Yes it is. Did you know her?” Ashton asked, motioning to the grave below them, “or do you just like cemeteries?”

Clandestinely, Ashton hoped it was the latter. She’d feel terrible if she was striking up conversation with a mourning son or brother.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Santiago Ortiz

People were strange. Santiago had known that for years. Some people were locos—crazies who preached the end of the world and presented a litany of conspiracy theories to any willing to listen. Others weren’t that harmless. They carried guns and knives and God-knows-what else. And then there were just genuinely odd human beings. Judging by the friendly way the girl presented herself Santiago thought that maybe the strange girl was just an average oddity. Still, Santiago was wary of others as a general rule of thumb.

The blonde smiled at Santiago. Her smile might have been infectious to another man. But Santiago was not so easily charmed. He kept his half-smile in place, but did not grin. He’d never been much one for blondes. Still, the smile was a nice change from the looks women regarded him with of late. Rachel, Madeleine, Mimieux. None of them much liked Santiago at the moment. In fact, the only woman to have smiled at him in recent weeks was Cam. And, in Santiago’s book, his sister’s smile counted for little in the way of “smiles from women”. He studied the blonde girl for strangeness. Her accent, for one thing, was foreign. But so was Santiago’s. She was not dressed in head-to-toe black. But neither was he. Though he doubted she carried a gun beneath her jacket as he did, Santiago wondered if maybe the British girl was cut from the same brand of “weird” as he was. Getting your thrills at a cemetery while most of Paris was just rolling out of bed for breakfast was definitely eccentric..

“Yes. Yes it is,” the girl said. Then, motioning at the grave, added, “Did you know her or do you just like cemeteries?”

Santiago looked at the grave before them. He knew no one buried here. Not yet, anyways, and Santiago almost hoped he never would. He preferred guessing at the stories of the deceased than knowing them. Knowing them, in Santiago’s case, often meant he had a hand in the dead person’s demise. And if he hadn’t—even in a roundabout way—caused a person’s death, there was still some emotional attachment of some sort. He shrugged and looked back up from the gravestone.

“I didn’t know her,” he admitted. “Just… looking around. Thinking.”

Santiago paused to bite his lip He hoped his instinct was right and that the girl was just exploring and wandering as he was. Santiago hated to think that the girl would tear up, confess that the buried woman was her mother, and then proceed to latch onto Santiago for support. He detested waterworks and hardly had the emotional reserves to deal with new crises right now. Still, his already uneasy conscience wouldn’t let the question go unasked.

“What about you?”

[masquerading rose]

Ashton Greene

Frost and dew crunched under Ashton’s feet whilst she rocked to and fro on them, hazel eyes transfixed on the headstone below. It was fascinating in a way, the way the eyes were drawn to a certain one, like magnets. It made Ashton wonder is there was a reason she was there, standing with this stranger in front of this grave. She wasn’t always particularly philosophical, but the morning was just perfect, and she had come to realise, after dating Lucian, that being philosophical made more sense, often times, than being logical, and being impulsive, like coming to a strange graveyard was, proved to be far more rewarding.

“I didn’t know her. Just… looking around. Thinking… What about you?”

Ashton became aware, suddenly of her every movement, every blink of an eye, every breath. She was tense. She was wary, and yet, somehow at ease with this stranger. They were either two too similar strangers meeting as a happenstance in a graveyard, or he was reading her mind. He certainly was curious enough to be the kind, wandering in graveyards and not mourning, speaking in an accent not native to the area. But that, would make her the same kind of strange, the same kind of oddity.

“The same,” Ashton said, the corners of her lips drawing in. It felt almost taboo to speak, almost blasphemes to make conversation.

Ashton opened her mouth.

“There’s just something about graveyards,” the Brit said, her words soft and simple, “that clear my mind. It’s sort of a thrilling meditation. I’ve coming here since I was sixteen.” She wasn’t talking to the stranger anymore. She was just simply speaking to air, maybe even the buried dead who hadn’t had company in centuries. “It’s almost addicting, you know?”

It was an addiction. It wasn’t embarrassing, per se; it was disturbing. She could never tell Lucian. She could never tell Damien. The two men that were supposed to love her no matter what could consider it a deal breaker, and her father would never find out, for if he did, he’d write her off as crazy, glad to be rid of his disappointment. It was an odd combination—heiress and cemetery, but it comforted Ashton to no end. If she didn’t go home that night, she would be in the beautiful cemetery sleeping

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Santiago Ortiz

Seldom one to justify his behavior, Santiago felt obligated here. He was in a graveyard. Beneath his jacket was a gun. He could easily look like a lunatic. And maybe—in his way—Santiago was crazy. Crazy for spending his afternoon free roaming a cemetery. Crazy for conversing with a stranger here. Crazy for ending a good thing while he had it. But it was a harmless kind of crazy. He no longer let grief motivate him. He was back to analyzing motivation. And yet, he hardly gave a thought to his hand fishing in his pocket for a cigarette and lighter. Why analyze the basic? Instead, he studied the blonde. Her shoulders were tight; the muscles in her jaw, a little taut. She was wary of him. He knew by the way her pupils dilated in the sunlight and the way her lips pulled inward.

