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If there was one thing the man needed was a huge dose of the impulsive and unexpected. Lyon had been so damn predictable that even Amira was starting to get bored and eyeing the front door. He knew what that meant. The ***** was getting the urge to run again. That is what she was doing when she started the door watching last time. He watched her run back and forth across Harper Rock for better part of a year doing just that. He would be damned if he was going to chase her around. She had it good and if she couldn't figure it out he thought the best lesson was to let her run around like a bat of hell till she figured it out. She would get tired, wear down and when she did she could come back and admit it in her own way. Usually a few dead rabbits or the smell of skunk was the peace offering. Not ideal but she was sorry in the end.

It was the killers motto for anything. Give the best you have and if they can't appreciate it then let them take their ungrateful *** out the door. Perhaps this small eclectic mix of personalities and what not was just what he needed. A little time off the beaten path. See what happens. For once Amira would be the one left guessing and waiting. Actually the more he thought about it the Chocolate Labrador Retriever would have company.

His wife would eventually wonder where the hell he had disappeared to. It would likely be a few nights. The woman kept as busy as he did with her own work. He looked at the amber liquid in the glass he held at the bar and brought it closer to his lips then paused like he always did. He had more important things to do than regret the gut ache that it would deliver if he did indulge. For starters there was a ride on that cycle that he rarely if ever saw his *** on its seat. Playing it safe while looking forward to what the night would unfold, he tuned into the conversation and would have no regrets setting the glass back down.

“I am up for a ride.” He made sure to take a look around at the others as he said it to see if it was really going to happen. “Best route is the one that is uncharted, just happens.”

With that said he stretched back and locked his feet up on the foot rest of the bar stool beneath him. For the first time in as long as he could remember he was ready to leave caution to the wind for the night and see what would come of it. Each of the faces he was looking at had a story to tell and he was looking forward to hearing what they were willing to reveal. If there was something to gain business wise or a risk and reward involved well that was even better. Money was mentioned, getting rich. Damn right he was listening.

“I’m with Lyonel on this one,” he began, “A route’s all well and good when you need to get somewhere, but it’s just better to have an explore, I think.”

Of course, his opinion was greatly informed by the way that he didn’t really know his way around the city too well. He knew Redwood, due to his still-to-be-opened bar being there, and he knew enough about Wickbridge to get into the Quarantine Zone without too much drama. He’d even managed to locate the Mausoleum once or twice, mainly on accident. Not that that sounded like a good idea right now - He’d heard the military had blockaded the place. He wasn’t too sure on why that was, but it is what it is and he saw no real need to question it. The military being there made it a bad move, unless they were leaving weaponry around unguarded. And even then, really. Which led him neatly to the next point, rather wonderfully. It was almost like it had been planned that way.

“Well then, we’ll need to get Ric a bike before we do much else, I think. Tends to be a little hard to be an MC if we have members without rides,” he grinned, “What do you fancy? I know a guy down south who runs a custom shop, if you’re interested. Won’t be able to get it free, but I will be able to get a sizeable discount on any work you want done. Perks and such.”

He supposed, too, that at some point he would need to call the first club meeting, get stuff sorted out, and start earning. Might be a little too soon right now, though. After all, they were still in the getting to know you phase of things, feeling each other out and seeing how they worked together. Which made going for a ride together just that much more important. He was fairly sure they’d be able to think up some ways to have a laugh as a club, even without being a club yet, really. Which is why he excused himself for a minute, and went outside to his bike. He knelt by one of the saddlebags and pulled out a small, black duffle that clinked hollowly as he moved it, and then returned to the bar, dropping his freshly retrieved duffle onto the counter.

“Also guys,” he said, barely holding back a wicked chuckle, “How many of you can handle a can of spray paint well? I’m thinking we should leave our mark around the place. Thoughts?”

The crowd shifted right about the same time that Ric pointed out his, er, date over on the couch. Had Shana been drinking, she probably would have choked into the glass. Luckily that was a non-issue, so she managed to control her facial features rather well, in her opinion, as she eyed the corpse. That chick was definitely not a zombie. Even with half her head missing, you could still see the bloodstains around her collar -- arterial and fresh. Shana wasn't too clear on security protocol in the QZ, since, you know, there was that whole zombies everywhere thing, but Ric clearly must have brought the body in from the outside. Which meant that if he didn't have a ride, which he was in the process of explaining, then he'd just been wandering around the city streets with a corpse tucked under one elbow.

