Author's note: So...guess what dear readers? This chapter won't be about Aro or Mina. Not even a little teensy weensy bit. This is what you'd call a filler chapter, or if you wanna be all specific about it, it's a chapter about Caius that I've actually been planning for quite some time. He's just too funny to write about.

On another note - I've actually dreamt about Aro two nights in a row, and the first one was cool because he was lying on this stone slab in some sort of "Mummy" tomb, and I was sitting next to him. THen he slooooowly leaned up and kissed me - but i was sort of seeing it in third perspective and thinking "hey! I don't remember seeing THIS footage in the movies - I can use this as inspiration!"

So I didn't really enjoy the kiss and just geeked out about it in my dream. :P Go figure.

Maybe it's my subconscious reminding me of the extreme LACK of volturi footage from the movies, especially that deleted laughing scene from Breaking Dawn which apparently is supposed to be really creepy but is NOWHERE to be found.

Ahum, anyway - enjoy and review!

In the days of my youth, I was told what it means to be a man

Now I've reached that age, I've tried to do all those things the best I can

-Led Zeppelin

Caius P.O.V

Some like to think of me as a snob.

Some say I'm even a bit childish.

I am aware of these opinions, and I do not care. Since I do not require friends or their opinions, why should I bother? Though some of it displeases me, rest assured of that, as long as I get to have my role of commander and ruler (of such a petty thing as a convenience store) I have a way of taking care of it. And in this mortal world separated from me and my kinds origin, such as it is, I have the opportunity to truly relish in it without the nagging interference of my brothers council. For instance, if a mortal at work likes to think himself amusing by asking if I should get a haircut to avoid similarities to a certain J.R Tolkien character, I fire him. I alone have the power to do that, you see.

I like there to be a certain order to things. Perhaps that is why I have taken to this specific mortal workplace where cleanliness and order is of such importance. I alone am the manager of staff. Customers rely on my opinion. Nobody else has the authority, only me.

Something else I can appreciate about this new play at being mortal? That is a tough question. I guess you could say that I like the anonymity of it. People do not speak to me unless absolutely necessary, in other words, they leave me be.

And that is exactly how I like it.

So that is why, insolent reader, that it thoroughly irates me to the point of screaming when one particular little insect of a person refuse to leave me alone. I was calmly doing the morning task of shelving and coordinating the merchandise at the store when the peace and quiet was disturbed.

"Hey."

It was the mutant that Mina always hung around. The rabble of the rabble.

"Please go away."

"I'm a customer, you are an employee – that means you have to give me attention."

"Not if I can have security remove you from the premises."

You see this thing? Yes. That is Minas friend. I do not call her by name because that only encourages her to speak to me. Which I am trying to avoid. She's a hateful little creature. Giving me advice. Preens my hair. Suggesting I listen to so called musical artists named after confectionary and fruit. Fiona Apple? I never knew humans went to such lengths to embarrass themselves. She's Even been Trying to set me up with one of my co-workers, Polly.

Clearly, this missionary blob of evil must be stopped.

"You spaced out again. Thinking about me?" she asked, batting her lashes. I'm glad I'm no longer mortal or I would have retched at this point. As a matter of fact, I think I will soon if it means she'll go away.

"In a manner of speaking, yes." How I do miss the glory days of the annual torture festivals of the dark ages. These days, you'd get arrested for even suggesting such an event. Petty reality.

"So listen, I need your help with something. Since you're big and strong and all that." She said, curling one finger into the hoop of her bright pink jeans. Knock off brand, I noted with disgust.

"What's in it for me?" I asked. She shrugged one shoulder.

"Nothing, except I think you just might enjoy it. "

"My day was almost passable before you came here today…"

"So you're saying you hate the theatre?"

That made me pause.

"What?"

The thing groaned.

"Honestly, listen for once. I need someone to carry sound equipment to the Bellesbourgh on Kimber st. today. They're prforming this evening and need everything set up, and with your vampire strength it won't be a problem."

"Who is performing what?"

