Crucible followed the pasty looking waiter. If he weren't one himself, he could have mistook the unhealthy palor of the man as a vampiric trait. As was, Crucible pinned him as a mere recreational junkie.

His nose crinkled at the minute smell of heroine. It was a new habit. It would destroy the man.

If Crucible had cared, he'd have told the man. Right now, all the vampire cared about was getting a table. Blood aside, it was one of Crucible's few epicurean vices to eat at places like this. It was a vain throwback to his mortal days, when such a place would be a treat, beyond his normal means. It made him feel normal.

The pasty fellow led Crucible to the seat he'd requested; a booth, near enough to the bar to be social, and far enough from any light to be comfortable. It would be the impatient patron's nightmare, since the small booth was not part of any waiter's normal rounds, and therefore, an oft neglected spot.

But Crucible wasn't here for the food. He was here, no reason other then self gratification. It felt good. Guiltily so.
Crucible sank into his seat, ordering a sparkling water. His pale visage stared out over the hip place. Perhaps he'd take a victim here tonight; perhaps not. It really depended on his mood. The darkness flared to light for a second as Crucible lit a cigarette, and leaned back.

Walking into the very different style of cafe's Angelous was in need of caffeine for all purpose known. Working two jobs that was more of a contrast like night and day, she would be needing a high to stay up during her second job. Stepping through the double doors she looked to the small crowd with dark circle under her eyes. Dressed partially in her professional pinstripe pants that was the color of charcoal, her top was consistent of a black tank top, still low enough and short enough to see the top and bottom of her bio-mechanical wings.
Taking a seat at the bar she asked for one of their most highest caffeinic drinks with a side order of a sweet pastry. Fitting with the wallet chain that if she stood hit her knee, she listened to its loud clanking as if it was the only noise apparent over the froth machine and coffee drips. Her hair was long and fitting over her face, curling in all directions cause she didn't want to look pretty for anyone. Sighing loudly to herself as her order came to her face she only stared at it like a dog over its bowl with its one morsel still left for the taking. Paying the being without looking up, she slouched over the items for a while.
A familiar smell, past the coffee and sweet sugar pastry came to her nose making her mouth dry but yearn for it. Looking around without moving her head she saw a lit cigarette. The horror it was, the craving it gave. Giving into her habit she pulled one out herself but only placed it between her pierced ear and long locks before nibbling at her sugar infested food and sipping at the legalized cocaine.

Crucible's eyes were closed as he sipped his water. Closing his eyes allowed him to better focus his rather weak empathic abilities. Listen to the outerthoughts around him. Outerthoughts were the thoughts that Crucible could pick up, the rather mild things that instinctively bubble up from a mortal's head. Inane, but honest, devoid of the lies that filter reality through the senses, to the brain.

One outerthought struck him. It was a memory resonance. It was something, that, in turn, sparked the memory of another. In this case, it was a cigarette, seen, and smelled. A flare of burning nicotine, a flare of hunger; hand in hand came the sight and smell, and the memory.

It surprised him that it was his own cigarette that had caused this. A woman, near the bar, pulling out her own cigarette. Crucible smiled. This one was Prey, not cattle. Cattle were mindless, stupid, and annoying. Prey were deliciously complex, and difficult. A challenge that Crucible could appreciate on the hedonistic, if not predatory level.

He rose, picking up his glass of sparkling water, and moved quietly to the bar, to stand next to her. His gold lighter flickered with reflected light on its burnished surface, as Crucible produced it from a pocket.

"A light?" he asked, glancing at her with a mild disinterest.

Turning her head from the sipping of her coffee to see a face looking at her with a question at hand. Before she even heard the sounds of 'a light?' she looked to the glitter of the lighter he pulled from his pockets. Not wanting to even move from the force it would cause her, she only nodded and placed the stick of nicotine into her own mouth bitting the end of the filter from the habits she had taken from long years.
She looked to the sunken eyes of the soft spoken words of the time, it was almost captivating to look at grey eyes. She had seen eyes like this... sadly in the morgue but something about them was... different.
The inhale of his smoke that swirled around her was feeding into her body like the cancer killing her, tantilizing and deadly. Taking a hit of the stick she took a drink of her coffee, feeling it burn her tongue ring and tongue before swallowing it. Exhaling a large amount of smoke into the air she nodded to the man.
"Thanks," she said to him with a nod.

"The least I could do." Crucible said, flicking the lighter away. He took a slow sip of his water, then slip it aside. Smoke curled gently from his mouth and nostrils as he contemplated the next move. Her outerthoughts were relatively straightforward, and she was perceptive.

