Nightclub {NO LONGER ACCEPTING}

Mitch's obvious sarcasm caused Isabelle's mouth to twist and her eyes to narrow. She did not like this Mitchell person Lillith had her following. Then again, there weren't many people she did like. Everyone fell short of her standards, everyone was just far enough from this side of approachable that she constantly had to have a wall up between her and them. So far, only two people had been able to break that barrier: Lillith, who had forced her way in, and one other, whose name had eluded her over the past weeks, whose face was a vague memory, slipping away as if lost in a drunken haze.

She watched as he turned and headed back into the cafe. For a moment, she continued to stare through the glass, then, deciding the cold was too irritating to stand in any longer, stepped straight through the window and into the building. It was a good thing no one but Mitch could see her, though she was sure even he would continue to make slow adjustments to her presence.

Isabelle sauntered up to the counter and peered through the pastry and sandwich case, each item with names she couldn't hope to pronounce -- like fancy coffee. Without looking up at him, and waiting until his attention was not divided onto some customer, she spoke to him.

"You know, I might just be the influence that saves your soul," she snapped, a too-late retort. Isabelle glanced up from the glass casing. "So. Do as your told and be nice to me." A wry grin slithered onto her lips and she looked straight at him.

---

Richard's acceptance of her hand caused Kelsea's face to go all aglow; the girl was clearly pleased.

"Ah," she began at the mention of her own scar. "That's a story I can't tell. I'm sure you'll find out someday though. When Lillith decides you're ready to know, she'll tell you," Kelsea explained. She smiled sweetly at him and then changed the topic. "So, you were headed somewhere?" she asked him.

---

Fiona's shadow was waiting patiently for her on the other side of consciousness. Tonight, the music seemed a little harder, less trance-y, more influenced by rock, with some Asian subtlety thrown in. As if Lillith enjoyed dressing up to a theme, she snaked her way through the crowd with her dark curls tied back from her face and stabbed through with decorative hair sticks. Her green, blue, and gold eye makeup was as dramatic as she often was, and picked up the patterns and shades of her silk kimono style robe. Though it was tied in the middle with a deep purple sash that hung down on one hip, the bottom of the robe was pulled open to reveal what may have passed for a miniskirt in Lillith's mind, though it was artfully ripped and torn, revealing the bare flesh of her legs. The piercings in her lip were not present this evening, though a red dot rested between her eyebrows. As Fiona drifted off to sleep, Chill, her shadow, preceded her, stepping out of the shadows as if they were a doorway between this world and Lillith's. As he placed his feet on the solid floor of the club, Lillith half-danced, half-marched her way towards him. Standing beside her, Chill seemed out of place. His skin was a shade of pale so white it nearly stood out in the dimness of the club, even moreso beside Lillith's own bronze skin. His eyes were a vivid green, echoing back the light lost from Lillith's own darker ones. Whereas the hostess of the club was dressed in vibrant shades of blue and turquoise, green, gold, and purple, Chill favored a single shade: black. Fishnet sleeves layered out from beneath a t-shirt, which hung over the bondage pants slinking almost too delicately around his waist. His feet were clad in heavy boots. The largest difference between them though, of course, was the scar that stood out from his pale features, disappearing under his layered shirts. For a moment, as Lillith came to stand beside him, Chill's face expressed a dislike for her so deep it was akin to fear. He was barely able to contain it as she threw an arm around his shoulders and smiled drunkenly into his pale face.

"And where is my Fiona this evening?" she asked him with a giggle in her voice.

"She's coming," Chill answered, stiffly leaning away from her.

"Oh, stop it," she snapped, sensing his apprehension. Though she spoke her words with a smile, her suddenly straight posture and release of his shoulders signaled her irritation. "Don't be such a baby."

Chill was silent, and for a moment, the two of them stared at each other, he with an expression so blank it betrayed his disgust, and she with a sadistic smile that said she knew and enjoyed his hatred.

"Tell her to come find me when she arrives." Lillith gave him a wink and danced off, disappearing into the crowd. As soon as she was out of sight, Chill's body relaxed and he exhaled the breath he'd been holding.

~~Fiona~~


The same as before, entering The Nightclub has always been a pleasant surprise. You come in with hopes of seeing the same scenario as when you last left but is brutally taken by surprise the next time you do come. Today it was Jazz Rock Music with an Asian-esque taste permeating the clubs bounds as she walked in the hallway lit in dim red that led to the club's Main area. In there, beyond the door in front of her, lies her solace. Having been with the club for almost six months, Fiona easily falls to the category, Regulars. Before pushing the doors fully open, she wondered what could be going on in Lilith's mind right about this very moment.

