Tiffany led Mathius up from the subway, and was glad that no one thought it odd that she was walking along with him. It was not like they had any reason to, she realized. He would be mistaken for her little brother or some such. It was odd to her because she looked at him as an equal many times over, but in appearance he looked so young. Chuckling, she shook her head and moved past it.

They joined the crush of life on the streets, walking past open stores selling everything from clothing to jewelry to paintings.

They reached the end of the block, and Tiffany tugged Mathius sleeve lightly to indicate he should turn. They walked a few more yards, and Mel's Diner'd door was right there to their right.

Entering, she strolled up to the counter, hanging back a little to look up to the menu, and looking over the the ma-erm...boy.

"You know, I've never even been in here before."

Her eyes ran around the 'greasy spoon'. Her grandfather, her role-model, had taken her here when she was younger, especially when she had been about Mathius's apparent age. He had been disallowed to eat the greasy, the heavily fried, et cetera, when he had gotten older, but whenever she had driven into the next city over from her parent's house to see him they had gone out for some such so that he might have his unhealthy food 'fix' away from the watchful eyes of her grandmother. The memory made her smile, and she reached into her pocket... Only that skirt did not have a pocket, so she looked like she was petting her hip like an idiot... Pursing her lips at herself, she studied the menu.

((OOC: Sorry I haven't posted in a while. I had to go to the hospital.))



"Well, I'm sure it is highly unhealthy, but youth these days seems to enjoy it." he shrugged simply, his weary eyes running briskly across the menu.

"I'm sure it is the same in downtown Venice, but I had never been there. I've been rich for as long as I can remember..."

Tiffany looked over at him and couldn't help but laugh.

"Forgive me, but... it just sounds funny hearing such a thing come from your mouth. I mean... You... Look... You are a teenager... Only not."

She shook her head, still smiling.

"What are you going to get?"

The grease and the grime were kind of directing her to stick with a simple soda or something. She could always grab a snack once she got home.

He looked at the menu once again, looked up at her and said with a laugh, "A soda..."

"Hehe. Two sodas, then."

She bent nearer to his ear.

"I am not sure if the rest of it is edible."

Grinning she stepped nearer the counter, and the cashier took their order, and Mathius's money, and turned towards the next customer.

Tiffany's eyes scanned the hole-in-the-wall place...

"Hm... You know, this place is kind of... I know a little place about another block away. A bit of a walk, but it really is gorgeous this time of year - with the frost gone and the flowers starting to bloom."

"God, I do not believe I have seen a flower in fifteen years at the least." he smiled, looking around at the resturaunt with the inedible food.


"I could call for a limousine, I guess, if you didn't want to walk, or we could take a taxi." he shrugged simply.

"Ah, no. Not unless you want one. Walking is good. Besides, it's a rather pretty day and it would be a shame to waste it."

Smiling, she led the way. They passed through the millin pedestrians, and crossed over two streets, the faint hum of engines and a few rudely blaring horns were signs of the city.

Strolling along, they passed street vendors, and an artist who was selling portraits for twenty dollars a piece. Tiffany laid a hand on Mathius arm to stop him for a minute, and nodded her head.

An old woman and her little grand daughter were sitting in a wooden chair the artist had, with a local gallery's entrance canopy hanging behind them, the name in a lovely script. The style was old-timey, rather wispy, and she tilted her head. That would make an excellent memory for the little girl, surely, when she was old enough to appreciate such things.

A wistful look crossed her face, and she moved back beside Mathius, nudging him playfully with her arm to get him moving, and chuckling, breathing in the air. She did not regret the deep breath, but it was definitely not the clean, open scent of the country. This was good in its own way, though.

It was not too long before she led him through some large, cast iron gates. Rosenthal Park was basically a large flower garden, with flowers that bloomed over different times of the year interspersed so that for the most part the garden was in bloom all year. It was named for some wealthy entrepreneur who had commissioned it as a sort of due to the community in which he had started his business. She would have to research it, because at the moment she forgot how he had earned his fortune, exactly. Had it been oil? Fishing? Metal? She really did not remember.

Either way, she started off along a path with tigerlilies and hydrangeas - the first colours of spring in profuse purple and elegant orangey-red.

"Doesn't it smell wonderful?"

No the flowers were definitely not a city scent.

"It makes me miss Venice." he frowned slightly with a quiet sigh. "Everything was gold." he muttered, looking around at the purple, pink, blue and other colors.

"Mm. Venice? I suppose once it must have been beautiful. I can imagine it so..."

