A dim lamp burned on the heavy oaken table, highly polished but still scratched and battered from years and years of use. The light was partly obscured by the thick, warm coat bunched up beside, and almost on top of it. A few large armchairs surrounded the table, pushed at odd angles as though someone had bumped through them in a hurry, half-attentive to them. Books were piled in them, some open, some closed, some half-falling from the arms of the chair they were draped over. A slatted bench a few feet away was weighted down with different loose leaves, mostly maps and charts, a few diagrams.

A sconce of a bronzy metal gave more of the dull light that made the eyes numb from strain. With the light of that sconce falling over her right shoulder, Tiffany lifted the thick, cracking book in her hands, coated in dust that she was still choking on, even after twenty minutes, and tried to read the scrawl of the journal... Archaeologists were not known for their handwriting anymore than medical doctors...

A green-tinged light came from somewhere else in the library, likely some tacky billard-style lampshade at the root of it. With a slightly irritated sigh she flicked the edge of the silky blue shawl tickling her shoulder, incidentally knocking the formal wrap from the back of her chair. She scooted back the chair and set the book down with a fountain pen stuck between the pages to mark her place as she tugged the tassels of the shawl from under one leg of the chair before folding it neatly on an unoccupied corner of the slat-bottomed bench.

She walked around the table, a manicured nail between two unmerciful teeth. They were white - she had just had them cleaned, and she had been feeling rather attractive, had been having a good day, had been excited about seeing Othello, one of her favorite plays. And then this... This always happened...

She had gotten a call from the college at which she had taken her graduate and doctorate work about a project on which some research needed conducting in Demaitre. Something about the collection here, and a missing book. Anyway, the price had been right, and her skills in the field had earned her enough credit to land the job. The only condition was that it was time-sensitive, meaning she had to ditch the play she had been looking forward to for almost three months now, forget that she had had herself all dolled up, and spend the good vibes on moldy, musty books in an old library where she was likely the only one alive, save maybe an old librarian hovering over her books or the custodial staff.

Her cheeks flushed from her moving about as much as from her agitation, and she shifted the book to face her where she now stood at the other side of the table, and her finger traced over the fading script before tapping a line that appeared to be some sort of inscription. And that was what it was : something odd about it though. She had had an interest in Egyptology, and knew something about the deities associated with the culture, but the interest in the discovery had not lost significance on her.

On a canopic jar found in Rome, there was a cartouche with Greek lettering inscribed inside. Well, Rome and Egypt had had an alliance for a time, so while rare it was not unthinkable. The addition of a third influence made it interesting, especially since it was something about a heart... Something about a heart that was dead, but taken from someone who was alive, but not...

It was jibberish - some insane man had gotten ahold of a heart, bottled it up, and scribbled on the outside. And she knew this was a novelty, which was why it was being so thoroughly documented. And the only strange thing was that it had been documented before, apparently from the same excavation site a number of years before and... it was madness. These scholars, professionals, were acting like a group of frightened kids around a campfire over some sort of living dead zombie...

And she had missed her play for this?

Pressing to fingers to her temple she felt the pressure beginning to build, and her breath pressed over her lips in a slight groan at the thought of how long this was likely to take, and her all pretty (relatively) and in her nice new blue formal that swept the floor in the layered gauzy royal blue color with the ribbon laced across the front and the bow and the no straps and the... yeh. She looked wistful, a bit crestfallen for a moment, but it was not as if she had been going with anyone. With a resigned shrug of her pale shoulders she set to work under the dull glow of the lamps, pouring over the cartouche diagram, and comparing several similar documents, locating the digsite exactly and measuring distances, looking for past incidents, and thoroughly immersed herself, true to Tiffany style.

The wind swiftly picked up outside and the man in all haste quickly lifted the collar of his tan overcoat to a defensive position letting the cutting chill work its way around his lean form. This man wasn't particularly bothered by the cold, but then he was rarely bothered by anything, though he did bask for a moment in the warmth that greeted him when the library's doors flew open.

Yes, the warmth is nice. he thought, though the man wondered briefly how it was that he could enjoy the warmth so keenly when the cold had been nearly as comfortable.

Simple strangeness. he answered himself mentally, knowing that it really wasn't that strange considering his condition. Still it was good to have an answer to questions, just as it was to have certainty.

Certainty was what the man sought tonight and as he stepped thorough the library’s second set of doors into the main structure, he smiled softly at Grace the librarian and from her reaction was sure that he had found it.

Grace, the aged librarian smiled back at him, though it was apparent that her smile was forced, then she stood and placed a hand on his shoulder. It was a gesture that made her stand on tip toes, which didn’t make it as comforting as she would have liked, but then she sat down and her eyes were clouded with sorrow.

“I’m sorry.” She said. Then tears slowly seemed to well in her eyes.

Istar felt a sudden pang in his chest and reached quickly into his jacket pocket pulling out a white handkerchief. He handed it to Grace and looked at her with seemingly sympathetic brown eyes.

“Yeah, I am too Grace. I came here to see her and didn’t even know she was already gone.” He commented and listened silently to the woman’s emotional snorts and sniffles.

Grace stopped her tears and looked at him with the fiercest eyes he had ever seen.

“The police will find who killed her…they’ll get that bastard.” Old Grace almost growled. When Istar nodded agreement the old librarian took her seat once again and began again to pour her attention over the book she had been reading, or rather the world she was escaping to. Istar read the title “Interview with a Vampire” before he walked on pass the sad old woman and her memories of his former “girl friend” and second librarian, Elisa Allen.

Istar was sorry for his sin on her count and sighed slightly as he walked passed a table with a lamp on it, the eerie billiard-esqe lamp in the ceiling, and the arm chairs now piled with books. He paused in his stride only when he had reached the blinded windows and looked through the blinds at the wind swept night and thought on the fact that Grace hadn’t spoken of a new development in Elisa’s case, or even that the police had come looking for him. It seemed he had his certainty and he wouldn’t be visiting this forsaken place anymore.

It was as he turned to leave however, that Istar Donny Indora spotted the pretty girl that seemed to be scowling over a manuscript of some kind. Istar gave her an appreciative appraisal; she was cute and made him think briefly of a doll in the costume she was wearing. Smiling softly to himself, he knew he couldn’t be his girl friend’s widower forever.

Straightening the lines of his Royal Blue Armani suit, Istar looked at his polished Italian leather shoes, then his crisp white shirt and tie of the same blue as the suit, he thought he looked presentable. Even his overcoat had been pressed and Istar took off his fedora long enough to be sure that it too was in order, still inspecting himself he was sure that everything was in order and so it was that he decided that it wouldn’t hurt at least to say hello.

Retracing his steps silently, Istar found himself behind the young woman, whom actually looked a bit older than himself and softly he whispered.

“Hello, pretty lady. Is there something I can help you with?”

Tiffany had not heard Istar's movements, nor the words that passed between himself and the old woman at the front desk. She had a tendency to be oblivious that way when at work. One finger ran along a clumn of dates and names: a staff list from a thirty-year-old dig at the same spot where the canopic jar had been found... If only she could see the actual artifact she might answer some questions... Likely it would take but a moment to prove it some sort of hoax...

A name on the list caught her eye and she paused... Dr. Zimner was dead, and had been for at least a decade. While he was alive he had been the leader in his field, and well known for technique and skill. He had dated the first jar, though that one had been smaller, presumed to be that of a child or babe.

Her hand slid from the page, letting that volume fall shut as she moved it out of the way to gaze at the tome beneath it. Several versions of the cartouche stared up at her from pages she had been mailed, confidentially by the professors on the actual premises of the site.