"Stay awhile after you're done and find out. Oh that's right, I forgot to ask."

"What now? Can't you just go away?"

"They need someone to play a rock tambourine. I told Polly that I'd ask my best friend Legolas to help her out."

Polly? Who was this Polly? I stopped shelving the products to give her a glare that back in Volterra would have made many of my kind think twice about ever showing their faces to me again. Heather only rolled her eyes and….pouted her lips.

"….Why are you doing that?"

"It's supposed to look helpless and cute." She answered in a faux sweet voice and pouted some more. I tried to ignore her. It was not very successful. Oh why did she have to be Minas closest acquaintance!? Otherwise I would not have a care in the world to drink her blood and give the carcass to some nice anthropolitan museum.

"That's not….please stop. It's disturbing."

"Oh? Then I won't stop until you give in and do as I say."

Ungh.

"Alright. So when is this….concert taking place?"

"Come by the theatre tomorrow at 5 pm sharp. I'll see you at the entrance. Oh is that pepsi zero? I'm taking that. Put it on my tab."

Despite my own deepest wishes of putting every one of Heathers limps into a blender and hit WELL-GRINDED I obliged her, only so that she would stop coming to my store and steal beverages and tampons. Well, the latter was understandable – who knew lady's sanitary products were so expensive? I decided to bring it up on our weekly employee meeting and see if something could be done about it.

What? Oh, so it's stranger that an infamous volturi leader can do something descent for women kind than seeing his lunatic brother falling in love with a mortal slip of a girl? Give a soulless monster some credit won't you?

So where was I? Oh yes - I showed up at the theater – if you could call it that- at the time Heather had requested of me. But when I arrived she was nowhere to be found. Not that I was surprised, just a little closer to actually thinking of making her into a smoothie or wrap her in newspaper and eat her up like fish and chips. But a large man named Paul called me over from the ticket office.

"You the LOTR fan who's gonna help us move some stuff or what?" he asked, while chewing gum obnoxiously loud.

"I beg your pardon?!"

"Sorry dude – the hair….I thought…."

"Oh never mind! Just tell me what needs to be done."

"That's alright Paul, I'll take it from here."

A dark haired young woman came up next to Paul and looked down at me with bright eyes. She was very tall, for a mortal. I found myself craning my neck to meet her eyes. Very odd.

"Hello young lady. I came on Heathers behalf."

"Ah yes – the cheeseball! It's great to have you here!" she said with much exhuberance, squeezing my hand while she shook it. Her voice was surprisingly deep as well. I squirmed out of her grip and wiped my hands together.

"Ehh. No trouble."

"Follow me inside and I'll show you what needs to be moved and set up. We could really use a pair of extra hands tonight."

"Why don't I just cut mines off and you can mail them back to me when you're done with them." I muttered darkly. To my surprise, the woman smirked darkly at me.

"Man, you're a trip aren't you." She said, shaking her head.

"What's your name?" I found myself asking.

"Polly Drought." She answered, clipped and polite. It clashed with her gothic outfit. But instead of looking for flaws, I found my eyes were lingering on the strange tattoo on her left wrist and the mystical necklace around her neck.

"Forgive me but, what is that?"

"This?" she asked, gesturing to the tattoo." Oh, its just a dagger through the head of a Barbie doll."

"Why?"

"Because It makes snobby kids cry. So…about that tambourine?"

Why and how did I end up in these situations? I did not deserve it, did I? No. And yet here I was, on a dank and frankly smelly stage, dressed in hipster jeans and some sort of leather vest, holding a "rock" tambourine. I looked like one of those….Rolling pebbles people. My work clothes had been stashed in the dressing room with a probably hollow promise of safe keeping.

Perhaps you could rationalize the first part of this evening. Agreeing to Heathers request. But oh this, this was not in any way rational.

"Alright people, everybody ready to rock? " Polly asked the band, coming out from the side of the stage, adjusting the collar of her dark tank top.

Perhaps I was just malnourished and I agreed to this due to some sort of hunger induced lapse of will. Yes, that's it. Perhaps nobody will notice me leave if I sneak out now.

