Reality Crisis

Eric was finally fed up and annoyed with himself and the way that he was avoiding the progeny he so desired to save. He had kept his distance from her because he hadn't known what to say, and he had no idea how to stop the future that he had seen in the dream. It had made him very cranky, turned his mood dark and foul, and made him snappish at the staff. But all his searching had turned up no hint of what might be coming, why, or how he could stop it.

He realized that he was going to have to just stay vigilant and make sure that he was there to help her when she needed it. If she called for him, he would appear, no matter what he was doing or when she called. He would not lose her. He refused.

The first step in that, however, was talking to her and letting her know exactly what had been going on. He was sure that Pam would know that it was not her that he was upset about. At least, not her directly, not something that she had done or said to make him angry. He always let her know right away if that were the case.

She deserved to know the truth of the matter. If that meant he had to reveal what he would seen, then he would. If that meant that he had to ask for her forgiveness, he would do that, too. While Eric was a strong man, and often a bullheaded man, he could admit when he was wrong, and he could apologize.

"Find Pam. Tell her I would like to see her." He could have, of course, called to her silently and she would have come. But he wanted her to be here of her own choice, and the call was not something she could ignore. If she decided that she would see him, then he would be glad. If she was still not ready, he would have to understand. Either way, he would not be using the bond they had of maker and progeny to facilitate his need to talk.

Pam had been quiet. It wasn't normal, but it wasn't abnormal either. She'd pulled away from her Maker in the past, as well as those in her nest. She was much like her Maker in that she needed to find her place in the world, on her own, and thankfully Eric had never pushed or pulled hard to keep her with him. It wasn't as if she were going to go far far away, not this time.

She'd not necessarily avoided her brother, or their human. The necromancing mutant had become theirs in a way, even if Pam hadn't voiced it. Given Pam's easy going ways; she may have allowed the pastor to claim the human completely, if it seemed that was what the dark woman wanted. Pam had lived too long to become that attached to a human, no matter how long lived he or she may be.

The petite vampire wasn't afraid of death, but something about that blackness had not been comforting. It was so empty, and empty was not what she had expected. She was curious, and as she wasn't prepared to experiment to find answers, not knowing if something she did would be permanent even if it were possible, she thought. She also hid away in the library, looking for some answer while she worked on the collection.

But, nothing gave her the solace. Had she slipped into a deeper sleep than she thought possible? Or had she contracted a disease much like narcolepsy? Had she been dead? It was hard to know anything, but she didn't wish to talk to anyone. Not at first.

Finally, she slipped from her quiet place within and without, and started hunting. She never denied herself blood, that was a waste of time. No, she hunted the female human. She needed to know had the dark woman made a choice.

Clark was actually kind of used to things like weird visions. What did it say about him that he took all of it in stride? He was beginning to think he'd reached some sort of threshold where nothing could make an impact anymore. And that was probably dangerous for him to be so blase about all of this.

He'd been in his room for once when it happened. Clark didn't spend a lot of time inside much less in his room but he did have to do laundry and sometimes he stopped to take a little time to read and do something that didn't involve running everywhere and checking on everyone.

This time he was stitching up his jeans to repair a ripped out seam when things had turned inside out and he found himself far above the earth. It was one of those clear days where the blue seemed to go on forever without a cloud. Those were the days Clark liked best to fly. The sky never ended and unless you looked carefully (like he could) you couldn't see the damage down below.

He floated on the air currents like he was moving through water letting the icy air slip over his skin. This high up there wasn't a lot of oxygen so there also wasn't a lot of sound. It made the whole world feel distant and remote.

Until he faintly heard someone calling his name. They needed help. Clark turned in midair to zero in on the sound and suddenly found himself sitting on the floor of his apartment trying to stab himself in the finger with a needle. All it did was bend the needle and leave him blinking as he tried to readjust mentally.

After that he needed to clear his head.

Clark ended up on the wall of the city again looking down at the land and forest outside. If he stepped off the wall would he fly? Or would he fall? Did he really want to find out?

The blood was dangerously close to drinking live.

They filled what looked to Aidan to be preserves jars and left them on his front steps, just behind a planter. Every few days, Aidan would leave the cleaned out jars he'd finished with on the steps in the same place. It was less than the others were getting for their daily rations, he'd been informed of as much. But it was more than he'd been allowing himself to have in die Festung. The blood was always still a bit warm when he got to it, after hearing the knock on his door. He didn't dare let it cool to room temperature, since there was no anti-clotting agent in the jars like there was in the blood bags. And he couldn't bring himself to let them fill those instead, not wanting to take any of New Troy's hospital resources any more than he'd wanted to take die Festung's.

