A/N: More unimaginative chapter naming!

xjoedirtx: Hope you enjoy it!

maskedpainter: Alright, then, you insane person.

Lunatic Pandora1: Yep, I would too. Dark-Brotherhood-shocking is always fun!

BloodAndDiamonds: Great to hear!

Broken Daggers

Chapter 34: The Dark Gift

"Wow, look at that." Antoinetta pointed over Vicente's shoulder. He didn't need to turn. He had already heard the strong heart. Lenore's hooded figure was there, with her back to him and the sound of charcoal on parchment grating on him a little, "She's not having chats with the bats anymore."

There were now a varying amount of names for the times when Lenore would retreat to the rafters. Going from 'testing the beams' to 'chats with the bats'. Now, though, she spent less time there and almost all of her time was spent sketching. If she did anything else, she would do it hurriedly, as though desperate to get back to her work. Though he could not see why she would be so desperate to do this. But, still she did, working away on her sketches like she hadn't a moment to lose,

"What is she doing?" Antoinetta thoughtlessly went up to her and peered over her shoulder. Lenore allowed this. Though, Vicente doubted she even noticed. Once she was drawing, she was off in her own little world and one was lucky if she answered any questions asked during that time, "Hey, Lenore! Nirn to Lenore, hello!" Nothing. She just went on drawing as though nothing happened, "Hey, I'm talking to you, idiot!"

With that, the idiot girl snatched up the drawing to get a good look at it. The reaction was immediate. Of course it was. Polixones was the same; nothing in the world could seperate him from his drawings. Lavinia gave a scream of shock and pounced on Antoinetta like a mountain lion on something that was threatening her cub,

"Hey, hey! Get off! Vicente, do something! She's attacking me!"

"She just wants the drawing back." Vicente sighed, exasperatedly. Of everyone in the Sanctuary, Antoinetta had to have the least common sense and could not adapt to her new sister's habits,

"Yes, I do!" snarled Lenore, now in the process of trying to twist the parchment out of her grip, "Now, give it back or else I'll tear out all your hair and sell it to farmers as hay!"

Thankfully, Antoinetta has the brain in her to give back the drawing and Lenore immediately resumed her seat as though nothing had happened. The silly blonde Breton stared at her before moving off, muttering something about, "Always thought artists were weird."

"Don't let Lucien hear you say that." Vicente reminded her. That shut her up and she hurried away to the training room without a word,

"Sorry about her." It was polite to at least say this even if Lenore wasn't listening. Or, it would seem, she could, for her heartrate quickened in an angry way. He could imagine what she was thinking. Something hateful towards Antoinetta, no doubt. When she was angry, her heartrate would increase more and more as time went by and she wound herself up more. When that happened, it became hard for Vicente to resist the urge to bite.

To try and calm her, he said, "Your father used to sketch a lot as well." That did the trick. Her heart fluttered in a happier and bearable way for Vicente, "He always said it was because he didn't want to forget anything he saw. So, he drew everything he liked to make sure they stayed in his mind. That's what you're doing, is it not?"

Even if it wasn't, she would say it was. Vicente had come to realise that Lenore wanted nothing more than to be exactly like her father. She absolutely admired him, even though it must have been nine or ten years since she had last seen him.

Just then, there was a great clamour of noise from the door and Vicente was distracted by the sound of Teinaava's cursing. Looking up, he saw the Argonian limping in with a puffy eye and some of his scales scraped off, Oh, for the love of Sithis, what has he done now? "Another bar-fight, I take it?"

"That damn Scar-Tail!" He snarled, "He is one word away from me ripping out his throat!"

"What happened?" His twin had finally come out of her office, claws on hips, "I told you not to take what he says seriously. He is only trying to wind you up."

"The things he said about the Night Mother are unforgiveable!"

"He doesn't mean it. And, don't cause stupid arguments with fellow Shadowscales! You remember Dagger-Eye?"

