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"I am an outdated relic," the Killer muttered under her breath, trying to navigate the technological cellular device to locate Brujo. That was the name the wraith used, knowledge of any other names - though plausible - have not come to her attention. Jacinthe did not bother with much with the exception of training but even then months had gone by in an elongated meditative state. Some would call it sleep but her mind wasn't given the alleviation associated with the REM sleep cycles. A brain needed that retreat for a sweep at events, to understand and run through, interpreting dreams from excess information a person might not have believed pertinent.

The day walking power let her blend in with the humans disproving that vampires were strictly nocturnal. Hollywood's portrayal of the species of Nosferatu was a brilliant diversion from the truth. Going out within the rays of the sun enforced her own survival and the survival of others so long as she stayed out of the sight when she fed or used any other supernatural ability to ease her task and conserve energy.

According to CrowNet sources, Brujo had been seen in the swamps. Jacinthe was not cognizant of any such region dotting Harper Rock. Most of the time she darted through the sewers in search of the alpha beasts. Ever since having one tear into her abdomen during a brief rest, the solitary vampire maintained the idea that the abominations were the best targets to train with. Killing them before they poured out of the sewer entrances being important need not be said.

Looking at a map would have shortened the time spent out the outside borders of the city but casing it from the outside, in would take much of her spare time. Other buildings have risen since the first time she fully immersed within the city's ongoings and structural expansion. Being thorough had been part of her existence since becoming a vampire and even before that night she had met Tali. Her slacking was deemed unacceptable. To be reliable meant to be efficient even when the command wasn't there; she must always be efficient and relevant.

Now she was irrelevant. It was time to reset, to begin again. A soldier has a better potential be at his or her best when they do not have to think about their surroundings; they just know it. Muscle memory served her, gave her purpose.

Hours laid ahead; she crawled out of her crypt and stood alongside the abandoned church. From there, Jacinthe began to scout, heading into the forest. Keeping in mind the fae, listening for the abnormal rustle of brush and branch.

Controlled noise, they were footsteps crunching the earth beneath a substantial weight that made her react the way she did. Her sword rested in its hold, holstered on her back. During the long, dormant period circulating around factors that made one "social," the Killer practiced her handle with her choice of weaponry, a sword she named Wit during a rare display of her humor. Jacinthe desired to be ambidextrous. Alternating Wit to pass between her right and left hand during an entire night's training won her favors, and also served to punish any nativity in her strategic approach to combat the paladins sweeping the tunnels of the sewers. Each wound demonstrated to her that there laid calculable bounds worth of improvement that could be tapped into. They (the wounds) acted as a lesson, one that cultivated a disciplined (if not hardwired) means of internal redemption. Every night that blinked past that the gouges or the bullet holes had not healed, Jacinthe challenged herself to procure double the amount of severed heads to present to the shop owners. Deadlines were set to be equal to the time the most severe wound(s) required to fully close and smooth away. The average was around four nights, which was more than generous.

Tonight, as what made sense when she sat down to ascertain how to best meet her personal goal(s), dictated that it was the left half's turn to be predominantly utilized while training. It needed the most instruction; the range of motion was too short and the limitations bared the markings of potential. Limitations shortened one's span of existence. It threatened survival, a concept firmly unacceptable to the spawn of Tali. It was the sole purpose of her death at the hands of the Shadow, and it was all she knew prior to becoming a personal body guard.

Already preconditioned with a pale complexion (exacerbated also, when she became a rooted resident of the city), the luminescence of her knuckles bloomed as the fingers folded separately around the hilt of the blade, coursing with tension that completed the vice grip, straining skin on bone. As the irrationalities came in waves (she was not exempt from unreasonable skews in her assertions or courses of action by any means) that brimmed over the floodgates.

There was one thought, solidified in the chosen extracurricular patrolling Jacinthe willingly partook in: Protect Command.

For this to be achieved - this singular objective - it meant that she would not returning to the crypt. It had the potential to make the theory that she had any access to any hideaways less likely to stand out. In its own way, it was insurance to keep Command safe. Keep any of her own, safe.

Jacinthe dissected the voice she heard before she adjusted herself to put into visual perspective. She immediately eliminated the two most common people she loosely found herself associating with: Elizabeth Naarc and Taranto. Her social standing with others was either irrelevant or void due to inactivity, a state that - to her knowledge - had befallen both of her remaining childer. One ceased to exist entirely.

This voice granted a seedling of fact: That despite her public absence on CrowNet and with the community at large, there were still select slivers of Harper Rock that recognized her from (in her opinion, too short lived) the bounty hunting days. Whether or not this would be an asset or become problematic was pending further occurrences to play themselves out. After a hefty compilation of situations cropped up, she would make an informed conclusion and tweak the aspects of her life accordingly to preserve that one basic principle she upheld so diligently.

The heel of her shoes dug into the ground and facilitated with the rotation to bring a face to the name. "Niklaus," she stated his name to trigger her data on him. There wasn't a lot, it never appeared from what she could recollect, that said they were very close. "I trust you have been productive since our days corroborating and terminating offenders with one another. It would have been an interesting event, if you were to have shot. I would be able to study your aim, and you may have walked away with one less limb."