Shadows or not, that was a pretty ballsy move. Shana wasn't sure whether to be impressed or a tad concerned. What exactly was she getting herself into here?

It's not like she was some delicate flower. She'd gotten herself into and out of plenty of pinch situations here -- and yes, she'd had to kill a cop or two during her time, not to mention security guards, thieves, hitmen, gangsters, hell, a whole host of humans really. But the vamps she'd fallen in with her last round in town were pretty staunchly pro not letting humans know what really goes on at night here. Shana had never gotten all fanatical about it, but she'd generally fallen toward that side, since it seemed sensible. Humans killed all the old ones last time, and to hear Mircea and Habren tell it, the Holocaust wasn't something Shana wanted to experience firsthand.

On the other hand, there were a lot more of their kind in this town now than there were when the first few old ones crawled out of shadows. And they were getting stronger very quickly. Whereas the humans -- or the ones she'd come into contact with so far, at least -- were so much weaker. Hell, she'd yet to meet one who put up a decent fight for longer than it took her to slice them in two.

Shana had spent the two years since her turning telling herself that she only killed out of necessity. She didn't drain every human she drank from, and she only drank when she really needed the sustenance. But she couldn't deny that sitting there on the stool, watching a roomful of apparently normal people (from first glance, anyway) ignore the body casually sprawled on the sofa... There was something a little thrilling about it. And why not? Why not admit that occasionally, when the adrenaline rush was at full flow through her system and she was lashing out at the offending human -- usually some lowlife hyped up on drugs to start -- she got a rush from it. It was satisfying, to see them sink to their knees, life draining from their eyes, after whatever insult or challenge they'd posed to her. It was refreshing to be able to walk where she wanted, without fear, knowing she could handle any challenge that came her way.

Was she only following the Masquerade so strictly because fear had become ingrained in her since her human life? Was that fear of being discovered just a habit, a holdover from a time when every second of every day could have destroyed her?

Shana shook her head and tuned back into the conversation. Ven was talking, shaking a bag of something metallic. Paint cans. God, she hadn't tagged anything since freshman year of high school, out behind the auditoriums with the 420 crowd. She was terrible at it. No eye for artistry. But now she smiled and stuck out her hand for a can. "Got any red?"

Lyonel was holding onto that glass of whiskey like it was capable of doing something for him if he gave it long enough. In reality it was of no use to him physically. Air had more promise of having an effect over him if he got enough of it. However, the scent of the liquid brought back memories of when he used the burn of it to deaden the cut over a busted eyebrow or to warm the back of a dry throat once the fight was done and the night ahead was destined to be full of throbbing and aching. He owned the results of using his fists and he would nurse away any damage himself.

All in all it was great while it lasted. The rush of the win, the pay outs and of course the sizzle of the muscles stretched beyond the norm. The endorphins raging through the brain like his life was on the line always gave him the buzz he needed to shake off the pain of what was nearly broken or needing to be snapped back into place. Some opponents were big enough his *** could have and sometimes did get handed to him. If it could knock him down he had a huge appreciation for that. It didn’t earn his instant respect but damn sure was a great start at winning points with the kid from the east side. He was fast, cut lean and known to hold his own and then some. No fear in the ring or on the streets for the one who was always looking unassuming but was a hell of a surprise when challenged.

Only one person could nearly bring him to his knees. That would be when he walked into the driveway in that blue collar neighborhood and set his eyes on that four bedroom split entry house. It usually had at least one light on in the top right window where a dark haired woman sat waiting for him to leave his cocky attitude at the curb before stepping foot in the front door which was left unlocked for him. It was not Better Homes and Gardens but it was Pops castle. Plain and simple.

The salt and pepper fifty-something man had a badge resting on the dresser in the upstairs master bedroom. NYPD said he was one of their finest and there was a uniform and a spot on his chest that shield rested that confirmed it. For Lyonel he was king. The only man he would not raise a hand to or challenge. Respect had a lot to do with it and a side of wisdom that was earned. He knew it was a fight he would never win. He was raised with a firm hand and a strong sense of respect. As for fighting. Pops tossed his *** around a few times when he got out of line that always worked in his favor. Nothing else coming at him in the ring came close to what Pops did to him. He was always feeling better even if he lost in the end.