He always took his jars down to the basement to drink. The walls were thick and the basement was cool. He was fairly sure that nobody could hear his cries of agony down there. Maybe the vampires could, but that was something that he'd have to deal with. He wasn't willing to walk the jars of blood far enough out of town to be sure that none of the vampires knew. That was just stupid.

Aidan was feeling better than he had in a long time. The daily allotments in New Troy had him looking better, too. He knew he'd be warmer to the touch, as well. For all the bad that had happened, he looked at the positive things that had come of the transition. He had to, or he would break down from all the loss.

He took up a position at the hospital here, giving himself a small taste of normalcy in spite of everything else. The hours they gave him were somewhat erratic, though. He was the only one that they knew who could cover just about any shift, not having any family or any other commitments in the town. He was also the only one with his particular skills, the ones that came with being a vampire, that could work during the day. They marveled at him walking through the streets with the sun high in the sky. It hadn't taken long for the rumor of his blood jars to get through the place.

It was kind of nice, actually, to be able to be himself completely.

The sun had gone down, and Aidan was sleeping. He had taken a very early morning shift, starting at 4am, and had ended up having to stay the entire day. He'd only been released about an hour ago. His blood had been waiting for him, still warm somehow, like they'd been watching for him or something, or like somebody knew when he'd be back home. Aidan had picked it up, and gone immediately to the basement. When he was done, he rinsed the jar in the sink down there and set it in the box he kept for collecting. It clinked lightly against another already residing within. Then he'd gone right for his bed.

Eric was angry. His city, his new home, was in peril. His Progeny no doubt had something to do with it. But, for now, he would clear out the New Troy.

Pam understood why these creatures were bad. She understood that they had to end the creatures. She also understood she was going to get more than an earful about it once this was done. She'd brought a creature into his territory, and she had played with things she had no reason to. These arguments and more she expected from Eric when it was all said and done.

The petite vampire took heads, throats, hearts, eyes, jaws. She cut a swath through the zombie ranks, only to turn around and reap more of the undead. She was true death walking. She was her Master's Progeny, and she was something to fear. She'd learned to fight at a Viking king's side, and while he may hold a great deal of anger for her at the moment, she would make him proud in dispatching those he had set her on. Eric had chosen his Progeny for a reason; both she and her sibling were warriors.

It took most of the night, but by the dawn, New Troy and the outlying area was cleared. There had been few casualties, no more than would be expected in this situation. The infestation had not hit their small population hard, but then any decrease was too much.

Pam would be punished in some way for bringing this to New Troy, if she did indeed do so. But, it would have to wait until the sun went down again. She went to ground, knowing that her Maker felt the fear, blood lust, disgust, and everything else she felt. She certainly felt what he did as she faded off to "sleep."

John, having thankfully dodged the plague of immaturity that seemed to strike many of the humans in the town, had carefully resumed eating regularly and fully and taken to patrolling the edges of New Troy.

He was enjoying continuing the sparring with his sister, but found himself looking forward to seeing Aidan next, if the other vampire ever returned to New Troy. John was envious of his abilities on some level, but also he was glad to have somebody else who could relate to still being reluctant to fully embrace what seemed like a traditional outlook on vampirism. Somebody who didn't scoff at the other holding onto bits of humanity.

The former soldier looked towards the moon, wondering what Aidan's fighting techniques were. John was itching to go against somebody other than Pam, to see if he really was improving at all in his hand to hand techniques.

Pam had found herself very distracted by a recent addition to their home. Of course, she was risking getting her head handed to her by Eric, but she hadn't let much slip in her responsibilities. Mainly, she'd done a little less reading, a few reports. Everything else, the other pieces of running of a city had not fallen by the wayside. The petite vampire didn't know how long she'd enjoy the mutant woman's company, so she wouldn't let herself get killed for a nice piece of genetically enhanced...well, it was all very nice.

She decided to make up some reports time by locking herself away in the library. She had suggested to Melody that she might want to find a certain blond, built like the All American boy who sounded too much the Southern gentleman. While Pam was wearing the good pastor down, saying "no" to a living song of death may be much harder.