With a light creaking sound coming from the door's hinges, Fiona made her appearance to the club patrons already having a good time inside. As usual, she was not the type to go for outrageous looks like the others with crazy tints on their hair. Fiona was one who would usually bring her 'true self' wherever she goes. Though she knows she could twist reality in The Nightclub, a privilege given by none other than Lilith herself to the patrons, she refrains from doing major changes with her physique to turn her into some eye candy for others. She would simply opt for a change in her hair color, from the usual blond to a dark brown hue, add a little more height and the rest remains the same. The reason is simple, There's no need for major changes.

Today, Fiona went for the classy side of fashion. Wearing an elegant jet black dress that showcased the fine contours of her body, paired with a small purse with gold lining on the edges. Fiona walked the floors toward the bar like she always did, by elegant and dignified strides. A smile played on her lips after noticing that her entrance has not gone unnoticed by the patrons, it has always been like that. She brushed her right hand through her long dark brown hair as she eyed a particular man inside the club, Chill. She raised a brow at him paired with a beckoning smile but quickly shifted her attention to acknowledge the host dancing with the crowd, Lilith. She was impressive as always...

"Lilith. Stunning as usual, what's with the Asian theme?" She asked as she gave her radiant smile towards the host. Fiona gestured that she would be by the bar and promptly walked over to it, sat on one of the stools and smiled at the barkeep. She needed her usual. Apple Martini.

"Rhys, how have you been? I'll have the usual please. On a side note, what's up with Chill? He looks rather depressed..." she asked and turned in her stool to watch the dancing crowd. She had missed Chill's company and hopefully, he wouldn't be too preoccupied with 'club activities' and have a nice chat with her.

As Fiona stepped into the club from some side hallway that may or may not have served as a physical bridge from a physical place to a non-physical place, Chill's gaze went immediately to her. She was at first just a glimmer of movement, then a stunning vision of simple elegance. Chill watched as her eyes sought out Lillith, then found her, then as Fiona greeted her and moved towards the bar. For a moment, he followed the young woman with his eyes, a knot tying itself in the pit of his stomach. As Lillith stepped out from among the bodies, his focus snapped to her. All he could think as he watched the two women was how much he hated what was bound to happen, and how powerless he was to stop it.

Feeling uneasy, he made his way through the crowd and towards the bar. He reached it just a moment before Lillith did, and caught the tail end of what Rhys had been saying to Fiona.

"I've been rather well," the barman had answered in reply to Fiona's inquiry. "Busy as always. No rest for the wicked," he added in a mock-conspiratorial whisper and a grin. This was the part Chill had heard as Rhys slid Fiona her drink.

"Fiona!" Lillith's voice was like a clear bell, ringing out over the sound of the music. The hostess draped her arms around Fiona's shoulders in something of an embrace without acknowledging the girl's question regarding the theme. "I always find myself surprised by how much I miss everyone when they leave, and then I remember it could be days here and only moments for you." She grinned. "I bet you don't ever miss me at all."

Chill watched the two of them, fighting the urge to roll his eyes, and Rhys, without having to be asked, slid him a drink.

~~Fiona~~


"Miss you? Are you kidding?" Fiona asked, not really expecting an answer. "You know my story Lilith, I work the nights and sleep the days away. Pretty much the only people I ever come into contact with are either my co-workers or some random freakshow who wants a piece of me. This place has been my sanctuary for six months. Of course I'd miss you even if I was gone for just... what, a few days here?"

Yes, there were dreamless nights for Fiona, when she is completely drained of all energy from work. No matter how hard she tried to catch a dream and drift to The Nightclub, her body refuses to do so and falls into a deep slumber, only to waken an hour and a half before her shift starts. She regretted those times but she more than makes up for it when she does have the chance to 'visit'.

Like always, Lilith was clingy, Fiona didn't mind though for she got used to it. She allowed her vision to wander the club, only to find Chill sitting right beside her, silent as if in deep contemplation. Rhys automatically slid him a drink. Probably his way of telling Chill to 'chill' as his name stated.

"Lilith, I hope you don't mind, I would like to chat with Chill for a bit," She said and moved closer to Lilith's ear and whispered. "He hasn't been around much lately and I kinda miss him." Fiona continued followed by a light giggle.

With that said, she turned in her stool to face Chill while resting an elbow by the bar and tilted her head lightly to the side. Fiona watched Chill for a moment, his blank stare at the drink handed to him by Rhys amused her a little.

