A/N: This is a rough compilation of several Stories I have played over the years. This story is a cross over between Vampire, the Masquerade (tm) and Demon, the Fallen (tm). The angel characters are still members of the Loyal Host and as such do not really have to conform to rules set out in any White Wolf game system. However, I have chosen to use the system set forth in Demon, the Fallen (tm) in order to give them some grounding. The vampires are taken from Third Edition Vampire, the Masquerade (tm)

Someone is following me, the petite loli-goth thought. She sped her pace, hoping to outrun whomever she feared was behind her. As she did, the pace of the footsteps behind her gathered speed as well.

She turned the corner into an alley, thinking it would aid in evading her pursuer, to no avail. What she hoped would be salvation turned out to be a blind alley. She swiftly dug her phone out of her hand bag and dialed a number.

The girl turned on her heel, but her escape was cut off by a raggedy man holding a pistol.

"The police are on their way," the girl said, holding her phone into view.

The man seemed unimpressed. He leveled the gun at her and squeezed the trigger.

The line connected a second later. "Lillian? It's your Uncle Salvatoré. Are you there?"

The assailant picked up the phone and pressed the 'disconnect.' He searched the girl's body, stripped her of anything he deemed valuable, then left.

Lillian watched her world fade to red, then to shades of grey. She coughed a few times, each time bringing up a small quantity of blood. "Oh, please God, help me. Someone help me."

"Shhh, my child," the voice soothed. "You will be with Him soon."

In her final throes, Lillian saw the face, calm and serene, smiling upon her. "Are you -?"

Lillian's voice failed her as her eyes gently closed, a kiss placed upon her forehead and the last words spoken into her ears.

"Go in peace, dear child."

The presence swept its hand over the body, severing the last threads binding the soul. Lillian's last breath rattled from her mouth. She looked down on her body to see a pale entity smile back at her. She felt the tug of the afterlife pull her onward. She looked back once more, but saw nothing.

"Humans never cease to amaze me."

"Hm?" the deep voice answered nearby. "How so, Aun?'

"This one had a penchant for the macabre," Aun said. "She studied military history. A scholar as well."

"That does not answer my question, Aun."

Aun sighed. "Look at the clothing she wears. Rather grimly cute, don't you think, Meia?"

Meia looked over the outfit Aun currently wore. A long-sleeve dress in tasteful below the knee length, stockings and platform mary-jane shoes – all in black. What set the outfit apart from its contemporaries was the delicate white lace that trimmed the hem, cuffs and collar. A thin ribbon of blood red silk tied in a bow at the neck complimented the similar ribbon that tied the waist length black hair into a loose braid.

"I think they call it Goth-Lolita, Aun."

Aun spun in front of the full-length mirror to gain a better understanding of her latest shell. She looked deep into the blue eyes and almost lost herself before a cough to her side regained her attention.

"Oh, this one will do wonderfully, Meia. I can't wait to try her out."

"What did she die of again?"

Aun focused on the residual memories of the girl whose body she now inhabited. "Gunshot."

Meia spent a few moments looking over new Aun's form. There, just below the sternum and to the left, Meia laid his finger on where the bullet entered. Aun giggled softly. Meia cocked an eyebrow.

"I apologize, Meia," Aun said. "It would appear this shell is ticklish in that spot."

Meia grimaced slightly. "Come, Sister. Our Mandate calls and there are souls to return."

Aun twirled once more in front of the mirror, gently preened her black wings then followed Meia out.

"Say, Meia," Aun whispered as they walked on the street. "Why are you still using that grumpy old truck driver?"

Meia heaved a sigh before turning to face Aun. "It suits my purposes, Aun. You would be well advised to consider using a shell that makes your job easier."

"I do," Aun said, a slight pout forming on her lips. "I found that humans take comfort in the sight of an aesthetically pleasing female. It soothes them, eases their pain. You may wish to give it a try one day."

"You seem to be assuming the personality of that body, Aun."

"You may be correct, Meia, but I can't help if she was only 17 at death."

"You should do as I do," Meia said. "Chose your shell with more care. The sight of this one may actually scare more than comfort the ones you are trying to Reap."

"But this one was so cute," Aun giggled. "Besides, it doesn't detract from my Mandate."

