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There was no denying that Deirdre Shelly was a morbidly curious creature. Twenty-two years old and having worked as a mortician's assistant since she was seventeen, it honestly went without saying. Most of the people who came in when Mr. Williamson was off and she wasn't called her an angel, a bright spot to their grieving. But just this once, she let her curiosity get the better of her.

In the middle of her conversation with the young couple seated opposite her boss's desk from her, Deirdre's grey eyes found the corner of a photograph. "Excuse me a moment," she said smoothly, holding up her left index finger as she extracted the picture from beneath the recent electricity bill. The photo's contents startled her. A rotted corpse in the middle of a street. She flipped the paper over and read the backing; Female, approx. twenty-seven years of age, put down with long-range rifle 5 min. prior to photograph. "That can't be rightm" she murmured, flipping it back over and looked at the woman's body again.

Yep, definitely too rotted to have only been dead five minutes.

Forcing the image out of her mind, she slid the photograph back under the electricity bill and returned to the conversation she'd been in with the young couple. "I'm sorry. I get distracted now and then," she said, folding her hands on the desk. "Is there anything else you'd like to include in the service?"

After fifteen more minutes of taking down notes and explaining the reasons behind certain services, Deirdre was alone in the office again. After quickly checking the schedule to see if there was another appointment in the next hour or two, she took a deep breath and started going through every single scrap of paper to find the source of the photograph. Eventually, she found it; an envelope containing four more photographs of other corpses - all recently killed, but rotted as though long dead - and a short letter, from a college friend of Mr. Williamson, explaining this Quarantine situation in Harper Rock, Canada.

The letter and photos were all two years old.

"What are you doing, Ms. Shelly?"

Deirdre dropped the letter like it was on fire, meeting the kind green eyes of Mr. Williamson, her fifty-seven-year-old employer. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Williamson," she stammered, standing up and smoothing out her pale red dress. "I spotted the corner of one of the photos and was just...I couldn't stop myself."

"It's all right, Deirdre," Mr. Williamson said kindly. "I was waiting for you to find those, actually. Lord knows I need to clean my desk." He set down his briefcase beside the desk and sat in the client's chair, straightening the leg of his slacks. "I've actually considered sending you up there. I haven't heard a word from Moira since receiving those photographs."

"Oh, Mr. Williamson...Canada? I've never even left Wisconson!"

Mr. Williamson nodded. "I know. That's part of why. Give you a chance to get out of this dreadful city."
Deirdre stepped off the plane into the chilly night air, looking around even as she pulled her berry beanie further over her red curls. "And I thought Wisconson was cold," she murmured, checking her watch before grabbing the only suitcase she'd brought along and making her way to the street. From there, she caught a taxi into the Gullsborough district, which she knew was north-east of her true quarry.

The Quarantine was her main reason for being here, but she needed to do a bit of research first. In this line of thinking, she asked the driver to drop her off right outside of the little internet cafe, which she intended to settle into with a good mocha and do her research. But her curiosity got the better of her, and she was immediately distracted by a lovely building not too far away.

Unfortunately, she didn't have the guts to walk right up through the doors. So she stood just outside on the sidewalk, staring up open-mouthed at the Temple. She didn't know what the building was. All she knew was, that she couldn't stop staring. Her eyes were drawn to it like magnets.

Nikolae Dragomir had had a fairly eventful week, so far as the dragon was concerned. For the previous two years he'd shrank from the public spectacles and dramas that seemed a never-ending circus of the vampire world. He'd peered into the Crownet now and then, cringing at what he saw more often than not. Always, it seemed things came full-circle. The same stories playing out again and again, with different players and names, but always the same inevitable conclusion. For two long years he'd silently mourned the passing of men and women he'd once considered great friends and passionate lovers. As well, he'd silently celebrated the triumphs of those who despite circumstances beyond their control had managed to overcome and defeat their demons both inner and outter. But then a moment had siezed him. He still couldn't pinpoint exactly what it had been, a fact which served to irritate the tightly self-controled dragon. A moment had arrived, between one breath and the next - one blink and another. That moment had signaled his return. Like a driving force inside him, the sensation had been a relentless plague on his soul until with the bitter taste of acceptance he had stepped back into the fold of things.