With a stretch much more animal than human, the small vampire climbed out of the large chair she'd claimed for her research, put the book away, gathered her notes, and walked toward her Maker's office to deposit the delayed research. She wondered when she would hear about her dalliances, or the effects they were having on her work. She'd let Eric know that there was a new warm body in the house, not once thinking that the mutant would want to kill any of them. Then again, they did have a few trusted/glamoured humans to make sure they didn't meet their final death during the day.

"Eating before feeding seems a little backwards," Pam said, finally addressing her Maker and the volunteer he was currently latched on to. It was probably rude to simply stand there as Eric fed, but he wasn't exactly doing anything she hadn't seen before. She held up the energy bar wrapper the volunteer must have let fall on Eric's desk.

Nate had just told her to go home. She had begged him to help, to tell her how to find a way to beat the addiction, that's all she wanted from him. That and his love. And he'd told her to go home. Go home. She didn't have a home, and that was the part that hurt. She'd never stayed in one place for very long. Home had become Nate. Where he went, so had she, for a really long time. But then there was Morbius. Oh, how she'd been attracted to him. He had understood. Relished her. She hadn't wanted him harmed, and so she'd fought with him instead of against him when Nate had come to 'save' her. That had not made him happy.

When he'd left, Madelyne had shown. Looking for him. Melody hadn't exactly had a chance to do much of anything. She'd wanted to fight, wanted to leave, but neither was an option for her. The Pryor woman wasn't fooling around with simple mind control this time. She was just going for a full out attack. Mel could feel what Madelyne was trying to do. She could feel the neuro-locks ripping from her flesh. The pain of it was incredible. They weren't meant to come back off, for one. For another, the power was creeping, overwhelming her. Filling her up. She felt like she was going to explode.

There was a blinding white light. Mel was sure that it was her mind giving out, her life ending. But after a moment, she blinked, and she realized that she was still alive. There was no sign of Madelyne or anybody else. She wasn't in the cemetery anymore, either. There were ruins all around her, nothing that looked like any part of the United States she'd ever been in. Not even the underground parts.

Frantically, she reached up and felt her face. Relieved that she felt the neuro-locks still there, Melody lay back on the ground, not caring who saw her this way. She just wanted to rest. Have a moment of peace. Nobody trying to kill anybody else. Especially her.

John had settled into a fairly consistent pattern over the last few weeks. He had gotten used to the habit of waking, feeding, then working out. Training his vampiric senses and honing his hunting skills. When Pam would practice with him he worked on fighting, learning to move against a smaller, faster opponent and working out on heavy hitting They seemed important to his sire and older night sibling. And, really, in this world those abilities were bound to be put to the test sooner or later. He wanted to be ready, to protect the humans of this world, and to protect his new family if they were threatened.

Despite himself the initial bond created by his turning had grown. He felt a much deeper sense of loyalty towards Eric and Pam. He listened and learned from them and had started asking more questions about the world they came from. He knew the chances of anybody from this world returning home were slim to none, but he now found himself hoping that if they were sent back he would be sent along with his sire. He certainly didn't want to be the only vampire in his world.

This night was different only in the sense that he was ready to take a break from training and relax. He'd gone into the woods and hunted some of the smaller critters for practice, just to keep the metaphorical blood pumping, but then he'd returned to the city and taken out his guitar. He'd started to play in a nitch on the rooftops, finding it much less likely to draw anybody's attention. He didn't play too loudly, though he knew either of the other vampires could easily hear him if they wanted to. But being up high kept the humans out of his way and gave him the added benefit of keeping a lookout. Since he'd started training regularly again he'd also found it natural to take up watch shifts. It wasn't a bad idea on this world anyway, and fit into the habits he gained from his soldiering days.

Strumming a simple tune he stared out towards the edge of the city, not playing anything specifically. Just enjoying the sound of the music as he wondered what would come over that wall someday, throwing itself at a bunch of people who just wanted to survive and rebuild their world. John didn't doubt that it would come, the only real question would be the shape.

Pam wasn’t bored. There were always things to do; she’d spent part of her night working in the library, making notes, preparing for the alarming number of humans and humanlike people who hunted their kind, and getting to know just how crazy the world really was. She always put her well taken and well organized bundle of papers on her Maker’s desk before heading out to find food.

