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Another day, another dollar, that was the American saying. To Christof, another day spelled another crimson masterpiece, although occasionally there were a few dollars coated in the delicious color. He supposed, in those cases, the saying fit quite well, in the literal sense. It was a few of those previously blood-stained coins that he now carried in his pocket, rinsed and bleached until not a drop of the incriminating substance could be traced on their shimmering surfaces. It was these coins that jangled with each step, and passed from pocket to hand, their music a symphony among the announcing jangle of the bell above the bar door. Each step was heavy, clad in boots that gave weight to an otherwise light frame. The kind of dark boots that washed easy. Much of what he wore was like that, though.

Dark gloves covered his fingers, slender but firm as they shuffled a few coins in his palm. The long, baggy sleeves of his heavy black slicker hid half of this movement, as well as dripped with recent sleet fall, staining the wood below him. The hood was drawn and remained as so, even as he crossed to the bar, dropping the coins on the worn counter. "You have ah... Snake Wine?" Though it was only a handful of words, each one was as sodden in accent as his attire, betraying his Italian heritage.The woman who manned the bar at that point in time seemed a little puzzled at the odd request, but answered in turn whether he wanted Mixed or Steeped, to which he requested the former with the sort of grin that set one on edge. As she took his coin and set about getting the drink, Christof took his seat. The woman paused, tossing a comment about the hood. He smiled in that unnerving manner a second time, reaching to lower the hood and shake out his tangled mess of hair. "Ah.. right. La mio-, ah.. My ah.. Mistake.." Even the way he spoke, slow and slippery as a snake, was enough to quiet any further comment from the woman, leaving him in peace to nurse his drink and study the room. It was his first trip to this bar, and to be his likely last, his only interest being in a choice of target to fill his night. The woman off behind his left shoulder looked promising, as did the man to his right. The latter would make a fun challenge, certainly. Christof smiled, and to cover his expression he took a sip of his drink.

Christof had valued patience often, for when a man waited they could often find what they were looking for fall right into their lap. Of course, she didn’t fall into his lap so much as gracefully occupy the seat next to him. As the woman slipped into the stool at his side, Christof slid a charming smile onto his lips with a practiced ease. He could already see the way he’d carve this one up, once he got her alone. Could see, with the practiced ease of an artist, the masterpiece she’d be. With a small gesture, he caught the attention of the tender. “It is on me,” he offered, attempting to match gazes with the dark haired girl. The same hand that had garnered for attention slid back, propping his chin as he sipped his own drink with a lazy sort of grace. Lowering the glass to prop against his lip, he spoke up. “Beautiful evening it is?” An inviting tone of voice that prompted conversation slipped free, followed by the soft clink of his glass returning to the bar top.

‘Can’t wait,’ he thought to himself with a tinge of excitement. Oh, he’d had a pretty one or so before to play with, but there was something in the guarded grace of this one that he just couldn’t wait to break. Thumb tracing the edge of his glass, he looked away before his staring would reach the line between curious and creepy, and thought of his favorite knife tucked away in the back of his belt. Coats long enough to reach past the hips did wonders for hiding such simple things, he thought idly. As well, he thought whether she deserved the honor of that particular blade, or if perhaps one of the newer ones would suffice. She didn’t look too sturdy, not enough to require the stronger blades, but then again looks so often deceived. The first cut was the most important, and he didn’t want to waste it. “These are nights for remembering. One like this come only every death of a pope.” Once more he let his gaze turn to Silhouette, his glass raised halfway as if in a sort of toast. He didn’t speak as haltingly as when he’d arrived, as if there was clarity in the acquisition of a potential conversation partner, but the thick lilt of Italian clung to every word.

Silhouette brushed her hair over her neck, allowing it to fall over one side of her face in a silky blue and brunette waterfall. As her sight was freed, the vague figure of a person she'd barely noted before was turned to her, with

Christof wrote:“It is on me,”

she heard as he signaled across the bar for a drink. Now if only she could consume it without incident.

"Oh, uh... thank you." she mumbled shyly. Thinking about the drink was making her vaguely realize she did feel the familiar tickle of her own kind of thirst.

Oh lord, buying me a drink? Did women really go for this, or was it a more outdated pick-up attempt? Silhouette had never been picked up at a bar before and the experience was more hilarious to her than anything, but she didn't reflect this from her face. She remained disinterested as well as she could and still he was not discouraged.

Christof wrote:“Beautiful evening it is?”

"I suppose, it's getting cold." She looked down into her hands in her lap, but quickly realized her confidence was receding and she met his eyes from the corner of her own, hopefully playing coy. The growing thirst was aiding her and she could feel that her eyes were certainly conveying a hunger. Was this man human? Because he looked rather delicious to her. His accent sounded italian and she smiled to herself in a dark sort of manner as she imagined sinking her teeth into him and tasting spaghetti sauce instead. Clearly she needed to learn to hold food down... she missed it entirely too much. She'd barely heard something about nights of remembering before he had tilted his glass and she was obligated to tap it gently which made her smirk slightly as the cheesy gesture was just too funny.

Something about the entire situation made Silhouette almost feel her pulse again whether it was impending threat she sensed or just simply exhilaration flowing from this dark, charismatic man.