Meia regarded his fellow cautiously. "We have been on the fundament too long, I think. You need a holiday, I believe the humans call it."

Aun held her finger to her cheek and thought a moment. "But we exist to serve The All. If we are commanded to remain on Earth, who are we to demand time off? Besides, this realm offers such variety of experience; it almost breaks my heart whenever we return to the Celestial Palace."

"One day, Sister," Meia cautioned. "You are going to get us both expelled from Paradise."

Aun stuck out her tongue petulantly. Meia rolled his eyes and continued his walk into the city.

"As much as it pains me to agree with you, Aun," Meia said. "You are correct in your observation. I do enjoy my time here, even though we only exist to bring life to its end."

"These things can't be helped, Meia," Aun said. "If that is The Will, we must obey."

Meia shoved his hands into his pockets. "It's getting cool again. How many winters have we been here?"

"This time?" Aun asked. She thought a moment. "Since at least before the Kaiser started his war. Much work to do then."

Meia hmmed. "It's a wonder they can long survive the other's company without killing each other."

Aun reached into the memories of her current host. "It would seem that most wars start because of territorial, resource or ideological conflicts. Petty squabbles over religion seems to be the most popular reason this century."

"The other Houses have it so much easier," Meia complained. "They get to create, make new and wondrous things. We only come along to sweep it away after it is old, decrepit or destroyed."

"Careful, Brother," Aun said. "That may be considered rebellious."

Meia stopped and gazed to the darkening sky. Aun stepped beside Meia and held his hand. The cold didn't really affect them, as they were not really alive. At the same time, the mortal coil they inhabited conveyed the feel of temperature and the angels experienced it all the same. Meia turned his gaze to meet that of Aun.

"This body is hungry," he said impassively. "It's such a hardship to have to inhabit these frail beings."

Aun stared at her shoes. "You know that humans could not endure the sight of our true forms. This makes it easier to remain on the fundament and perform our Mandate, it gives us an understanding of humans, why they act and think as they do. Besides, our touch is death. Without this layer of flesh, everything we come in contact with dies and decays."

"And that is what makes it so painful to Reap them when their time is at an end," Meia said, wiping his eye. "Why did The All command us to love humanity if we were the ones tasked to sweep them from the mortal plane?"

"So that we would do so kindly and without judgment," Aun said. "And only when their existence has reached its end."

Meia stared at his companion. "You have uncommon clarity of vision, Sister."

"Because I choose my coils with the utmost of care, dear Brother," Aun said, nodding demurely to one side.

Meia smiled. "Let us seek sustenance then return to our domicile."

"I hate it when they struggle," the taller man said. "It just irritates me."

"I suppose," a petite, thin boy said. "However, I find it makes the taste so much sweeter." He wiped the blood from his mouth with a delicate hand and gently licked his fingers clean. He then carefully checked his manicured nails and ran a hand through his luxurious blonde hair.

The taller man, clearly disgusted with the actions of an effete homosexual, grunted his disapproval.

"Shit, I should stake you and leave you out for the sun."

"Now, now, Marcus," the pouf said nonchalantly. "No need for threats or theatrics. I doubt the Prince would appreciate his favorite courtier meeting such a fate at the hands of the likes of you."

"Don't call me Marcus, you little fu-"

He was stopped short as he felt his throat squeezed. He looked down to see the boy calmly applying pressure to his neck; an almost pleasant, feminine smile on his face."

"No need for profanity, either…Mark."

He released Mark and calmly smoothed his rumpled blouse. Marcus regained his footing and straightened his tie. He buttoned his suit jacket and smoothed his short-cropped brown hair. "What now, Andrew?"

"Ah ah ah," the boy wagged his finger in Mark's face. "Contessa Andrea, if you please. At the very least, Your Grace."

Mark rolled his eyes and grit his teeth. Damn faggot, he thought. "Yer Grace," he said with a sneer. "What's next tonight?"

"The Prince wants us to look in on one of his mortal relatives," the Contessa said. "He is worried about her since the phone cut off."

"Which one," Mark asked. "He has so many."

"Lillian," the Contessa said, producing his smart phone. "The pretty one, likes to wear gothic clothing imported from Japan."

