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Xian's Other had not entirely planned to so casually insert his words into Stryge's mind. It had been more an idea that came loose in the minute fractions of time between words. An idea that transformed into action before he even realized what he was doing. But one that had some method to its madness.

He kept his eyes on Stryge's face, watching for the subtle clues anyone could read if you knew what to look for. And he was rewarded with a momentary flattening of the other vampire's smile. It was so slight that even a vampire like him would have missed it, if he had not been waiting for the reaction.

He could almost see the thoughts right on Stryge's face, shock, realization, acceptance, quick analysis - then the mask of a smile went up again. He could have peered into his mind; Xian had done it to mortals before, many times accidentally. But it was often harder to actually read a vampire's thoughts anyway.

But! Even vampires had facial expressions. For the most part, at least. That was often enough for those with a trained eye.

As hesitant as he was to peer into Stryge's thoughts, Xian's Other did allow himself a quick appraisal of Stryge's blood. It confirmed what he had suspected: this one was new in his blood, his mind quite new to the change. Good chance he had probably not even met another vampire aside from his sire, who was -

Huh.

That was a surprise.

Neither Xian nor his Other had ever truly considered siring another vampire. He understood well enough how the process was supposed to work, after all, Xian had studied all the texts and stories he could get his hands on, part of his effort to understand his new nature.

His Other didn't bother to understand it, at least not in a rational sense. It was more his nature to simply accept things without overthinking it.

It was clear to him that Stryge had not yet been taught much about his new nature; even Xian's sire, Charlotte, had taken a week to teach him, and the rest he had learned among the other vampires of his bloodline. So it was understandable that this vampire, new to the change, would be curious, as proven by his attempt at casually learning more.

"I'm not sure what you've already learned," xian's Other said, after a brief moment to consider if he would actually answer the questions. He dug into Xian's memories and learning, and continued, "But the blood changes each of us differently, and we each can have different gifts."

"Mine was, among other things, telepathy."

Xian's Other shrugged as he considered his words. "As far as I know, it's not that uncommon a gift, and it's one that almost any vampire can learn over time. Not something I can teach you, though, at least not right now. Personally, I just woke up with it."

"And before you can ask, yes I can kind of read minds. But it's not as clear unless you had the same gift as well." Xian had so much more to say on the subject, his memories and knowledge full of a lot of things his Other didn't really think about. So he dammed it up, at least for now, so that he wouldn't be carried off by the flood of words.

"Maybe you can't do it now. But, if you live - " Xian's other scratched the air with two finger of his right hand, placing greater stress on his last word - "Long enough, you could possibly learn how to do it yourself."

"So, anyway: it seems you have something against our friendly neighborhood bar manager tending the bar. I noticed, sort of, how you watched her...." Xian's Other allowed his words to drift off, leaving his actual question unasked.

Xian wrote:It seems you have something against our friendly neighborhood bar manager.

Stryge couldn't help the bitter laughter that erupted in response to Xian's comment. The smile on his face had taken on an eerie intensity. "Yeah, you could say that," Stryge continued with a grim chuckle. "You see, she stole something from me." Stryge unzipped his jacket, and yanked down the tee shirt underneath until one could hear the seams in the neck starting to rend. He didn't seem to care or notice. What was revealed on his bare chest was a dime shaped scar, just above his heart. "That was where the bullet went in. I pushed the muzzle of the pistol right up against my chest. Pulled the trigger. And that should have been the end. Glorious blackness. The howling ghosts in my head silenced forever. But she stopped what should have been. She messed with the natural order."

He had traveled over a thousand miles, had shed a thousand tears, to reach that moment. Had discarded his old life like a snake sheds its skin. Left everyone behind. He had come to Harper Rock (why here he still couldn't be sure, only that it felt right) to enact the final sacrificial ritual. He was to be both Abraham and Isaac. He would appease the hungry gods of his conscience once and for all, appease them with blood. Honor a covenant with his inner demons. But the ritual had been disrupted, and the gods were angry. The turning had only increased the volume in his head, turning up the cries for blood tenfold. The intensity of his emotions was like a constant burst of angry static. And the frequency of those bursts only increased when Pi was near. His brain was a Geiger counter, and she seemed to push the needle right into the red. So why was it that he couldn't seem to stay away from her?

