The Universe's Mixer

At last! The library! Abraham Sapien had, in his short 30 some odd years of consciously living navigated hundreds of sewer systems, ran through more forests in the dark than he had cared to recall, and once found his way back to the BPRD van in the desert where there were no markers and while undergoing symptoms of supreme dehydration.

Never, in his life, had he had THIS much difficulty finding a location. And, if that weren't enough, his destination had been a library. Him, of all book loving amphibians, should have found this location days ago. It must of been The City, Abe decided as he entered the establishment. He ignored the gasps of what he had learned were called 'city borns' at his appearance and finally made it to a pretty girl at the desk.

"Excuse me, miss. You wouldn't happen to have a reference section to the history of The City available?" Abe asked hopefully.

The knock had come early in the morning, just before Erik would normally have left for the Opera House to tend to his duties as manager. The arrest happened very quickly - and the charges were myriad. He retained his silence, held out his wrists, and they were gone before his dear wife could find them at the door.

It was late evening by the time he was processed. He'd called one person -- Hannibal -- and although he didn't reach him, he left a brief message explaining the situation. La Mer was due to open in a week's time. There were instructions to be given to his assistant, in whom Erik trusted to manage the Opera House in his absence. These things he told Hannibal as well. The rest... The rest he left at the whim of the only man he might have called a friend in this City.

After processing came the holding cell. It was nothing like the gaols that he'd experienced in the time he'd lived before the City. And certainly, his jail mates were different as well.

Erik walked to the bars of his otherwise-empty cell and clasped his hands behind his back. The dignity and command had not left him. "Enigma," he called across the corridor separating them. She was there, looking somewhat different from when he'd hosted her in his midnight garden. He traced the seams of the bars into the concrete, then looked at the lock briefly. He didn't have the means at this particular moment to author the story of his release.

But then, there was hardly anywhere to run, either.

"Enigma," he called again, his voice deep and melodic, and very compelling.