“The same,” she said tersely.

Santiago pulled out his cigarette and lighter. The flame flickered a little in the February wind, but did not die. He lit up. Technically, it was ill-mannered to smoke in a graveyard. Disrespectful of the dead. But if souls moved on after death, they didn’t care. And if the bodies below were just returning to the dust, they couldn’t care. Santiago took a slow, long draw from his cigarette. Then, slowly, he exhaled. Dragon-like, smoke issued from his lips, billowing around the orange-glowing cigarette.

“There’s just something about graveyards,” the British girl said. Her voice, though quiet, rang out with perfect clarity. “That clear my mind. It’s sort of a thrilling meditation. I’ve coming here since I was sixteen.”

Santiago bristled slightly at the number. He, too, had become a graveyard-frequenter at sixteen. Granted, his sixteen and hers were likely years apart. Her eyes slid out of focus and gained a certain intensity that Santiago knew well. She wasn’t seeking a specific audience. She just needed to be heard by something or someone. Santiago had been there. He still was. He took another drag from the cigarette.

“It’s almost addicting, you know?”

Santiago nodded. He knew. For him, graveyards provided the spiritual release he couldn’t hope to get in a church. In a church, you subjected yourself to the prying eyes of priests, the faithful, and God. In a cemetery, who could judge you? The corpses, perhaps? It put you in touch with God without all the other ornamental mierda found in places of worship. No tradition. No rules. Just silence and God. And the occasional social oddity like Santiago or the Brit—just passing through.

“It is,” he murmured in agreement. “I’ve always felt that cemeteries are comforting for those who want somewhere to thing and something to believe in without dogma.”

[masquerading rose]

Ashton Greene

The man pulled out a cigarette, and the poison filled smoke filled her nostrils. She suppressed a cough. At times, she wondered what it would feel like to smoke, but after standing next to a lit fag, she decided that was as close as she needed to get to knowing. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. She couldn’t understand why someone would choose to smoke, but she didn’t hold it against him. She stood there, instead, unfazed by the smoke emanating from the cancer stick.

“It is. I’ve always felt that cemeteries are comforting for those who want somewhere to thing and something to believe in without dogma.”

It was almost amazing that the two of them hadn’t met until today, in a cold, crisp cemetery. In a past life, they could have been best friends.

“You know,” Ashton said, surprised, “I feel the exact same. You have no idea how many graveyards I’ve snuck into after hours to do just that. It’s like my mother’s in all of them, you know? Not just the one back in London…”

Ashton slapped herself internally. She just told a stranger about her mother. Her deceased mother. Her mother she was close to, and still somehow was. Her mother she never, ever spoke about. Not even to Delilah. Not even to Lucian.

And oddly, she didn’t feel like and idiot. She lowered herself onto the cold, wet grass, playing with it between her fingers as she sat back on her knees, inviting the man to join her.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Santiago Ortiz

Seldom considerate of others, Santiago had learned to temper his smoking around Rachel. She was a singer and didn’t need black smoke filling her lungs and warping her vocal chords. But she was gone—living only heaven knew where with some middle-aged Británico. It didn’t matter what Santiago did to his own lungs. So what if it was a slow suicide? He’d heard the lectures before. Any doctor he’d ever had told him to quit. But it wasn’t the worst vice he could have had. And certainly, outside, it couldn’t bother anyone. It was his God-given right to coat his lungs with tar if he so wished. He sucked in more smoke, letting the haze fill his mind.

“You know,” the blonde said—a tone of surprise creeping into her accented tones. “I feel the exact same. You have no idea how many graveyards I’ve snuck into after hours to do just that. It’s like my mother’s in all of them, you know? Not just the one back in London…”