Closing her eyes, she pictured the many-canaled city pristine, with clear waters.

"Now, however... The gondolas are steered up and down dirty rivers. They rather have... an odor. Still, I could not resist using the canals. The history..."

Smiling, she trailed a hand over a leafy stem leading up to a fluted burgundy, lily-like flower.

"But golden? Tuscany has always hit me as a golden place. What is it about Venice that is gold?"

Strolling along, she moved towards a stone bench by the way, under the boughs of a weepy willow.

"Every night when the sun sets, it casts gold down upon the canals, erupts throughout the city and glows for what seems to be days." he sighed, following her. "And it's not just the city: it's the people too. Venetians are much different from Canadians and Americans."

He had remembered the lure that the Sistine Chapel had had on him, but he had never gone inside...

"But you are correct: Venice was much prettier in the past than it is today..."

"I never had the opportunity to venture along the canals by candlelight. My trips into Venice were merely day trips... Very enjoyable all the same. I shall have to go back sometime."

Smiling, she tried to remember the people. Anthropology interested her, as did the people around her. She did not recall a whole lot, however, because she had had her mind and hands full of students. Being a 'sponsor' or a 'chaperon' of sorts for students from different parts of the world strained anyone, no matter how proficient they were with languages. It was difficult to switch from French to Chinese, much less Arabic or Spanish. Her Italian had never been very good to begin with, and her Chinese was limited by the dialect barrier. Fortunately, Mandarin was widely spoken by students from both the Far East and Singapore, though some spoke broken English.

"I remember the smells. The marketplace, especially. Where the vendors peddled flowers, and spices hung in the breeze... Mmm... I liked it."

She closed her eyes and inhaled the blossom-scented air, perching on the bench finally and opening her eyes to look about through the veil of verdure hung by the weeping willow tree.

"I remember how the old, fat, Italian women would glare at the tourists as they walked by." he grinned, "And the stores that sold cheap masks and trinkets as souvenirs."

He allowed a pale hand to reach out and touch one of the branches of the weeping willow, remembering the ones that had been lined up along the sides of the farm he had once lived on, a very long time ago.

"The chocolate sellers would always carefully package their goods, like they were selling it to a king, though they normally sold to three-hundred tourists a day. Days in Venice are made for joy and frolic, then again."


"Nights were meant for magic, when the young girls would go to the couryards and just dance carelessly. The water nymphs would rise up from the canals of Venice and walk up the stairs and onto the bridges. The golden lion statues with their golden wings would come alive and fly away."

"Haha! I always wondered about the women... How they congrgate together and speak rapid-fire Italian back and forth while cooking or working. I saw some of them in their gardens in a little foray into the country with a couple of the students I was chaperoning. I know a little Italian, but not enough to keep up with such practiced tongues."

She smiled with reminescence lingering on her lips in a soft smile.

Tiffany was a romantic. Experience and time had taught her enough, but that childlike part still remained, somehow missing the culling out that life usually brought. Tipping her head, she hugged herself, smiling out into the garden, and hearing the sounds of a few birds who had returned with the relative warmth. The leaves swayed, but there were few people about... Actually, she had yet to see another being in the park besides a couple sqirrels...

"That's beautiful... You sound like a writer."

She grinned and looked over at him from the corner of her eye. If he wrote as he spoke then he would be a bestselling author in no time, and have the hearts of children everywhere. And if he spoke that way often, it was likely he would have the hearts of plenty of 'young girls', as well.

"I am a writer," he smiled, "That's where I get some of my money from." and the rest from murdering he thought to himself with a smile.

"It certainly helped in my sales that I am a 'sixteen-year-old punk-rocker' and can write the way I do." he laughed, "But Mathius Black, it even sounds like a volatile name. I can't remember my real name, but I haven't used it in ages anyway."

"Yes, I can imagine there being some quizzical reactions to someone that looks like you writing like that. It's beautiful, but not what I would have expected to come out of that mouth."

She smiled and waved her fingers towards his face with a mild smile. Breathing deeply, she almost yawned. It had been a long night. You know the type: not doing anything, just long. Those times sometimes come up when no matter how tired you are, you cannot sleep. No matter how much you know you should go to bed, you read or watch television or do anything other than go to sleep. It had been one of those, and now she was paying for it.

With a lazy grin, she shook her head. Running through the subway system was a rough way to wake up.