Marcus looked at the picture on the phone. He regarded as her pretty, for a human, if a little pale. Her long black hair only accentuated the deep blue of her eyes and made her look like a ghost. Mark grunted his understanding. The Contessa put his phone away and led the pair into the city.

"The Prince just wants us to look in on her, make sure she is unharmed and well taken care of," The Contessa said. "We are under orders not to reveal ourselves to her until he feels she is ready."

Mark spared a sideways glance at the girly-boy beside him. "Ready for what?"

"The Embrace, naturally," the Contessa sighed. "Mou, you Brujah really are dense. I can see why he would choose you as muscle, but you are pretty slow when it comes to – delicate matters."

Mark clenched his fists and grit his teeth. Were it not for the blood bond between he and the prince he served, he would have staked this little queer and returned to Chicago years ago. Things were better working under Capone, he thought. At least he didn't have to deal with this stuck-up Toreador homo.

"Ah, we're here," the Contessa announced quietly. He tapped the screen of his phone. "Yes, this is the address."

Mark swept the area. He didn't survive the Roaring Twenties from sheer luck. The rooftops got the first scrutiny, followed by the windows immediately visible. Doors opening to the street following alleys and darkened corners.

"Come along, Mark," the Contessa sang. "Best not to keep Miss Lillian waiting."

They walked into the building. The Contessa knocked on the building super's door. "Excuse me."

The door opened to reveal a rather gruff looking man, maybe ten years older than Mark's apparent age.

"What can I do for ya?" he asked.

"My – er – guardian and I desire to rent a suite of rooms, good sir," the Contessa sang politely. "Have you any available?"

The landlord held his mouth agape. "Say what?"

Mark sighed loudly. "The boy and I want to rent an apartment. Got any?"

The landlord's gaze fell firmly on the Contessa. "Boy?" he looked to Mark's face. He stepped back a pace as Mark fixed him with a glare.

"My nephew from California," Mark said. "This is normal out there, apparently. So, ya got any apartments or don'tcha?"

"I have one," the landlord said. "Second floor, 2 bedrooms, one bath, $800 a month. Interested?"

The Contessa bounced excitedly. "We shall take it at once, kind sir."

Mark rolled his eyes. "When can we move in?"

"First thing in the morning," the landlord said.

"Ooh, sadly, we have other engagements that occupy our daylight hours, good sir," the Contessa sighed. "I would be ever so indebted to you if you would let us occupy the suite this evening."

"What?" the landlord asked.

"He said we're busy tahmahrah and wants ta know if we can move in tonight," Mark translated. "Sister's kid, married money and sent him to one'a dem fancy schools."

The landlord nodded. "I guess there's no trouble lettin' ya have it tonight," he said. "Just give me a heads up when yer stuff gets here."

The Contessa grabbed the landlord's hand and shook it politely. "Oh, thank you, good sir. We shall endeavor to remain unobtrusive."

Mark had to bite his lip to keep from smacking the little fairy. "We'll stay outta the way and outta yer hair," he said.

The landlord nodded, excused himself and returned with the paperwork. "Second floor, apartment 203. Here's the lease, fill it out. A $200 deposit and one month's rent up front."

Mark pulled out a money clip and peeled off $100 notes, counting them into the landlord's hand. In exchange, he was given two keys and a 'Welcome to the building,' greeting.

"Come along, 'Uncle'," the Contessa said. "I am anxious to get settled."

By ten that evening, the luggage arrived.

"I never seen one boy wit so much stuff," Mark complained as three columns of trunks, cases and hat boxes filled the main room.

"A lady needs to have all her things to feel complete, Mark," the Contessa said. "It is incumbent upon her to look her best at all times."

"Yer a boy, dammit," Mark grumbled. "You oughta act and dress like one."

The Contessa ran her lip in a pout. "How could you insinuate I am anything but a proper lady?"

"Oh my God," Mark groaned. "Again wit the 'I'm a lady" shit. Jeezus."

The Contessa sat on his bed and pouted petulantly. Mark grabbed his jacket. "I'm going out."

Immediately, the Contessa's face lit up. "I have not sated my thirst," he said. "I shall accompany you."

"Whatevah."