The girl was being strikingly candid with Santiago. He wasn’t used to such honesty in a person. Already, paranoid skepticism told him that this girl was either muy roto or una mentirosa. Santiago was often both messed-up and a liar. And even at his most honest, Santiago knew others would not return the favor. But looking at the blonde now, he saw nothing but openness. She needed this as much as he did. To talk to a nameless stranger about something. To walk away at the end of all this, not feeling judged, but cleansed. In a religion of graveyards, this was their only confession. The stranger sank to her knees on the frozen ground and indicated Santiago join her. He, too, lowered himself on an icy patch of earth. Cold wetness soaked is jeans, seeping in from the slowly-thawing grass. He folded his long legs beneath himself and studied his companion. It was a relief to see no traces of the familiar in her. The Brit’s clear complexion was ivory, but lacked the smattering of freckles Gisele’s once had. Her eyes had flecks of brown, but not enough to be comparable to Rachel’s. Her lion’s mane of hair blew languidly in the winter breeze and Santiago was at a loss for any comparison at all. She truly was a stranger. And in strangeness, Santiago felt most at ease. He was a man, plucked straight from the grimiest back alleys of an inner-city, dropped into the opulence of the Paris Opera House. He was a Spaniard, with rich “R”s and lisping “S”s, who was called upon to speak French where the “R”s were swallowed and the “S”s solid. Outcast and oddity, he looked at this London native with rapt attention, but no judgment. As a murderer and heartbreaker, Santiago was too mired in sin to have any right to judge her for trawling cemeteries to feel close to a dead mother. Especially since murderer and heartbreaker he may have been, Santiago combed through graveyards for an eerily similar reason. Santiago shifted on the ground awkwardly.

“I know what you mean,” he said at long last. “My mama died nearly fifteen years ago, but—if anything—I talk to her more now that she’s gone than I did when I was a teenager.”

[masquerading rose]

Ashton Greene

Ashton glanced around at the wonder of the frosty graveyard. Tall and wide tombstones lolled over, hunched over like the elderly that lay beneath the dirt; longing to sink into the wintry ground. If Delilah had come through here, hoping to be particularly neat, she would set them up straight and even but it wouldn’t matter. They would only topple slowly once more, returning to their beautiful unpredictable organization. It was one of the many enthralling things about graveyards, how they were all different, but all the same.

“I know what you mean, my mama died nearly fifteen years ago, but—if anything—I talk to her more now that she’s gone than I did when I was a teenager.”

Just like them. The Spaniard and the Brit were two very different people, but almost identical on a very deep level.

“My mother died seven years ago—brain cancer—and although we were close when she was alive, I’m somehow even closer to her now.”

There was another silence, a slightly awkward one, with a heavy, stagnant shroud around it.

“You know, it’s weird…” she said, feigning interest in her nails, “that I don’t talk to anyone about this, and yet, here I am, just spilling it out to you. I don’t even know why it makes sense. Hell, I don’t even know your name…”

And for some reason, it didn’t matter.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Santiago Ortiz

Santiago took the cigarette back into his mouth. His lips clenched around it and he had no doubt that they held it in place more than his hand. And yet, his grip on the tiny thing was still firm. He never opened up like this. Personal details were personal for a reason. Santiago didn’t readily share. Not with Rachel, not with Myron, not with Cam. Especially feelings of grief. He was a somber man, not a sad one. But standing in a graveyard with a stranger, Santiago willingly confessed that he missed and still sought his dead mother’s advice. Anonymity eased confession. Santiago supposed that was why confession was conducted in a booth with a veil drawn up between priest and parishioner. Today, Santiago could have told the blonde Englishwoman anything. The murders he’d executed, the heartbreak he’d known from Gisele and Rachel, his feelings of inadequacy… And somehow, she would not judge. Likewise, she could confess anything to him and Santiago would listen in companionable silence, as long as identity stayed guarded.

“My mother died seven years ago—brain cancer—and although we were close when she was alive, I’m somehow even closer to her now.”

Santiago nodded and exhaled a puff of smoke. His cigarette was dying in the winter wind. He snuffed it out with callused, chilled fingers. Unsure of what else to do with the nub, he pocketed it. An only child, he’d been close to his mother. His father was a gruff, but good, man. Hard to know. Mama was lively and open, always taking care of her hijo. Foolishly, Santiago still expected her to somehow take care of him when life grew bleak.

“You know, it’s weird…” the stranger said. Santiago looked at her to see that she’d taken a causal interest in her nails. “That I don’t talk to anyone about this, and yet, here I am, just spilling it out to you. I don’t even know why it makes sense. Hell, I don’t even know your name…”

“Let’s save introductions, then,” Santiago insisted. “It’s easier to talk to a stranger.”

It’s impossible to judge a stranger.

He sighed and leaned back onto his hands, propping himself up at an angle and then twisting a bit to look at his companion. They really were like-minded creatures. Discussing their deceased mothers with perfect strangers…

“Do you ask your mother for advice?” he asked, in his not-quite-abrupt, Santiago way. He hoped he didn’t sound crazy. “I know mine is a better listener than anyone I have ever met.”