It hadn't come with a bang, an explosion, or any bit of fanfare. No, Nikolae had never been the sort of man to announce his presence and expect cheers or jeers. He'd simply began speaking again, whether anyone was listening or not, and physically stepped out of the shadows and into the light of a streetlamp. He'd known his beloved first-borne was trapped in the Shadow Realm, though Nikolae still wasn't certain what had led to that fate - he dreaded that perhaps it had been Azraeth's own hand that had sent him into that Realm. One night he might ask, but he suspected even his great courage wouldn't be enough for him to face the answer. A failure as a sire if he was correct in his assumptions that his beloved Raeth had succumbed to the Shadows rather than continue in the streets. He'd lump it with his other dozens of failures; pile it on his shoulders and go on anyways. A dragon never truly died, afterall.

It had taken him some time to finally walk the cold streets back to his home, the Dragomir Temple. The place had clearly been kept up in his absence - it was clean more or less, and he couldn't sense any recent deaths on it's premises. It gave Nikolae some relief to know that the simple laws he'd put in place on his land had been upheld even if he wasn't there to enforce them. That had to stand for something, didn't it?

Now, the dragon was sat on the front-pew, one jean-clad leg crossed over the other and a leather jacket draped over the arm of the pew. Tonight he wore a pale green button-down, only three of the middle-buttons done up, and untucked so it hung over the top of his jeans. He was contemplating what was to come now. The vampire-race seemed to be in some sort of loop that he wasn't sure could keep his attention any longer than it had before. He decided almost abruptly that his Raeth needed to return, whether of his own free will or at Nikolae's behest - the Shadow Dragon could wander the Realm at will, and he would go there and drag back his first-borne by force if need be. Harper Rock had simply gone too long without the presence of dragons for it's own good, he mused with a sardonic smile. Many had left never to return, and while he couldn't fault them that choice it did leave a gaping wound in the town so far as Nikolae was concerned. A wound that needed to be healed.

The decision was as abrupt and final as any other the Dragomir had ever made. He stood fluidly, drawing on his jacket because the city had become unbearably cold recently. It was time to bring new dragons into the fold. Time to awaken old ones. And time to find a new path and new plans.

He stepped out into the night, letting the door snick quietly behind him. He never locked it - the Temple was a haven for one and all. A small smile on his face, the serpentine-eyed vampire stepped out onto the streets with new purpose and hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket. He'd barely crossed the street when a scarlet-haired beauty caught his gaze. He slowed his steps, following her gaze back to his home with a sense of approval. In the past he might've leapt upon the woman and either killed or turned her without a thought. But with his new goals in mind he hesitated. Had the amusing thought, What would Raeth do?, and simply paused near the female.

"You have good taste," He murmured suddenly to her. The sounds of the city were dull around them - only few cars traveled at night here it seemed. "Are you religious?" He questioned a moment later. He didn't know that the answer to the question mattered much. The Dragomir had been accused of being many things, a cult included, but they didn't worship anything but their own ambitions and tales.

Deirdre jumped slightly, suddenly looking down at the snow-dusted ground, where her neon pink suitcase sat, now untouched. "Uh," she stammered. Deirdre T. Shelly, get a ******* grip, she told herself, shaking her head faintly and taking a deep breath. He's probably just curious!

"Thank you...but, no, I...I'm not religious," she said simply, tugging at her coat faintly before looking at her ash-grey gloves. Then, she looked up, meeting the man's eyes with her own thundercloud-grey ones and blinked. That couldn't be right...his eyes were like...like...snake's eyes or something. No, no, you're seeing things, Deirdre. Stop it. Look away. And so she did, kneeling to pick up her suitcase, dusting off a few flakes of snow as she did.

She couldn't explain the nervous awkwardness she felt near him, but whatever it was, she forced herself to ignore it. It wouldn't do to impolitely run the opposite direction for no apparent reason, especially as she was new not only to the city, but to the country as well.

"Are you?" she finally asked. Yes, she knew religion wasn't the best thing to start a conversation with, but it'd been him who brought up the topic. It wasn't her fault at all.