In the present moment sitting at the bar the killer spun the glass around in a slow isolated circle as he listened to the voices around him. There was a dull haunting pain that went with the thoughts that cart wheeled their way out of his head. It was the past and he would never go back. A valuable lesson learned and never to be forgotten. He had someone else to thank for that.

The ‘Old Man’ taught him a few things as well and one was to keep your word at all costs. What he left behind in New York was first proof he could do it. The second was Eva. Damned if he wouldn’t keep his word. The Old Man was his creator, sire or whatever the hell the term was. He didn’t see Wolfgang West any other way except as the one who checked his *** and put him in line when Pops couldn’t catch up with him. The master shadow finished the job and from there on that is where his loyalty was. It was quiet and often unspoken but the two knew just where they stood with each other.

Celadon eyes shot over to Mkvenner as he spoke. He couldn’t help but wonder just where those in his current company came from. What blood coursed through their veins and how did they all end up in Cordivae Flats bar sporting that particular thirst that was only quenched by the unthinkable? Would they be forward with their history? Or was it cataloged and kept like his in that place where you just didn’t retrieve from or talk about? He eyed the woman slowly allowing his focus to pass from her to Roderic. The guy not only needed a cycle but a side car for his perished companion. His attention was quick to land back on the leader of this ecclectic pack. He appeared to have a few ideas he wanted to try out. Once he was finished speaking Lyonel pulled his feet off the bars likely not intended for the use of resting his boots. A low thud of each size fourteen landed on the floor as he stood up. Spray paint cans were the impromptu party favor. He gave the surrounding interior a glance and could only think of one thing to ask.

"What type of bike do you prefer, Roderic? I think we can get you on something found locally that will save time and perhaps sports a side car if you are into toting around bodies?" He nodded towards the female that was dragged in that likely had seen better days. "Just an offer if it helps."

“Red paint… yeah, I should have some somewhere,” he mused, “I did ask for a good selection, and I’d like to think red would be included in that sort of thing…”

There came, next, the clatter of can on can as he thrust his hand into the duffle and began to rummage around, grunting at odd intervals as he failed to find what it was that he was looking for. Eventually, he found his prize and removed his hand, holding a can of red spray paint high for the world to see, almost as though it were a trophy of some sort. With a grin, he tossed it to Shana.

“There you go, darlin’,” he said with a wink, “Anyone else got any requests while I’m in here? We’ve got all sorts.”

Almost as soon as the words had left his mouth, he wondered if they’d be heard. Lyonel, it seemed, had been deeply lost in thought, nursing his whiskey almost as though he were expecting it to return to health and fly away once more. He had to smile, really, seeing the mix of different temperaments on display from the group he had assembled. Shana was vivacious, seemed up for a laugh and more than willing to run around causing all sorts of chaos in the name of living life, such as it was for them, to the fullest. Lyonel was seeming more contemplative, not that that was an issue at all. After all, it took all sorts to make any group work, and they’d need someone able to keep a cool head if they were to get anywhere in the city with what they were doing. Link had yet to show, but he was Ven’s childe and so he was fairly certain he could count on him to step up when the time came to handle business. Roderic though… Roderic seemed a little off. Not that that was a bad thing either. It took a certain something to arrive at what was essentially an ice breaker toting a corpse over one shoulder, whilst wearing what looked suspiciously like mittens. Well, one mitten anyway. Still though, what a way to make an entrance. Full marks for that one, thought Ven.

Ven nodded as Roderic made his interest in the offer of a bike known, and took a pen from his pocket. Scribbling down a number on a napkin from the bar, he slid it towards the other shadow so as not to interrupt the conversation he was having with Lyonel about what, on the surface, appeared to be a side car. It actually made a lot of sense, considering what Ven could now only think of as Roderics Lady Friend, and it would get them out of a hole. The guy had already indicated that he had no interest in riding ***** with any of them, which was more than fair, and it wasn’t like Ven was going to let him get on the back of his bike. He lacked what might be referred to as the appropriate assets for that. And, on top of all that, he too seemed interested in the making a literal mark on the city. Which was good. Very good, in fact. He thought about how best to respond to his question, it being a good one and something he had not yet thought of. Grabbing another napkin, he began to sketch out a design on it, and then held it up to show the group.