[masquerading rose]

Ashton Greene

The sun was beginning to rise higher, having already poked its head over the horizon and hoisted itself into the sky. It couldn’t have been too terribly long a time that she had been talking to this man. But for some reason, time was flying by, something that happened far too often for Ashton.

“Let’s save introductions, then. It’s easier to talk to a stranger.”

It was true. Ashton couldn’t imagine talking to Damien, her fiancé about this. He’d think she was crazier than he already did and might, somehow, hold it against her later. She couldn’t talk to Lucian about it—not yet. It was too early, and although she loved him, their relationship was rocky and uncertain enough without her telling him about her mother and her obsession with graves. She would wait for him to find out, for the best time, when she was positive he would still love her because of and in spite of it.

Ashton busied herself with braiding three frigid pieces of grass as the man beside her leaned back.

“Do you ask your mother for advice? I know mine is a better listener than anyone I have ever met.”

She stopped fidgeting with the blades of grass and sat quite still, reflecting on how many times she sat awake in bed and confessed, not to a priest, but to her mother what she was doing and how it had happened, asking forgiveness, and begging for advice. And she would hear her mother’s voice ringing in her head, unintelligible words, but the memory of the sound of her voice would put her at ease and she could sleep, to mull over her options in her dreams.

“All the time.” She didn’t look over at the stranger, certain that she might cry if she did. She focused on the icy green grass between her finger tips. “I know my father, if he knew what I was doing, wouldn’t approve, but my mother would be able to figure something out without passing judgement or getting mad. Actually, she’d be pretty accepting. And if she were alive, I wouldn’t be in the mess I am now anyways.” She gave a humourless laugh. It was true. If her mother were alive, Ashton would be living the happy, but difficult life as a struggling performer in London, wouldn’t be engaged, and would be free to date whomever she wanted. She wouldn’t be a Rouge dancer; she wouldn’t be dating her fiancé’s father.

But if Ashton really thought about it, if her mother were alive, she never would have even met Lucian, and her whole life would be different, and maybe not even for the better. In a roundabout way, her mother’s death was a good, though heartbreaking, thing. And maybe things, even sad things, really did happen for a reason.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Santiago Ortiz

It sounded like cruel word choice that his mother—unable to respond from beyond the grave—was a better listener than anyone else, but Santiago would have meant it in life. She’d always been the only one willing to put aside what she was doing for him. No teacher, friend, or lover had ever done the same. Not even Santiago’s father was that invested in him. Gisele, Lorenzo, Cam, Myron… All had been friends to Santiago, but each was only a confidant on a few levels. Not even Rachel had given Santiago her undivided attention. Her career took precedence after a certain point. Only Sancha Ortiz had ever loved Santiago enough to set the world aside for him. And perhaps that was why, a decade after her death, Santiago still spoke with his mother like she was a living person. Maybe the blonde stranger had a similar tie to her own, deceased mother.

“All the time,” his companion confirmed without looking at Santiago. His harsh features softened in camaraderie, but Santiago took his eyes off the girl to pluck at his jeans’ hem. “I know my father, if he knew what I was doing, wouldn’t approve, but my mother would be able to figure something out without passing judgement or getting mad. Actually, she’d be pretty accepting. And if she were alive, I wouldn’t be in the mess I am now anyways.”

Santiago looked up in stark surprise. Once they’d agreed not to share names, Santiago shed his emotional fronts. He was not the Populaire’s harried stage manager or an ex-gangster with this need to be a tough guy. He was Santiago Ortiz, the broken-hearted man who’d made thousands of mistakes and who came to graveyards to talk to his dead mother when he couldn’t sleep or eat or bring himself to work. And he couldn’t keep the eerie chill tingling at the base of his skull from spreading outward. He knew nothing about what the blonde’s life outside the graveyard was like. But her sentiments mirrored his own. He’d made mistakes, hurt people… Things no parent would approve of. But Sancha Ortiz would have been able to set him on the right path… Hell, he wouldn’t have strayed if she hadn’t have died. It wasn’t fair to blame her for Santiago’s bad choices, but had his mother still been alive, she would never have let her son chase Joaquin down with a gun that December night twelve years ago.

“I know what you mean,” he said softly. “But it’s not like we can say ‘if she was still alive, this would have happened or that would have gone better’. All we can do is guess what our mothers would say or do if they were here now.”

[masquerading rose]

OoC: Short post, but here! BiC:

Ashton Greene

“I know what you mean,” came the some, accented reply. And Ashton was beyond glad that he did. He was the first person to truly grasp the thinking behind her words, the inner reasoning without any additional digging. “But it’s not like we can say ‘if she was still alive, this would have happened or that would have gone better’. All we can do is guess what our mothers would say or do if they were here now.”