"For the last time, I didn't push her down those steps!"

The sibling argument went on and on and Vicente soon lost interest. Teinaava never got on with any of the fellow Shadowscales except his sister and, even then, their argument were frequent. Teinaava was just an argumentative person. His blood was quick to race and his heart was easily influenced. Though, he could apparently be different when he was at work. Though even Vicente found that hard to believe.

Seeing the time and remembering with a wrench the amount of paperwork he had, Vicente trapsed back to his office to start the arduous task to sifting through the boring right down to the downright pointless. All while trying to maintain the facade that his heart was in it and he actually cared about what the words on the scrolls said.

So, the evening passed with no more incident except Antoinetta's abominable creations that could loosely be called cooking in the evening. No one could really blame Lenore for staying up in the rafters and picking at the edible things that evening. Teinaava even muttered that he would like to join her, which earned him a glowing look from her.

That night, while Vicente was out, he heard a familiar, strong heartbeat intrude into his senses. Leaving his slumbering finished meal, he crept back out and slipped into a tree. He picked out a hunched figure on the rooftop of the Abandoned House. Lenore was there, on the rooftop, on her hands and knees, looking again like a mountain lion scouting for its prey, She is a very cat-like person. He found himself thinking again, I wonder if there's any Khajiit in her blood.

Her eyes were narrowed, becoming mere slits in the moonlight as she stared around the square outside the chapel, where some leftover drunkards were quietly staggering around while the guards were clearing out the taverns. Two Argonians, drunk as slaughterfish, were heading straight for an inn with their intent clear in the male's lecherous manner. Vicente blamed his old age but he found their actions sickening,

"Oh, Scar-Tail, you slimy lizard, you!"

As though someone had flipped a switch, Lenore leapt off the roof without a moment's hesitation, falling a ridiculous distance that would surely sprain an ankle at least. Vicente was ready to hop out of the tree to lend his aid but, remarkably, she stood up, walking with her limp as though it was nothing, Ignoring pain and not making a loud sound when she's hurt. She must have known how much that would hurt when she jumped, too!

Polixones had never shown this kind of behaviour; if he was hurt, he would get it healed without delay so he could 'go full out all the time'. He had learned as much as he could about Restoration magic just so he could but Lenore wasn't even acknowledging her injury, even though it really slowed her down, What kind of silly person does that?

Nevertheless, Lenore approached the pair and gave the male a tap on the shoulder. It took him a while for his befuddled brain to take in the distraction and even longer to turn round and face her. As soon as he did, Lenore's fist became a blur and hit him square in the jaw, "Oof!" gasped the Argonian, staggering back. Vicente stared at this spontaneous action. He hadn't done anything to her, she had never even met him, and yet, she was acting as though he had done her a personal wrong.

Scar-Tail's partner screamed like Lenore had stabbed him in the throat and ran off into the darkness, "Guards! Guards, help!"

Vicente quickly circled in the shadows as Lenore landed more and more blows on him with demonish speed. He could not have the guards taking her to a cell before he knew how well she could cope with guards. As the guards began to stir from their bar-clearing duties and come for them, Vicente darted out, grabbed Lenore (who had done a good job of giving Scar-Tail a black eye) and dragged her back into the Abandoned House.

She did not like this very much, for she kicked against him, snarling, "What the-Vicente! Get off! What are you-!"

"For the love of the Night Mother, will you quiet down? The guards are on the way!"

When he finally got her back into the Sanctuary, only Ocheeva was up reading a book. She seemed to always take it upon herself to stay up until Vicente had finished his meal. As if he needed someone to worry about him and tell him off when he was out too late. The moment she saw Lenore bruised and beaten, she went berserk,

"Vicente, what have I told you about feeding on our Brothers when they're awake?"