Something about a morgue, and him, drifted by her mind. He gave her thought no thought of his own. True enough. But she didn't know that yet. Crucible leaned onto the bar, resting one hand flat, the other cradling his cigarette. His next words were directed towards the bartender.

"Her drinks, on my tab..." he said softly. The man nodded, and Crucible waved him away. The man was glad to go. He'd seen the irksome pale man in the place before, and knew he was a capricious tipper at best. There were customers who were both more profitable, and less disconcerting.

"There are less pleasant ways to kill yourself, I suppose..." Crucible said suddenly, motioning offhandedly at her coffee and pastry. His tone touched of humor, but even that sounded hallow and bitter from him. Crucible stopped himself from speaking again, but took another drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke waft from him in a slow ribbon.

As the man send the man away after stating her tab was taken care of she was in mid-word of 'no, its ok' but she only stopped, letting her hand that was sitting on her coffee go the base of it and only took a hit of her cigarette. She was in no need of stopping someone getting her something, she was alone in a new city and only starting that week with two jobs, the second one was a commission and it was only certain people she would take for it. For the other job, that was a like any other, five to five and paid every two weeks. Smiling through her crimson lips she nodded to him.
"You really didn't have to but... thanks." she said at first as she took another long burning gulp of her drink. Taking another horrid drag of death, she rolled it out pass her lips inhaling it through her nose, the common way she smoked. But more of a habit from years of being teased and hearing the words 'your not even inhaling it'.
Other words came from the males mouth that was next to her that made her go off from the trance from the pastry to his voice. She smirk a little to the humorous tone, as she took another drag before taking another drink. "Like living..." she said mainly to herself.

Crucible half-turned, so he was leaning against the bar, but facing the woman. The light overtop the bar cast deep pools of pitch black over his eyes. The pale contrast of his skin only heightened the effect. He knew how he looked. Like the focus of a wake, woken up to decide they weren't yet dead.

It was certainly how he felt.

"It was my pleasure." he said softly. He was not in the habit of speaking loudly, or in a normal tone. If it was important, they'd hear it. Crucible cocked his head slightly, straightening one of his expensive cufflinks as he spoke. "I'm not sure I caught your name, Mrs...?"

Hearing the word Mrs almost made her laugh as she bit a little of the sugar pastry. Swallowing what was there before dabbing her lips with a napkin she smirked before applying her words.
"Miss Angelous, or Ange. I only use my full name when its business." she said as she took another drag. Sadly with this one, she was reminded of seeing a doctor for it was one of those bad coughs. It sounded more like she was choking but the only thing she could do was cover her mouth with a clean white napkin till it died down. After a few seconds of the dire cough, she had that taste of iron in her tongue and as well as the red color of blood on the napkin. It was not bad, but small spots here and their on it. Looking at it for a minute in silence she folded it over and placed it under her half finished coffee.
Sadly, she continued to take another hit of the nearly burnt out cigarette. "And your name? Since you did take my tab..." she said with a smile.

Crucible almost smiled. Almost. He no longer used a name; rather, a title. The Crucible. He was no longer a person, but the entity, through who's fire, Jack Hooper became immortal. Jack Hooper, the assasin, the thug, the enforcer, had been purified into a predator. A killer, yes, but at least an honest one.

Still, Crucible was left without a name to give her. He covered the hesitation with a long drag on his cigarette, watching, fascinated, at her violent caugh. He was a vampire, and as such, could not help but notice the blood. Crucible mentally filed it away.

"Carl." Crucible said finally, holding out a long fingered hand. He still wore his gloves, more to hide the warmth his skin lacked, then to actually warm them. At least they went with his suit. "You may call me Carl, Ange."

The taste of iron was wrapped around her tongue and the ring itself, almost making her gag a bit. Wanting to scrap her tongue with a knife she only tore a piece of the pastry she nibbled at and threw it in her mouth to get rid of the taste of blood and burned tongue.
With the name first man to now Carl, she whipped her hand on another napkin before shaking the gloved fingers. To him, her hands and size was like a child.
She stood at a small height of five feet with small child like features... except the female oddities regioning around the chest she was always mistaken for a child.
Smothering out the ashed cigarette she was destined to light another but only resisted the habit for a while with another sip of coffee. "So Carl... what do you do for a living?" she asked only from his physical presentation. Not many wore sure like she and he did so it was only of interest.

Crucible smiled, politely sipping his sparkling water. He considered the question, and found that the lie fit, not only the present, but to a certain extent, his past. His smile widened slightly, though the facial motion was still subdued.