His hand had laid flat on the same tree for hours now, ever since the sun set. How long had it been, he thought. Where have I been?

Everything in his head was a jumbled, disorganized mess. Memories had been overtaken by fog; what had happened over the past year, or years, gone. It was like grasping at a dream hours after waking up, knowing what happened in it was still there but unable to take hold of it to remember.

His name was Julien. He knew that.

He was a vampire; a shadow, to be specific. He had been turned by a woman, but he couldn't remember when or how or why.

Julien. Pale, blond Julien. Parts of his hair had been cut and dyed to hide the distinct loss of color. And his clothes were casual, a pair of jeans, worn-out tennis shoes, a black hoodie that weighed too big on his medium torso. And on his back, strapped in by a holder, was a long-blade. He remembered that too, had become skilled with it.

But where was he suppose to - and where was he now?

Squinting, Julien found himself inside a forested area, although not far outside the city itself. He had little money on himself, even less energy to get around. About ready to collapse into the ground, he stopped. His head jerked towards the sound of people, and he pressed his nervous body against the base of the tree. People had always made him nervous, and he habitually hid from them.

His head slightly stuck around the tree to look at them. Jacinthe, the sire, and another man he didn't know. He hid, only to listen and wait.

Jacinthe had the intuition building in the back of her head but she could not bring a theory to the forefront of her mind that was reasonable given the information. It was a sensation, a tingling at the nape of her neck. The wraith that had been her own true confidante in her hibernation was not nearby, which left her rearing up to be one the idle defense. It was in the way she stood, posture rigid. The red haired Killer was neurotic about control of the things that happened to her. Her actions, her motions all needed to be thorough and firm or else she didn't feel at her best, nor did the larger parts of her feel comfortable. This sense of someone else's presence perturbed her more than the inquiries about her activity in the graveyard.

"If you have available time, or you have the correct amount of money, you could install a camera. It would rule out some individuals that way, if you place continues to be broken into and nothing shows on the camera." Things have changed, the mini-series of adaptations. Their paths bleed together and they grow as time goes on. They concentrate in their individual areas of interest from there. Niklaus, if he had remained more actively involved in the community, had more knowledge about these things than herself. He also was guaranteed - if the prior was correct - to know more of the prevalent faces of Harper Rock currently was teeming with.

"It might serve to also narrow the time frame of when they break in as well. You will be alerted in a timely fashion."

The steel bite of her eyes scanned the brush level with them first. It was a pull that was coming from everywhere and nowhere, she was unable to nab the trail and find the origin.

"When are you available to spar? I have had little opportunity to use this sword on other vampires."

They were a group of terrifying people and he could barely hurt a fly, Julien thought.

At the tree, he remained, listened in for them. He didn't know the two men, and, honestly, he barely knew much about his sire, either. His memory still was fuzzy and he couldn't recall ever knowing much personally about her. She was as much as mystery to him as the city that surrounded them. Often, he was lost. He wandered freely, stupidly, not knowing where he was half the time, breezing through life in a fog.

He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. No. These two men looked dangerous. He didn't want to approach. He was skilled with swords, but wasn't a fighter, never had been the aggressive type.

"Ja..." No. No, no, no, no, no. Bad idea. Don't. He needed to wait.

Julien moved out of sight behind the tree. He had a medium, lean build and could easily hide himself.

His chest hurt. He was nervous. Ten more minutes, he thought. I'll speak up in ten minutes.

Jacinthe didn't have the patience like others to fit herself in a seat at a terminal and relearn the basic computer language to hack. Tali - a sire that hadn't been seen for longer than a year now - had once showed her the commands; the Killer used to be a decent hacker. Technology was an organism that was constantly growing, however. To think that stepping down from evolving with it wouldn't have repercussions was her mistake and one that wasn't pertinent to be rectified any time soon. What was lacking in other areas could be paid for, just as Niklaus could pay someone to point out this revisiting intruder. There was more of a sense of accomplishment (the term "satisfaction" here never came across her mind) in handling situations as this personally. The conversation made her nostalgic, for the time the Hellhounds were a prevalent force. Or the time when Kaie Carden extended off the idea of the Hellhounds. That organization reformed, became its own thing. It was home.

Just as she cleared her throat to suggest a night to spar, an itch in the hand that holds her sword began at the mere thought, Nathaniel's gruff tone snatched her attention. “Nathaniel,” she greeted him, and had she the involuntary muscle memory, the redhead would have smiled at her longest standing friend. “I have made an error in being away too long.” Niklaus had already introduced himself, there was no necessary reason to be redundant by reiterating who he was. “Niklaus and myself were just speaking about sparring. How are your dealings with weaponry faring?”

That presence had a firm hold on her. Perhaps L&R was somewhere near, studying the people she had begun to associate with. He was addicted to information in the same ways as she, it’s what made them compatible, even if there was nothing else about them in common.