"There is no need to lecture me, woman. It was not I who she attacked."
"What?"
Telaendril was roused and, most unwillingly, she consented to help heal Lenore. All the while, Vicente prodded her with questions and tried to get an explanation out of her in vain. She said absolutely nothing, not even gasping in pain when her ankle was handled rather too roughly, Has she gone into a Silence? Vicente wondered, with a stab of dread.

There was no point questioning her since, whether in a Silence or not, she would not answer anything. She just stared mutinously as anyone who questioned her like she was on trial for something. Vicente managed to overhear Ocheeva mutter,

"That crazy little girl is going to get herself in deep trouble one of these days."

Lucien

The Imperial City, though the least favourite place of the Dark Brotherhood, was Lucien's favourite place to entertain his artistic side. A few good supply shops and not many Dark Brothers to interrupt him. One would think, with him being what he was, he would not be averse to stealing what he wanted. They were wrong, of course. He may murder in cold blood but he had some limits. He would not steal like a common beggar. That would make him seem like he needed to rely on other, albeit unknowing, people and that was something he did not want.

So, on that crisp autumn evening, he was picking over his purchases in the Market District, envisioning how he would next use them, Hmm, red and yellow, of course. Black's a given. I'm always running out of that. Some blue and white added with that for the backdrop. He had been expressely forbidden by his new model to do any paintings of her that made her look girlish or even feminine. Which is why she had hated the past paintings he'd done of her,

Valtieri would probably say it was the Harla in her. He thought, before discarding such notions and continuing to envision his next painting.

He could see her standing on a great clifftop, perhaps with crashing waves beneath her. A white dress spread out in the wind like angel's wings...he always envisioned her with a white dress. He couldn't think of any other colour that wouldn't clash horribly with her hair. Besides, white suited her character or what he saw of her character best. She was a innocent girl but ripe in her youth and ready to make the choices that would shape her life. A fine age to be in the Brotherhood, where she was at that turning point.

And, so, Lucien was lucky that he would witness it and perhaps capture it on his canvas. One so very rarely got that opportunity nowadays. Whoever said criminals were getting younger was a rotten liar. The petty and shameless criminals that acted only on their most base and bestial urges were getting younger, yes, but the refined, sophisticated ones, who strove for a better goal and did not care for crimes, they did not emerge until they were past their prime and too thrown about by life's troubles to enjoy it anymore.

Pulling out his old, dog-eared sketchbook, he cast about for a good sketch subject. He pondered whether to use the statues dotted around the city again. They were such good references despite the fact that they portrayed false gods of ancient religions, twisted over time, as all rumours were as they passed from mouth to mouth. Lucien did not lament the fact that there were no images of the Night Mother or Sithis; that gave him space to express his own impressions and Sithis was not something so base that had to be presented in an image to be understood.

He began sketching the cloud formations that he intended to use in his next painting. There was nothing worse that spending his effort on the subject and forgetting to give time to the scenery. It was like concentrating only on how to kill the victim and not give a thought on how to approach them or escape. Certainly, it was the most important part but the things that accompanied needed just as much attention, or else that exertion would be wasted and the main event ruined.

BOOM!

It was fortunate that Lucien did not have the charcoal at the parchment for he jumped violently at the explosion that shook the ground and sent everyone around him staggering, What in the name of murder-? He looked up to see smoke rising from the Prison District and the distant sounds of tramping Legion soldiers, Well now, this is a fine turn of events. Lucien thought, interestedly, And, very good for us if it puts the Legion out of action for a while.

Intending to find out who did this (so he could send them flowers later), Lucien moved into the back-alleys to make sure no one saw him running the opposite way to them, now transitioning comfortably from artist to assassin. Through the gates he slipped and behind a clump of bushes he hid. Peeking over them, he saw the smoke billowing from the left-hand side of the Prison District,

That's their store-rooms if I remember correctly. Someone must have set the wine on fire. Cheap wine does burn very fiercely. He crossed the bridge to the Prison as quickly as a shadow, going unnoticed by the soldiers running around the place, trying to escape the spreading flames and not giving a thought to stopping it, Fools. What's the point of running from fire that runs rampant?