"Oh, I am a...fixer." he said. "I'm the one they call when there is a problem. I get rid of the problem." he added. He hadn't thought of falling back into his job as an assasin. The idea held some promise, especially considering his newfound 'abilities'. Certainly, it would be a fitting occupation.

But that was a thought for another time. Crucible crushed out his cigarette, and finished his water. He stood straigher, and turned to face his body away from the bar, but continued to regard Ange.

Crucible motioned to his booth. "Are you hungry? Our conversation may be more pleasant during a light repast...." he asked.

As the word fixer came to her ears at first she thought only of jack of all trade being, but then a person like that would not dress in expensive suits. She looked to his enormous posture and only thought 'cleaner'. Why was it they were attractive? She had seen one other in her life, besides the soliders of combat, a man she had buried long ago. Though only at the age of forty-five, he had magnificant features for a man his age and a history that should have killed him sooner.
Going back to reality, she smirk but did not question it any further. "Well If I need a fix, I'll make sure to call you," she stated as she finished the rest of her pastry.
As he questioned her hunger she was going to refuse but her stomach told otherwise. It twisted under the skin and gurgled but Ange smiled still as she looked to Carl. "actually yeah." she said standing up as well. A giant next to a child, it was almost funny but she kept it to herself. "I haven't eaten anything since I woke up this morning." which was around 4:30am and a gallon of coffee already in her system. Grabbing the nearly empty cup she finished it off with more of sip before pulling out another cigarette. How horrible that habit was becoming...

Crucible nodded, and led her to the booth, allowing her to take her seat before him, as per etiquette. Chivalry was not dead. Only undead. Crucible found it ironic, that he had picked this seat BECAUSE it did not get much service, and now that he'd picked it, he needed service.

"I'm afraid the waiter may be long in coming." Crucible said, lighting her second cigarette before fishing out his own. Her posture indicated a disdain for her own habit, and Crucible could well empathize. As a mortal, he'd despised all sorts of vices; of the flesh, nicotine, alcahol. They weakened the body, and were the antitheses of his carefully controlled physique.

Now that he was immortal, those concerns were beyond him. Another irony; the vices that could kill him, would only take hold after he was dead. Crucible was beginning to dislike the many ironies of his existence.

"I'm sure our conversation will pass that time, however." Crucible added with a smile. Mortals always seemed, well, smaller to him. Ange was small even by mortal standards, her physical presence almost dwarfed by his own. If Crucible were not of the unassuming habit, that is, making himself stand out as little as possible, he might've dwarfed her. "So, you have inquired as to my occupation; it is therefore my turn to inquire as to yours." Crucible said, folding his hands carefully. "Just what do you do for a living, Ange?"

As she took another long drag from her cigarette, she sat down facing the bar still. She did not mind waiting for the waiter, as long as she had a drink she was perfectly fine with it. As his question came of her own work habits she was hesitant on saying both of them. She never confined in tattooing people with the likes of the dead but today, she didn't care. She was in need of talking, and for his words of saying his own job, it was only fair to say hers.
"Well, I have two... professions. I am assistant director in the hospital morgue... been certified for over 9 years now." hesitant she took another drag from her cigarette, letting the smoke pass her lips into her nostrils. "As well as a tattoo artist for 10 years. I do only custom but that is a person reason of fact." she confined in Carl. Her words were swift and small but the were only loud enough for the two could be heard. "I try hard to keep my two professions away from each other... more so the people in them."
A questioned dawned on her as she exhaled the last of the cigarette into the air, why did she do it be sides keeping the profession, professional? She pondered at it for a small time but only went back to drinking the now luke warm coffee that sat in front of her copper colored fingertips.

Crucible leaned forward on his elbows, eyes watching Ange intently. A mortician, and an artist. A cynical mind would make no distinction between the two. The pale man's smile widened infintisimally. She worked with the dead...how fitting to sit with him now.

"An artist, then?" he asked, cocking his head. "I would assume, of the two, the mortician is a profession of necessity, yes?" Crucible asked. He took a small sip of his water. "Unless you are particularly enamored with the dead, that is..."

"And why the seperation?" Crucible continued with his questioning. "Why deny any facet of your life?" His eyes flicked to the cigarette she smoked. Indeed, why deny them, unless of course, they were slowly killing you.

Ange listened to his words, taken by his smile. She rolled the cup around her fingers feeling the different type of material it was made from. She thought of why she kept the two professions away from each other, though most of her art dealed with dying and life... how contrasting it was, it was the best thing to express in her eyes.
"To answer both questions, I learned to become a mortician. I worked for the US army as one for 8 years but as an artist, I was born with it. I had the artistic hand as..." she hesistated at the topic at hand. It was still painful to talk of her lost self even after several years past. " like my sister, her mind was like a computer database. I did not choose my 'professional profession' till after her death." she said away from the crowd next to them but to the wall of the booth.
"I would work as only a tattoo artist if only it was a steady pay-check. Bodies always come in, but customers for tattooing, I am picky."