It was... completely ludicrous. And the anthropological community was up in arms again about trespassing - it was a mess.

These thoughts engrossed her so much that she did not even think to look up at the soft footfalls near her, if she even heard them.

A voice close behind her startled her out of her reverie, and she turned slightly, pressing fingertips to the table with a half-present, "Pardon?"

Her eyes seemed to focus on the man in the tan coat and crisp suit, and she slowly extracted herself from her work, almost reluctantly in the present, quickly shuffling the diagrams under other papers. No need to suspect anyone, but after a while you learned to be cautious about your projects.

She was unused to being addressed so informally, but then again, she was not used to being addressed by many people out of her professional dealings.

An unaffected smile curved up the corners of her mouth as they took in the man's appearance, settling on his face.

"Good evening, but no thank you. I appreciate the offer." She paused. That did sound a bit harsh, and though she was busy she knew that was no excuse for impoliteness.

"Well, not unless you know something about heartless undead creatures who are a plague to mankind." She said this jestingly, and shook her head slightly at the idea that had been toying with her mind for the last couple of hours. There was no such thing - so why was she even here? Ah, life was funny that way. "Or Egyptology. I fear my knowledge on the subject is not quite equal to my task."

A gust of wind across the panes of the window caused her to turn her head and she took in the night's clouded sky, still studded with a few stars who dared to war with the impending fog.

"It is getting nasty out there, hm?"

A soft smile played its way across Istar's features, seeming to turn the visage usually reminiscent of opal into true flesh and blood. As this happened, Istar found himself stifling a laugh that threatened to pass his lips, then he regarded to woman before him with a look of interest and continued to smile.

“My mom’s from the Gaza Strip, but as far as Egypt goes, ancient or otherwise I know jack.” He said, after a moment. It seemed as if he were considering her other statement for a moment or two before he spoke.

“Heartless undead creatures that are a plague to mankind.” He repeated, his eyes sparking with thought, mischief, and possibly disbelief. Then his eyes were taking hold of Tiffany’s and his smile got a bit wider, though he never showed teeth in a smile.

After a moment Istar’s fist curled under his chin as his elbow rested on the table beside Tiffany, in a seemingly miraculously space, one that was free of both books or maps upon the cluttered table surface. In this semi-obligatory “Thinker” position Istar posed for a moment letting the reference sink into the moment, and then spoke.

“I think maybe I can help you there,” He said, and then leaned toward her ear as if sharing a secret of some urgency or great importance.

“I mean I’ve had a few old girlfriends use that description on yours truly.” He whispered, and then laughed lightly.

Turning, he looked out the window at evidence of the wind and the harrying that it seemed to be giving the world outside. He watched as a particularly stubborn oak wafted in the wind and seemed to be enduring even the coming storm's worst gusting attacks.

"Yes, not a pleasant night to be out and about, that is if it bothers you." he said adding the last bit with a sense that it didn't much bother him.

His information caught her attention when he mentioned the Gaza Strip.

"Your mother? I spent a semester in the Negev and did some commuting for classes to the Gaza Strip in grad. school. Hm.. Went to Egypt, too, so I guess that is no mark of how well I remember."

She raised a brow slightly to find him propping on the table next to her and did a mental check to make sure she had put everything away, or hidden it from view. The dog-eat-dog field she was in had made the keeping of secrets, however seemingly unimportant, something she was adept at. She inclined her head to the side in an inquisitive gesture, curiosity piqued by his tone and expression. Confusion quickly clouded that as she felt his breath feather over her ear and shivered imperceptibly.

When he finished his quip she turned to his face smilingly, laughing lightly.

"Well, I cannot imagine that being applied to you. Unfortunately, and I hate to mention this to you," Her lips took on a broader smile and one nail traced the edge of a row of papers, "But you appear a little too alive to me for such a thing... silly as it is."

Massaging the side of her neck with her hand she let her eyes fall back out into the swirling storm again, noting the tree that thrashed against it, as well.

"Mm... The cold is not a personal favorite... Always been cold-natured anyway." Her mind turned to the drive home: wet and cold and stormy. With a sigh she dropped her hand to her hip and leaned slightly into the table, reaching out and catching up the same red book she had been studying when her new acquaintance approached.

"Ever accept jobs on spur-of-the-moment? I think I am learning the beauty and the bane of such occupations..." And she was rambling now, and her cheek took on a light pink tone in embarrassment, though she did not apologize.

"Well, sorry to keep you. I suppose you have your own business here." Her eyes moved over the chaos she had caused. Now... where had she been? She stared at the books numbly, uneager to resume now that her concentration had severed.

Istar frowned slightly as she reminded him of what he had said of his mother, it was true mind you, but Istar had never really gotten along well with his mother and even his initial comment had brought back a portion of those hard feelings for the woman, despite her being dead and gone.

Letting out a slight sigh, Istar smiled at her slightly and shrugged.

"How would you know? You know that I look too alive for such a thing?" Istar asked.

"I mean it's not as if the undead have to look like the guy from The Mummy or a pile of flesh rags from Dawn of the Dead." He continued, a thoughtful expression caught his features with this comment, then it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.

Istar didn't speak again for a few moments, and in those moments he simply listened to the woman as she spoke. When she was finished, he laughed.

"Actually yeah, most of the jobs I get are spur of the moment. I never know where I'm gonna turn up next, but it pays the bills." he shrugged.

"No, not really." he said pertly and shrugged again.

"The business I had here is done and well you looked like you were having a pretty hard time of it tonight, from your expression at any rate. So I thought I would come over hear and see what I could do to get a smile out of you, but hey if you're too busy...I could always leave. Or maybe at least help a bit with your undead puzzle. I am after all an expert at mythology."

The corner of her mouth turned up in a half-smile as he kept talking and when he finished she did grin, chuckling softly in her throat.

"Well, thank you, this is not so easy, actually, and the break is welcome." She picked up her fountain pen and tapped it against the cover of one book before tossing it onto the lists she had been perusing, having considered his offer and made a decision.

"I have a degree in Ancient history and Mythology, so I would appreciate a colleague's help, so long as you are sure you have no affiliations with... another group." She grinned more broadly and shook her head. "Forgive me if I seem rude, but my employers were explicit in their desire for privacy."

She reached to the papers in which she had shuffled the diagrams of the cartouches and slipped them free, fanning them over top everything else and gesturing to them with a flick of the wrist.

"There: Egyptian, Roman, Greek. They are just not found together, but this is the second time they have been..." She sighed. "The second 'heartless undead'. A heart that is who knows how old sealed in a canopic jar that has all the marks of Egyptian burial on it, found in a Roman digsite, with Greek characters on it. And a nice little fairytale inscribed upon it. Senseless... I would quickly dismiss it as some sort of prank, but this is the second of its kind, and the professors and experts in the field are some of the best: they are also the most skeptical. They would know if it was a hoax."
Her mind reverted to his question about how she knew what to look for in something or someone who was undead. She tipped up her chin with humor and common sensical disbelief in in her eyes.

"I have seen The Mummy, but not the other: either way, they are merely what we perceive certain legends to be. They are about as real as the Easter Bunny, Mister...?" There was no doubt in her mind that there was no such things as the cartouches told of, she just had yet to prove it. Anyway, no proof of such a thing really existing had made itself known, and the evidence was against it. It was a silly notion.

Istar Indora smiled brightly, especially at the word colleague. Istar had been called many things, but a colleague had never been one of them and considering the word, he wondered if it was appropriate. After all Istar hadn’t gone to all the fancy schools, gotten the many degrees, or done the prescribed tasks. Nope, instead he simply had his lifetime plus of experience to fall back on, and all the things that he had learned as Alex’s sometimes willing though more often than not unwilling pupil. Still he had to admit that he had come a long way from the street thug he used to be.