"You know, that's a waste of a good drink." Fiona said and took Chill's glass, downing to contents in one go. She then shook off the after effects of the drink and faced Chill again, a little flushed from having downed a strong mix. "Eww.. what the hell is that?" She asked and laughed, in hopes she could get Chill in the mood to talk.

Fiona's words appeared to satisfy Lillith, until she showed a greater desire to speak with Chill than with her. Lillith's smile stayed in place until Fiona turned away from her, at which point the woman's dark eyes narrowed to slits. It was hard to tell if it was Fiona's refusal of Lillith's company or the mention of Chill's apparent absence that upset her.

She watched as Fiona reached for Chill's drink and emptied the contents of the glass with a grimace. Before he had a chance to respond in any way -- either to her stealing his drink or to her question -- Lillith stepped around to stand beside Fiona and glare at Chill.

"What a pity you've been in want of company," the hostess purred to Fiona, while her gaze was fixed on Chill. He avoided her gaze and stared guiltily at the backs of his hands. "I'm sure there are very good reasons for it." Lillith was silent after that, continuing to hold Chill with her eyes until he finally looked up to meet them. When he looked up at Lillith, she gave him a half-smile and stepped away, melting like a shadow into the crowd.

As before, his body loosened once Lillith was gone, and he accepted another full glass from Rhys to replace the one Fiona had taken. Left alone, he answered her question.

"A little bit of sloth strained with spite," he said in a low voice, taking a swift gulp of the liquid. "Apparently." Setting the glass down, Chill looked at her, something like sadness or pity in his eyes.

The man chuckled to himself for a moment. "Of course I should have expected that. Given the apparent nature of the club." He looked at the girl's smiling face and for a moment flashed his own rather horrible grin. Made horrible primarily by the scaring that distorted half of it. "Yes indeed I do have a contract of sorts the must be fulfilled. And a few personal errands to run." He was not a fool and had noticed something, no one seemed to notice him talking to anyone which meant they couldn't see who he was talking too.

He gestured in a way that clearly was an indicator to follow him as he began to walk quickly away. He spoke as he walked. "Out of curiosity if no one else can see you then are you capable of providing reconnaissance so to speak?" Such a trait would be highly useful, having an invisible spy could save him quite a bit of trouble. Of course if such a thing didn't work then he would just do things the good old fashioned way, though not the suspicious one this time. The umbrella had drawn too much attention the last time he used it.

"So is that possible for you or are you simply here to talk to me?"

At Richard's beckoning, Kelsea moved to follow beside him. She stared at him, grinning, as if she was not walking beside someone who could have been anyone, but beside a world-renowned star. It was a technique she'd found was useful to her, especially in the club, and especially with Lillith. People were far more trusting and open with those who appeared to adore them.

However, there was nothing disingenuous about the excitement written all across her face at Richard's suggestion.

"Whatever I can help you with," Kelsea replied. "You need me to be a spy?" she giggled and all but clapped her hands like a three year old on Christmas morning.

---

Alys found it hard to concentrate on the formulas in front of her. Though she had watched Liam take a spot at the back of the room -- far enough away to be separate from her -- she felt his eyes on her during the entire class. She could also feel the growing annoyance of her classmates, who surely felt she was looking suspiciously at them, rather than at some figure standing at the back of the room.

Each time Alys dared a glance over her shoulder, she found Liam's eyes boring into her. He met her gaze and shrugged, half-apologetically, half-obligatorily. His presence was enough to drive her even further into the depths of crazy.

The professor continued his lecture about some algebraic thing or other that Alys was certain she'd learned in high school and, unable to concentrate with Liam's eyes drilling holes into the back of her skull, she rose and stepped out of the room, under the pretense of using the bathroom. She was headed there, at the very least to splash water on her face and get her brain thinking straight. Liam was not far behind.

"I'm sorry," he began immediately.

"Do you have to stare at me like that?" Alys snapped in a harsh whisper.

"There's nothing else to look at. Math is boring."

Alys stopped in the middle of the corridor and gave him a sideways look. Staring at him properly now, he looked like a kid -- an overgrown kid. Everything about him screamed teenager.

"How old are you?"

"Don't remember," Liam answered, a little too quickly.

"You don't remember?"

He shook his head. "There are alot of things I don't remember anymore," he went on to explain. "It's ... part of the whole ... thing." Liam gestured towards the scar on his chin. "You lose parts of ... well ... before. It's not really like you forget. Um. It's just ... more like you don't feel they're important anymore." A shy smile crossed Liam's face, and it reinforced Alys' theories on his childlike nature.