He continued, "She made me into...this." Stryge pulled out a utility knife, flipped open the blade, and drew it across his hand. What pooled up from the wound did not resemble blood so much as darkness in liquid form. It pooled and dripped onto the table, seeming to suck light into the obsidian puddle like a black hole. "What the hell is this, Xian? What the hell am I? What is the point of even existing like this? Death was supposed to be the end. She still owes me that death. One way or another, I'm going to make sure she makes good on her debt."

Suicide by cop they called it. In this case, after they buried what was left of him, they would call it suicide by sire. Stryge had no doubt that Pi could tear him apart. In fact, he was counting on it.

Xian's Other almost couldn't hold down the laughter that threatened to pour out from him. He just managed to keep it to a mirthless grin. Surely there are fates and they play with us! He would have thought, had he been Xian at that moment.

He nodded at Stryge with some small understanding.

He remembered the night of his own change, so many months ago. Had it been so long? He, too, had been dying, his life stolen by something so commonplace as a small piece of lead. Out of the wound it had left leaked out his life, his dreams, his hopes, his blood. The blood. He remembered the blood vividly, remembered the feeling of it filling his lungs, remembered wondering why it had to end this way.

He remembered her blood.

At the moment of his surrender, he saw an angel of death. she had come to take his life, at least so he thought then. Instead -

The vampire who called himself Xian shook his head. His grin faded, and he felt the laughter that had earlier been almost too much to contain seek out the dark places in his mind once more. So similar were their stories, and yet so different. Stryge had chosen death, while Xian would have escaped his own had he been given the choice.

Xian's Other hesitated, his eyes knitting together in thought. He allowed himself to sigh.

"We always come back, you know," he said, his voice a bare whisper, a stray thought that escaped to his lips. He wasn't sure he wanted Stryge to hear this truth, wasn't even sure he had said it for him. Definitely not something you want to hear when you want to die: that you simply, desperately, cannot.

He coughed, his hand over his lips in such a human reaction that he wasn't sure if either or both had been instinct or quick thinking. He looked up at Stryge to examine the face of the tormented vampire. His own head tilted slightly as he considered his next words.

"I don't think I can really answer that question." Xian's Other said. The truth seemed preferable to a comforting lie. Or, at least, a little truth. "Oh, you already know the basics of it, I'm sure: we're vampires, you and I. We were dead, and now we're not. Yes, we're not part of the so-called 'natural order,' but that understanding of things was before we realized that there was so much more to what we thought we knew, before we became what we are."

Xian's Other leaned forward more, wondering at his next words. Had his other self, the philosopher-geek, been here, he would have had a wealth of philosophy and vampirology to share. But he wasn't here, at least not really.

"As to what the point of it is: what is the point of anything, really?" Xian's Other struggled. He had never before been forced to put his own philosophy and beliefs together for someone else to comprehend. "Others may disagree, but I think we all - human, vampire, and whatever other creatures share this world with us - need to figure out what the point is on our own."

"Maybe there is no point, and existence is all there is. Maybe that, there, is the point."

Stryge's bloody hand had come to rest in a pool of its own making on the table between them. His other hand had released the collar of his shirt, allowing it to retract and limp slowly back up his chest and neck. The stream of nihilism changing to existentialism coming out of Xian's mouth was barely registering as anything but a dull roar in Stryge's ears and in his brain. The smile, first charming and then intense, had long since faded from his features. The face that had come to replace it was now one that was utterly fitting for a vampire. It was a look of deadly seriousness, of grave intent. And the eyes...smoldered.