Looking down at the diagrams of the cartouches, he noted that he could understand all of the languages that seemed to flow uninhibitedly toward one another and then together to a certain extent. Reading, Istar found that it was just as Tiffany had said about the writing, gibberish. That was unless one could guess the origin of the hearts and know what the ancients meant by the living undead.

Istar understood instantly, though truth be told, he could never share this understanding with the woman beside him. Well actually maybe he could share it with her, but then all of her files would have to suddenly come up missing.

After that, maybe she would be shred enough not to become a laughing stock by telling “fairy tales” to the general public.

Istar considered this as he listened to her smooth and rather cultured voice. Then with a widening of his ever present smile he said.

“Indora, Istar Indora. Feel free to call me Istar.” He paused for a moment to glance at the gown she wore, then continued. “Or Donny…middle name…some of my friends use it. I'd like to call you a friend, Mrs...?”

She watched him carefully as he looked over the files and papers and diagrams that were spread out for his inspection. He seemed to have no trouble going over them, and asked no questions, so he assumed he was at least passing in Latin and Greek at least.

When he looked back to her she smiled, shifting a little as he noted her gown. It was a bit out of place, but that had not really struck her until she ran into another person. She felt the need to explain herself.

"Oh, Miss, actually. Tiffany: Dr. Tiffany Cowper, but please call me Tiffany." He added his nickname and she smiled, "Tiffy is my nickname, or... GreenBean, but that really doesn't seem quite appropriate." She had to laugh a little, casting her eyes to her hand as it flipped some pages on one of the books absently.

"In case you are wondering... about the dress," she waved vaguely to herself. "This job was rather spur of the moment. I missed my play, which is why I am dressed up in the middle of a library." She looked a bit wistful, but the knowlege that this would earn not only substantial money, but also credit to her doctorate soothed any disappointment.

"This is more interesting than a play, I do have to admit. It is not hard to deny the puzze these present, but proving that they are unreal is a bit... harder than one would expect. It is not that it is true, simply that no evidence seems to indicate anything one way or another, other than stories and folktales. Look at this."

She grinned and leaned over the table to snatch up a green-bound volume that had the spine all taped up, handing it to him and lifting out a blue highlighter that had marked the page.

"This is a story about Cleopatra and how supposedly she did not really die through snakebite, but was bitten by something else. Whoever wrote this has fans though, since it is suspected by some that the heart found in Rome might belong to that famous Queen of the Nile. Ridiculous, foundationless, but presented well, so some people believe it." She sighed and tilted her head to the side. "But it gives me a job."

Her face lit up and she focused on him for a minute, letting academics rest. "So, Istar, are you a great reader or do you merely enjoy the solitude a library affords? I have been here often of late and have yet to make your acquaintance."

Istar looked steadily at the volumes, charts, and graphs, actually interested as he read of the stories behind the mysterious cartouches. Alex hadn't given him much as far as the history of his new culture went, in fact he wasn't sure if even she knew really, but looking over Tiffany's work, he knew that she would be interested. Heck, a lot of the others might be interested too; after all he knew that mankind's history was foggy at best, so he could only guess what his new cultural history was like.

"Probably a bunch of fairy tales." he muttered under his breath as he looked at a picture of a tomb wall that showed the Egyptian embalming process happening to a woman that seemed to suddenly open her eyes as a man was trying to get at her brain.

Istar looked up from his reading when he heard Tiffany speaking. He smiled when she said Miss, and nodded when she spoke of her own nicknames. She was right, the second seemed inappropriate and at any rate he couldn’t exactly picture himself calling her GreenBean. Especially considering that he had never really found Green beans that tasty, he preferred greens, maybe spinach or rather he had.

Istar laughed at that thought and his gaze followed the motion of her hand, looking at both gown and woman without apology. After a few long moments his gaze fluttered back to her face and he smiled at her looking into her pretty blue eyes and liking the way that her brown hair framed her features. Quickly Istar followed her direction to the text and with a glance he managed to read the story and consider it as she spoke. He couldn’t help but crack a slight and restricted grin about Cleopatra being bitten by something else.

I don’t doubt it, lots of things bite…he found himself agreeing mentally. Then almost as an after thought, he ran his tongue softly over his own teeth.

When Tiffany’s tone changed, Istar found himself wanting to grin, but if he had it wouldn’t have been the narrow kind that he could allow, so instead he smiled as he did quite often, his mouth closed and his eye color seeming to soften.

“Me, I just find myself wandering. My line of work is like that, you never know where you’re going next. So I guess it has kind of affected my life too.” He though on that for a moment, then decided that he would much rather talk about her.

“So what play were you going to see? Classic or Modern? Was it that Shakespeare deal that everyone was talking about?” he asked, considering all the plays that he knew were going on in town.

"Fairytales, indeed, but how to prove it? That is where the trouble all lies."

She was oblivious to his gaze upon her, to intent on the mystery she was trying to solve.

"And the second one of its kind, found at the same site, but in different areas, as though... But they were sealed so tightly, almost as if the people feared the canopic jars. Who would fear a jar? Why? What could be so bad to cause that kind of fear? It makes no sense... well, deities in some cultures might cause that, I suppose... But in general it just... Blah, I don't know."

She made a silly face for a moment and shook her head to let off some frustration. Immediately after she laughed at herself and answered his question, not pushing about his line of work, since he seemed reluctant to speak about it. Perhaps he was a lecturer of some sort, they had rather pieced together work schedules.

"Classical, and yes, Shakespeare actually. Othello, one of my favorites. It is set during the time of the Moors, and is a story about trust and deception, misunderstanding as well: the consequences that each bring. His wife, he murders: strangles for imagined things. She really has done nothing wrong, and loves him dearly, but it makes no difference. You should see it sometime, it really is quite tragic, but it makes one consider just how much trust they put in things and people, and how well-placed such trust is."

"Anyway, I don't want to bore you with literary criticism. Obviously, though, guilty as accused: a fan of Shakespeare, definitely. Of other authors to. Are you a theatre man at all, Istar?"

With a love for acting she had done as much as she could in highschool and college, but after that had had no time for anything but coursework relating to her profession, and it had never become more than a hobby, though she was fairly good at it.

"Shakespeare had a talent for making us laugh at silly things that we, in fact, do. To see ourselves clearly for what we really are, but to help us laugh at it or despise it in our selves... a gift. Oscar Wilde was also one to observe. They saw so much because they understood so much... about people, about human nature..."

Yes, she liked the subject, and she realized even after saying she was changing the subject she had lited on it once more. She did tend to subject-hop, but only because her mind warped that quickly and it was hard for her to understand that some people actually had more solid, constant trains of thought.

"But, yes, Othello... I like Modern and Classical, however..." Old and new. Archaeology, History, Mythology, and Politics... Ancient and modern described her pretty well, a curious mix of the two.

Istar smiled again, this time at the passion that seemed to suddenly flow from Tiffany like the release of a clogged stream, or a high pressure well. It was rather apparent that she was a child of the arts and he did not need her to admit that fact. Every word she spoke apropos the theater or the author seemed to placate the unrest he had noticed in her during their brief encounter.

He listened as she spoke and found that he did not at all find the measure of her speech daunting as he was prone to with others and in fact, he was glad when she asked him of the theater.

"Actually I am not." he replied, "I have only been a few times in my life, but I have enjoyed them. I would say I am more a man of the written word. I write when it suits me, and read quite often. I've read Shakespeare and pondered much of it long and hard...millions are not wrong, the man was a genius."