Smothering his disapproval for the moment, Lucien circled around the place, covering his nose with his sleeve to try and block out the smell of smoke. He was right, it was coming from the storerooms and the scent of burning alcohol hung on the air, That'll be what those shallow idiots mourn most, no doubt, the loss of their wine cellar. Still, I can't say I blame them. I would not be at all pleased if someone robbed me of my wine like that.

There was another great explosion, as the wooden shutters above him blasted outwards, sending showers of splinters out on tongues of flame. It made a very pretty picture and an even prettier one since it was the lair of the Legion being destroyed. Just as he wondered whether he should get to a safer place to sketch the destruction, there was a loud shout above him. He didn't really pay attention to it and turned to get to a vantage point.

Whoever it was shouting, it was a very deranged person. For they were not screaming in fear or bellowing orders but whooping in delight, as though they were having the time of their lives, I knew that the Legion were not fussy with their recruits but I never knew they'd recruit the types who would lose their heads like that at the sight of fire like dumb beasts. Ah well. Those soldiers are close enough to beasts anyway. What's another little step down to them?

Suddenly, the shout grew louder and, presuming it was someone falling off the battlements, Lucien casually stepped to the side and carried on. There was no point staying to look at the body. He did not like burnt corpses very much. They were too ruined to really appreciate. He didn't particularly like the way the flesh wasted away before its time-

"INCOMING!"

The bright voice from above afforded him only a split second to look up before something heavy landed square on the back of his head. Gasping in shock, he crashed to the ground with whatever hit him sprawled on his back. The bag that held the paints rolled off to the side into a clump of bushes where he was sure he could hear one of the pots being smashed.

Scowling and snarling, he glared round, ready to smash the skull of whoever had wrecked his day. He was met with a big, sharp-teethed grin and orange hair in his face, "Oh, hi, boss! How's tricks?"

It was a moment before Lucien could find something appropriate to say to such a strange greeting, "That's the wrong thing to say."

She blinked, looking thrown, "What am I supposed to say? Aren't I allowed to give my boss a friendly greeting anymore?"

"Well," Lucien managed to roll himself over under her so he was sitting face up on his elbows, "the appropriate response when you've just leapt off a building onto your Speaker is 'I'm sorry, I didn't see you', not 'hi, boss, how's tricks'. And, perhaps, you would care to check if I had been hurt!" He added, as he felt a very definite bruise on his back,

"Oh, whoops." She said, as though she had just realised that she had forgotten to buy milk that morning and nothing as serious as this. The girl didn't even attempt to get off him, "Well, you don't look hurt." She spoke slowly, examining him with narrowed eyes, "Do you feel hurt?"

"Not badly. Now, could you get off me this instant? This is a very uncomfortable position!"

"Really? It's comfortable to me."

Inspiration and audacity hit Lucien at that point. With what he called his 'bedchamber smirk', he grabbed her arms and quickly turned to the side so she was thrown with him. He ended up on top of her, holding her down by the shoulders, "This is a much better position for me."

With a scowl, she shoved him very rudely off without so much as a request for him to move, leaving him to sprawl ungracefully into a particularly sharp gorse bush. Wincing at the stings and renewing his scowl, Lucien picked himself up and was about to berate Lenore for daring to treat her Speaker so roughly when she beat him into speaking,

"Is this yours?"

She was holding up his paint-soaked bag. It had been the green paint that had shattered and the linen was steadily turning emerald at one corner, having already spread over half of it, My sketchbook is probably ruined too! That girl...! Rage welled up inside him but he forced it down to keep his smooth face. Lenore carelessly delved inside it and began picking things out, her fingers becoming stained with green as she did so,

"Don't worry, nothing else is broken." She turned to him with a smile unbefitting of the situation, as always, "The sketchbook's a bit splashed but it's only a few pages. There wasn't anything important there, was there?"