Without saying anything else to him, Alys turned away and continued stalking down the hallway towards the bathroom.

"I'm more than qualified for this," he protested. "I can look after you."

"Don't follow me into the bathroom." Alys disappeared into the ladies room and Liam hesitated on the threshold. He had a duty to follow through on, but surely he could allow a little privacy?

Sitting on an old wood planked bench out in the unprotected cold, Siegfried waited for the commuter rail without his long hair to blanket his neck. Stupid work requirements, he thought, If only they weren't sexist about dress codes. He clutched at the handle of his briefcase as if the harder he held it, the sooner the train would be urged to come.

He felt like his collar choked him, even though he knew it was loose enough, and his dress shoes pinched in all the wrong places. Why fancy clothing always seemed to irritate the skin rather than please it was beyond him. Wouldn't it be better if society forced people into clothing they liked to wear? Who came up with these silly dress codes, anyway? The commuter rail came steaming in before Siegfried could think much more about it.

And so the routine continued: he boarded the train, feeling the unforgiving yet familiar metal rails and grated steps as he followed the early commuters on. Taking a turn for the stairs that lead to the second level of the train instead of keeping on track to the more crowded lower level, Siegfried found is way to the middle of the car and sat in one of the only empty rows of seats. Taking a seat nearest the window, he placed the briefcase between himself and the chilled wall of the train. It started to go.

Mitchell fought fatigue to keep his head off the counter, in the process completely ignoring Isabella. The place was pretty much full to capacity, now; an unpleasant contrast to the quiet, peaceful atmosphere the little cafe had fostered earlier. He wasn't supposed to be sleeping, but the day was wearing oppressively onward. The weight of sleep against his shoulders felt impressively hard to resist. Nevertheless, he was forced to dive into his pocket and buy a cappuccino to satisfy himself.

He soldiered on, and after a while the little cappuccino cup next to him wasn't cutting it anymore. He took a brief break to suck in some of the sharp, cold air, then went back inside. He bussed another tray back to the kitchen, then went back to the counter.

'Sweet Monotony,' the metal-head thought quietly to himself. His hands went palms-down onto the countertop as he continued to think. Not about anything in particular for once - just thinking.

As Siegfried took his seat by the window, a figure approached, apparently uninterested in Siegfried or anyone else for that matter. There was an empty place directly beside the young attempter-at-productive-member-of-society, and the young man took that place. There was nothing really that outstanding about his dress -- he wore only a pair of tailored dark gray slacks and layered shirts, with a colorful scarf to adorn his neck. His blonde hair was combed neatly, and his blue eyes, so blue for so early in the morning, were covered with sunglasses. The only thing that stuck out about this young man was the heavy scar that started at his bottom lip and made a straight path over his chin, down his throat, and disappeared beneath his shirts.

For a few moments, he allowed silence between himself and the man he sat beside. Then, without looking at him, he spoke.

"Morning," he greeted in a voice that sounded slightly older than he looked.

---

Isabelle did not appreciate being ignored. She especially disliked being intentionally ignored. As Mitchell went about his day pretending she didn't exist, she posted herself near the doorway to the back of the cafe pretending that her glares could actually kill. She was certain he had to have seen them -- he passed barely more than two inches from her multiple times. Finally, as he came to zone out at the counter, she approached him once more and forced him to pay attention to her.

"Hey!" She slapped her palms down on the countertop loudly, and narrowed her eyes at him. "Why are you ignoring me?" she demanded.

~~Fiona~~


"A little bit of sloth strained with spite, apparently."


Chill was, as always, the man of mystery words mixed together. His answer to her question led Fiona to drop her smile, for she somehow knew what was being portrayed by his eyes. Fiona turned in her stool to face the bar completely and asked Rhys for another glass of drink. Her thoughts wandered back to when she had first met the man beside her. Those very same eyes used to be uncaring, and his stare was cold back when they first met. Why is it that she feels uncomfortable with the way he looks at her now? Lacing her finger on the brim of her glass, Fiona looked at Chill once more.

"It's been six months since we've first met right?" She asked and sipped her drink. "As far as I can tell, the way you look at me changed... Tell me Chill, what is it that disturbs you?"

Knowing Chill, it would take him quite a bit of time to process what she had just said. His reasons would or could be, They are in The Nightclub, Lilith is just around the corner, or he doesn't want to talk about it. Fiona's bet rests on the latter. After downing the rest of her second glass, Fiona handed her purse to Chill. "Hold on to this for me." She said and made her way to the dance floor. It was not her kind of music but she needed to get out of his company for a while. After all, she came here to unwind, not to tangle herself up with issues concerning Lilith.