“Exactly,” she said, plucking pieces of grass out of the ground.

There was something about this man that she couldn’t place. He seemed so familiar, as if they had met once before.

“You know, it really is bothering me I don’t know you. Like on a personal level. I at least would like to know your name, sir. That way I know who exactly I’m spilling all this to. Because God knows I can’t tell my fiancée any of this.” Or my boyfriend for that matter… “I would like to know who it is I’m so thankful for and who to send a Christmas card to.” The last part had an honest sarcasm in it that spoke of her playfulness as well as her gratitude as some closure was established on her mother’s death. Yes. That was it. Sharing this with this mystery man, having this common ground with this stranger, provided some sort of a comforting closure. It provided a quiet silence that united the nameless man to her.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

OOC: I learned a new Spanish word! "Moza" or "mozita" means "girl". :D BIC:

Santiago Ortiz

Santiago knew he ought to take his own advice. He knew that niggling voice in the back of his head—his conscious—was his mama telling him right from wrong. Every time he ignored it, he felt like the same, stupid rebel teenager he’d been over a decade ago. It felt good for a moment, but the high was followed immediately by a crash. In this case, he needed to stop thinking of all the fantastical what-ifs. He needed to figure out his here-and-now. He needed to carry on after a break-up and how to manage an opera house properly and how to keep sane through it all. Even as the British stranger agreed, Santiago was straining to hear what his conscience was telling him to do next.

“You know,” the stranger said. “It really is bothering me I don’t know you. Like on a personal level. I at least would like to know your name, sir. That way I know who exactly I’m spilling all this to. Because God knows I can’t tell my fiancée any of this. I would like to know who it is I’m so thankful for and who to send a Christmas card to.”

Even though the last bit was sarcastic, Santiago understood. He chewed his tongue thoughtfully and cocked his head. He was never going to see this girl again. There was no harm in telling her his name. All it would do was end the magic of an anonymous conversation… And that would have ended anyways as they parted ways. Besides, it wasn’t as though he wasn’t curious about the odd girl who found comfort in graveyards the way he did.

“A name for a name, mozita,” Santiago agreed, leaning into his palms comfortably. “It’s only fair.”

[masquerading rose]

Ashton Greene
“A name for a name, mozita. It’s only fair.”

There was no denying that. Plus, his accent made arguing difficult. He could have told her to skin a cat and she would agree all because that accent made everything magical and logical.

Before admitting allowed her compliance, she thought about this exchange. He might recognize her name and her face would be plastered around Europe onto tabloids, exclaiming ‘Heiress’s strange obsession! Details on page 26’. Then her father would know, which means Damien would know, which meant that Lucian would find out. And then it would all be over.

Unless this man shared another commonality with her: just a stranger, uninterested in causing drama, but interested in this odd counterpart. She took the chance.

“Ashton.”

It was simple. It was an ambiguous name for an ambiguous meeting. There was a certain amount of thrill that went along with being mysterious. She would be forever remembered by this man as “Ashton”, impersonal, but deeply connected. It was beautiful to be remember in such a way by such a person.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Santiago Ortiz

He wasn’t sure she would agree, but Santiago knew that in the real world you couldn’t get something for nothing. And though the cemetery felt like some ethereal safe zone, it was just as real as the Populaire or Nothing Special or Le Marias. His actions and words here would linger past the wrought iron gates. So, too, would his companion’s. Whether it was in a big or small way, they’d altered each other’s lives.

And, apparently, that merited reward.

“Ashton,” she introduced simply.

“Ashton… Me encanta, Ashton. A pleasure,” Santiago said, sticking his hand out to her. “I’m Santiago.”

[masquerading rose]

Ashton Greene

Ashton always thought she had come to terms with her mother’s death, had accepted that her questions would be left as unanswered mysteries. But this chance meeting with this stranger ripped off the self-applied band-Aid from over the wound of her mother’s death, and applied it with the attention it needed. Ashton hoped that in the time they conversed, she had given him just as much solace and healing as he had given her. They met as strangers, and they would leave as strangers, forever connected by this secret bit of their soul that they kept hidden, with nothing to take with them but a name. It was, in a way, beautiful.

“Ashton…” he repeated, her name forming a misty breath in the air that lived and then died, fading into nothing. How fitting that they were in graveyard.

”Me encanta, Ashton. A pleasure.” And Ashton took the large, warm hand into her small, cold one, giving I a friendly squeeze of introduction. “I’m Santiago.”

Ashton gave him a polite smile while she felt the wheels in her head turn slowly.

Realization crossed her face and she dropped his hand as if it was too hot to hold.

This was Santiago.

Rachel’s Santiago.

Rachel’s exboyfriend.