"Nothing that can't be easily replicated." Lucien answered, tartly, taking the ruined book from her, although what he said was not necessarily true. One could never replace a drawing. No two were the same. As they walked away from the flaming building, Lenore suddenly said,

"Don't get so upset. It's only the green paint. You could always mix the yellow and blue. Besides, you don't really need green with your painting."

"I was thinking," Lucien found it difficult to keep his voice level, "of using it on my next painting of you."

"Urgh, don't tell me you're going to do another girly one of me. You know I hate those."

That stung. Lucien had to grit his teeth hard to stop himself snapping at her. He was sorely tempted to give her a lengthy lecture on how every colour was important, even if it was obvious that it was being used. Then again, what did she know? She that was stuck in her primative, colourless sketching and had never picked up a pot of paint in her life. For one so colourful herself, she was incredibly colourblind.

The trip back was silent, since Lucien would not say a word to her. All enjoyment and glee he could have got from the smouldering Prison District was gone for good. For every second of silence, he thought of another bad way to describe her. By the time they got back to Cheydinhal, he had the picture of her as just another dumb model who had no sense for the finer things and just had a few unique features about her. A rough and unrefined result of a Bruma upbringing, just like Telaendril always said. An unpolished gem whose value had long since been lost.

However, like they always did, none of the Sanctuary paid any attention to this. On the contrary, they flocked around her, dying to hear the story of her escape and how she managed to set the stronghold of the Legion on fire,

"What were you doing in the Imperial City?" Antoinetta asked, wanting to hear about how many guards had perished, no doubt,
Lenore shrugged, displaying her infuriating penchant for nonchalance, "I was dragged in for getting into a fight down the Talos Plaza District."

"Fight? With who?"

"A man who made a joke about the guards in Bruma."

Lucien fought down the urge to snort with scorn. Of course, she would react to something as petty as that, being so common as she was. Telaendril seemed to feel the same way, for she said, "Really, Lenore! You have to learn not to take insults like that so personally!"

"Why, what would you do?" She acted as though that was the only option available, Little savage...

"Just walk on by and ignore it."

"Then, how would the man know he was offending me?"

"Alright, alright." Vicente acted the peace-maker, of course, That aged creature has taken a fancy to her, I hear. Just because of her family, I suppose, "In any case, how did you get out of your cell?"

"Oh, I didn't get to the cells. I fought them until they let me go and ran out the rest of the way."

"And, how did that fire start?" Teinaava was starting to look interested and so was Ocheeva,

"Accident, really. I just shot a flare behind me and it missed. I tell you, that cheap wine goes up a treat!" As Lucien slipped out to attend to his duties, he heard Lenore say, "I'll tell you what I told the captain 'if you want to arrest someone by backing them against the wall, don't stand them against the front door!'"

Vicente

The mood towards Lenore had definitely taken a turn for the better since the Legion incident. Though, a more accurate way of putting it was that the feelings of the Sanctuary towards her were becoming inverted. While the others drew closer, Lucien drew away to nurse hatred over some silly and insignificant little thing, I always thought he was a spoiled brat at heart. Vicente explained away, carelessly, when he saw Lucien sneaking around under an Invisibility spell to avoid her,

"Really, Lucien," Vicente called, aloud, as he heard the man try to sneak past Lenore, "for shame! You, a grown man and Speaker, skulking around and giving our dear sister the silent treatment after a small insult. Like a child that had its hair pulled!" He laughed thoughtlessly at him but that man deserved it. He was in such a ridiculous rage after all that, even if he sympathesised with whatever quarrel he had with the girl, he would still take his kindness as an insult.