Swaying her hips along with the beat of the music, Fiona soon found herself in a trance. The thoughts that remained in her head were close to nil, it was just the music, the club, and Chill...

Chill watched from the corner of his eye as Fiona finished her drink and ordered another. When she directed a question at him, he was hesitant to answer. He hadn't even been aware that the way he'd been looking at her over the past six months had been changing. But perhaps it had been. He wouldn't be surprised. It wasn't allowed for the Shadows to grow attached to their charges, and yet, somehow, Lillith expected it. It was part of their punishment, part of her sadistic brand of fun. Watch her puppets get attached, get close, have feelings, and then rip it all away. It was cruel.

Before he had a chance to answer, Fiona was handing Chill her purse.

"Hold on to this for me," she said, then slipped off her stool and made her way into the dancing throng of figures and shadows and not quite people.

There was nothing he could do. He couldn't tell her. Couldn't warn her. At any rate, he had no idea when it would happen, when it could happen. It was different for everyone, depending on their will, their strength of mind, their hateful desire to leave everything behind.

He turned to Rhys, who, for all intents and purposes, appeared to be ignoring him. Chill knew he wasn't. He was well aware of Rhys' ability to tap into the emotions and thoughts of everyone in the club. Sometimes even Lillith. The hostess hated it. At least, for her sake, it wasn't so much a reading of the mind as it was a general sensing of the person.

Chill turned his gaze towards the man behind the bar, and the latter immediately turned his inky eyes towards him in return.

"Hold on to this for me," he echoed Fiona's words and slid the purse towards him. As he left the bar, Chill thought he saw a faint glimmer of a sad smile touch the corner of Rhys' mouth.

It wasn't hard to find Fiona out on the dancefloor. He had been shadowing her for six months, day and night and every second of everyday, even if she thought he wasn't there. He was always there. He had to be. Like a weird sense of magnetism, he was drawn to her, nearly against his will. He approached her from behind and gently slid his arms around her. This too was painful. At least now she still felt real to him. He pressed against her, leaning down to speak into her ear.

"Turn around." It wasn't a demand -- a request. The "please" was implied.

~~Fiona~~



Immersed within the club's music, Fiona had been having the time of her life yet again. She allowed herself to get lost within the confines of a dreamer's reality, The Nightclub. With her eyes closed, she continued to sway and grind her hips. Each sway, graceful and perfectly timed with the beat of the music. One look from a stranger would immediately give the impression that she has been doing this for quite some time. Half of it was true, but only when she's asleep.

It was sudden. The feel of arms wrapping themselves around her invaded her senses. Though it was a warm and cozy feeling, it was still unwelcome. She was just about to pry them off of her when a very familiar voice spoke just beside her ear. "Turn around." All tension faded in an instant. It was Chill. Hesitant for a moment, Fiona did as she was asked to do. There has not been many occasions when Chill and her had physical contact with each other. Just what is on his mind?

"Being forceful in a nice way hmm... This is so not like you." Fiona said followed by a faint giggle. "What happened to Mr. Gloomy back in the bar huh?" She asked after wrapping her arms around Chill's neck and pressing the rest of her body closer to him. She stopped herself from dancing for a brief moment and took the time to tiptoe up and whisper back into his ear. "If only you'd be like this most of the time..."

With that said, Fiona opened her eyes and was about to look into Chill's but was stopped by a glimpse of the hostess. Fiona had seen her countless times for the last six months, just enough time for her to familiarize herself with Lilith's facial expressions. The one she had right now seemed off. There was something with the way she looked at them. Fiona could not help but wonder what was it about. Putting all that aside, she caught Chill's gaze and allowed him to see her rarest smile, the genuine one. "So... what is it?"

"Because you never make yourself blatantly obvious." Mitch grunted. He bussed the last plate onto the countertop of the front table and watched as a guy in a suit that had to have been worth at least five times Mitch's life swept one porcelain cup off without even taking his right hand off his Bluetooth. The conversation Mitchell was having with a particularly interesting bit of the wall went entirely un-noticed. He shrugged as the customer drained his cappuccino and then put it back on the tray, which was bussed back to the kitchen.