Xian had said something, moments earlier, almost off-handedly, almost as if Stryge wasn't meant to hear it. But Stryge had heard. Oh he had. The possibilities this comment had opened up, like a knife opening up a vein, now poured into Stryge's brain and threatened to wash away his already fragile tether to sanity. Part of him was quick to deny that it could be true. It was the part that still saw the bar around them both as just a bar. The people as just people, drinking their drinks, living their lives, growing old (maybe), and ultimately...dying? But the other part of his mind, the part that could now see the difference between the sheep and the wolves in this seemingly innocuous bar, the part that remembered the bullet hole in his own chest, the part that felt the constant hunger for blood that now plagued him, or remembered the burns he had suffered the first time he had unwittingly wandered outside during the day; the part that knew he was undead. This part of Stryge's mind heard Xian's words, heard them and understood them, and now threatened to collapse under the weight of them.

"Xian." When Stryge spoke, it was between gritted teeth, "What did you mean by, 'we always come back?'"

The vampire known as Xian leaned back, away from the table, away from Stryge. The Other that was in charge tonight allowed a sigh to escape, a simple breath of air that was necessary to him only for speech. His hand came up to his face, two fingers to the bridge of his nose, an act that allowed him to massage that place, and break eye contact with Stryge.

So, he had heard. Well, I can deal. He always could. At least, that's what he believed, and would continue to believe, until the day that he couldn't.

Xian had made it one of his hobbies to learn more about the vampiric state, about the city they lived in, about anything else that occurred to him was worth learning about. He had discovered a number of truths about Harper Rock, and why vampires chose this place, partly from research, and partly from the stories of other vampires in his bloodline.

For the most part, his Other listened in only on the good parts, and zoned out in the others. But when it came to a place called the Shadow Real, and how their kind could go there instead of the oblivion and death, he listened, and listened carefully. Particularly when they said that vampires could walk out of there, and back into this world.

And thus he developed an unusual dread of vampiric death.

From the moment of his birth as a vampire, Xian's Other considered himself a secondary creation, an exercise of a disturbed mind. He was a complete person, at least to him he was, but he understood he existed as a role to play. Perhaps only existed while that role was necessary.

This had led him to wonder if that place of death, the other side, was a place that could claim him, and not let him go. What if Xian could die and come back, but leave his Other behind?

Or, what if, for him, to die was to cease?

He shook the thought from his mind and breathed in. Like with many other things, if it happened, then it happened. Every mortal lived with a similar fear, after all, and they seemed to live well enough. Even vampires could know fear and overcome it, if these mortals could. He would deal with it if the time came.

Or not, since he might not be around if it did. anyway.

He licked his lips, and leaned forward again. This would be a mouthful.

"We come back," he started simply, his voice dropped to a bare whisper. "Mind you, I've never done it myself. I've only heard this from others, who say they've been there and back." His eyes looked from one side to another, making sure none eavesdropped on this sensitive conversation. He opened his mind slightly as well, thinking he might catch on if someone's attentions focussed on them a little too much.

The Other Xian continued: "You probably already know that we had to die to become what we are. That we were changed, and we came back from death."

"According to what I've heard, that's not the first death we will ever experience, and come back from."

"We can die, that's true. But when we die, it's only our bodies that die, our spirits, souls, energy, whatever you want to call it, go to this place they call the Shadow Realm. It's like a place of spirits, of dead things. We go there, we stay for a while, then we come back as we were."

"They say that only the most powerful vampires could do this in the past. But here, in this place, in this city, even the weakest of us can free themselves from the Shadow Realm to walk the streets of this city again. I don't know how long it takes. They say it's different every time."

"That's why we're here. That's why we're all here. There's something about this place that lets us come back, again, and again, and again."

Xian's Other shrugged. "At least, that's what they say." His easy grin had faded. He understood, without having to peer into Stryge's mind, that this wasn't what the other vampire wanted to hear.

I am the man who wanted to kill himself, and now I can never truly die... This was the irrevocable fact that was confronting Stryge as he listened to Xian explain the Shadow Realm. No Greek tragedian could have thought up a more perfect definition of hell for him at that moment. That is where I am. I am in hell now. Hell is Harper Rock.