She knew she could dine on those who volunteered and were on schedule. She knew that Eric would prefer it that way, but she had her own little dinner dates. They’d volunteered; she’d simply taken them off a schedule. She never took too much, and rarely did she take from just one. It was a personal tease, taking just enough to say she’d tasted and possibly fed but never more than the donor could give. She didn’t hide what she did from her Maker, but it was more fun to hunt than not. There was something savage in the petite vampire that had to be sated.

The small blond had just finished with one “victim” and was about to find another. She licked absently at her lips, a bit of blood still there. She had considered making a suggestion to Eric, but as the population was low, she doubted he’d agree. She thought that perhaps criminals could be hunted for sport, and if they were killed, no one would miss them. She knew otherwise. Plus, it would make them no better than the old leader.

Now, where was another of her pretty dinners? She closed her eyes for a moment and focused, pulling up the faces of the newest volunteers and the information that had been gathered on them. Where...?

( ---- )

There had been some help from those who lived in New Troy, but Eric had done much by himself. He could work longer and at a pace that the humans could not. Even if they'd been in peak shape and pristine health, they would have never been able to keep up with him. He wasn't angry about it in the least. They did what they could. They did it without complaint, too, which was important. He knew that many of them wanted to see the Arena return to the way it had been, with the fights.

It took weeks to accomplish, even so.

But now he stood before the vast empty space where the Arena had once stood. It would be converted into a farm, he'd decided. They'd expand what they had been growing and look outside of the walls for other things they might add. One portion of it was to be devoted to animals, livestock of various sorts, so that they might begin breeding in greater numbers without the worry of where to keep them all. The animals ready for slaughter would go to the smaller shelters dotted around New Troy to await their fate. Eric felt this system would help to put his citizens at ease when it came to food supply.

They really needed to start eating more.

The brick and concrete that had come from the arena were now a part of the wall, making it thicker and higher than it had been before. There were bits scattered about helping to reconstruct some of the homes and other buildings within the gates, but they'd already done much to improve all that and the majority went to the outward protection. With some of the excess, Eric had instructed they create an outbuilding for vehicles. Connected to the main part of the wall and with a great set of doors that could be locked and barricaded, one set on either side of the parking area. This way nobody had to be standing by to open the gates, or be left in the open while the scavengers made their way back inside. The majority of New Troy could be kept locked until it was time to bring things in. The vehicles would stay protected when not in use, and the city would stay protected at all times.

He could still smell the blood, sweat, and death that the Arena had caused. It lingered in the dirt here, and Eric didn't think that it would go away - at least for his senses and those of the other vampires - for a long time. Not even with tilling the earth and planting new crops.

But, in the end, he felt much better without the fighting pit there. It was no longer an eyesore and a reminder of what had been done to him.

Pam gave the woman one more nuzzle, healing the two small wounds on the donor's neck. It was possibly somewhat affectionate, but it seemed to help the donors. It made them believe they were cherished. Then again, it was a little like petting a cow after milking it. Or petting it as it feeds, fattening up before the slaughter? Pam wasn't sure; she'd never had to bother with the cows after all.

"Remember to have an extra portion for dinner and to rest. You've the day off tomorrow." She didn't need to glamour the woman; she didn't glamour the volunteers unless she needed to, say like when the pastor had been turned. The donor left, and Pam sat for a moment, relaxing in her seemingly all too prim and stiff way. As she "relaxed," she heard something. It was a sound she'd not heard in the building before, and one she hadn't heard in any building for some time.

She rose, brushing out her skirt, and headed out of the sitting room to find why such a noise existed. Who would bother with it here? She sped through the house, peeking into different rooms, and came to a full stop when she found who would do..that.

"How very human of you." She took up a lean in the doorway. She looked more like a school girl than a vampire edging ever faster to multiple centuries old.

John had had a very... sorted past couple of days. After returning to Eric's home, now his home, John had stayed in his room for everything but the feedings. He found everything Eric had spoken of about their habits to be true, and resented him for it. He saw the older vampire for the feedings, though he was nearly at the point where he could start to try by himself. He chose to stay alone and contemplate the change in his own time.

After a while, however, cabin fever set in, and one night he left his room and went to test his powers. He'd come to the solution that, as long as he didn't have to kill or steal blood to survive, the worse sin would be suicide. So for the moment, he'd have to make the best of the situation he found himself in.

He left the town, heading out into the wild to experiment with his new power. His strength and speed were certainly fun to play with. John had always enjoyed physical exercise, and found that even he couldn't help but grin as he lapped the city faster than any car he'd ever seen would be able to.