Crucible savored a breathful of the noxious nicotine fumes from his cigarette, before slowly letting it out. He looked at her carefully, not speaking. She was candid. He was not. Perhaps it was time to change that.

Crucible slowly pulled off one glove, then the other, folding them and placing them carefully onto the table. He fanned his long fingers out on the table, staring at them.

"These hands have sent their fair share of bodies to the mortician." he said, his voice low. His eyes found hers, and did not waver. He was not proud of his old profession, but Crucible had long since accepted the fact. He was a killer. It was his art, the Art of Death, of War. "Though you may or may not have figured, by now, I am an assasin. A hired gun."

Crucible slowly slid his hands back into the gloves, once more straightening his outfit. "I kill for a living, not a hobby.. You have nothing to fear from me, in that regards." he said. No, she had an entirely different reason to fear him. But that was left unsaid.

She ponder to Carls words, not afraid but interested in the pshycological things that might have flowed into and around his mind. As he fanned his fingers to the bitter light that shined little on them, she could only think of her own. Though her hands held a different story, not giving death but receiving them with open arms.
"A mans hand is no different whether it is good or evil. They are all the same. Well, at least to my eyes." she said softly towards him.
She looked to the burning lasts of the cigarette before taking its last breath and smothering it into another ashtray that was already occupied by Carls. She pulled a small rubber band off of her wrist that was hidden under a silver bracelet, slowly rapping it around into a sloppy bun.
"No I do not fear you... just merely interested. But not afraid... of you or the death you can cause..."

Crucible didn't move from his contemplative pose; head resting lightly on his folded hands. He wondered idly when this conversation had shifted. Originally, he'd intended to feed on her. Now, that was not the only thing he wished.

"I deal death, because it is my skill." Crucible said, his voice as even as possible. "And because it pays for places like this...clothes like these..." A humorless grin etched its way onto his face. "Necessity has given way to habit. Like cigarettes or alcahol."

Crucible ground his cigarette out, a hint of anger tinging his voice. "Perhaps I'll quit." he said. He wasn't sure if he meant cigarettes or killing. Given his nature, nicotine was the more likely of the two.

She listened to his reasoning only blinking at his words as her face kept to the cool and calm composing look she endured from sitting in a parlour of crying people. The face of a psychologist, how horrible it was to have it naturally.
"I understand the necessities of doing it but underneath it all, why continue?" she said drifting back into the corner seat. As she looked to him she felt like it she was needing to stop on this conversation. It was his decision on speaking it to her but it was not her boundary to dig deeper in his mind without a real reason.
"Quitting is something people go back to... stopping on the other hand..." she said only stopping her words. She knew, that he knew, what she meant. There was no question about it cause he looked to be that kind of person.
Looking over to the waiter that was more out of this world then they were she only stared at him before returning her eyes back to the table of the man she just met.
"So besides the profession you have endured, how long have you been here?"

Crucible sat back, digesting her words. Finally, he nodded slowly. Without a word, Crucible rose, pulling out a heavy roll of bills. He peeled off several large bills and set them out, then motioned to her.

"There is something I want to show you." Crucible said, nodding in the direction of the VIP rooms. He knew of a particular exit, that gave an incredible view of the city. One of the few views that never grew old for the vampire.

Crucible led the way through the dark VIP rooms, and out onto a shadowed terrace. The view spanned some of the skyline of the city, and the nightsky was ablaze with glittering lights. Crucible leaned against the wall, not facing Ange. He'd let her appreciate the view before speaking.

At first she was hesitant as she watched him stood up and gave an international nod of direction to the vip area. Standing up as well and following behind him, she did not say anything to his words as he walked behind him only two feet away.
As he turned away to lean against a wall, she looked out to the horizon of the skylighting stars and stars in the sky. Cities were differnt when you have not lived in them... or lived in them for short periods of time. She lived in DC yes, and a small town in the middle of the desert and no matter what it was, night time was the best time. It might have looked like a time of peace but the beauty of it wall was just as dangerous as a human being.
She shivered a little under her skin, sadly bring up the death cough that only for once lasted a few seconds for once and a little taste of blood this time. There was no need for word of what was in her mind thought memories did go through them.
"Wow," was all she said to the city.