For a moment Istar paused, remembering all he had read of the man's plays, he had read; the themes, the symbolism, and the truths that seemed to stick to the heart with every tale. Yes, there was a greatness there sometimes eluded him, but more often enticed and enchanted. His expression became stoic.

"I would say that my favorite is Hamlet, of the tragic and Much Ado About Nothing in the seemingly underrated class of comedy. Yes, those are definitely my favorites. Hamlet often makes me wonder of sanity, what is it exactly? I mean you know that many have argued of Hamlet's sanity, if during the course of his plot to deceive Claudius, he did not truly become mad. I have had this very discussion with a close friend and she was quite adamant that Hamlet was indeed mad, though I disagree. I say that Hamlet was showing no more madness than any of us does when we are being human."

Istar stopped at this and simply sighed.

"I'm sorry." he apologized. "As you said, now is not the time for literary criticism. And trust me, you are anything but boring." Istar smiled once again as he said this.

“I also think that you would be a fine lady to take to the theater, perhaps I would learn something.”

"Excellent." She grinned as he continued, glad that he was knowledgeable on the subject, and enjoying the discourse.

"Hamlet, yes... I agree with you. His action and decisions were too sure, and too pointed to be madness, in truth. My favorite comedy. Was it Much Ado About Nothing? Is that the one with Orlando and Rosalind and Phoebe? I tend to blend the comedies..."

She paused, letting him continue uninterupted. She blushed lightly and darted her gaze away for a minute, wrinkling her nose before looking back to him, still smiling.

"Glad you think so... Perhaps sometime if there is a play you wish to see we might work something out..." Her grin grew slightly, but she bit the inside of her lower lip and turned back to the table to hide it somewhat.

She shuffled the chaos and plucked a few more papers, paperclipping them to one of the diagrams and speaking as she continued to take notes on a small legal pad lying on one corner of the table. It was neat, orderly, all in a tiny, curvy handwriting.

"You mentioned an expertise in mythology, and I note that you also have at least an understanding of a couple dead languages. Might I inquire if this is a product of personal study, or of education: do you have a degree or is it that you have an interest in it?"

Istar smiled his most charmed smile and nodded, then placed his hands absent mindedly on the table before him. Leaning on them for support, which they unfalteringly gave, he looked across the sea of papers and books taking a deep breath that brought the musky, earthly, odor of dust and age to his nostrils.

This was a scent with which Istar was well acquainted, and actually had now begun to enjoy. With Tiffany so close by, it mixed with her own, a scent of sharp soap and femininity. An even wider slant came to the man's lips because of this and he looked the young woman in the eye.

"No," said simply, at first it was unclear which question he was answering, but then he elaborated. "Much Ado About Nothing is the comedy with Claudio and Hero about to be married, and the high jinks that ensue. They made a rather delightful movie adaptation about twelve years ago." he said, wanting to discuss it with her, but knowing the inappropriateness of it at moment.

Still he nodded consent when she offered to attend a play with him; in fact he was glad of the offer and increasingly glad of his decision to approach her. He listened as she continued to talk, and stole a few glimpses at her notes and rather nice handwriting style. When she was done, he pondered how it was that he should answer her question, he now found himself not particularly ready to lie, but then he wasn't either inclined to be entirely truthful. So instead he compromised.

“It is indeed a personal product, though I did have a very good teacher, she is the friend I spoke of when I talked about Hamlet. She is a very old and very wise woman, who took me in from being a kid in the slums. She taught me a lot and I don’t doubt that she could receive a doctorate in any major or teach at any university should she so wish.” And they’ed be damned happy to have her, he added mentally. Then he continued.

“If you think I’m unsuited for the work, I’ll take my leave, but I don’t think you’ll be too disappointed by what I can do.”

"I was not asking to delve into your credentials, Mr. Indora: I was merely trying to gain a certainty that you were not working for any professors in the area, or elsewhere, that were not one of the few commissioned on the dig. A find such as this may prove nothing, but in the event that it is something big, novel, it would not do to have those who had no original part claiming credit or crowding the professionals in the field. Even should it prove to be a hoax, as, of course, I think it will, the research and the documentation would be of worth to the dig-side staff of note."

"Basically, any help is welcome. I surely am going in circles... So if you have no affiliations with a local college, then by all means: show me what you can do." She wafted her hand over the piles and disarray of paperwork and sketches.

Smiling she balanced herself with one hand palm-down on the tabletop so she could lean over in front of him to shake a few loose leaves of paper free of a portfolio. Resting one foot back on the ground, she straightened up, and leaned on an elbow beside him to tap a finger along the rows of names. The names were of various digsites, and the other papers were lists of various items that had been found, and their catalogue information.

"Both times the discovery was made by native students - those brought up in Italy. One jar was found resting in a niche in the base of a statue of a woman with a babe in her arms. That was the first, supposedly the one belonging to a small child."

"The second," she stretched again to tug a few more papers from underneath a stack of four faded brown volumes, "was found a little ways away, as you can see by the catalogue information. It was in a neighboring vector of the digsite. This one, however, was of a slightly different nature, the inscription seeming to indicate that the heart belonged to an adult, though the gender is uncertain. Part of that was my job, since linguistics is something I dabble in. As far as I can tell, I believe that the inscription indicates a female. So my thoughts perhaps to connect them is that the statue depicting babe and damme were symbolic of the jars somehow. Now figuring out how that might be significant is something that has been eluding me. It is easy to draw hypotheses, but proving them... Indeed the whole trouble is just the lack of solid evidence!"

Istar grinned at her, or rather he wanted to grin, but remember who his present company was and instead laughed with a shrug.

"Don't worry, Miss Tiffany Cowper. I swear that underneath this dashing veneer, I am not a double agent wishing to have his way with your work, or any other object present." he said, giving the young woman a boy scout salute while considering the words "scouts honor". After a few moments he abandoned the latter and simply took a few steps toward the pretty young woman and her dusty old books, leaning over her shoulder to look at the things as her hand wafted over them.

When she moved, Istar stepped back to give her some space, but then she leaned forward slightly in front of him and he watched the movement of the beautiful gown as it flowed over her body. To say he was entranced was an understatement, but a quickly as this trance came, he broke its grip and tried to focus on what she was saying to him now. It took a moment to banish the sight of the gown interacting with her body from his mind, but finally he was successful, or perhaps, he thought he had failed. Getting the image out of his head wasn't exactly beneficial. However it allowed him to focus, and for that at least he was glad.

Listening, Istar held his comments until she had finished.

"Perhaps," he began, more thinking aloud than actually making a statement. "you are right about the jars and the statues. I would think that the logical conclusion would be that the statutes may be a depiction of the two beings that had their hearts taken. However it is like you said, the proof is in the pudding and we don't even have the mix or the eggs, just a bowl. Well two, cartouches actually but you get the point."

He smiled at this, always thinking his own jokes funny.

A lopsided grin tugged at the corner of her mouth until it blossomed into an amused smile at his boy scout salute. With a shake of her head, she rolled her eyes slightly. She felt that sticking out her tongue would be a proportional response, but fortunately she decided that was not quite the mature thing to do.

"Good to hear: you know what happens to double agents..." She made a cutting motion over her throat and rolled her eyes at herself, sighing a chuckle as she straightened the stack of papers she had been showing him, rearranging a few and tapping them all against the desk so that the edges were even, before settling them back in their original position.

She smiled at his pudding illustration also, and lifted diagrams of the two cartouches, tilting her head from side to side to compare them.