“I’m thinking something like this. Throw it up around Redwood. Let them know that we’re here to stay. And any size is good, really. Though, to be fair, bigger is probably better. Wouldn’t want people to miss it.”

He paused.

"And we might as well put at least one in here, too, considering we're like... here. It'd be a shame to miss an opportunity, and it'd be good practice. I know it's been a while since I last tagged something, I could probably do with it," he laughed.

Shana caught the can with one hand and raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to smirk. Darlin’, huh? She failed at the not-smirking thing, then got down to business. Shaking the can a few times, she sprayed it experimentally on the bar top, doodling a curlicue. The color came out a nice, deep red, though it took her a moment to get the spray even and steady, instead of fuzzing all over the place.

The others were talking about a bike for Ric and the various accoutrements that would be needed. She got a little distracted by the paint, though. Pretty soon she had a fairly intricate design going on the counter. A couple trees, some birds, and a Tiyas in cursive font in the corner. The trees were kind of blurry – they’d look more like broccoli if not for the birds – and the writing wasn’t so great using the spray can. She could see why a lot of people preferred the bubble letters. She was about to start redoing the word in bigger block letters instead, to see if it was easier, but then she glanced over at Ven’s napkin doodle.

Cool design, though it’d be hard to do in just monochrome. “I’m gonna need some black as well,” she announced to no one in particular, and took it upon herself to rifle through Ven’s bag. Maybe she’d take the white too, while she was at it.

Having run out of room on the bar top, Shana slid from her stool and sidled over to the wall near the ATM. A zombie lurking nearby turned to snarl at her, and she took its head off with a single-handed swing of her katana, balancing her three cans in her other hand while she did. The dark, rotted zombie’s blood-spatter made a nice background pattern on the wall, really. She re-sheathed her katana, balanced one paint can between the hilt and her hip, and set to it.

“Silver.” He spoke while standing and watching LaShana take to the top of the bar not far from where they were. She started the application of her mural and he was impressed. Art was not his first talent. He had a few but art class back in school was nap time for him. If she was creating trees and what not he could at least duplicate the man’s design and make an impact. “If you have any. If not then something close to that.”

What the hell he could do with that silver paint still was trying to register. For one thing he owned a business. Make that two. He was not unfamiliar to the disappointment of walking into his own places and finding some one had decorated for him while he was out of the office. It wasn’t anything monumental when he arrived to find it. Generally it only took him an hour or two to get the right people over to tackle the job of putting it back together. It cost him money and time. Not that it didn’t irritate him because it did. So trashing the hell out of someone else’s place wasn’t going to be his thing. Not unless the owner had it coming. Outside where the most foot traffic would be seemed fair game. A bomb could drop and make the QZ look a hundred times better.

Lyonel was a firm believer in leaving your mark behind in a memorable way. He was really liking the design that Mkvenner came up with and thought it had a value by putting it up all over the place. There was something to be said for what it stood for. Good way to get the presence of the recently acquainted group out there. It would say there was a reason to think more than zombies and mooncalves could be found if you stepped in the wrong place.

Was he personally claiming the QZ? Hell no. He still wasn’t sure why anyone would want to continue hanging around there. The walking groaning and grunting masses of stench popped out like Jack-in-the-Boxes everywhere you turned. It was great target practice but so were the hunters and the paladins in the sewers who would fight back. Those were the ones responsible for the humans currently running around on the streets like it was a free for all with gun and blade. They didn’t seem to be easy to kill from what he heard and that still was unsettling. Perhaps grabbing a bunch of them would be a thought. Find out their sources of funds and squeeze information out of them? He didn’t say it out loud but he gave his wide shoulders a shrug at the thought.

While the inside of the building was getting decorated he figured he could spray out the design Mkvenner came up with. Let those walking around get an early exposure to the silver skull mark that would likely become more visible when they happened into the area? A couple feet wide would make it visible to anyone half blind coming over it. That worked for him. Let the new arrivals to the dark paths see it from the start. Good way to recruit.

“I will take a can and start outside.” He didn’t wait for one. He leaned down and grabbed a can that looked close enough and took off out the doors