Crucible ran his tongue over his fangs in his mouth. She had taken everything in stride, so far. It was time to see if her temperence had a limit. Crucible pushed off the wall, moving silently behind her, in front of the only exit.

"I've appreciated this view for...a long time." he said quietly. Crucible crossed his arms. "You know how long? Decades. I've watched some lights come on, others extinguish. I've watched people and buildings wax and wane."

Crucible's tone became harder. "And I shall see centuries more." he said. "Because here's the thing about me, Ange..."
Crucible moved up behind her, gloved hands resting easily on her shoulders, his voice coming from right next to her ear.

"I am immortal..."

As a soft touch of his hands reached her shoulders, she twitched from it a her ears filled with his words. Decades? Years? But he only looked so young... things were starting to get weird. She did not move as his voice came to her ears, but more of a raise eyebrow twitched as the word 'immortal' aroused her hearing.
What was this that came from his mind? Was it that he was a cleaner that she saw himself as an immortal? or was it something out of this world.
When she was young she always knew deep down inside, there was things of this world that are not suppose to be seen by humans. If it was florished, like immortality, then the balance of life would fall. She studied demonology, witches and to the turth, a severe intrest in the children of the darkness... vampires. Did he believe he was one? What prof besides teeth, skin and temperature could he show that he was more then a mortal.
She could not think of anything to say out right to him but the only thing she did was stand perfectly still. Her eyes still scanning the city, unsure of everything if his words were true.

Crucible breathed in her intoxicating smell. That was the one thing that never grew old; the smell of blood. There were only so many times you could see the Louvre, only so many times you could taste a fine wine before it grew stale. Crucible was not that old yet, and thanked whatever higher being there was for that fact.

But he could appreciate the timeless appeal of the blood. Another breath, and another whiff of that deep, rich, human smell. Blood. He could almost taste it, and had to resist the urge to lick her neck, to taste the flesh along the artery.

Crucible could not tell, turned away from him as she was, whether she believed him or not; whether she even comprehended. No, she comprehended. She was Prey, not cattle. She knew, whether she admitted it or not, that there was a predator behind her, already at her neck.

If she did not, she knew now, as Crucible sank his teeth into her neck.

The warm breath of Carl swooped around Angelous neck as she shivered by a cold breezed that passed by them but there was something else unexpected from him. The sharp point of the teeth that dug into her fragile neck made her twitch even more. Tensing from the pain but falling for it from the masochist side in her she was in a stand still. Gripping the cement that was the barrier of the free fall down to the bottom, she made a stiffled noise of a gasp somewhere between a soft moan of pain and pleasure. The taste of blood came to her tongue as she tried to gasp another lung full of air but the pressure between Carl teeth against her child like neck was making it impossible. Shocked of what was going on, all that she could do was stand there, falling into his grip. Everything was getting darker as her heart, now reaching its shock point pumped harder, making her arms and hands burn as she could hear it in her own ears how much blood was seeping through her.

It was sweet, oh so very sweet, against Crucible's tongue. His eyes were closed as he reveled in the truly hedonistic prize, the warmth of blood, splasing along his tongue.

He gulped it in, drawing it from her. Normally, he'd stop before he drew too much. A dozen little feedings, or one death. But she was already dead, her lungs eating themselves as the cancerous cells continued to grow. He was doing her a favor, killing her quickly, all at once, rather then letting her die, caugh by bloody painful caugh.

Crucible moaned as he continued to suckled her sweet neck, one hand wrapping around her shoulder to hold her tighter against him. He was gentle, obscenely gentle when compared to the ravenous leeching that he foisted onto her small neck.

Finally, Crucible broke away from her already paling skin, guiding her to the ground. She drew breath still, but it would not be for long. He had fed quickly, and lethally. Crucible leaned down, looking into her eyes. His fangs bit into his own lip, hard, drawing blood. He'd never sired a vampire. He didn't think he was capable.

Looking into her eyes, he knew he could. Would. If she would allow him. Crucible leaned forward, his breath once more at her ear. "Listen now...you are dying. You are dying faster then before." he said, his speech quick, but seeming unhurried. "I give you a choice; die her, let your strength and life ebb, or choose something else. Immortality. Health, at a price."

"Would you become like me? A predator?" he asked, his eyes boring into her own. He had to keep her focused on him. If she fell asleep, it would be permanent. Crucible's voice was low, almost pleading. "Join me, Ange."