The sun finally sagged below the horizon, and the old man turned the sign on the door from "Open" to "Closed - sorry!" before waddling back to his office to count his profits. Mitch stuffed a paycheck into the pocket of his sagging sweater and made his way out of the cafe. His black-shod feet tapped the cool concrete sidewalk in a delayed cadence, the echoes flip-flopping back and forth across the streets. Eventually it got quiet enough on the sidewalk that he could speak without feeling uncomfortable, so he just spoke - he didn't need to look behind him to know his shadow was doing just what her title entailed.

"It's not you," he grunted, "It's just your personality. You don't talk much, and when you do all that comes out is stuff that doesn't concern me until you bring up..." Here his thoughts seemed to speed up as his mouth droned into oblivion. Then: "More pertinent affairs. Then I have to listen for my own safety. You understand." He shrugged, then added: "And even if you don't care, we'll discuss it when I get there - I'm tired, and want to sleep, and when I get there we'll speak again."

These last words were said as Mitchell ascended the front steps of the apartment complex he roomed in. Two minutes and a fumbled keycard later, and Mitchell was passed out on his threadbare beige couch, too tired to consider even getting to bed.



When he appeared in the nightclub, the metalhead was dressed down, comparatively, to the previous night. He had foregone the formal three-piece suit of the previous night for more comfortable attire - a white silk shirt and black tie were adorned with a brown waistcoat and brown chinos. A pair of blue Converse completed his proverbial ensemble for the night.

He had to say, although he wasn't a fan of the Asian influences on the rock playing that night through the omnipresent-yet-unseen speaker systems, he preferred it to the thrumming bass drones of his last visit. The clubber looked at the barstool where he occupied his time every night with drink and palaver, and then assumed his nightly position.

"Evenin', Rhys." The words were instinctive, a ritual performed every visit to announce his arrival inconspicuously.

Fiona's playful words brought a small smile to Chill's lips, but it was an unwelcome expression and he quickly banished it away. He was grateful for her arms around his neck -- it would make it easier to tell. While she spoke, he gazed intently down at her, his eyes moving over her face, but stopping every few seconds on her mouth, her chin. It was hard to tell in the ambient lighting of the dancefloor -- Chill couldn't be sure if there was a gray shadow there. He released one arm from around her waist and gently trailed a finger down the front of her chin where his own scar was on him.

"I wish I could say," he said finally, providing a forced smile. "You like it here?" he asked, attempting to change the subject. Even as Fiona noticed Lillith lurking nearby, Chill felt the woman's eyes on his back, nearly burning through his flesh.

---

"Because you never make yourself blatantly obvious." Isabelle wasn't entirely sure what to make of this. Her first reaction was to feel the sting of his words. If there was anything she disliked more than being intentionally ignored, it was not shining her brightest and pulling everyone's attention towards her. Unable to think of a retort clever enough fast enough, she stepped out of his way until he left with his paycheck, following along silently behind. He continued to speak, citing his reasons for his ignoring her. He didn't even let her defend herself.

No matter. He wouldn't be able to escape her so easily once he was asleep.

Isabelle followed Mitch into the apartment, taking a spot on the floor beside the couch where her charge nearly immediately passed out. As he slipped away into that place of unconsciousness where Lillith's Nightclub existed, Isabelle felt herself tugged there too. The quiet moved sluggishly into pounding base and dance-inspired music, and rather than sitting against the couch, she stood at the end of the bar, Mitch moving to take his usual seat. He greeted the barman, who responded in turn.

"Your usual?" he asked with a grin.

She would wait until Rhys' attention was elsewhere, until she could speak with Mitch a little more in-depth, until she could defend herself and her personality and her business.

~~Fiona~~


"I wish I could say... You like it here?"


Is this for real? Chill was playing dumb asking that kind of question. Did she like it here? It's obvious, hence the back and forth trips from six months ago. However, aside from Chill's hesitant demeanor, there was one more thing Fiona did not like one bit. Being one who harbors a fake smile most of the time during work, Fiona could easily spot and recognize one. She did not like the fact that she was seeing it on Chill's lips now, contrary to the former which managed to play on his lips for a brief moment. This caused Fiona her rarest smile.

"Your subject changing skills suck Chill." She blurted out followed by a quick retrieval of her clasped hands around his neck. Distance followed suit. She gave both of them ample space where one could easily pass through and tried to ignore his presence on the floor. It was a failed attempt. He was being stupid and she did not like it. This fact alone is enough to get her frustrated. Chill was the 'only person' she ever really took a liking to and with him acting like the way he is now was just utterly... frustrating. "If you have something to say, why can't you just say it straight? Is beating around the bush a trend among men these days?"