"The lettering is similar... They are dated around the same time, although one seems to have aged a little harder, which may be due to some moving water in the area: the flow would, naturally, allow for faster erosion. Either way, I do believe they were done at the same place, if not by the same hand... although that also might be the case. Whatever they are, they are suited to their time periods, they fit there, and the dating is accurate as modern science can get. Inside each jar there is a real heart, which we know from taking scans of the contents... Debate now is over whether or not to break the seals to test... It looks like a human heart, but it is so old that they want to be sure, so... Well, a lot of people figure that if it was sealed so well, it was likely for a reason, and the source of the fear should be discovered before they conduct any research on the actual canopic jars."

She smiled to him with the irony in her face.

"So basically they tell me to find an answer without the full question... I honestly do not know if that would be better... One concern was even that there was some sort of disease or illness that incited their obviously careful and well planned death... Or was it something intentional? Those with illnesses are not usually referred to as 'cruel'... It makes no sense at all."

An Egyptian ringtone began to play and Tiffany did not even notice it, opening her mouth to say something else, with a finger resting against a location on one of the maps. However, halfway through her first word, she realized that her cell phone had gone off.

"Oh, excuse me for a minute. I know this is rude," she said, rummaging through her purse, "but it might be important." She turned her shoulder to him, half turned away as she ducked her head somewhat to hear better, plucking up the antenna.

"Hello?" There was a pause, and a rather long one, as though someone had a lot to say.

"Yes... yes. I am working on it right now, of course. I said I would."

"I know."

"When?" The last word was a little distraught, and somewhat faltering, as though something incalculable in her mind had occured.

"I am sorry, Trent... Look, tell Marianne that I will send it as soon as I can. It is not finished and I have hit a snag, but I have some help. No, I do not need anyone else on it. I can handle it, I think."

The voice continued and she moved the mouthpiece away from her mouth for a moment to blow out a frustrated breath towards the ceiling before trailing a hand over a shelved book and bringing it back down.

"Alright. Keep me posted. I want to know how he is doing regularly, alright? Good."

"Bye, Trent - oh! By the way, how was Cindy's party? Good! Sixteen, right? That's wonderful. Alright. Bye!"

With a sigh she fiddled with her phone until she had finished, and checked her calendar, then she tucke dit back into her purse and moved back to Istar's side.

"Mm, sorry. One of the graduate students from the site in Rome. Apparently there have been a few difficulties. Some of the students have reported strange things about the site... Weird things. Anyway, I am sure they are all a bit spooked from the jars and the inscriptions. After all, digs are known for the fatigue they bring. One of the doctors is sick though. Found him wandering about after everyone had gone to sleep... Well, of course the guard who found him was unsure of what to do, so he took him to the hospital, because he seemed dazed, really weak. He is in critical care, and not expected to pull through. I interned under him, so got to know him fairly well... A great loss if he indeed is so sick. If Trent called, though, it likely is... And I am sorry. I rambled again."

She pressed her hand over her mouth and exhaled, mouth quirked at the poor timing of the event, and the sadness that it might cast over the archaeological community. She closed her eyes for a minute, and then resumed an unaffected face, since she was quite adept at letting uncontrolable things lie so that she might work in spite of them.

"The statue... Perhaps we might get the things sent here... After all, Demaitre has a museum, and we might try to get some research time in there... Hm..." She strummed her nails on the table top, staring at him as she thought.

(Sorry for the short post, but I couldn't think and didn't want to go any longer without replying.)

Istar watched her, listening as she spoke into the phone and doing his best to follow the voice on the other end as well. By the time she put away the phone, Istar knew what she did, but still did not diswade her from her explanation. He listened as she explained, though his mind was elsewhere, most deeply in Egypt wondering what the "strange things" happening were. However that was not the only thing that his mind pondered and the other things were about his present company, observations that caught him off guard and rather well blasted his train of thought off its shaky tracks.

He smiled at her softly when she spoke of rambling and give her a dissmissive gesture.

"You weren't rambling, simply giving facts and a few of your personal thoughts." he said, explaining her self accusation away. Then he turned his gaze from her, slightly counteracting what looking at her all beautiful and tempting in that lugerious gown was doing to him. He was silent for a moment as the crew in his head lowered the train back on the tracks and then things were well again as he asked.

"What things could the dig send to the museum?"

((It's fine. I'm glad you posted. ^-^))

Tiffany considered his question, relaxing her shoulders a little at his dismissal of her rudeness. Settling her hips against the edge of the table again, she watched his face for a moment before replying.

"Well... perhaps if we ask very nicely, get tight security, and plead a cause of absolute necessity, we can get the actual canopic jars sent here... The statue. After all, if I am to do definitive research I should be allowed access to the source of my occupation."

"All documents pertaining to this are at the moment rather confidential, and most of them are in my keeping." Doing this job was wearing... She enjoyed it, but of late the politics had been overshadowing the fun parts.

What else was there?

"If I can get some of the main dig members and the museum here agrees, perhaps in conjunction with the college, then there is no reason why I should not be able to do all the research necessary of both the history and the physical aspect of this... case in Demaitre."

She smiled, snapping the cap on her pen and resting it softly on the table felling quite pleased. It was a good idea, and she was glad that he had inspired it.

She began to straighten her mess. She was too tired to get any more production out of the books. So she closed them and sorted out her papers, sliding them into an organizer with many folders, carefully reading the tabs and sorting the information for easy reference later. It took her a good deal of time, occassionally catching at her gown with her hand to move the flowing fabric away from her stilleto steps. A heel through your favorite gown was not the way to end a rough night, so she was careful.

She yawned, lifting her hand to stop it, or muffle it, and blushing slightly with an 'excuse me'.

Soon the books were stacked to be put away by the librarians, and her papers were neatly away. She slid everything into a neat black attache and surveyed the bench and table. Sliding the chairs in, she set her case on the table and collected her handbag and wrap, slipping it to loop loosely through her elbows.

She moved back around to stand before Istar and let out a breath slowly, expelling the study.

"So, Istar, any thoughts on... anything?" She tilted her head and smiled, waiting.

(OOC: Sorry that I took so long to reply. I’ve been thinking and come up with a rather fun plot.)

Istar smiled softly at her and laughed lightly.

"Well yes, actually." he replied, smile smug on his features and shining in his brown eyes.

"I've many thoughts, more often than not more than I should really. In fact my mind tends to wander at in opportune times and I think of things that really in a gentleman should be taboo, but since I'm not officially a gentleman, I guess that doesn't really matter." he laughed at this.

"As for those thoughts, well I'll leave those until I'm done with this little rant of mine. As for thoughts on all that we've discovered...Well those thoughts are; I find this whole thing deeply interesting, I find it frustrating, and I find it a challenge worthy of someone such as yourself. I think that you can completely get to the bottom of this, especially with my help and the help that I can beg from a few very brilliant and probably much better informed than we, friends. I've got a friend you see that can read the ancient Egyptian language as if it were her first and Latin, Greek, probably anything. I don't know if she would be willing to help, but I'll ask and if you could help with that, you know make it seem a challenge and fun...well she'd more than likely help...I hope, out of boredom. She can help with the college and museum too."

After this, Istar thought for a long moment of the "friend" of which he had spoken. He wondered if the former goddess and currently, still as beautiful and gracious as a goddess, lady would help.

Still if she didn't and he couldn't really think of a reason why she wouldn't, after all Tiffany wasn't the know it all type and he knew she hated that in researchers, but still if she didn't he could still at least ask for a clue to this little mystery. She'd probably give him that.

After being silent in thought for a few more moments, Istar put a hand on Tiffany's shoulder as grasped it gently.

"Thank you." he said, much more calmly that the pure excited energy he had show in his rant. "Thank you very much, dearest lady. And please don't think me presumptuous when I call you and ask you out. I mean I'm honored to work with you, especially meeting in under such strange circumstances, but also I'd like to carry you and that grand beauty that you display so callously and innocently to the theater. I want to discuss it with you as well."