Feeling the blood slowly seep out of her body into a greedy mouth was erotic in its ways, but the pleasure was hidden by pain as small tears from the puncture wound that was at her neck continue to pulse with blood. She cried what was there as she could taste the blood come up a little from her throat, feeling it touch and drip a little from her lips before it was sucked back down into the mouth of Carl. She knew what he was long before his words reached her ears.
As her body went to the ground and the face of a being talking as if they were in a empty hollow room, his words bounced off every direction before it even reached her ear that was touched by the small blood drops of his lips. The history of vampires were infamous but now, they were not myths to her.
Her eyes rolled time to time for the brief seconds he talked of what he must ask before receiving a permission.
She first, could not talk, her mouth moved as small drops of blood still spilled over her lips and the iron taste trying to swallow itself down. She shook uncontrollably from the body trying to go into shock but her will still trying to keep herself conscious.
As her fate of life and death laid in front of her, she could only first grip to his hands before her voice could push out what little could be said.
"yes..."
Though it was the words that could only be said, her mind said more and at a fast rate. As her body shock uncontrollably, she could not let go of his hand for the fear that his words were false and he would leave her to see the angel or demon that awaited for her body. She looked into his eyes with a screaming plea but only hoped the pain would end soon.

Crucible nodded. She'd made her choice. Now she had to live with it for eternity. The pale man moved quickly, his senses, acute from ages of bloody existence, could hear, feel her heart slowing. She was dying.

Crucible leaned in, his lips locking over the two holes in her neck. His mouth created a vacuum, into which her blood poured. It was all she had left to give, and Crucible resisted the urge to swallow the mouthful he had. Instead, he gripped her chin gently, turning it, and sliding his lips to hers.

Crucible opened his mouth, letting the blood, her blood, wash into her mouth. His lips were locked over hers, his eyes gazing straight into hers. He did not move, did not breath, did not take away his lips until she had swallowed. He waited, waited for the sign that he had not been to late in the Turning.

There it was, a ragged breath, heaving her bosom up. The beginnings of a transformation; a Turning that would tear the life from her, and replace it with something more. Or less. Crucible slid his arms under her, lifting her easily. Soon her body would die, and would attempt to clear itself of its unused liquids. It was not pleasant. It would start with the most obvious first, and it was for this reason that Crucible took her away from the dark terrace. He would not ruin her Turning, as his had been ruined.

Crucible leapt, his feet, sheaved in fine Italian shoes; smashed through the window of an abandoned apartment nearby. He knew it was abandoned, for he'd killed the owner that very year. Friendless, their death had gone unnoticed, and the place now belonged to him. Convenient.

Crucible knew she was in pain, the spasms and jerkings telling him of her anguish. He could not help her; not yet. But he could do a little to ease her pain. The pale man set her down on a bed, stripped bare. Crucible did not use it, and it would serve her well. The adjoining bathroom was perfect; a large tub next to a walk-in shower. Crucible turned on the bathwater, and began to fill the tub.

The next part was harder. Going back to Ange, Crucible tore at her clothes. They would've been ruined anyway, when her body began to transform. That moment was not long in coming, and Crucible kept his eyes away from her, respectfully, as he stripped her. This done, Crucible carried her to the bath, laying her into it gently.

"You are changing. It will hurt, and your body will expel all liquids it currently contains. It will not be pleasant." he said, his tone even, his eyes pointedly on her, not her naked body. "When it is over, you may use that shower to clean yourself." Crucible's eyes were almost sad as he watched her thrash.

"Do you wish me to stay, or wait in the next room?" he asked quietly, a hand on her bare shoulder for comfort. His lips were dry, his face seeming gaunt.

His lips wrapping back onto her neck at first felt like his words were false, he was going to kill her. The small holes that were trying to heal itself soon was opened again and the pain of the blood being forced by 'man' then heart was agonizing and impossible for her not to muffle a cry of pain. Small tears streamed down the sides of her face as the life around her felt like it was starting to slow down to a stand still. She felt like she was dying again in her life...
The feeling of the cold wind was replaced by the warm breath over her as she felt the lips of Carl lock with hers with the taste of iron that was not sick but tantalizing. Feeling it sweep past her tongue and down her throat through the little holes that were now incapable of healing for the blood lose that was now coming back to her. As she took what she could as if the blood had went back to her heart like electricity trying to start her heart back up, the shock of pain when in her. She had been shot before, something she kept secret from everyone, but this was not the same.
As he took her from the darkness and lights of the city, she convulsed and went in and out of time and mind as he took her to a place she had not seen before. The sound of breaking glass was more like a sheet of ice being dropped onto cement but that was only stopped for the pain of her turning was starting to go into full effect.
As her body was laid onto something softer then a feather in her mind, she could hear everything around her though her mind was not with her. It was not like her life was flashing before her eyes but special memories she held her together; her sister and her having fun, graduating boot camp, tattooing a group in a band. Little things that were now becoming pointless as the pain of her turning became agonizing.
Coming back from the unimagined place in her mind, she looked to the face of her now 'sire' as what little consciousness she had. Though she could feel her clothes that were once on her was now stripped from her, she was not scared of what he could do but was comforted by the feeling. Sick or weird?
First unable to answer him at first from the moans of pain from the feeling of her back being bent in half and the sweat that beaded off her like a stuck pig, she reached out for him like a child would... for that is what she was now... a child. After a minute of trying to compose enough strength to say some words instead of cry and moan, she was able to squeeze out,
"stay."