It was hard to imagine how he had hurt Rachel so much, but helped Ashton more than words could hope to say.

“I have to go.”

Ashton stood, turning to leave, before stopping, turning in the grassy dirt spot she stood in. “And thank you again. For everything.”

She left the cemetery, the wrought-iron gate stretching out to her from behind her. But she couldn’t go back. Best friends didn’t befriend exes, didn’t share connections that ran that deeply through them with exes. It would be another secret Ashton took with her to, well, the grave.

OoC: End scene. BiC:

[Raoulsgal0689]

OOC: For Wes and Damien.

Wes Harlow (http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=29079667)

Now Wes hadn't had the easiest life, but he wasn't really the kind of person that would just and lament his situation. Life was hard, then you die...he pretty much lived by that saying. Even now, on the 6th anniversary of his brother's death he wasn't necassarily moping...just remembering. He didn't want any sympathy either. Logan had already sent him a text saying to call him if he needed to talk to which Wes hadn't responded.

He'd come to the Cimetiére de Montmartre in order to pay his respects. Obviously it wasn't the cemetary where Ian was buried, but that was all the way back London and Wes couldn't exactly afford to fly all the way back out there...he'd used up the meger fortune from Radio Remedy moving out here. Besides, he certainly didn't want to take any chances of running into his dad. He didn't like to think how that would end if they happened to bump into each other.

He wandered around the rather beautiful cemetary, gazing at century old tombstones until he found one that relatively new and vaugely resembled Ian's. Scott Alexander Williams, Beloved Husband and Father. 1945-2000 would have to suffice. Wes took a seat on a nearby bench, sitting with his arms resting on his knees, hands together reverently...it seemed like the thing to do.

For a long moment there was just silence. Wes wasn't sure if he were suppose to say or do something, so he did what he always did when he was unsure of what to do...he pulled out a cigarette, slipping it between his lips and lighting it. He took a long drag of it, blowing out the smoke with a heavy sigh as words finally came to him. "Miss you, Ian..."

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

Damien wasn’t overly keen on graveyards. They were vaguely creepy places. Once, when he was about twelve or something, he, Bill, Ben, a few other boys from school had broken into one. He never told anyone, but it had freaked him the hell out. But in the broad daylight, Damien supposed he was safe. Besides, creepy though graveyards were, they had some wicked sculptures he wanted to see. The ones in Paris were supposed to be among the best. Catholic-gothic art was so intricate and—until Damien made it onto the costume design team—something he had to master imitation of as a set design intern. He looked at a particular headstone, though, that stuck out. One, because it was relatively modern looking. Two, because there was another young man standing in front of it. Damien, spying a little, stared at the figure in evident mourning. Roughly Damien’s age, the other guy was good-looking. Damien wouldn’t have minded doing a portrait of him. Especially in such an abject state of sorrow. But today, Damien only had his camera; not his sketchpad. Taking pictures of people always seemed ruder than drawing them. Perhaps because any painting said more about the artist than its subject… A photograph, though… That would be rude to do in this intensely private moment. Staring was rude too, but…

Lesser of two evils…

"Miss you, Ian..." the man said to the tombstone.

Damien peered over at it. His keen eyes read the name “Scott Alexander Williams”.

“Erm, I dunno how to tell you this, mate,” Damien said softly, trying hard to be sensitive. “But I don’t think that’s Ian…”

[Raoulsgal0689]

Wes Harlow

The words were quiet as he almost breathed them out. Really there wasn't anything else to say. He'd heard some people would go and actually talk in long conversations to the deceased loved one like it was a talk at the dinner table or something. Wes knew he would feel odd going on about his life to a tombstone, much less a tombstone that didn't even belong to the person he'd be talking to. Just murmuring to his brother (wherever he was) that he missed him seemed the best idea.

“Erm, I dunno how to tell you this, mate,” came a voice and Wes glanced up to see a man about his age, holding a camera and looking like he was indeed trying to search for the words to tell him something. “But I don’t think that’s Ian…” he said and Wes had to try hard not to crack a smile.

He debated messing with the guy for a moment, pretending to have no clue what he was talking about and that it was definately Ian buried there...but he seemed to be trying very hard to be kind about it and honestly Wes just didn't feel like it today.

"Well that would be hard since Ian is supposed to be buried in England," he pointed out with a half smile. "This was the only one close enough..." he explained. His green eyes flickered to the stranger, his smile more amused now. "But thanks for your concern..." he said jokingly, taking another drag of the cigarette.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud[/url]

It was weird, running into other Brits here. It was weirder still, running into one mourning someone who wasn’t even there. Damien wondered if the guy was a little bit odd. Touched in the head. He hoped he didn’t offend the other man. The stranger’s green eyes (nice color, Damien thought, again wanting to snap a picture) flicked amusedly behind their sorrow.