His hand moved from her shoulder, finger tips trailing. It moved up her supple neck and paused as he softly caressed her cheek.

"Please? I'll beg you if I must, Dr. Tiffany Cowper."

((Alrighty, and no worries. ^^))

She listened to him speak, brows lifting slightly at the excitement, though she could not help but smile with him. It was hard to follow some of what he said, because some of it kind of blurred together, but she understood enough.

"That would be wonderful! Any help is welcome. I don't really know anyone in Demaitre who could help with my project. This is exciting enough to me, interesting, but I'll do my best to make it entertaining... Perhaps work on some sort of illustration for it..." Her mind whirred back into action, but more in the presentation way than in the research one.

His next train of thought caught her off guard and she inhaled a little harder than she had been, schooling her face into composure. She wasn't so sure about the 'grand beauty' bit, knowing she was not exactly a supermodel, but the compliment made her flush lightly, ears tipped with pink as she felt his fingertips move over her skin. It took her a minute to get un-flustered enough to reply.

"No, no - no begging will be necessary, please!" She turned a bit pinker, if that was possible. "I'd be happy to go with you to the theatre." She smiled distractedly, and met his gaze for a moment before studying his shoulder quietly. She was a tigress when other professors criticized her work, or when she needed to assert herself in her field of expertise, but some things she just couldn't bring herself out of her timidity for. That was business, theatre was pleasure. But it would be good, she was sure, and she was excited about the prospect, if somewhat abashed.

Beauty, as the cliché goes, is in the eye of the beholder. And within the now almost hazel eyes of Istar Indora, he found Dr. Tiffany Cowper to be a beauty beyond compare. Istar could not have known of her doubt, well at least not in verbal form, but verbal was only one way to communicate, he knew quite a few more.

The signs, they came to him as if they were painted in gold and floating in neon brillance. The doubt in herself was in her eyes, her embarassment in her skin, yes-sure signs that spoke as loud as words.

He hugged her, he didn't know if it was appropriate, but franky didn't care unless it alarmed her. It didn't seem to, and he pulled away with a smile still clinging to his features. Heck he didn't think he could have the smile sergically removed. He didn't want it removed, nope not a likely process, and with a hand on her shoulder he said happily. A bit of his rant excitement came back, but he worked desperately against it, keeping semi-calm.

"We'll meet then, whenever you have time. Don't mind a thing, I can pick you up or have a car wherever you'd like. That is if you want to give me your number..."

She shied back a little as he moved to hug her, but when she realized what he was doing she relaxed a little and patted his shoulder lightly. There was still a flush over her cheeks, but she was more settled now. She wasn't sure if he meant get together for theatre or for research, but she figured probably both.

"Oh, no, I don't mind. You should have it anyway if we will be working together."

She set her things down so that she could rummage through her handbag, pulling out a small satin-covered book taht held loose white paper, and tugged a sheet free, twisting her pen and bending her knees to bear down on the table and write.

Quickly the numbers of her cell phone curled in her tiny, curvy handwriting, and she slipped the pen away, taking her things back up and folding the slip of paper over once. She shrugged one shoulder a bit as she turned, the greenish light shining down as she reached across the table and clicked out the study lamp.

Her hand palm-up, she proffered the folded piece of paper between two slender fingers.

"Well, there is my cell phone if you need it. I am moving about most of the day, and my schedule is... not very regular, so your best bet is my cell. It's always on, always with me." The pink had faded from her face, but there was still a hint of rose lingering on the fair skin.

Her eyes moved to the window , where the rain had lightened into a steamy drizzle. Ugh... Looked like the cab it would be. She would far rather walk, but, though the moon was out and bright, the rain would ruin her dress. Wryly she wondered why women did this to themselves - she loved to dress up, feel like a princess for a night now and again, but bad weather and every other thing under the sun made the clothing and hair impractical. She knew that the moment she walked out the door her hair would catch the dampness and try to curl... Stupid rain.

It was good for crops and plants, she told herself as she always did when she wanted to whine about the rainy season. Twin blues moved back to Istar's face and she smiled and tilted her head a little, dropping her eyes shyly. Why did she feel shy suddenly? Eh, she was probably just tired.

"Okay, you have my number, and... Just let me know when you want to do something and we can work something out. I will call the site in Rome tomorrow and see about getting the necessary staff and the canopic jars." She paused and smiled, able to look him straight in the face appreciatively, "Thank you, very much, for your help. Funny we should meet here." She chuckled, and inched her bag on her shoulder, catching at her wrap to keep it looped through her arms.

"I have held you long enough, Mr. In... Istar. I should probably be getting home. It has been a long day and an interesting ending. Charmed to meet you." She inclined her head slightly and brushed her skirt out of the way with one hand so that she might step more easily, sweeping slowly towards the door with her things.

Her eyes moved over the architecture of the library, the designs in the carving... everything. She would have to photograph in here sometime... The smell of musty books was joined with that of freshly brewed coffee, and she supposed that the old head librarian must have made herself a pot somewhere back in the offices. She shivered a little... her dress was long, but not quite the clothing for this temperature. She still had not adjusted to the climate here. Her reflection yawned at her as she passed, and paused to stifle the yawn before scooping a few fold of her skirt again and continuing, pressing out of the doors into the cold, drizzly night. Her eyes flickered around for a taxi. Surely there would be one about, and if not she could duck back inside and call one...

Istar took the paper from her gengerly and ignored his much basser instinct to kiss her hand and perhaps allow himself to take in the heady aroma that rose from her skin and the sharper stab that came from the junction of her wrist. He stopped himself, but just barely. Istar knew that already his behavior was erratic, he just didn't act this way, and already she must have be sensing the strangeness in him. So it was that he put himself on the gentlemanly leash and smiled.

"I'll be sure to get in touch with you. Especially if anything comes up with my friend and your mystery." he said, then continued "Also when we both get the chance, we can go out and I'll see if I still know how to treat a lady."

He laughed at his own joke. Then he followed her gaze and note that it was raining. It was funny that he hadn't noticed it, but when he turned around he found that it was even worst that she was leaving and he hadn't even said a word of good-bye.

Following her, he moved quickly, until he had caught up with her. They were almost outside and he fained a bit of faster breathing.

"Wait, Tiffany. I...mean...that is, do you need a ride?" he asked, watching her as she seemed to be scanning the streets for a cab.

She had nodded to his words before leaving, glad to have made the acquaintance. Moving to Demaitre was a big decision, and she had done it to gain some time to learn and perhaps gain a little experience in the museum sector of her field of expertise.

So far it had proven a good choice, but she had had little time for social things, or to make friends or colleagues in the local population of Demaitre. In fact, she had a hard time remembering a non-technical discussion with anyone besides a few phone calls to the digsite in Rome. It would be good to get to know someone new... All her friends had scattered or been left back home, and the communication had been glitchy because of the lack of regularity in her life or schedule - she was a creature of sponaneity, thriving on change and improvision. Perhaps that was a bad thing, but that was how she was...

His footsteps caught her ears and she half-turned towards him, blushing a little at having made him follow. A ride? She was so tempted... Her mother's voice vaguely flitted through her head. Before she had left for the trip with her friends (the road trip where she had first visited, and decided to remain in Demaitre), her mother had warned her not to talk to strangers, and not to go near strange people after dark. She grinned ruefully. Perhaps he was not strange, but he did have a rather odd aire about him. Besides, she knew his name - so he was no stranger...