Crucible nodded, his hand taking hers with a gentleness that surprised him. Never had he been gentle, or at least, never had his mercy extended further then a quick death. But here, he took her hand, his child's hand. She was in pain, pain Crucible could almost feel.

It was like a stench, the fear, the pain, the need. She needed his tangible touch. Maybe he needed hers. In any case, Crucible stayed, his dark, empty holes; holes that had once been human eyes, never left Ange. His hand gripped hers, firm, unwavering, as her body tried its best to shuck the inevitable.

Ange's ceaselss writhings had moved a great deal of water from the bath, onto Crucible. He didn't care, removing only his coat and holster as he steadied Ange. Clothes were easy to replace. Ange was not.

Crucible lost count of the hours. Her pain came in went in waves; never completely gone, and never ultimately consuming. They both wavered on the cusp of madness, the anxiety of the seemingly endless torment showing on Crucible's face. Never before had the creases seemed so deep, never before had he felt so weak. Ange did not look much better; though despite her childlike physical form, Crucible knew in his heart she would survive. She would not die, at least not with any finality.

It almost came as a shock. The pain was easing. The intense thrashings were fewer, and far more time lapsed between each one. During the Turning's course, Crucible had been forced to drain the tub thrice over; her body purging itself had been messy, but necessary. Now, things seemed particularly still. It was not over, but perhaps the worst part of it was. Crucible lay a hand over Ange's forehead, her skin hot to the touch, sweaty and pale. He nodded to her gently.

A transformations end. A new life's beginning.

The touch of a being is needed by everyone, but the touch that was passed between the two felt like everything to Angelous. The touch of a father, a brother, a friend and to the highest; a lover, was rolled into one as she gripped with little strength left in her body hoping she would not drown or die at any given moment. She felt like an old woman, gripping onto a doctors hands vulnerable of all the viruses and diseases around her because her body was frail and not immune.
She could feel the bodily masses that weighed her down was purged from her as the tar and cancer that once sat heavily in the bottom of her lungs came up as if she was recovering from a hangover. Though she could feel the water around her come and go as her sire tended to her as much as he possibly could, she knew it was the lasting moment of her life... her living life.
His cooling touch of his finger that touch her head was soothing as she laid dormant now. The last breath of air was squeezed out as a small whimper as her eyes opened like a butterfly coming from its cocoon. He knew she was at the end of her transformation as she felt it coming.
The once dark brown eyes that stared at the ceiling above melted of its deepening color to a crystal hazel red. As her medium hair laid drenched around her bare shoulders she could feel her hair follicles pushing her hair to a long elegant length, that once long ago she adored before cutting it off. What little wounds she had cleared away but for a few that were deep into her muscles as well as the two puncture marks that fell into small scars.
As her eyes closed as if it was her last time alive and she was going to drift into a sleep she only realized she could open them again and that in her hand was the person; father, sire, lover... the person that was going to show her the way.
She did not move or say a word, but only seeped into the room she was in what was around it. She looked to the eyes of her sire with no words capable of saying of what was in her head.

Crucible swallowed, his tongue and lips dry. It was a strange sensation; unease at something so inane. How did he fear the childlike creature, so frail looking? The thought was cleared with a small shake of his head. Crucible looked down at the small hand clamping his. There was no strength to the grp; no strength to her. The transformation was complete, but she was not. Not yet, at least. Sleep, rest would remedy that.

Crucible rose, not removing his hand or gaze. Reaching down, he picked her up for the second time that night, carrying her to the walk-in shower. Though purged of fluids, the process had left Ange less then clean. Crucible turned on the water with one hand, heedless of the thundering stream that soaked his expensive clothes. He stood there, letting the roaring water wash her clean, cradling the fledgling vampire, his fledgling vampire, like one might a small child. The feelings were no less intense as Crucible gazed into her eyes.