[b] "Well,” he said with a half-smile. “That would be hard since Ian is supposed to be buried in England."

Damien cracked a smile at this, too, relieved the other man wasn’t offended.

"This was the only one close enough..." he explained. His green eyes flickered to the stranger, his smile more amused now. "But thanks for your concern..."

“Yeah, of course,” Damien said, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Always have to check… I’ve met a lot so many crazies since moving to Paris that it’s getting hard to tell the difference between the sane ones and the not-so-normal ones. I’m… I’m sorry for your loss.”

He frowned. He didn’t know who Ian was, but it seemed like the right thing to say. Damien wasn’t heartless or ignorant. The tone the other man used was one Damien had heard his dad use at his grandparents’ graves. Clearly “Ian” had been much loved in life. Still was.

[Raoulsgal0689]

Wes Harlow

Wes hadn't been expecting to run into anyone else here in the cemetary, but as he was coming dangerously close to moping, he was grateful for the presence of another. It gave him an excuse to keep those sarcastic barriers up. Joking with this stranger was much perferred to being depressed all day.

“Yeah, of course. Always have to check… I’ve met a lot so many crazies since moving to Paris that it’s getting hard to tell the difference between the sane ones and the not-so-normal ones." he said and Wes chuckled softly.

"Good point...Paris sure knows how to draw in the odd ones..." he said with a wry grin.

"I’m… I’m sorry for your loss.” the other man said softly. Wes winced slightly...and there was the sympathy. He knew the man was just being kind but Wes couldn't stand it when people felt sorry for him. Not that this man would know that about him...no one in Paris really would.

Wes gave long sigh, eyes moving away from the other man and finding the ground. "It was a while ago..." he said quietly. "But thank you..." Finally he lifted his gaze again, free hand moving to run through his sandy blond hair (a habit of his) but finding instead the beanie he wore. "So were you here...uh...visiting someone," Wes asked, rubbing the back of his neck and feeling slightly awkward asking such a question.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud
The other man sighed. Damien wondered what he’d said wrong. Perhaps conventional sympathy wasn’t the stranger’s cup of tea. Damien frowned slightly, apology about to spring forth from his lips. But the stranger looked at the ground suddenly.

"It was a while ago..." he said quietly. "But thank you..."

Damien nodded swiftly. Just because it was a while ago, didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Bill still didn’t talk about Geoff because it hurt so badly. Clearly, Ian meant about as much to the stranger as Geoff had meant to Bill. Maybe they were brothers. Maybe they were friends. Maybe they’d been lovers. Damien didn’t know. He just knew that was exactly how Bill acted about sympathy over his dead brother. That’s why they didn’t talk about it.

"So were you here...uh...visiting someone?"

“No, I’m here to get pictures for work.” That sounded weird. Damien blushed furiously and groaned.“I know, that sounds really weird and I probably shouldn’t be bugging people who are here to legitimately mourn. I’m just… trying to get ideas to wow the set designers I work for.”

[Raoulsgal0689]

Wes Harlow

Wes found himself curious as to why the man held a camera in his hand. It seemed rather odd to be taking pictures of a grave...unless he was taking them for someone who was unable to make it out there or something. He finally asked the other man if he was visiting someone there in the graveyard.

“No, I’m here to get pictures for work.” the man said. Wes raised an eyebrow, watching in slight amusement as color rose to other man's face. Obvious he realized that sounded rather strange.

“I know, that sounds really weird and I probably shouldn’t be bugging people who are here to legitimately mourn. I’m just… trying to get ideas to wow the set designers I work for.” he hurried to explain.

Wes nodded in understanding, though very interested...it sounded like this guy could possibly be working for the Opera House. "Well, I'm actually glad you showed up...I'd much rather talk to you than sit here feeling depressed all day," he said with a flicker of a smile.

He stuck out a hand for the man to shake. "I'm Wes," he introduced himself. He paused for a moment before asking. "You mentioned you work for a set designer...Are you with the Opera Populaire?"

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

Graveyards actually freaked Damien out a little. Not because he thought zombies would spring up from the graves and eat his brains or something. He just didn’t know how to relate to people in grief. He’d lost his grandparents a couple years back, but, well… Dad had borne the brunt of that. Damien had been sad, as any eight year old and later any fifteen year old would have been. But Damien and his grandparents hadn’t been that close. He wasn’t still deeply affected. Maybe it was more like when Geoff died. Damien felt a stab of sadness. The MaCarthys were like his family. He’d known Geoff for six years and then one day, pneumonia just snatched him away. He remembered Bill’s anguish and Fred’s…

This was why he hated graveyards. They made him sad when he thought about it.