"Hey Legolas!" Polly called out.

I froze on the spot, cursing the evil fates.

"Don't forget your mark, ok?"

The curtain went up and now it was too late to back out. Blast it all.

The mosh pit was packed with young people, all jumping and screaming when they saw the band. Despite my age and experience, I gulped. The audience looked more like a mob than appreciative fans, and it made me think about past events. But as the music started and Polly started to sing, my thoughts changed.

The music was rough, a bass playing non-stop and the drummer was violently banging on his instruments as if ready to take on an army. Everyones face in the band was grim and determined, all except Polly's. I did not know why, but the scene appealed to me in some deep, primal part of my brain. MAybe it was the red headlights, like an illusion of blood across the stage floor, flickering over the screaming audience.

The look on Polly's face was one I was mostly associated with the aftermath of war – or a fight turned nasty and precious. She was smirking in a very sly way to herself, draping her fingers against the microphone in front of her as if it was something far more sinful.

Then when she started singing, her face contorted into an evil grin.

So I stole Ophelia's mind

Oh guess, guess what I did to her next

Placed her brothers head on my chest

Then kicked it away like I did all the rest

Oh the music was terrible. Screeching guitars that sounded like yowling cats and drums beating so fast it was like the cavellery was about to charge. And yet, I found myself reluctantly –

Giddy. Joyful. What was this witchcraft!?

Next, a small table rolled in on stage. On it was a plastic baby doll wrapped in a purple sash. Next to it laid a very fine axe. Without any warning, Polly left the microphone and proceeded to cut the doll in many little pieces right on stage. Fake blood splashes onto her face, the audience is revolted. I am entranced.

Somewhere in my chest, something shriveled and old gave a tiny warm beat of joy.

Well. I suppose I have been a bit critical of humans appreciation for violence haven't I?

After she was done, she wiped sweat off her forehead, held out the baby's head to the crowd and threw it to them, almost as some sort of pagan sacrifice. When she was done she licked her palms and raised them to she sky as she sang.

I hate men in suits

I hate everyone, almost everyone

But Shakespeare and Whitman

I would let them fuck out my brain

I hated modern music. And I usually did not enjoy this kind of trash "emo" music either. Fake leather and usually filthy clothes, hoarse voice – and what for? It was all just chaotic noise, blood, senseless violence and masochistic nonsense. Hardly educational or cultural.

And yet, that was exactly why it appealed to me.

It was no secret among the Volturi of my penchance of watching carnage unfold. More so than my brothers. I was not theatrical, Like Aro, or ruthless and quick like Marcus had once been. Almost reluctantly, I saw poetry in slow torture. Gutteral pain. Among the clan, it was ironically almost beneath us to enjoy killing so much. It was all a façade of course, but a very important one nonetheless – we were, after all, considered royalty among our kind.

This is what Polly reminded me of – enjoying the carnage without shame. Standing on stage, that gleaming determination and glee in her eyes as her cheeks were covered with (fake) blood, like a singing Valkyrie. The mortals had no qualms about embracing violence head on. You could even be playful about it.

I was most displeased with myself when I found myself smirking at her.

Heather's P.O.V

Omg.

So I totally did not expect this. This being what I'm looking at right now –

Y'see – him coming to the concert was just supposed to be a joke. I mean, I thought he'd hate all of it for sure, him always being so prudent and prissy about every single thing right? I thought he'd pick up his petticoats and storm out the minute he got on stage. I live for that shit. But that's not what happened. Not at all.

Right now it's been almost 2 hours since the show wrapped for the night and he's still here, backstage with the crew and the band (and me but I'm hiding in a closet because I'm pretty sure he's still mad at me). You wouldn't believe it . He's actually being civil to these people. Talking to Polly about her guitar and to Joe the drummer like a little boy at Christmas morning. His eyes are all lit up.

Shit. I think I actually did a good deed and gave him some new violence appreciative friends.

Whoops, guess I squealed a little bit too loud. Did he seem me hiding here?

Yep, he did.