As Lucien sulkily stalked away after being revealed by Telaendril's 'misaimed' Dispel spell, Vicente came beside Lenore, who was casually sketching a pigeon she was watching in the rafters. The bird, however, started at the sight of Vicente and flew away high into the beams. But, Lenore did not take this as hard as Lucien would,

"I've finished, anyway." She showed him the completed sketch,

"Hmm...did you put much effort into this?"
"Not as much as any of the others." She shrugged, "I don't really like drawing animals. I like drawing people better."

Vicente idly looked through her sketches because, like Lucien, she liked it when people paid attention to her work. Which is why she 'accidently' left her papers out on plain view. Among those papers was a leather-bound book with a ribbon marker down the middle. When he tried to open it, she slammed her hand down upon it,

"Hey! Don't read my journal!"

"Your journal?" Vicente raised his eyebrows, "Isn't this a rather obvious place to keep a journal?"

"It's a sketchbook, too." Again, she acted as though she hadn't done anything wrong, "Lucien made me keep this. He said that I shouldn't forget to make words into art."
"But, you don't like this?"
"I hate writing." She moaned, "It takes longer for me to describe something than just drawing it."
"Well, they say a picture is worth a thousand words."

"They're right. And, it's a lot more accurate. Don't you think, Vivi?"

Vicente almost dropped the book, "Vivi?" She can't mean me, not a chance!

"I've been making up nicknames for everyone. You're Vivi, Teinaava's Tai, Ocheeva's Eva, Antoinetta's Netta, Telaendril's Tel, Gogron's Gog and Lucien's Lu. Or, Lulu. I can't decide." She said these with such conviction that offered no chance of argument while Vicente tried to stifle his laughter. He could not ever imagine Lucien standing for being called something as cute as Lulu, Oh, his face would be priceless! Still...Vivi...It wasn't so bad because everyone else would be getting a nickname but still...

"If you're going to give me a nickname, I suppose I'll just have to give you one. Let's see..." Now, what sounds more embarrassing than Vivi? "...Vini."

She blinked in shock, "Vini?"

"Like your real name." Vicente dropped his voice. Not because anyone was around but he wanted to make sure she knew it was to be a secret, "Or, have you forgot it?"

"No. It's just...that sounds so...cute..."

"So does Vivi or," He snorted, "Lulu."

After they chuckled for a bit, there was a small pause, which gave Vicente time to think of what he'd been wanting to say to her for weeks, "Lenore, I know our time working together is finished but there is something I'd like to ask you."
"What's that?" She glanced around, looking mildly interested, This'll shock her. Vicente cleared his throat, ready to give the speech he had given to all the other Sanctuary members,

"As a vampire, I have the ability to pass on my condition to others as I see fit but I am not the kind that infects people without their permission. Vampires should be made willingly, in my view."

"So..."
"Will you accept my offer of the Dark Gift and embrace a life of shadow with me?"

He had fully expected and was fully prepared for her to say no, like every other Sanctuary member. He knew that becoming a vampire was not a highly-sought ambition, after all. Therefore, Vicente was incredibly shocked when she said, without a moment's pause, "Yes."

He blinked, "Are you sure? Did you even think about it?"

"Not really."

He opened his mouth to remind her what being a vampire meant but held his tongue, remembering it was he that was asking her and she was the sort that didn't listen to warnings, anyway, "Very well. I will come to you when you sleep and infect you with vampirism. In three days, you will awake an immortal creature of the night as I."
"When I sleep? Why?" She looked at him as though he'd suggested something a bit strange, though it seemed logical to him. Then again, his and her logic were two very seperate things, It's the Harla in her, "My neck's here now. Come on. Bite me!"

"Ocheeva doesn't like it when I bite Sanctuary members when they're awake."
"But, I'm willing." Lenore pointed out, as though this wasn't obvious straight away, "She just means attacking people like a wild animal. Besides, even if she didn't mean that, she doesn't have to know. I could even lie on my bed and pretend to be asleep when someone comes in to make it look like I was asleep if you want."