"Well, I'm actually glad you showed up...” the stranger said. “I'd much rather talk to you than sit here feeling depressed all day,"

Damien could understand that, sort of. He would have rather mourned in the company of someone he knew and loved, but he supposed you couldn’t be choosy when you were overseas and otherwise alone. He smiled halfheartedly at the other man.

"I'm Wes," he introduced himself. He paused for a moment before asking. "You mentioned you work for a set designer...Are you with the Opera Populaire?"

“Yeah, I am,” he said, a little surprised the guy pinpointed his place of employment within two-point-seven seconds. “I’m Damien.”

[Raoulsgal0689]

Wes Harlow

Wes didn't really understand the type of artist (musical or otherwise) that constantly wallowed around in their sadness. He couldn't imagine feeling the way he did today all of the time. That had to be a horrible life! So Wes was actually rather grateful for the interruption of his little pity party.

The other man gave a small smile as Wes told him this. At least he seemed to get where Wes was coming from. Wes introduced himself and recalled how the man had menitoned being a set designer and asked if he worked at the Opera Populiare.

“Yeah, I am,” the guy said, seeming a bit surprised he was able to guess it.

Wes gave a wry smile. "Process of elimination..." he explained teasingly. "Populaire is the closest theatre and it seems like just about everyone from the Paris world of showbiz is with the Opera House," he said with a shrug.

“I’m Damien.” he introduced himself. Wes smiled a bit more and shook his hand politely, the way Ian had always taught him to do in such situations. "So Damien...I'm also going to go out on a limb here and say you're probably the new guy. Who else would the send to the creepy graveyard?" he said jokingly.

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

There was something a little familiar about Wes. It was probably the accent, Londoner, like Criss. It set the cavity between the base of Damien’s ribs humming. He also had nice eyes—greenish, like Ashton’s. Against his better instinct that told Damien not to trust strangers in graveyards, he rather liked something about Wes. He couldn’t place it. Not yet.

"So Damien..” Wes said. ”I'm also going to go out on a limb here and say you're probably the new guy. Who else would they send to the creepy graveyard?"

“Let’s hope that’s it,” he said with a lopsided grin. “Because if Bill is just having a lark at my expense, I’ll kill him.” He paused, realizing how violent that must have sounded. “Figuratively, of course.”

Aside from being his boss, Bill MaCarthy was Damien’s best friend. Damien could never actually kill him. Put him in a head lock? Maybe. But kill? No. Even if the other man was having a joke at Damien’s expense, Damien was not game for homicide.

“Are you familiar with the Populaire, then?”

[Raoulsgal0689]

Wes Harlow

Wes liked this Damien guy. There was something about him that made We think that they might be able to get along. Lord knew his loner attitude the last few weeks hadn't made him many friends here in Paris. Maybe he could start to change that. Ian wouldn't want him being a loner the rest of his life.

“Let’s hope that’s it,” Damien responded with a grin. “Because if Bill is just having a lark at my expense, I’ll kill him. Figuratively, of course.”

Wes chuckled and nodded. "Of course," he said with just a tad bit of sarcasm. "And just for future reference, Bill would be..." He left it opened ended for Damien to fill in. He was trying to learn about the Opera House and from the way it sounded, Bill worked there as well...he was just trying to get the details.

“Are you familiar with the Populaire, then?” Damien asked.

We couldn't help but chuckle again. "Well, I'm a chorus member there. Don't know if I could say I'm familiar with the Populaire," he said. "I only started just a couple weeks ago. I use to do...other music before that." He carefully avoided explaining about being in a boy band. "I just decided I wanted to try something different and Opera seemed like the way to do it. My best friend still thinks I'm crazy for doing this..."

"How long have you been with the Populaire?"

[Mrs Nadir Khan]

Damien Blackwood-Michaud

Before Damien could tell Wes who Bill was—best friend and assistant stage-manager—he and Wes started on the subject of the Populaire.

"Well, I'm a chorus member there. Don't know if I could say I'm familiar with the Populaire," he said. "I only started just a couple weeks ago. I use to do...other music before that. I just decided I wanted to try something different and Opera seemed like the way to do it. My best friend still thinks I'm crazy for doing this... How long have you been with the Populaire?"

“A couple months,” Damien said, shrugging. “I’m surprised you don’t know Bill, though. He’s the assistant stage manager at the Populaire… Also my best mate.” He grinned sheepishly, waiting for the accusations of nepotism or whatever. He could take it if they came. But he brushed the look aside quickly and instead said: “But if you’ve been working there a couple weeks, it’s no wonder you looked a bit familiar. We’ve probably brushed elbows backstage or something.”