Nikolae couldn't quite keep the amused expression from crossing his face. He knew his eyes were jarring - he'd been receiving those same surprised looks since long before Chad had put fangs to his throat and stolen his mortality away. As a vampire though, Nikolae found the looks no longer jarred or offended him. In fact, in many ways, he craved the shocked expressions that passed the faces of both mortal and immortal alike.

In some ways, his curse had proven something of a gift. It allowed him to see, on a single glance, those of his bloodline. While inexplicably some weren't borne into the blood with the odd slitted gaze, most were. And even of those who didn't take their first immortal breath with the dragons gaze, somehow someway they eventually took on the qualities of the Dragomir lineage. Including their odd eyes. Perhaps there was something to it, he mused. Perhaps if one wanted it badly enough, wanted to exclude themselves from the lineage they were bled into, they could overcome the traits of that lineage. He considered his own sire and the mans oddly jovial nature for comparison. Nikolae was nothing like his maker - he was cold, calculating, and more often than not a terrible care-giver. The exceptions were few and hard to come by. His little sister, Ren short for Serenity, was a notable one. His own Dragomir, and a handful of other Worthington as well. They somehow managed to claw beneath the proverbial dragon scales he'd lined his flesh with and gotten a spot in his not-so-dead heart.

"There are things we all worship, wouldn't you say?" He replied finally, though he'd only been silent for a moment as he'd considered his answer. It was a non-answer, really, but who could blame him? He was speaking to a human, afterall, and exclaiming that he worshipped the spill of blood and the Shadows that he dwelled in probably wouldn't make very much sense to a human who didn't seem to have an ounce of mystical ability about her.

That serpentine gaze dropped to the luggage she was gripping and his brow arched curiosly. Someone not from around here, as the saying went. Someone who'd come alone, if she was standing out in the night unguarded with only a handful of belongings to defend herself with. Someone, he mused, who would not likely be missed.

"It's cold out. The city can be a bit difficult to navigate. Is there a hotel you have reservations at?" He remembered being a human like it was a story he'd once read. His proposal might sound more creepy coming from a vagabond, but Nikolae was sometimes meticulous in his appearance and tonight was one of those. "I'm meeting with some friends, soon, but I can show you the way." He added in a warm tone he was able to mimic from memory. He even smiled and didn't show any teeth.

Clinging to the suitcase now, not wanting to set it back down, Deirdre found her eyes drawn back to the beautiful building, the Temple, and she took a deep breath. "Some people worship an all-encompassing deity...others, the theories and formulas of science," she said simply. "I see what you're saying. Even those who say they don't believe in religion believe in something."

Despite her plain words, she couldn't find a way to explain why she felt drawn into this place, the Temple before her. Her heart thumped a little faster as she took a slight step forward, towards the steps leading up to the door, before she stopped herself. She was being her usual, awkward self, and she knew it. Her interview to work at the funeral home had come about in a way similar to this; she'd stood outside the building, a three-story grey Victorian, for half an hour before working up the guts to go inside and ask for a job. She'd turned out loving the work, but most of her classmates (not to mention the other kids she lived with at the foster care facility six miles away) thought she was crazy.

Deirdre had started her path as a funeral director's assistant at the delicate age of sixteen, first as Mr. Williamson's filing intern, then, when she turned eighteen, taking the consultation meetings when he was otherwise occupied, and occasionally helping dress the deceased for the service. Her boss also quickly realized it was a benefit to have the young woman give them the makeup treatment that he used to outsource for. And now, he had her on an out-of-country trip looking for one of his college friends. He trusted the twenty-two year old quite significantly.

"If we go there, I guess you could say that my religion is knowledge. Books, especially. I love books," Deirdre told him. "Still, I...I can't help it. I'm...the best word I have is, entranced."

Turning and lowering the suitcase, she looked back up into those unsettling eyes of his and asked, "Do you think it'd be all right if I...went inside? I just want to look around before I check in. I don't have to check in for another hour! I'm sorry if this is weird to you, I'm just...well, I'm curious. I've never really been inside of a church...or anything like it." She didn't add to the statement that churches never drew her in like this.

Nikolae allowed his brows to lift in what amounted to a bit of surprise and a bit of approval at the girls request. He could play this one of two ways; pretend the place was just something he'd happened to be exiting, or own up to owning the building in it's entirety. He let his gaze wander over her spritely frame again.