Vicente nodded, approvingly. Lenore was certainly growing up from being a reclusive, half-wild girl to a fully-wild creature full of life and ready to use it, What a brilliant beast she would make.

Janus

How dare he? HOW DARE HE WREAK CHAOS IN MY TOWN WHEN I HAVE FORBIDDEN IT? These furious thoughts pervaded his brain that ought to be looking out for drunks and beggars like he needed to when he was out. The rain was putting him in an even worse mood as his supposedly water-proof coat began getting soaked right through. One would have thought Mercator had deliberately tried to pass off an ordinary cloak as a waterproof one just to irritate him. But, then again, who would be foolish enough to irritate one's employer, let alone if said employer is a vampire?

The sound of his grating laughter reached his ears and he made a beeline for the mansion where it had come from, navigating past the gauntlet of drunks and guards on the way. Somehow, he managed it without being seen. Perhaps it was the constant repetition of the careful treading of the streets that made him naturally able to avoid detection. Not that the otherwise vital thing was important to him at this point.

They already called it the 'Vampire House'. Rosethorn Hall had been rented out a few weeks ago and only now did he bother to find out who had taken it. He was about to barge in and demand what the madman inside was thinking but he remembered his manners just in time and managed to knock without screaming,

"Oh, do come in!" called the voice of Vicente Valtieri with a breathtaking carelessness, as though he was in absolutely no danger of being discovered, Has that old thing gone senile at last?

Janus threw open the incredibly unlocked door and opened his mouth to shout what an idiot he was. He closed his mouth abruptly, however, when he saw what was in front of him. A young vampire (he could tell that she was newly made from the length of her nails) in a red dress stood at the foot of the stairs. When she had been mortal, she had been a Dunmer, that was plain. Though her skin had turned a sickly, Orc-ish green and her face was creased with vampirism wrinkles, sapping it of what beauty it may have had.

Her hair, however, had been saved. A strangely bright orange that struck a small chord of memory. Indeed, it struck one with her as well. She gasped and crowed, "It's Mr Fang!"

"Mr Fang?" Valtieri hopped down the steps at that point with a bounce in his step that meant nothing good, "Janus, how splendid to see you! What brings you here on such a fine night?"

"I could ask you the same question," Janus' teeth pulled back in a snarl, betraying his anger for the first time that night, "though I would not call it splendid to see you at all."
"Mr Fang, that's so rude!" The girl butted in, wagging a finger in such an annoyingly patronising way, She's obviously Valtieri's friend, "Even if you feel that, you don't say it out loud!"

"Quite right, Vini." nodded Valtieri, making what was left of Janus' blood boil, "Is that any way to treat an old friend?"

They were drunk, that was plain to see. Either they had been drinking the blood of the drunkards on the street or something else along with it. Either way, they were far too carefree to be in their right minds. That did not help Janus' temper at all, though, "What possessed the pair of you to come to my city when I have forbid it? You know I cannot have vampire hunters here, asking too many questions!"

"Ah, we don't intend to stay, Janus, never fear." No matter what he did, that damned man never showed any worry or any sign of apology for putting him through such stress, How he has lived longer than me, I'll never know! He should have been killed long ago for his lack of caution! He quickly pulled himself back though, knowing that Valtieri was just trying to wind him up as usual, "I simply wanted to teach Vini the ropes of being a vampire."
"I'd be glad if you taught me how to look a bit better. I'm hideous!" Vini moaned without restraint while Janus slowly began to process the information before him. That headstrong little runaway he had met outside Skingrad had, by some terrible misfortune, come across the morally-lacking Valtieri and had been charmed into becoming one of their dark brethern. Valtieri prattled on for a while about how bad at telling the difference between the blood of different races she was while Janus frowned at her for her decision,

She mustn't have thought it through. No one who says yes to this kind of thing has ever thought it through. Just like Rona...His wife had only ever become what she was because her husband was going to become a vampire and what a bad decision that was.