"Do you... go to school? I mean... I know you don't need to, but do you to sort of click with your... age group? Or... Surely that gets rather sticky sometime - to maintain the youthful attitudes and such when you've got so many years of experience and wisdom inside?"

"Oh, but tell me: what have you written?"

Popping the plastic lid of her cup, she used her straw to fish a piece of ice up to the brim, andsucked it into her mouth, letting the cool water melt over her tongue as she listened.

"I've written poetry and a book on the history of Alexander the Great, but those were minor things. I've written a fantasy novel and a science fiction novel as well, both of which I have made a substantial amount of money off of, thank god for it..." he grinned good-naturedly.


"But going to school, I do not. Sometimes, I say that my name is Mathius Blackwell and that I am th sixteen-year-old son of a millionaire who is home-schooled. Other times I am Matt Black, a twenty-two year-old poet from Chicago. I'm good at the whole identity thing. I must have played the part of about six-hundred people in my life-time."

"I suppose you have to be good at that since you have to make so many Mortal life-times flow together. It would be suspicious otherwise. For all the life that seems to go on about Demaitre, there is a sort of distinction among... your kind. Not just for what you are, but because few who are not mavericks of some sort seem to last. Or outlast, I guess. Most are clannish."

That gave her a thought.

"Are you yourself a member of a... what, a clique, I suppose? Or do you pretty much stay to yourself?"

"No, I'm not a member of a coven." he grinned, "I don't think any would except me as their own. The Ammans are too old and would never except me, the Enashe themselves still need to drink blood, dead or alive, and they too might find me too wild and non-human-like..." he paused for a moment before going on.

"The Ishak... well, they're DEFINITELY vampires... I could very-well join the Nephims as I am most like them: I cannot be seen in a mirror and can move faster than any eye, mortal or immortal, can see, but they prefer shadows to people... And of course, lastly, there are the Tarephans who are savage and evil with no guilt or thought of regret. My father would be ashamed if I was one of them..."



He grinned in an almost demonic way and said, "But then again, if he knew what I was, he would murder me without a seconds thought. The damn Christians of their day... Witch hunts, I swear..." he shook his head with almost a sneer.

Covens... She had not known the title exactly, nor so much about them. Filing the information away, she considered what he had said...

Nine hundred years... She considered the time period in which he would have lived... Hm, especially in Italy there would have been enormous Roman Catholic ties, and the Church had not always been the most benevolent of religious organizations... Indeed, such things as the Inquisition had raised and embroidered themselves in the Church's past. And even in this more modern, present time... Still in that country there was the... Well, it was still a very strong religion even by today's standards.

"Many thing hide under the guise of 'Chrisitianity'. One the whole I think the majority are either hypocrites or a little eccentric, but there are still a few that I have known who I can see something in. Perhaps it is merely strong faith, but sometimes I could have sworn they had something..."

She grinned.

"I myself am of no particular religious affiliation, but as someone who has invested a lot of time in anthropology, I realize that religion is one of the pillars of society."

Chuckling, she shook her heaed at her rambling.

"It's awful, really, how I can ramble. If something bores you you have to tell me to shut up about it."

Still grinning, she sipped her sodapop and gazed around at the flowers, a breeze wafting by, making the willow fronds dance about them. Breathing in the scent, Tiffany relaxed in the peaceful atmosphere. She loved this garden.

Eyes still looking off, her voice was a bit distant, as though she were coming back to the conversation from her thoughts.

"You do not strike me as wild..."

"Not now I'm not..." he shook his head sadly, "But at night... That's a different story."

"But it only happens every once in a while..." he said so as not to scare her or anything.

"Mm... A common enough thing, I suppose..."

She thought about his age, related it to the others she knew of. He was a good age: not really young, yet not so old that he would be left alone. Especially not in Demaitre.

"Do you not find being independent from others to be dangerous?"

"If I was weak, I would join a coven," he explained, "But despite my looks, I am one of the most powerful vampires in exsistance. I'm what they call a psychic vampire: I can drain other's energy, levitate objects and all of that happy crap."

He shrugged his shoulders simply, making him look like his apparent age for a moment.


"So, I'm pretty much fine... For now."

I thought those were legend... Then again, until a few weeks ago, vampires were a ludicrous myth...

Looking over to him, chewing on the tip of her straw, she thought a moment before mumbling around her straw a bit.

"It isn't that you are weak... Just that here there are so many, and so many who possess unparalleled powers, that even old, strong vampires must run some risks in staying here alone."

Half-smiling, she drank more of her drink while mutilating her straw without really thinking about it.