Something extraordinary had happened to the shadow vampire's face while Xian spoke. The anger had faded. At first it had turned to open-mouthed shock, the look of someone trying to catch their breath who does not actually breathe. ("Shut your mouth, Stu," his mother would have said. "You'll catch flies.") The shock had then curdled further, Stryge's features shifting quite visibly to a look of pure anguish and despair. At the same time, his eyes were growing darker. Literally. A glistening black ichor was welling up from the corners of his eyes to run dripping down his cheeks and face. They were tears, tears that appeared to have the same properties as Stryge's obsidian blood. For the first time since his transformation, Stryge was weeping.

Around them, a crowd of people oblivious to the insanity of their own existence milled about spoke of things inconsequential; They were tragic in their obsequiousness. They killed their brain cells with alcohol and pretended their little lives had meaning. The pointlessness of the cosmos was lost to their tiny mentalities. Stryge envied them in their ignorance.

Stryge almost asked Xian what would happen if he were to leave Harper Rock, if his soul would still be stuck on this bizarre metaphysical merry-go-round? But he dared not. He knew with a deep certainty that something would inevitably compel him to stay, the same something that had drawn him to this town in the first place. Stuart Giger had not believed in God since his mother had passed away, but now he felt fairly certain that he did again, that the proof was right here that God existed, because it could not be any clearer that an all powerful force had orchestrated the bizarre series of events that had lead inevitably to this moment; a bizarre twist of fate that would have been deemed to unbelievable even for an episode of The Twilight Zone.

Without another word, Stryge rose from the table, pulling his hood low over his face, the shadows for the most part obscuring the smokey liquid that had wet his cheeks. The shadow quickly towards the exit of Lancasters. His shadow gifts allowed him to slip easily and silently through the crowd. By the time he had passed over the threshold, he had disappeared completely, becoming one with the darkness.

The only evidence left that the shadow had been there at all was the bloody black hand print he had left on the table.

The Other leaned back once more as he watched Stryge walk off wordlessly. Some part of him felt sorry for the young vampire, could still remember how he had felt when he was young. That wasn't too long ago, and for some elders, he was still young himself. But this, tonight, made him feel much older.

He finally allowed himself to wonder why he had bothered to come over. Perhaps he had sensed a kindred spirit in that tormented vampire, or perhaps there is such a thing as fate. Maybe he just needed something to help him pass the time. He considered all these things, then pushed them all aside.

He rarely thought much about his own motivations. He usually left that to Xian. Tonight would not be an exception.

He did sense that he would see this vampire again, some other night, maybe even here at Lancaster's. He silently wished him well.

As Stryge left through the door, he let his eyes drift down to the darkened shadow of a hand that was left on their table. Slowly, it seemed to fade away, as if the air around it pulled it apart. Curious. He had never seen the blood of a Shadow before, but he had heard it was odd.

As he watched the blood dissipate, he sensed someone's attention focus on him. He turned to face the server that had finally come over, and offered him the best smile he could. His elfin features could often at least distract most people, and would give enough time for the deep black shadow blood to go wherever shadow blood fled to.

"Hey, sorry for the wait," she said. "Things are crazy tonight."

You have no idea.

"No worries," the Other said, and ordered another drink.

For the second time, the twenty-six year old man found himself slipping through the doors of Lancasters much in the same way he had the first time. That is to say, with the smallest space of opening his body could slip through, and enough silence in his arrival to mistake him for a ghost. He always paid a special sort of attention to making as little presence as possible, and his Kendo training aided this effort. Perhaps it was over twenty years of built up paranoia that led him to act in this way. The less attention one brought to themselves, the less questions were asked. Perhaps, if one were attentive, they would mistake this small, but careful wariness as a sign of unnaturalness, such as the common trait of vampirism. Despite this, though, the scent and steady noise of a human heart clung to him, only faded by his last shower an hour past.