Vini was just as nonchalant as Valtieri about her vampirism, which made Janus' heart sink, This'll all end in tears, I just know it.

Lucien

He had been childish, he would admit that. It was a relatively minor thing she had done and easily fixed. Besides, she had done better than most to escape the Prison District, let alone in such a dramatic fashion. He'd just let his emotions and personal enjoyments get in the way of reality. It was very unprofessional and he hoped the news of his behaviour had not spread too far around the Black Hand.

All of which he told himself as he strode down the path to Cheydinhal. It was threatening rain, which Lucien both hated and loved. On the one hand, no one was outside during the rain and thus he could move more freely without running into anyone. On the other hand, it soaked his clothes and made it difficult to accomplish his duties as an assassin. Not to mention that awful hissing noise it made.

Not that they were really on his mind at the moment. Now, he was thinking about the perfect picture to put Lenore into. It wasn't girlish so he knew she would like it as well. As he walked, the clear picture built in his mind like the picture of a victim's house before the murder. He'd decided to take a more mystical route with drawing her, perhaps painting many Ayleid crystals surrounding her to get a good light effect. She would look like an Ayleid queen,

Ah, they do say absence makes a heart grow fonder. Even if it's spent most of the time supposedly hating that person. Lucien quickly checked his ponytail (and his breath, just for good measure) before answering the door as usual. The Sanctuary was quiet except for the creaking of the Dark Guardian stalking in the shadows. It was night and everyone was probably asleep, Ah, silence. Still, I can't stand around here, enjoying it. I have a model to apologise to,

"Where's Lenore?" He addressed the Dark Guardian. Never breaking its stride, it pointed down the passage towards Valtieri's shadowed quarters, "Thank you." It was always good to be polite even to things that couldn't appretiate it. No doubt Lenore was down there, discussing a new contract or she'd just come back from one, I ought to have come out a bit earlier; I might have caught her when we crossed paths.

He knocked once and pulled open the door, "Lenore, there is something-" His voice stuck in his throat. He felt like he was in one of the Harla Silences Valtieri told him about.

Valtieri, that shameless carnal creature of vermin, had Lenore in a lecherous embrace, kissing her shoulder hungrily. And, Lenore! What a change had overcome her! All girlish innocence had gone from her aspect. Every bit of unspoiled loveliness was torn away, replaced with deformed and ruined flesh. The only thing that had been saved from this disaster was her hair. The only thing he had that allowed him to recognise that mangled corpse of a thing.

The pair looked around and didn't even have the decency to leap apart, embarrassed. If creatures like them could blush at all, "Hey! No spectators!" Even her voice was wrong, distorted with maturity that was not meant to be there. Her dress had been pushed off her shoulders so far that she was almost exposed like a common whore. She seemed to realise this and didn't even bother to cover herself, "And, no peeking, Lulu!"
Lulu...That was another strike that almost knocked him backwards. Addressing him like he was some kind of petulant child, indeed!

"Well, Lucien?" The fiend spoke at last. Lucien glared at him, You did this, didn't you? He thought, furiously, You made her into this! "Isn't there something you interrupted us for?"

"No." The words came out without his consent. What he wanted to say could take weeks to get it all out and he'd wake the whole Sanctuary. Something was blocking his mind from his mouth, fortunately for them, and instead he simply forced out, "Nothing that can't wait until you are...finished."

The door slammed shut in front of him and that sound was succeeded by his stomping footsteps as he strode furiously back the way he came, How dare he...how dare he wreck her with vampirism like this! How dare he turn her into something like that and ruin all her beauty! How dare she accept this and encourage his staining of her! The blame of who was responsible for this heinous crime was pushed from Valtieri to her every few minutes in his mind as he marched back to Fort Farragut.

A/N: Lucien's such a drama queen, isn't he? I tried to give him a bit of an artistic temprement since he's a painter but, then again, wouldn't every artist hate anyone who smashed their paints and ruined their sketchbook?