"It's mine." He finally replied, and then turned so he was facing the same direction as she was. "Here. I'll give you the grand-tour. I'm pretty proud of the updates my family's managed to complete. Books... a scholar, then? I've been meaning to get a library installed somewhere. Maybe you can give me some suggestions."

Family was as good a term as any for what the Dragomir were. Originally a blood-line, he'd begun gladly welcoming in others who'd either been cast out of their own lineages or were just of his same mind where the city and it's politics were concerned. Not for the first time that night or week, Nikolae regretted not having yet reached out to those who'd called the Temple home and the Dragomir family. He wasn't sure that Rocklin was even still on the streets, probably in the Realm knowing the high-tempered beast. Klaus, however, was probably still roaming about. And getting himself into trouble in the beds of women. The dragon smirked to himself even as he retraced his steps back to his home without a backwards glance. If the woman were brave enough to follow him, she'd have passed the first of the tests he'd suddenly decided Raeth would do.

Once at the entrance he held the door open, peering at the girl expectantly. He was just as interested in her reaction to the inside decor as to what might be revealed if she chose to enter.

Deirdre looked up at him a moment, her mouth hanging open slightly. "Yours?" She could hardly believe it. She'd been drawn to this place for reasons she couldn't even decide on, stood outside long enough for someone to come out, and now she was finding out that the man she was talking to owned this incredible building that she was gawking at. Well, talk about awkward. I've been standing here this damn long and haven't introduced myself!

And he's offered to give her a tour. That was definitely something she hadn't anticipated, at all. She liked to think of herself as just a simple girl from Wisconson with a unique career choice and a fantastic boss who actually let her do things, whereas many of her classmates had to deal with retail and other such similar occupations. In all honesty, if she thought hard enough, she had an unusual obsession with death. She actually had the rather creepy tendency of talking to the bodies when she helped with them, and she liked to make them look like they were alive again. In fact, whenever she did the makeup, the compliments on the way the deceased looked - alive, sleeping, restful, at peace - skyrocketed. It wasn't that Mr. Williamson was bad at what he did, he just didn't have an eye for the aesthetics of making a deceased human body look alive again. She had that eye, as often as she tried to ignore it.

Shaking herself slightly, she realized he's walked off. He was going up to the door, and she was still on the sidewalk. "Damn it," she muttered, shifting her grip on the suitcase from holding it tagainst her chest to gripping just the handle as she hurried up after him, boots thudding against the pavement, as she found herself stopping momentarily beside him, glancing about the interior before taking her first slow steps inside, from open air to enclosed, dim first floor of the temple.

The pews, the altar, the windows, it was so much...almost too much. Her grey eyes were drawn to the windows, though. "They're so lovely," she breathed, subconsciously drifting forward several steps, letting her suitcase hit the stone floor. She was thoroughly enraptured by the atmosphere. The main thing that was on her mind, the most coherent thought, was a simple one, and one she couldn't help but whisper. "I'd live here if I could, too."

Nikolae let the door slide shut behind them as he released the handle once she'd passed him to stride into his home. He enjoyed this part; discovering the Temple anew in someone elses eyes. He wondered what it was precisely that she saw, what drew her eye the most, and what she was thinking as she took in the glory that was the Dragomir Temple. He'd spent tireless hours creating the place, painstakingly choosing each bit of furniture to make it exactly right. Each pew was just a little different than the ones around it; a scratch here and there showing how well-loved and used they all had been. The cushions had been replaced of course, but mostly as a necessity of cleanliness than anything else though he had been assured they were quite comfortable for sitting and sleeping alike.

He came to stand just slightly behind and beside the woman, lifting his gaze to follow hers to the large windows that took up the walls. A smirk of approval once again graced his pale features and he dipped his head in acknowledgement of her statement. "Yes... not the usual fare, though." He replied quietly, though hadn't she said that she wasn't all that familiar with the usual places of worship? Maybe they didn't strike her as quite so odd as most humans would think. "That one there, is of my two boys." He pointed to the mozaic he'd had commissioned of his beloved twin-childer, Azraeth and Azariel. The two men barely got along on a good day and it seemed immortality hadn't done anything to change that. Still, for an instant at least they'd been as united as any twins of fable had been. And that instant was seered into his skull. He'd taken it and put it to paper, then given it to the humans responsible for creating the elaborate windows.