John woke up to the amazingly powerful scent of dirt, and a crushing darkness and weight. He moved his arms impulsively, finding whatever was keeping him down was shiftable, and instinctively started digging and clawing to what some part of him knew to be upwards. A panic that he wasn’t able to breathe spurred him onwards, moving as fast as possible, and quickly his fingers broke through and into air, and he clawed his way out of the dirt. As he found himself in fresh air he inhaled sharply, spitting out some soil and crawling until he was on firm, unshifted earth.

He shook his head and quickly wiped his eyes clean, mind racing and reeling simultaneously. Survival focused him on his surroundings, and he lifted his head. The scent of wherever he was was amazing, as was the detail his eyes were catching and the sounds finding their way into his ears. He was definitely in a night-set forest, but it was a completely new forest he was quite sure he’d never seen before.

Next his mind went to his physical well being. Apart from needing to focus on keeping his breathing steady and continuous he didn’t seem to be harmed. He wasn’t even feeling pain from being deprived of oxygen for so long. In fact, as his mind slowed and sharpened he realized that aches and pains that had bothered him for years were gone. He felt... fantastic.

He blinked, looking down at himself, then slowly shook out his clothes and hair, the soil that fell seeming louder but not heavier than usual.

The pastor lifted his gaze then, and suddenly his eyes fell on a figure standing just above him that he hadn’t noticed before. Eric.

In a flash the last memories before he passed out flashed before his eyes, and nearly electrified the Texan, who leapt to his feet and back a ways, stumbling from a speed he wasn’t used to.

“What happened?” he demanded, voice slightly higher pitched from stress and fury. He looked around for Pam, as if she were trying to get the jump on him from behind, and then his gaze went down to the turned earth that, strangely enough, he could smell Eric on. And himself. He blinked a few times, trying to work it out, his mind steadfastly ignoring the obvious truth. “Where are we?”

( --- )

John couldn’t tell if he was grateful to be back on the dead world or not. On one hand, he didn’t like being yanked back and forth. On the other, life had been much more modern, comfortable, and safe seeming back in the City. On the first, it wasn’t as difficult to carve out a place for himself here as it was there. And it seemed that this place needed him more, even if those here didn’t like him.

After a short time reaffirming his duty schedule and the layout of die Festung, John had decided to go on a trip. He’d heard of the other major city, New Troy, and had felt some curiosity towards the place. but since coming back to this world the curiosity and urge to go see it had started to increase steadily. John didn’t think that was too odd. It was probably just going to the City, then being returned that made him curious as to what other locations might be around here.

So, after putting together a supply bag and hiking out through the woods, John came upon the other City, and after gaining entry he looked around, interest perked. He’d heard the place had run some gladiator-type games in the past, using the Chosen as contestants. But apparently it was under new management, though he hadn’t heard much about who ran things here now.

He’d misjudged how long it took to get here, but it was still only just dark as he walked down what appeared to be the main street, wondering how difficult it would be to secure a roof for the night. He pulled the bag up on his back a little higher, investigating the town a bit before he picked a place to try and find shelter.

( - - - )

The best way to get one's bearings, Evey had learned, was to find a place and watch.

The first day here, Evey had done just that. She'd climbed up into the second story of a broken down apartment building, dipping between sagging support beams and through broken doorways, to find a window where she sat and watched the street below her.

The people moved differently. Some carried an air of abject hopelessness -- those who continued living because there was nothing else to do but that and they weren't willing to end their own lives. Some moved like sharks, dominating, fierce and sure. These were the hungry ones, ready to climb their dark ladders. Some walked smoothly without drawing attention, while keeping their eye out on every corner and every street. These were the wise ones, the ones who had survived long enough to know better than to trust in anything. And some moved through the streets slowly. These were the most dangerous of all; these had nothing to fear.

She'd seen all this before; at least this was familiar. It would be dangerous for her to stay past the gloaming, but there were a few other characters that came out at night. If she could keep herself safe and far away from notice, she could learn how they appeared here, too. So she did, learning how the prostitutes walked here, learning how the criminals did, learning how the working class hurried home... learning all of it.

And when the night had truly sunk upon the city, Evey knew it was time to find a safer place to sleep. Someplace no one would look or want to look.

She headed down into the street and adopted the walk of the wise, slipping into the role she'd most often portrayed in her own London. As she did, she began scanning the alleyways for unsavory spots that no one would want to sleep in, that no one would give a second glance toward. She'd already given up hope for a place securely hidden; it was too dark to find such a thing.