The cold breeze that followed him stole the door from his fingers. Even as he braced himself he wasn’t prepared for the sharp thump of wood as the door hit the wall, then slid shut again as the wind changed direction. Save for the initial cringe, his face betrayed nothing else. The tip of his chin was confident but unboastful, and he averted his eyes to a small table tucked behind a few others. A good spot to avoid unneccessary attention by those entering after him. With quick but light steps, he slipped over to take a seat. Almost as soon as he’d sat down, a book had found its way from his coat pocket to his hands. He had a habit of wearing coats with deep pockets just so he could always keep a small book on hand. Having recently finished his Demonologist novel and finding it surprisingly interesting, he’d moved on to something a little more out of his age group. Not generally his favorite type of read, the ‘Warrior Cats’ series would be an important new addition when he reopened the shop. Which of course meant he’d need to read it before adding it to the shelves, even if it had come from a good recommendation. Halfway through the last novel of the second series, he’d found each one to drag on slower than the last. At least that was his personal opinion, which didn’t matter much when it came to how the book would sell. From a professional angle, he knew enough by this point to add all the ones he’d been donated to the shelves with confidence, but a stubborn obsession with finishing a started novel drove him to crawl through what remained.

Which was part of why he was here. Having recently run out of coffee and feeling too drained from work, stress, and travel to fetch and brew more, he’d taken a rare leisure and allowed himself the lazy option of going out for a cup. Besides, the last time he’d been here had offered entertainment and pleasant music, and even his spectral companion had been so distracted that Yasu had finally had some peace of mind. All in all, if today proved as helpful as last he’d certainly make note of frequenting the place. Even if it did remind him uncomfortably of home. His usual slight signs of sleeplessness were much heavier today, dark bags shadowing his eyes, and his hand moving to stifle a stubbornly frequent yawn. A pair of serpents hung from his ears, crimson eyes like drops of blood that caught the light and matched the color of his nails to a T. Despite having yet to order, Yasu was already slipping on his reading glasses and skimming over the page. It wouldn’t be too much bother to break away from the literature once someone passed by, but the sooner he started, the sooner he could shut the dreadful book once and for all.

As he waited and read, though, he could hardly absorb a word. His mind was preoccupied with curiousitys. Without telling anyone save for those he worked with, he’d left Harper Rock for a small while. Then he’d returned. For the life of him he didn’t know why. He’d left because the shop just wasn’t selling, and he was fairly certain he wasn’t coming back to the wall of bills that were threatening to hospitalize him. It was only the Kendo classes that saved him from drowning in black inked threats, and even that had little enjoyment to it. He hadn’t even told Jaxon, hadn’t even planned it. He’d just left. And now, somehow, he’d come back with no rhyme or reason. True, it had been worthwhile. The new books that had been given were selling very well, helping him climb out of the hole he’d dug himself, and his new student was showing promise enough to rekindle some of his old flame for Kendo. Still, these were after his return and couldn’t pull together a reason for why he’d come back at all. It was like something had pulled him back.

Both of them, actually. Him, and his nameless shadow. Back to this town, and back to this small peculiar shop that tried to dig memories from his skull like an eagles wicked talons. Unable to process either, he continued the futile effort of reading as more of a facade, and turned his thoughts to those he’d met since first coming here. A few faces leapt up before any others, those being the ones he’d run into most frequently. Jaxon was the easiest to remember and think of, because of simple fact that he was the one Yasu spoke to most often. No, more than that. There was things they held in common, too much so. There was also differences though, which came as common ground with someone else.

He hadn’t spoken much to his unexpected room-mate since their first meet-up in the sewers. Even more, when he’d up and left, he left only a note and the keys for Jana. A small brush of guilt welled up at the thought of how she might react now that he was back, and he was slightly grateful he’d yet to see her since returning. It was more careful thought than he usually gave to others, and he wasn’t so sure he was comfortable with it.

Shaking his head, he tried to pull his mind back to the pages of his book. Just pull through another few chapters and you’ll be done, he told himself.

The young woman's eyes opened slowly, and looked around the take in what was around her. Nothing was familiar as far as she could see, and that fact was oddly calming. Silence. Aisha Marten hadn't known this kind of silence for along time; no beeping of a heart monitor, no harsh rasping of her breath as she struggled for air. With a bit of strain, Aisha rose to a sitting position, letting her silver hair cascade down her back and frame her soft pale face.