Deep down, she had an idea about the reason for Chill's behavior. The only problem is that there is a lack thereof with the facts. She knows Lilith and Chill are really not on good terms. She could tell back to when they were still by the bar, they were like the same sides of a magnet repelling each other. The thoughts became too invasive and distracting causing Fiona's mood to plummet. "Damn it... I need another drink." Fiona said to herself just loud enough for him to hear. She excused herself from the dance floor with much irritation for Chill. One thing is for sure, she would not be talking to him for quite some time until he grows up to be a man.

"Rhys, give me something that can hit hard and fast. I might be heading out soon, might as well go out with a bang." Fiona instructed the barkeep and released a sigh. She was pissed enough that she failed to notice a new face by the bar, until she was looking directly at him.

Briefly looking up, Seigfried mumbled a greeting to the boy. He was suprised that the kid would even say anything - it was unusual for the passangers to talk to each other. A few times over the years there had been college chicks that would try and get his phone number, but, especially on the morning commute, when everyone was tired and was just having their first cups of coffee, people kept to themselves.

The boy was dressed fashionably, and sounded older than he looked. Siegfried tried to guess his age, but came up short. Younger than he was, for sure, but probably out of high school. He couldn't quite tell. What really struck him, however, was the kid's eyes. Even tinted from the sunglasses, Siegfried could see that they were of a striking colour.

A staff memeber of the train came around to collect money for their tickets. When he came to their row, he asked which stop Siegfried would be going to and asked for the fare accordingly, and then punched him a ticket. He left without even glancing at the boy. Siegfried was puzzled.

"I wonder why he forgot to give you a ticket," Siegfried mused, "Unless you came on an earlier stop?" Still, that wouldn't explain why he didn't ask to see the kid's ticket. It wasn't visible if he had one, and they were usually pretty strict on enforcement.

Siegfried brought his hand from his lap to move a few strands of his bangs from his eyes, and accidentally brushed the back of his hand against the boy's. The kid's hands were cold, and there was a sort of a shock that Siegfried felt when they came into contact. It wasn't an electrical shock between them, though, because it seemed to be internal - the feeling started like a zap from his hand and proceeded up his arm and faded. He jerked his hand back. "Sorry." What was that?

He should have known better. Six months was long enough to learn how a person could react to certain news, certain phrases, a skirted topic. So why did he feel shocked, hurt even, when Fiona snatched her arms away from his neck and took about three steps back.

"Your subject changing skills suck, Chill." It was more the tone than the words themselves that burrowed in his gut. Only Lillith knew how to wound like that.

She's changing already, Chill thought with a sigh, as he watched her march off towards the bar. He moved to followed, but stopped immediately when a hand took hold of his wrist. Lillith's grip was much stronger than she looked capable of holding, and it yanked Chill around to face her on the dance floor.

"You wouldn't happen to be breaking my number one rule, would you?" she purred into his ear, pulling herself close, her nails digging into the skin of his arm.

"No." His voice was flat, barely audible, but he knew she had heard him.

"Why don't I believe you?" Lillith was smiling; he could hear it in her voice.

"I would never tell anything."

"No?" Lillith pulled herself away and looked straight into his eyes. Though she was nearly his height, she somehow seemed to tower over him. "Dropping hints counts you know. Leading her on, stringing her along with all of your vague mentionings and almost complete thoughts. For her sake, I hope she's as stupid as she is pretty."

"Lillith-" A sharp slap across the face stopped his words short.

"Do not betray me, Chill." The smile was gone, her eyes narrowed. Each word was bitten off. Her tone was enough to quiet him, if the slap hadn't stunned him into silence. "Men never change, do they? Don't ever forget I made you. Don't forget whose realm you're playing in and whose rules you're playing by. I gave you a choice, just like everyone else. Don't make me regret it." She sighed. "Don't make me make you regret it more."

Lillith reached up and touched the pink of his cheek where she'd slapped him, her fingertips light and caressing on his face. The smile returned, and without another word, she turned and disappeared into the crowd.

At the bar, Rhys watched as Fiona returned, looking upset. He had given Mitch his drink and slid Fiona her purse as she approached the counter, then obeyed her request for a hard-hitting, fast-acting drink. Strangely enough, it looked as inky black as his eyes.

"It looks like sludge, by I think it's what you're looking for," he told her with a cautious smile. "Chill taking to his name a little too much out there?" the barman inquired.

With Rhys' attention now on someone else -- an oldbie from the feel of things -- Isabelle moved carefully down the bar to stand beside Mitch.

