Charlie sat tuning the piano now that he'd put it back together. He'd spent all of his free time on restoring the old upright. He had nothing else to fill his empty hours now. He wasn't about to go find anything either.

It had taken a lot of time and painstaking attention to detail to put the piano completely to rights. Now all that was left was to tune it. Something else the man was perfectly capable of doing. it took him about a half an hour and then he sat playing. He was hardly a virtouoso, but he did find it relaxing to play the small repetoire of music he knew.

The shop was closed and so he sat on the landing playing his newly tuned piano with only the hall light on. He doesn't read the music, he plays by ear. So he's closed his eyes while he sits playing.

He sat playing wearing only a pair of Khaki trousers and a plain white t-shirt he'd started to undress and then decided to tinker with the piano instead of taking a shower.

Verkur's like some great looming shadow. Half the time you can feel him before he even enters the room, just power pouring from him like a foutian. The other half of the time, you won't even know that he's there behind you until he blows a cold wind down the back of your neck, and by then, he'd already standing that close.

The second is how he's come tonight. How the hell did he even get in? And not that he needs to breath, but he's blown a very cold breath down Charlie's neck. Verkur even blends well in the darkness. His past the ass hair is braided into a perfect curtian of silk resting down his spine between his tow powerful wings, which are resting against his back. His shirt is nylon, stretched tight over a thin, powerfully muscular chest, his pants are leather, black as his shirt, and also stretched over powerful thighs. The only thing that can even be seen in the darkness is his pale gray flesh, cold as marble and smooth, though raised scars are scattered in mats over his flesh and his glowing white eyes. His claws are black, gloves on his hands are black, his lips have been painted black.

How did he get in?

Charlie stops playing. Charlie at present being governed by George and not Charles. Charles is actually the one who worked out the details with Verk, but George was aware of it all. He stops playing and sits frozen for a minute. Then slowly he turns. It doesn't matter how the demon came to be here, it matters that he's here.

"Did my playing offend you?" he asks. No need to be rude at all he had in part been wittingly drawn into this situation. He still sounds nervous. Charles.....He thought trying to draw the other man from dream.

Verkur knew, could smell and sense, something different in the man tonight then he had the night in the allyway. Probably because really it was a different man in the same body. The demon seemed unphased though rather interested by this new discovery in his new human. Charlie was prooving to be more intriguing then he intitally had.

"Not at all. I enjoy music." And the demon did, really. Where he came from there was no music, only screams and howls and sounds that mortals can't actually imagin. "I'd much prefer the silence of the night however." He hadn't moved save for his lips. Like a statue.

He finished playing the piece and then stopped, pulling the cover down over the keys. "I am not an accomplished player." he said softly. The chaos demon was here, George wasn't so foolish as to conclude this meant he'd suffer, there really was no telling what would come of the visit. "I'm trying to er, summon Charles." he says again quietly. He assumes the demon is aware fo their condition.

The demon is mow semi-aware of their condition.

"What do you mean?" He sounded almost pleasent and managed to make that note sound accusatory as well. That hissing, startling voice seemed to echo when other words of his hadn't echoed. He still hasn't moved a fraction of an inch. "If you are not Charlie, then who are you? An alternitive personality?"

"Charles is afflicted by such a disorder, but I am not one of "his" I possesed him. Most of the time he isn't here anyway, it's not too terrible of an arangement. Most of the time he lives in dreams." comes the quiet answer.

Verkur still didn't move, not even to blink those glowing white eyes.

"And why call him forth and disturb him from his dreams? Would you so readily sacrifice him?" Sacrifice. Normaly that word was used as a threat from the demon. Your lucky, George...Charlie...that Verkur owns you. He rarely hurts the ones he owns physically. Only mentally. And Charlie was already screwed in the head enough. It's George he wants now.

"Possessed. You do not smell of demon. Are you a deceased?" A ghost in otherwords.

"If he would come, it is still his choice, I cannot force him to do anything. I believe he heard me that time. I am never sure though. Yes, I died. " he states simply.

He volunteers no more, if the demon wants answers he'll ask of that much George is sure, the method he choses for the inquiries though, he is the chaos demon who can really know.

Verkur watched him closely, still not moving even the slightest to breath or swallow. Nothing.

"How did you die?" He couldn't call him that insulting sounding term 'mortal' in the way he usually spit it to demean someone, because if he was dead, George was not a mortal, regaurdless of whether he was in a mortal body or not.

"Polio, I was very sick, so I agreed to let them test a vaccine on me. My end was rather abrupt. Took me a while to catch on too." George answered frankly.

"Mhm."

Now Verkur moved. The only thing he did was reach forward and touch Charlie/George's face with his fingertips, then dragging his claws back across the skin, leaving white lines but no open cuts. Like I said, he rarely has to hurt his beings. And when he does, it's usually pretty bad, and most often mentally before physically.

George drew in a sharp nervous breath not sure what to expect. Then he raised his hand to touch his cheek. that must be one of the oddest sensations he's ever felt. He hadn't been in control of the body for the first encounter with the demon.

You could say odd. Verkur moved like a shadow when he did move, as smoothly and silently as Charlie had witnessed in the allyway. Had you not been watching him specifically, you may not have even seen him move from where he stood to seating himself on the bench beside George, his wings hanging over the bench like tuxito tails.

"Now tell me how my Erik is doing." My. Still my. He didn't care if he'd made a deal with Charlie or not. But he's not visited Erik since. He slid open the cover from the keys and used the end of his claw to touch one deep key, issuing a long deep note.

"I do not talk to him, so I cannot say." George answered. Which was completely true, nor does he have any knowledge that Charles had contact with Erik in the dream planes.

Verkur made an indignet sigh that wasn't required since he doesn't breath anyways. It's more like a sound to let others know when he's annoyed. "Does Charles have contact with him?" He tapped a few more keys with his claws, then set about a melody that had to be a century or more older and without a title.

"I honestly don't know, should I try to rouse him again and find out?" George asked. He listened to the melody somewhat intrigued, a piece he was entirely unfamiliar with.