Christof laughed softly in a practiced tone like music. Everything was ready and practiced to lure and kill, and he found himself enjoying it every time. Glasses clinked together, and he took the obligatory sip that finished off what remained of his drink. “Another, grazie.” He gestured to the tender, who refilled his glass with a bottle that seemed to have an actual snake under the glass. With a pleased sort of nod, Christof took another sip of his unusual request. “Cold, si. Very very cold. Night one is should spin in home. So what is bringing da... bello, uh, how you saying... Bootiful, si. What is bringing da bootiful lady to this?” He turned his attention easily back on her, and for effect allowed a small waver in his hand lead false indication that he might be slightly tipsy as he gestured about, when in truth his mind was sharp as his knife.

“Not are looking for trouble, I am hoping?” An easy smirk, a light wink. Coy and playful without being too intimate, all while he toyed with thoughts about how he would.. Well.. Toy with her. The irony lost between them as two blood drinkers plotted the others fall. If Christof could have known the truth of the situation he’d have probably laughed until he couldn’t breath. “Mi dispiace,” he apologized with a laugh. “I am speaking outside of my teeth. I am not meaning to make you uncomfortable, signorina....?” He trailed off, hoping to catch an offered name.

He was still speaking with her, albeit in a broken accent. Normally Silhouette found this to be cute but right now cute made her aggressive. Cute was making her thirsty. She pressed the drink to her lips, feeling cool glass as she pressed her lips against each side, tipping the glass upward gently so as to give an illusion of a sip. Even if she could also drink alcohol, she knew that wasn't what she needed.

What is bringing da bootiful lady to this? ... “Not are looking for trouble, I am hoping?”

"I just sometimes need a fresh environment. I wasn't planning on being here long, just hoping to bump into an old acquaintance. I haven't seen her yet. " Silhouette played the glass across her lips as if she were considering another fake sip, letting her eyes meet his for a moment. "But I do like trouble, I could meet it by mistake instead." The corners of silhouettes mouth turned upward into a sultry grin, and she lowered her gaze while running a finger along the binding of her book.

“I am speaking outside of my teeth. I am not meaning to make you uncomfortable, signorina....?”

"Not at all, quite the opposite... I was going to ask if you'd like to accompany me for a walk. My friend isn't here, no sense wasting a cool night."She tucked her journal back into her bag and lifted it over her shoulder before turning to the door. As she pressed her hand against it, ready to leave, she gave one last gaze over her shoulder at the foreign man at the bar. giving one last coy smirk before slipping out the door. He would follow her. If he didn't, she'd have to look for a new meal.

Her offer caught him by surprise and left a sour taste of suspicion in the back of his throat. A coy smile touched his lips, colder than his others. There was a possibility, many in fact, to explain her keen desire. She could have been a fellow killer, which would be an amusing if rare occurrence. Or perhaps she was of those demons, the blood drinkers he’d fed on out of occasion. Really, it didn’t matter which was true, only that he treated the situation accordingly. Besides, it all made it more exciting. “Si,” he agreed, sliding the half empty drink aside. His gaze slid to her untouched drink, and his smile widened. The latter option was certainly betraying itself. Perhaps she was just a newly hatched bloodsucker, to make such a clumsy mistake. Then again, not many average humans would have noticed the action as he did, or at least not chop it up to much.

He shifted his gaze to the door and slid away from his stool. Dropping a large tip on the counter, he slipped after her without a backward glance, already able to taste her blood on his lips. Tonight was going to be a night of exceptional excitement.

Nom Heard of a homey bar in the area. Having nothing else to do he decided on taking a look. This night seemed almost poetic in its sadness. Seeing the bar he knew it wouldn't be that way. With a aristocratic pride in his gait he walked in. Giving the place a quick once over he was pleased. He doubted he would be bothered here. Striding to the bar he sat down and waited to be served. In the mean time he took out a large volume from his satchel and made several notes. After all what is immortality if you don't improve yourself. That was until he remembered he couldn't consume human food or drink. Almost cautiously he moved from the bar to a more secluded area of the bar and took more notes.

Dawn rarely had felt the need to go out anymore. Between two businesses and then also her own singing career, she was often very busy, running this way and that. So going out on her free time wasn't something that she did often anymore. This night though, she needed to get out of her head, get out of her apartment, get out in general. Perhaps find someone to speak with. Myk have been busy it seemed, she had tried to reach out to him, but there hadn't been any answer this night. Which was a shame, she missed her twin.

Sighing, Dawn stopped before Lancaster's Pub, a place she had been to once or twice and knew that there was - if nothing else - people to converse with. She pulled the door open and stepped into the place, brushing her hands over her fluffy skirt and tight corset. Her long hair was braided in a way that it looked like she was wearing a cage of gems in her white hair. Making her way deeper into the bar, she glanced around, noticing that tonight was a fairly quiet night. There was one male, an older gent, that seemed to be busy writing something down and she was half way tempted to walk over and read over his shoulder. She didn't though because she knew how annoying that was, she hated when the boys read what she wrote over her shoulders.

So instead of bugging the male, she made her way over to the piano that was near the stage. She had seen the owner of this place playing from time to time, she she didn't fear it being out of tune. Taking a seat on the bench, she placed her fingers over the ivory keys and began to play. Not any real noticeable song, just a soft, melodic change of notes to float on the air of the pub.

He stopped writing suddenly when the music changed subtly. Funny he noticed more things like that these days. Carefully he closed his books and notes and practically glided over to the piano. For a while he just listened to the music before he spoke "Greetings my dear I am glad to see a fellow pianist exactly what are you playing? Or is it possibly your own composition?" He was very curious. After all he had never really heard someone play like that before. He has heard all sorts of people play but there was a subtle tone to it that isn't easily picked up. Remembering the days when he would play for his family he smiled coldly.