...Never stood and said "My Name is No One"... Who: Conrad. Where: The road into the city proper. When: Late night to Pre-dawn. Note: *Credit: "Sunrise" by Jacqui Thornton.
The room was unremarkable, as such rooms went. Stained carpeting, scratched and scuffed furniture, sun-bleached curtains, and a bed that most civilized people would not have let their pets sleep on.
Conrad had never considered himself particularly civilized. Besides, the place was a grand villa compared to some of the places he had slept. That hostel on the outskirts of Berlin had barely had a bed worth the name and the linen, such as it was, had been infested with some sort of parasitic vermin.
After tossing his lone bag onto the table in the corner of the room, the witch stripped down to his undershorts and settled in on top of the comforter. Later, a quick charm could dispense with whatever filth clung to the bedding, but for now sleep called.
Dawn was still some hours off when he awoke, but he had an urge to explore this town he had been lured to. There had to be something to it beyond what little he had been able to see on the hurried cab ride from the airport. It had seemed, at the time, to be a quaint little place with nothing of the seedy underbelly he had become accustomed to in his wanderings. A grin spread over his face at that thought. Whether there was a true criminal element in this place or not, there was ALWAYS fun to be had.
He dressed quickly, and headed out. When the pathetic lock clicked shut behind him, he stopped and turned back to the door. "No no no... This will never do..." His hand snaked into his pocket for his folding knife, and once it was opened he brought the blade up in front of his eyes. Sharp enough, but boring. It would have to be replaced at some point, but for now would have to do. Knife in his left hand, he ran it from the tip of his right middle finger down to the first joint then put it away.
Blood welled up from the cut, vivid red and filling his nostrils with that tangy iron smell. He could see why vampires liked the stuff; if different races and types tasted as varied and different as they smelled, every bar in the country would be like a buffet. Before the blood started running down his hand, he brought it to the center of the door and drew a small circle with a smiley face, muttering to himself, "..Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin..."
A slight burnt flesh smell wafted into the air, and a momentary flash of incredible heat jolted from the door to his hand. The warding symbol faded from the normal visible spectrum and his cut sizzled. It wasn't a pretty ward, or elegant, but it would keep out all but the most determined of intruders. A bit of magical finesse or brute force would easily do away with it, but anyone that determined to get in could have his antique road-dust collection.
Mind awhirl with thoughts of what adventure might lay in store, Conrad fairly danced out of the parking lot and west on the little road east. Occasionally a car would slow as it passed by, either a local surprised to see a stranger walking down the road so early in the morning or someone passing through on their way to or from the city wanting a better look at the dancing lunatic in case they needed to describe him to the police later. When Conrad bothered to acknowledge them, it was to make a face or grin at them as he twirled and shuffled.
As he approached the river it dawned on him that there were far fewer cars on the road than there should have been so close to a city Ann Arbor's size.
By the time the sky had started to lighten, a sign came into view: Scarlet Oak Community Park.
This would be as good a place to view the first stirrings of the city. Sitting back under a tree on the still-damp grass, he watched and waited, uttering aloud,
The grey begins to fade, As colour creeps from leaf to limb. The light is slowly seeping up, From beneath the earth's curved rim.*