"I can get a cab or something. I was going to walk, but I really don't want to impose. Thank you, though." Actually, a ride sounded fabulous, but she had taken up enough of his time tonight, and truly disliked taking too much from anyone. The rain began to drop again, bit wet drops, thumping to the pavement, and soon it was a torrent again. She couldn't help the little frown of dismay. It seeme that the weather here did not like her...

Without saying a word, he slipped past her and out into the torrent.

He almost laughed when the big drops hit him; they were freezing, but felt terribly good to him, with his no longer natural senses. He couldn't catch cold and was not cold, not having to worry about such things allowed one to truly enjoy some situations and this just so happened to be one of those.

Looking on to heaven, he allowed the drops to fall on his face. His eyes, very good, and well suited to the low light conditions, focused on single rain drops at a time and he followed them with his eyes as they struck. The drops struck many things, many landed with big heavy plops on the ocean of concrete and running water at his feet, others hit lights, buildings, and cars. But the greatest were the ones that fell into his eyes, where they would blur his razor sharp vision for a moment, until he blinked them away.

Yes, it was safe to say that Istar was enjoying himself. A smile had now fully stretched its way across his features, but then like a fist in the face he remembered his purpose for exiting the library and cursed himself for acting like a fool in the rain. It was only moments later that Istar Indora disappeared around the library building.

It was very dark on the other side of the building, not as many lights as even on the front street, which had been thrown into gloom by the storm. Still light was of little consequence and he found his car easily, slipped into the driver's seat, got it going and was back to the front of the library in a matter of moments. For a moment he lingered inside the BMW-M5, but then the driver's door opened and he once again stepped out into the shower. This time however, he pulled open the umbrella that was in his hands. Umbrella opened, he headed back into the library. But stopped outside, looking at Tiffany.

"Dear Dr. Cowper, accept this umbrella from my hands right now and get into my car this instant." he said in mock frustration, a big smile on his face. "I don't bite." he added. "Well I do, but I can behave myself for now." he added yet again, still smiling.

To match his words, he reached toward her with the umbrella. It was a beautiful Mahogany handled masterpiece, a swan carved of the dark wood, but painted white with the umbrella top being the creature's body which was covered in surprisingly realistic feather design.

"Shall we go?" he asked, looking her in the eye.

His departure surprised her, and she grinned and laughed as he stood in the rain, looking up into the sky and back to him. He seemed to jolt back into reality and ran around the corner, out of sight... Oh well, she supposed that was her cue to leave. By the time she had gotten herself steeled to step into the rain, she turned her head towards the car pulling up, and watched it, curious.

When he stepped out of it, she blushed and ducked her head. Oh, dear. This was a lot more trouble than she had meant it to be - he was soaked!

She looked at the umbrella in his hands, studying the detail, the carving. It was beautiful. Mmm... the temptation was strong, but she really shouldn't... But it was a nice little walk home, and it was pouring now. And he was standing there waiting, and had gone into the rain for her...

Biting the inside of her lip shyly, she dropped her eyes, thinking fast. They flicked back up and she smiled, taking the umbrella in her right hand and holding her attache and handbag with her left hand and arm, tightening her wrap around her and clutching up her skirt, too, so that the long training fabric did not drag over the puddled pavement.

She made a dash for the car, squealing a little and giggling as she pulled all her htings into the car. Once she was finally in with the door shut, she sighed and looked about her, shivering a little.

"Mm... rain and I never got along. Sugar melts, you know..." She smiled vaguely at the cliched joke.

Istar got into the driver's seat just in time to catch the end of her joke and he laughed slightly. Yes maybe it was clichéd, but it hadn't always been and it made him think of all the jokes he used to make as a kid. It made him laugh a bit and feel his age, to realize that a lot of those jokes were now so engrained into pop-culture.

Starting the car, he looked at her and smiled once again. He turned his wipers on, and simply took a deep breath, almost tasting the scents on the air. The chill rain, the wet earth, the changing scent of both their attires now that they had gotten a bit wet, and most of all, the scent of her, human, blood scent. It was enticing sure enough, but he quickly shied away from it, he couldn't think too much about it, or he would prove himself a liar.

Quickly, he turned his gaze and his senses from her, either one, caught up in her might send him over the edge and he focused instead on his windshield and the sound of the wipers moving over glass.

"So, where to ma'am?" he asked, doing his best cabby impersonation.

Tiffany chuckled and lifted a hand to pat a few curling tendrils of hair back into place. Her hair curled slightly when wet, and that was not conducive to keeping the oh-so-prom-perfect updo she had twisted her hair into earlier that day. She could feel the droplets of a light mist settled over her skin - the result not of being rained upon, but of getting the sprinkling that flew back as the drops pummeled the ground.

Her eyes moved over the dark interior of the car appreciatively, and she sighed, glancing to him with a smile.

"I live in an apartment complex: a suite of rooms. Sort of a loft type thing..." Settling back into the seat, she could feel the water slicking her shoes and wrinkled her nose. At least her dress was fairly safe - she had Istar to thank for that.

"Go four blocks, turn right, left, six blocks, and another right, and you are home. Well, my home, anyway. I can repeat it as we go, if you don't mind. Are you sure you don't mind? I appreciate it. I really do!" Her voice was a little more muffled and she spoke as she turned her head away. "Very sweet of you."

Gentlemen were a rarity these days, and it was nice to meet one, she thought.

Istar nodded at the information, taking it to memory and prepared to pull out of the parking lot. He paused, however at her comment about it being sweet of him and smiled.

"No, it’s not sweet. Well not really," He said, taking a breath. "It's actually very selfish of me. I get to spend the time with you it takes to get there and I know where you live, those two things alone will make it easy for me to send so many bouquets of flowers that you are tired of them and me." He said, already smiling at the idea and partially considering it. He considered it for less than a moment and laughed lightly.

"They'll probably show up tomorrow night, maybe at about sunset. Yeah, that way I can get up and see your expression."

With that, Istar shifted his car into gear and hit the gas, turning out of the parking lot and into the road. He hit the gas lightly and the car responded almost as if by thought alone and they were headed down the road. At exactly four blocks he turned right and then left. He took three more blocks and suddenly realized that he did really like the silence, he push in the CD that had been partially hanging out of the player, and took a deep breath as he was suddenly assaulted by the rapture that was Beethoven’s Ninth. He looked toward Tiffany and sighed.

"I'm sorry. Where are my manners?" He commented. "I should have asked... Is the music alright? Or would you prefer something different...I've got a lot of very different kinds of music, this one is just sort of a mix tape of different things. If you prefer silence..."

He let his finger hover above the power switch.

She blushed, and looked at her hands which were folded in her lap, fidgeting.

"Oh, really, shhh. You will give me a complex." She eased a little as he spoke of flowers, and chuckled, sure that he was only kidding. Settling back in the passenger seat, she watched the rain beat along the window, pulsing in clear rivulets and crystal beads.

The sound of classical music drew her back into the moment as he spoke, and her eyes flicked to him with a faraway look still lingering in them. When his words registered though, she smiled.

"Oh, no, no - Whatever you like is fine. I listen to a lot of things. Hm... Beethoven... Have not heard him since last I was home." She chuckled quietly to herself. She had attended a local classical concert with some college acquaintances, and that was one of the last events she really remembered socially, before she had plunged into her doctoral studies.

It had been worth it, though. She was proud of where she was, what she had accomplished. She was self-sufficient, and out on her own. In a way she was a working girl, and proud of it, though she knew the title before her name gave hera significant advantage over most of the girls classed under "working girl".

While she was taking trips to attend her sponsoring professor in Rome in his college's private jet (or one of them), most other working girls were working retail or spritzing perfume. It was ambition that had brought her there, though. Ambtion and a desire for knowledge, to always know more.