Many people filled the street tonight, although one wouldn't guess it from appearance. But there were tell-tale signs. Metallic scraping. Muffled moans. Evey kept her head down, but her eyes were wide and keen.

(Warning: The vampires do get a little *ahem* rambunctious and/or randy. They start getting to know each other rather well.)

Pam had been exploring again, and after meeting a stranger and checking on a few of her maker's subjects, she decided to come home again. She always came home. Or returned to her maker. She always came back, and she supposed that was how things were supposed to be at first.

She was smiling when she entered the Eric's home, but she didn't smile for long. The staff seemed a little bothered by her appearance. One even looked as if he was about to be hit for something. The petite vampire looked him over a little confused; she didn't intend on hitting anyone, not yet anyway.

"What?" She waited for some answer, and for the human, it meant that she would just stare. There was no expression than the one she'd given to begin with when she asked the question.

The human pointed in the direction of what she supposed was her bedroom, blinking. She stared a few more moments, checking to see that her maker was indeed in the house, and then turned to check on her bedroom. She moved quickly and came to a dead stop as she smelled something odd on the other side of the door. It wasn't right.

The buildings were worn down in a way that reminded Errol of the aftermath of the Third World War. He'd been too young to remember first-hand, but the recordings were required viewing for all citizens of Libria, a reminder of the price of emotion running wild.

He walked through them slowly, taking in as much detail as he could. He didn't know how he'd come to be here--he'd been sitting at his breakfast table, and then in between one breath and the next he was here, in this ruin--but concentrating on the current situation was of more importance than pondering what had happened. He could spend time on that once he had a better grasp of what was currently going on.

Errol found himself missing his black Cleric's coat. Its dark color would hide the incongruously bright and neat blue shirt he wore, as well as his khaki trousers.

John walked the perimeter of the town, a rifle slung high over his shoulder.

He hadn't meant to keep patrolling ,especially once the weird effect on his senses and mind had died down. He'd settled down and started to sleep more peacefully again, and didn't feel the need to be on the move, but it seemed that once you got on the guard rotation they didn't want to let you go. And John wasn't the sort to turn down a request for his help.

The weapon on his back was natural, as a part of him as his boots and collar. Sure, it was a time from his past that he tried to move on from, but he never denied the service he'd been part of. He was proud of his accomplishments and thankful that the military had turned his life around, even if he'd left it for more peaceful pursuits.

So, when they asked for him again, he'd accepted and showed up, even when the man who was supposed to act as his partner for the shift didn't. That didn't bother the pastor too much, and he'd set off on his patrol anyway, just glad that whatever had been affecting him earlier was gone. It was probably some of the food he'd eaten, and he'd resolved to take more care with what he ate and what he passed up here. Quite frankly, he didn't like being all hopped up and unable to sleep without having very inappropriate, if enjoyable, dreams.

The night air pushed his hair to the side, and he took a deep breath. The woods weren't that bad. Neither was the city. He'd been worse places with much worse people, and it was cathartic to be on the move again. Relaxing, even if every sense he had was straining and keeping alert for any sign of movement from the treeline.

John was exhausted. He'd spent the day helping to clean up the carcasses of their disturbing rain. There was good progress being made, but not quite fast enough to keep up with the stench of death in some places. Even on reptiles the smell brought back very unpleasant memories, so even though his body ached from an unusual amount of work, when it came time togo home he instead went out for a walk.

He had struggled a usual amount with some of the more intense action from his past, but John had always found a lot of comfort in his faith and int he teachings of the bible. Even reading the book helped to calm him when he was having a difficult day or night, and he'd certainly had a bad few days. Everybody had.

Finding a quiet spot outside where he could see the stars, the pastor found a seat on a bench. He'd been working and reading for a long while now, so it was nice to just sit, to think on everything that had happened. To reflect, as he looked up at the stars, hands folded neatly in his lap. He was still a solider, though he didn't hold himself like one quite as much anymore. He'd chosen a bench that might have seamed out in the open, but it was with its back to a wall and had a clear view of the street in both directions, near enough to a bar that if anything happened he could find shelter. It was also in the dark, which allowed his eyes to adjust to the light without any nearby street or building lights. It kept him from being high lighted or left an easy target.

Even in the relative safety of the city he was watching out for himself, if only as a trained response to being in a less than stable environment.