The only light in the room was from a small table top lamp, which cast warm light on everything around her. Everything about Aisha was like moonlight, down the to soft pale blue of her dress, which had become a bit crumpled and slept in. The strength in her limps startled her a bit, causing Aisha to open and close her hand slowly a few times. The sensation of living, with out pain. Aisha swung her feet over to the edge of the bed, and stepped onto the floor with bare feet. No pain. Quickly, she flew towards her small bag of belongings, and opened it. Still, no pain.

A wide smile had stretched itself across Aisha's face, slowly molding itself into a grin. She couldn't even think about the churning hunger in her stomach, or Lancaster's careful teachings, all that she could feel was the vampires blood rushing through her veins and a confidence she had never known till this point. After slipping on some socks and boots, Aisha rushed quickly out of the dimly lit room, and down the two flights of stairs. She could already hear the sounds of people chattering and laughing, of glasses clinking against each other like wind chimes. Quietly, Aisha opened the door to the main floor, which wasn't as bustling as it sounded. A few humans sat at the bar, drinking and merry making, but for the most part the pub was rather empty.

Aisha looked around for a moment, then took a seat at one of the tables. It was a peculiar sensation. Being out in public where people could see her, and despite her blooming confidence from before, she felt suddenly a bit awkward around so many people. Around so many humans. It puzzled her that she had begun to you the term human to define someone other than herself. There was no denying how much of a vampire she was, not from how tantalizing the smells was wafting from the bar. Suddenly, Aisha felt a bit uneasy, and her pulse quickened at the thought of taking a bite out of one of the patrons. She knew she couldn't, Lancaster had warned her of it, but still the temptation was there. The pale girl looked around for a familiar face, for Lancaster's face, or at least someone like her.

To say his wandering around the city had netted him anywhere he would go with regularity the only place he found himself drawn to had been Lancaster's. He wasn't sure if it was the atmosphere or the easily available food source from the humans that frequented the place. He was careful with that though, always following them well away from the bar and if they even lived too close he wouldn't touch them and would find another. Of course that hadn't been what brought him there that night.

He had spent the last week almost entirely in his home, at the forge pounding away at weapon after weapon trying to perfect his craft. He knew he had a long way to go and had as of yet never produced anything as strong as the two blades he had given to his sire. It was frustrating to understate how he felt when each one came out nowhere near that level of crafting. He had refused to put it to luck though and so he kept at it. Even he would grow bored with such though, banging his head against a wall as he tried to get past it and produce more weapons worth putting his name to and not things he would sell off hand to the shops simply so that he wouldn't have to look at the failures anymore.

As soon as he arrived he went to find as dark a corner as he could in the place. It wasn't always possible and he looked around hoping to find a suitable spot. He had always preferred shadowy areas when he had been alive and it made him smirk as he thought of that. How fitting it had been that he had become a creature of the shadows once turned. It suited him very well and he did seem to have a natural affinity with them which only grew as his powers did. He never bothered to project a shadow when he came to such places, only really doing it when around police or others that might actually hunt their kind. Others were usually not observant enough to pick up on that during the night, and most humans seemed to be rather oblivious anyways so there was no need for him to waste even that minimal effort.

Finding that the spots he usually preferred were taken he went to the bar with a sigh. Had this been some dive, or had he still been human, he would have gone and tried to kick the people out of the spot he wanted but knew better than to draw attention to himself. It wasn't the humans he feared, but the others like him. He might show as much bravado as anyone when actually faced by others, he refused to back down from anyone, but if he could avoid the notice of the others than all the better. Taking a spot along the bar he waited for the attention of the bartender and ordered a double of Grey Goose straight. He had tried bottled blood and mixes before and found all it did was rouse his hunger, the taste not the same as the heat and pulse of fresh blood being taken and so he preferred the burn of it as it ate away inside him even as it healed. Sure it made him sick sometimes but that was worth it. As he waited he looked around, taking in the view of the others in the place trying to decide on someone to have a nibble from later if they were still around when his hunger finally really kicked in.