Her last words surprised him and without thought he rested a hand on the girls lower back. "I do live here, sometimes." He admitted. He didn't stay in the Temple near as much as he had in his early days within the city. Now he found himself slipping to the day-slumber in whatever building he happened to be hunting the odd creatures of the city down in. It was good, he thought, that he could do that at all - that he could trust his past acquaintances and enemies alike to not attack him when he was out in the open. Times past, that was simply not possible. Every vampire seemed hunted by another, and there was no safe place to sleep or hide.

Again, he asked himself the question, What would Raeth do? and found himself with a stern expression. "My name is Nikolae. Nikolae Dragomir, formally. Of-" He cut himself off, nearly revealing he was of the Worthington lineage. It had been so long since he'd bothered to really interact with mortals. "Of the Worthington dynasty." He supplied with a shrug. There was that silly casino of Chad's afterall. Somewhere. He couldn't remember the location anymore. "And you are?" He offered a warm encouraging smile.

Deirdre stayed there, staring up at the stained glass windows that towered over her, barely registering that he was even there save when he spoke. Moving slow, as if in a dream, she pulled her hat off of her head, unwound her two scarves, and shed her thickly-layered jacket, all the while moving further inside, further away from the door, from the chill of the outside. She was wearing another two layers of sweaters over her tee shirt, one a pullover, the other a button-up, and though it wasn't obvious, she also seemed to perhaps be wearing a second layer of pants.

"You can't have kids that age," she murmured softly, glancing at him a moment before focusing on the window with the two male figures. They were identical, yes, but they looked about the same age as the man next to her. "Are they your best friends or something and you just...decided to gave them made into stained glass?" She hadn't yet computed the idea that there was something more going on here, something frightening. Yes, his eyes made her nervous, but she couldn't really comprehend why, and wasn't the type to jump to conclusions, especially of that sort. Yeah, she dealt with death on a daily basis, but undeath wasn't something she automatically assumed. In fact, she enjoyed when authors didn't give away the game in the story summary and left the readers just as baffled until the hero or heroine discovered what was going on around them.

Her eyes drifted over the other windows, taking in the varying colors and designs - the shapes of the eyes, the shades of hair, the silhouettes. "I can fully understand why. I would love to see this waking up most days...but sometimes, you just need a break, right?" Her voice was soft, quiet, as she studied one of the other windows. It looked somewhat familiar, but she couldn't quite...figure it out.

Taking a moment, she shook her head and turned to face him just as he offered his name. "Dynasty? That's an odd word to use. Family, maybe." Still, she shrugged slightly, biting the inside of her lower lip, between two of her canine teeth, before she replied, "Mine's Deirdre, formally Deirdre T. Shelly. The T. stands for Therese." With an added chuckle, she finished with, "Funeral home assistant and makeup artist to the dearly departed."

That could come off as weird, she thought, after she stated the favored titles for herself. Ah, well. If that's how it goes, that's how it goes.

Nikolae followed her movements with his eyes, though he himself simply took a seat at the same front pew he
d been sitting at before his short-lived adventure outside. She was a quirky woman, that much was easy enough to see. The dragon removed his coat and draped it back over the arm of the pew, appearing casual and as non-threatening as a vampire with reptile eyes ever really could.

"Yes... And then there is so much more to this city than just here in my corner of it. The zombies down south are always interesting for a round of easy battle." He stated off-hand, watching her reaction carefully. He wasn't very good at this game he'd invented, this What Would Raeth Do. Surely his kind-hearted childe would be patient, guide a possible new member of the blood into things with a gentle hand. Nikolae lacked everything that Raeth seemed to have in spades.

He didn't laugh - didnt want her to assume he was joking. "A make-up artist to the stars, hm? I think you'll find plenty of job-opportunities in this town." And then he did laugh, because it was a joke that as-yet was the inside sort. Soon enough she'd get it, and maybe then she'd laugh too. He stood then finally and approached her, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt haphazardly. This could be messy and he had little hopes his clothing would survive unscathed but it was worth a shot.

"Would you say you have a fascination of the dead?" He asked when he was standing right in front of her, staring unflinchingly.