That curiosity also had a tendency and precedence for getting her into trouble...

Breathing deeply and relaxing, she watched him drive for a moment, taking in his profile and his manner of dress. She had noted it before, of course, but she had been working, now she noticed in more detail the taste of the clothing and noted his features with approval. Smiling, she blushed at her study, and turned to look out her window again, leaning forward a little to peer up through the windshield, catching her wrap as it slipped from one shoulder, and looping it back around her.

Istar Indora smiled, this was nothing new mind you, but then even a man that enjoys life as much as he did could find something to really be pleased with and Istar was sure he had found this with the intriguing woman beside him. Yes, he couldn’t help but smile as he drove, hearing the engine’s incessant roar but ignoring it as he listened to her breath and the thunder roll of life that was her heart. How different it was than the silence within his own breast, the mark of death that left his blood to creep through his veins of its own dark accord. Yes, how different it was.

Rather suddenly, Istar realized that he could smell her blood, he could almost taste it. The smell of it turned the air into a soup, a hardy broth that seemed to call out to him in the damp cold of a rainy day. Ah, yes. She would make him warm; content him in his sudden misery at the cold that he should not be able to feel, especially not with his car’s heater humming away in his ears. The car was warm, alive almost, alive with the sound of Beethoven’s rapture and the warmth of the heater. Yet still, the life did not flow into Istar Indora, no, but then why should it? Why should warmth reach the grave?

Shaking himself, Istar found that his eyes had been on the road all along, and somehow he had still been driving, somehow the car was still on the road and now he could guess they were almost to her home. They were almost there…

For that Istar was thankful, thankful to God and thankful to Tiffany for not living too far from the library, he would have her home soon. She would be safe, he would send her the flowers, calling them in to the nearest florist after he dropped her off and then he would hunt. He would be the monster, take the little drink over and over again, until he had had enough women, until the one at his side was safe.

Why do you care? Isn’t that why you talked to her, to eat her, because you’re hungry? Istar asked himself, yet as he did, he already knew the answer…yes he did care now and no he didn’t know why. Sure he still wanted her, he needed her, but he would not have her. With this denying cant working in his head, he drove on, hoping Tiffany had no idea of the need that raged within him for her, for her blood, and possibly her death.

Tiffany was unaware, and at this time, as has already been established, she was blissfully unaware of vampires. She would had gone into shock, likely, at the idea that they were not only real, but that one was sitting beside her thinking on her vital lifeblood.

Fortunately for her, he seemed to have good self-control, which was preventing her from finding this little fact out.

They were very near, and she saw her apartment building rising out of the gloomy darkness, the rain obscuring it and making it a fuzzy, dull gray-black in the night. She gestured to it, in case he had missed it, casually waving a hand near his arm to point it out. Had she been aware of that he could sense her so acutely, she would more likely have kept more to her side of the car, but her way was open and at times overly friendly. No mistaking it: she liked to be alone, to be to herself, but she also did enjoy making other happy, and making sure they were taken care of. This included common courtesy to everyone - or, at least, that is how she tried to live. She was not really a believer in karma, but the principles that governed it seemed pretty wise to her.

Sighing as they drew nearer, she mused over the evening. The murky apartment building was drawing nearer, and the ride was drawing to an end. It was rather sad to part from her first... well, her first acquaintance in Demaitre. He had been kind to her, and she was surprised that he had been such a help. His ideas had stoked her dying charisma on the project. It was uncharted territory in hre field, and while she enjoyed the exploration, having someone who seemed to know how to work the political angle of it made things a lot smoother and a lot more enjoyable.

"Thank you, Istar, I do not know what I would have done about getting home. Taxis are hard to get at this time of night." He had her number if he needed it, so there was really little else she needed to do...

"I feel awful sending you along without inviting you up. You are welcome to some hot tea or coffee, if you would like. You will have to excuse any mess in my apartment, though, as it has been a rather rushed week."

He smiled at her and nodded to the negative, as if it were the saddest thing in the world that he could not stay, when he actually though it ironic in a twisted sort of way...considering how much he wanted to stay.

"No, I must be going, but feel free to call me if you need to." he countered, reaching into his glove compartment and pulling out a card. It was blank except for his name and a phone number. Sitting the card in his lap, he reached again into the compartment and pulled out a pen.

On the back of the card he wrote his home number and handed it to her.

"The one on the front is my business number, don't mind that one. Just call me with the other one, that is my cell number. I have it with me most of the time and well...well...you know." he said with a slight smile.

The need took this moment to remind Istar of his bloodlust, but he curved as he worked to keep his smile on. He needed to go quickly.

She nodded and accepted the card with little comment, smiling and murmuring a small apology for the trouble, thanks once more, and regret that he could not come up.

Her slender fingers collected the card from his hand, and she perused it briefly, flipping it over to scan the other side before lifting her eyes back.

"Cell phone - alright. Thank you. And, yes, I do know." She tucked the card into her handbag, jiggling the antenna of her phone to show she was the same.

Taking one last look about her and bobbing her head to Istar, she excused herself.

"I suppose this is good night then, and goodbye for now. You have been very courteous to me. If everyone in Demaitre is like you then I shall not feel so obscured here, so lost from what I know. My hometown is very open, very willing to aid each other - a product of hard times (though that was back in my parents childhood), I suppose. Good night - stay dry and dream sweetly."

Gathering herself, and taking up her bags, she slipped open the door, and the umbrella he had handed her, opening it and skittering to the safety of the lobby to her apartment. Turning within the glassed-off area, she moved near the window and waved goodbye.

Istar watched her go and sighed a sigh of deepest relief. Without Tiffany so near to him, the need diminished, well as much as it ever really diminished short of being fulfilled, but he was at least able to watch her go without thinking about her like a happy meal. He was able to, and did wave.

Then without missing a beat, he reached into his pocket and brought out his own cell phone, it was one of the new models that bugged the heck out of him, being so damned small, but he couldn’t carry around the 80’s cell phone and he laughed a bit at the thought of carrying the brick about.

He flipped the thing open with a flip of his wrist and dialed with one hand. It rung for a moment, but picked up on the third ring, and instantly he felt a bit better.

“Annie’s Floral, how may I help you?” the voice on the other end asked, with rather well fained pleasure.

“Yes, Annie. You know who this is right?”

For a moment, Annie hesitated, but then she answered the affirmative.

“Istar, Istar Indora. The guy that keeps buying all those flowers for his house and for mobster’s graves…”

“Very good.” He laughed.

Annie didn’t seem amused. “What’s with you kid, you trying to butter up to the big boys or something?” she asked, he voice gruff, the voice of an older woman.

“Nope, just paying my respects to the departed.” He said, still unable to get rid of all the humor in his voice. “But anyway, why I buy flowers is my own business. I pay you to do a good job, and you do some of the best work that I’ve ever seen.”

Annie grunted at this, but didn’t speak.

“Now, Annie…I need you to get together for me, a bouquet of pretty much everything you have, and about two dozen roses, one red, one white. I want thorns and everything and I want you to deliver them tomorrow at around sunset.”

Istar could already hear the register as Annie was ringing up his purchases, but he stopped her from telling him how much.

“Don’t worry about the price, I’ll pay you when I get there and the address is…”

Istar told Annie the address and hung up the phone as Annie began to ask him if he really wanted to come to her shop this time of evening to pay such a big bill. This made the vampire smile, Annie’s was in a rather crappy part of town, full of dealers and druggies, but God help the idiot that tried to rob him tonight, he was hungry and with thieves he wouldn’t feel the need for the little drink, nope he’d swallow ‘em whole.

With that Istar drove away, smiling to himself.