It was like taking first steps into the real world as she was helped up again by and brought into the walk-in shower. She would have let go of him so he did not have to get what was on him wet but as he cradled her i his arms as the steaming water jetted on her back she could only be there like a statue on a cathedral staring up to the 'angel' that held her in his arms. His eyes meant something more then just a soul now, no, it was something unexplainable as she looked to him.
She felt the fluids and other bodily functions excess peel off of her pale tan skin as her hair began to fall down over his hands. Though she did not want to break the gaze they had, the feelings that were their, she need to scrap what was not coming of her with some manual labor.
Sinking to the tiled floor as the water swirled around her feet she grabbed some soap that was left on the ledge and began to wash herself. Her mortal self was left dead in the cafe as she was here now completely different. Incapable of really thinking of things to ask her sire, she only continued to rub the soap onto her skin and hair as the mist of the heat that roase out of the vent and facet.
As she stopped for a mere second to the sight of a pale reflection of the glass, she looked intensively of what she had became. She was nothing different from what she was but, little things had changed; her hair, skin, eyes, sight, hearing... even the tattoo's that were still in her past life now looked... alive. There was many things to learn and so much time...
Letting the soap slide out of her hands to the floor below, she turned back to her sire but only leaned on the cold glass wall behind her. Turning the water off for she felt like she had burned enough of herself off to become raw if mortal, she stood there with her arms crossed over her chest.
Staring at him she could see things, stories that was deep in him but she could not get the whole picture as she looked into his eyes. The time would come when they could talk but she knew, time was coming close to dawn...

Crucible let Ange stand, backing off. He waited, to make sure her strength was not temporary, and she did not collapse, Crucible slipped out of the shower. Crucible quickly took off his shirt and tie, as well as his soaking socks and shoes. Tossing these aside, Crucible went into the other room, wearing only a pair of wet pants. He rooted into a closet, finding some sheets, and set about making the bed.

Ange was still in the bathroom, and Crucible hesitated. He felt over protective of her, suddenly, not wanting to leave the room for an extended period of time. Crucible shook the thought off, grabbing a bathrobe and reentering the bathroom. He hung the robe on the outside of the shower, allowing Ange her privacy.

"We should sleep soon. The sun is coming." he said, crossing his arms over his pale chest.

Watching go and prepare something in another room, she went back to looking around the shower stall. Her eyes feeling the mist of the water steam into them was refreshing but from the transformation, she was feeling tired and weaker by the minute. She was in need of rest.
Seeing part of a robe appear on the outer edge of the shower she turned off the water with a soothing sound of Carl. The belivant sun, something she had not seen in long years even before she was turned. Funny... she was going to be able to keep her own jobs even after this altercation.
But thought after thought went faster as she stared into the falling droplets that clung to her hair. Reaching around and placing the somewhat oversized robe onto her body, she stepped out of the puddled water towards the sink. Seeking a brush of any kind, she found one luckily on the sink edge. Brushing her hair gracefully but with little problem of tangles, she left it to dry naturally along her back.
Turning to Carl she only walked a little than a feet from him, unsure where to go. All she remembered was the window and shower but the rest was a mystery to her mind.

Crucible held his hand out, taking hers gently. He had not needed to speak for some time. Perhaps the sire-offspring bond was stronger then he'd thought. In any case, Crucible led Ange into the bedroom. The place was a safehouse, a back up. As such, he didn't have one of his modern 'non-coffin looking' coffins in the place. Instead, he had simply drawn the long velvet sheets sorrounding thge bed down, creating a black square to darkness; a vampire's heaven.

Crucible guided her to the bed, pulling the sheet over her, almost tenderly. That tenderness extended to his touch, as he pressed his hand to her forehead once again. Crucible cocked his head to the side, not sure if he wanted to, or even could say something. He chose silence, climbing into the bed, and stretching out at the foot, on top of the covers. Crucible drew the curtain shut, plunging the bed into darkness.

"Sleep, Ange." he said quietly. "Take your rest." Crucible tucked his hands behind his head, closing his eyes. The darkness, always so inviting to his kind; vampire and assasin both, seemed all the more sweet.

As she took his hand and walked at his side, she looked side to side of various things that she would not be able to see if she was still human, like the crack in the wall that was infested with spider webs.
Looking to the bedroom, she followed to his motions and laid down on the bed still wrapped up in the terrycloth robe. Her hair was almost dry as she still twirled it onto one of her sholders as she felt the sheets around her cling to her figure. His soft hand once again feeling her forehead only felt closer to her. Closing her eyes she never was able to fall alseep immerdiatly but now, it was like turning off a lightbulb.
Drifting into a dreamers world, she slept in the darkness without a sound. She was safe with him and wrapped within the velvet sheets and his warmth.