"Hopefully you remain fine." The half-smile flourished into the real thing. "And it sounds like you have the means to make out alright if you are careful. I wish you well in Demaitre."

Wishing a vampire well... Never saw that day coming... Ah, well. If anything, I have learned that not all are blindly murderous beings...

"Well, I hope that I am well in Demaitre: I'll be here for a few hundred years..." he sighed gently.

"Hey, you never told me your name." he laughed, "I delivered flowers for you, saved your life and attempted to buy you lunch (even though we both only got sodas), but I still didn't get your name."

"Oh my, hehe! I suppose not. My name is Tiffany Cowper. And I owe you gratitude, thanks, lunch, my life... I'm quite the debtor, it seems..."

Mathius smiled at that one and said, "Well, it's fun to be the hero instead of the villian sometimes."

"My hero!" Tiffany made dramatic movie eyes at him, batting her lashes and clasping her hands around her cup of soda. Laughingly, she wrinkled her nose.

"I really am thankful, though..."

Demaitre had been a strange place. She had stayed over here for a couple of reasons, ending a road trip with friends to abruptly settle in Demaitre. As it so happened, however, settle was not quite the word for it. Her life had been up in the air - everything was crazy in this city. She had not only met many people, worked several jobs, and done everything from go to a Fun Park to photographing an old delapidated church, but also been the object of an attempted kidnapping, and met a woman capable of causing plague...

It was all fascinating, but it left her breathless with eyes wide open to the world around her, natural curiosity irrepairably heightened.

"Mathius, I believe you said your name was. A pleasure to meet you."

She held out her right hand to shake his.

"It's indeed interesting to meet a mortal." he nodded, his ice-cold hand shaking her own.

"Hehe. That isn't usually a distinction from anyone else."

A smile that twinkled in her eyes shone at him. She was all smiles, but it was so pretty here, relaxing. Sipping on her soda, she jumped a bit when a loud slurping sound came from the cup. She had hit the bottom without realizing it, and began one of the most obnoxious sounds in the world.

Blushing lightly and giggling a bit while fanning her face, she looked sheepishly at him.

"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention, I guess..."

"Lol." he smiled, "Oh, crap, did I just say what i think I did?" he asked.

"Haha! Lol? Sounds like someone is a techno guy. Should have shown you the cyber cafe instead of old Mel's Diner."

Grinning, she squeezed the paper sides of the cup in her hands, popping off the plastic lid and letting it hang to the side on the straw while she shook a piece of ice into her mouth and sucked on it, watching a light breeze play among the flowers again. It smelled a bit damp, and she wondered if that meant rain was coming. Demaitre weather was still a bit of a mystery to her.

"There will be rain tonite." Mathius said as if reading her mind, "Thank the Madonna for it too: I need something to cheer me up..."

Turning her head to him, she looked a bit surprised... But such an observation was an coincidence, probably. Anyone might guess rain by the weather, and someone who knew how to tell would probably share the knowledge... Smiling at her unwarranted suspicion, she tipped her shin up, eyeing the rolling clouds that were, at the moment, nothing but puffy white cotton, fringed here and there with a tell-tale wisp of gray.

"You like the rain then? I think it is lifegiving, and good, but... It does not really let anyone sleep. My mother used to love it when it rained, but... I could never rest, so I would stay up all night watching the lightning and how the raindrops slid along the pains. My old bedroom had a huge arched window, and I had arranged my bed facing it, so... Beautiful, but restless nights."

She chuckled, but then part of what he had said registered wth her.

"The Madonna?"

"It is an odd Italian phrase that not even I have ever understood." he shrugged, "I believe the Madonna is another name for Mary."

"The rain is like sorrow: it is almost horrifying, yet there is somethig final about it."

"Mm, that would make sense. Most languages with a Latin base seem possessed of nations or peoples who follow Catholicism."

Her eyes moved to the clouds again, before back to thim, but the breeze was picking up, getting more insistent.

"The wind was what scared me most about storms, as you say it has a forlorn quality to it. I used to think that the wind would tear everything apart, and carry it away... Break it and whirl it away to where each thing, eaech person was alone..."

Chuckling, she smoothed her skirt with one hand.

"I also used to think that I would go down the bathroom drain, though that fear was allayed many years ago, and storms still wake me."

Laughingly, she blushed a bit.

"Over-active imaginations have two sides, I guess. Awesome beauty and incredible horror. But... no fun without."

She shrugged and caught another piece of ice in her mouth.