"Do I get to explain myself now?" she asked. She hated it, hated the way she felt right now, hated that she was going to bring herself down about ten notches more than she was comfortable doing, even for Lillith and her guests.

---

At both Siegfried's audible musings and his apology, the young man simply smiled, still focusing straight ahead. Though Siegfried had jerked his hand away, the figure made no move to so himself.

"I think you know the answer to your questions, Siegfried," he said, finally turning his head to look at him. Full on, his gaze was more piercing. "We haven't met before now, but I don't think you'll be a bad job." A tiny smile quirked at the corners of his mouth. "I'm Marc."

Mitch had accepted and downed his drink long ago by now. He was happy to have had it, and felt the dulling, relaxing effects of the whatever-it-was untie knotted muscles and allow him to slump down for the first time in what felt like days. The youth began inspecting the back wall of the bar with detatched curiosity, watching the dancers behind him from the mirrored wall.

He still felt off about that strange dance floor. Something was odd about it - the way that, no matter how hard or how long he looked at it, no matter from what angle, he never seemed to be able to pick out any individual's face. The dance floor seemed like a fleshy, pulsating mass of writhing muscle and bone; something monstrous and inhuman. Something that changed your very fabric of being into something primal...

And there he went, overanalyzing things again. He heavily doubted that anything odd would happen to him if he stared at the dance floor for too long, or if he even bothered to dance. He never did, though, some force always held him back. Instinct, maybe. Or self-preservation. Or -

'Oh, right, my shadow,' Mitch said, catching sight of Isabelle in the curving mirror. He glanced at his guardian, or whatever she was supposed to be, and beckoned her with a quick upturn of his chin. He called Rhys over and asked for two more of whatever he had just had (hell, perhaps he should eventually ask what it was), then pointed at an empty stool near him for Isabelle to sit down.

"So." Mitch said simply, once Isabelle was seated. It was just one word, but this was all Isabelle was going to get in terms of a summons to defend her personality.

If Isabelle hated the way she was allowing herself to feel right now, she hated Mtich's arrogance in that single syllable more. Who did he think he was? And yet, it was her responsibility to deal with it, to accept it, her punishment to go on like he had any right to speak to her in a way that was less than grateful or reverant. If he only knew ...

She took the empty barstool and hesitated before speaking.

"I think we misunderstand each other. Mostly, I think you misunderstand me, but-" Isabelle shrugged. "You don't like me, that much is obvious, but I think you're hating the messenger more than you should be, rather than focusing on the message. I'm trying to keep you from doing something stupid, and I'm ..." She paused, thinking back to her initial instructions. The part that stuck out the most was the part where she was supposed to provide insentive. Isabelle often felt Lillith placed too much faith in the shadows' creativity. Isabelle was not one for giving things to people when they clearly didn't want or need it. "I want us to get along." The words stung her to say them. "What ... can I do ... to make that happen?" Inside, she was screaming, her self was pounding painfully against her ribs, her skull, wondering just what she thought she was doing. How dare she let down her facade of uncaring hubris, her own air of arrogance? How dare she give any headway to this sleepy, blind fool?

Isabelle thought she had used those exact words with Lillith at some point. It had earned her a painful scowl, and a reprimand whose burn was more prominent than the memories Lillith had dredged up with it. That same burn drove her to sit beside Mitch, and, in her way, ask forgiveness for whatever it was she'd done to make him dislike her, and seek a way to make ammends.

"For the meantime, you and I are tied to each other. We may as well make it as bearable as possible."

Mitchell did something very unexpected after Isabelle stopped speaking. He threw his head back and laughed. He laughed until his breath grew short in his chest and his throat became hoarse and sore, then he stopped. The expression on his face was that of placid calmness. He put one of his hands down on the bar table and leaned forward a bit.

"You don't have to do anything." The words were calm, measured and perfectly sincere. Mitchell leaned back in his seat and took his hand off the bar table, and the corners of his mouth twitched up into a little smile. "I'm not going to force you to put on an act because it makes no sense to twist yourself into something you clearly don't want to be. That would only make things more unpleasant, for you because you're putting up a ruse and for me because I have to go along with that ruse."

He thought for another moment, considering his next statement. Then he spoke again, and the smile faltered back into his neutral expression. "And I don't not like you." Again, his words were so sincere they must have almost hurt. "Do you annoy me? Yes. Do I think you're being a self-righteous prick sometimes? Yes. But that doesn't mean I don't like you. You just get on my nerves sometimes." He shrugged, having finished his defensive motion. "The floor is yours," he said, waiting for a response.