Kalix had his hands in what was left of his pockets as he stomped down the sidewalk, grumbling to himself about what bothered him earlier in the day. He was mouthing what he was saying, though words weren't exactly what was coming out, as it was more like the first letter of the word he was thinking about saying. Thus, he aquired the few possible looks that he could obtain this late at night and this close to the graveyard he regularly visited. He scratched his scruffy beard as if it was the only thing that had put him in such an irate mood.

"How dare that... hooligan boot..." and by this point his murmurs became shouting with a finger thrusting upwards, threatening God, Himself, "me out of his store! All I wanted was information... on his address..." His voice became normalized as he stopped walking, cocked his head, and thought about what he just said. It took him a moment before nodding at his well-made, but unspoken arguement. He shrugged off this odd injustice as he neared the graveyard that housed his deceased mother.

It was late, the perfect time for a vampiress such as Helen Gustare, and she found herself in the local Demaitre. She leaned against one of the trees, knees to her chest, and indulged in a particular book she stole from the library; with all intentions of returning it… Eventually. Perhaps the current librarians would have perished… But she would indeed return the yellowed pages of literature.

Helen flipped through the old pages and scanned them vigorously, almost as if the pages would fade away if she did not read them fast enough. The cool air, and silence of the grave comforted her. She was away in her world of pretend and imagination, away from the horrors of reality. Attired in her usual black turtleneck, black pants, and combat boots, Helen’s ice blue eyes stared intently at the book’s pages. If one looked closely, they might noticed a slight upturn of her upper lip in amusement.

Kalix stumbled through the gate to the graveyard, giving the noisey door a meaningful glare. After another stumble (though, this time it was from not paying attention) into the graveyard itself, Kalix hobbled about, taking his time enjoying the sculptures that lived off of being ignored. In fact, he found himself at the base of his favorite statue; it rose up in the middle of the lot and wasn't exactly a tombstone, but just a statue of the mother Mary lifted ontop of a short marble pillar that commemorated the dead. She was looking down at the ground with her hands clasped together infront of her heart. Rain damage left streaks down the stone, giving her the appearence of crying; Kalix loved that little detail nature added.

He murmured something about his mother before walking around the statue. Walking, however, is a loose term, for he had to use the base of it to keep himself vertical. He wasn't completely drunk, but if you asked him, he'd swear that he's never touched a drink in his life.

He eventually came to the grave of Mrs. Onoro, the few flowers in the row where once ina nice vase next to the headstone, but the vase has been shattered for a long while now, the flowers wilting and burrying themselves into the grave with the woman they were meant for. He let out a meaningful sigh and humanity returned to the eyes of a man that lost hope long ago. He sat down with his legs crossed and simply watched the headstone. After a while, he started speaking to himself, though directing the conversation to his mother. Kalix recalled memories the two shared, ones that would seem to be long forgotten by someone in his shoes. It was obvious he cared little if anyone was around or even listening to him. Kalix is so used to being ignored that he doesn't bother following many social standards anymore.

You didn’t have to be a vampire with acute hearing to hear the ruckus made by the entering hobo. Helen closed her book, and tucked it under the tree in a hollow spot. She stood, and faded into shadow, becoming hardly visible. Coming upon the statue of Mary, she made herself seen, and raised an eyebrow at the mumbling and grungy man.

“Do you have a habit of conversing with the dead?” She inquired, seemingly out of nowhere.

Little did this fellow know, was that even if he refused such a thing, she was, indeed, dead. It amused her slightly to ask such a question, despite his lack of a current response. One could say that solitude brought another a strange sense of humor. Helen could also admit that she conversed with the dead. Besides vampires, but also her own dead relatives. Perhaps it was something they had in common that neither of the two were aware of.

Kalix had unconsiously ignored the woman, thinking she was talking to someone else, as he usually assumed. No one likes hobos, so no one likes him; at least, that's the way he sees things nowadays. He had actually murmured that to his mother during his conversation with her grave. He even began poking the soil as if trying to make a point to her that she wasn't heeding. He gave up a few minutes later that started by his stop in speach, then he sat back, and eventually relaxed with a distressed sigh before realizing there was someone else actually looing at him. Having not prepared for the moment, he simply eyed the woman from where he sat without saying a word. His face held little expression, mainly because he was mildly taken aback.

Kalix made a poor attempt at clearing his throat and making an odd, poorly humored comment. "Parents, right? They just don't listen anymore." His eyes saddened a moment. It suprised him he hadn't reverted into his usual attitude yet. Maybe his mother's charm was keeping him from escaping from this social encounter? Kalix was, indeed, uncomfortable already. He blamed his mom.

Though she was ignored, it didn’t really bother her. She leaned against a nearby sapling, and picked at her worn sweater. Throwing aside the bits of fuzz on her shirt. A smell wafted into Helen’s nose that made her grimace. Perhaps she’d give the male a bar of soap before she engaged a conversation.

She watched him for a moment, not really caring about his mumblings, or his abuse of the soil, but simply the way he just sat there, completely in his own world. It reminded Helen of her own habits, the way she’d been for so long, invisible to the common eye. He then ended his obliviousness with a long sigh, and then stared back at her. She diverted her eyes away from him, before hearing the next thing he had to say, which seemed directed at her.

"Parents, right? They just don't listen anymore."

Helen raised an eyebrow, and a sorrow deep within her eyes seemed to be punctured. She never knew her parents, since they had been murdered when she was very small. The Gustare line seemed to have a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, unfortunately. Helen looked back at the hobo, without saying a word.

Kalix stared at the woman for longer than just a moment. The saddness left his eyes, replaced by the familiar glossy stone of a drunk that doesn't want to deal with his problems. He raised an eyebrow and unaligned his jaw, giving the corner of his mouth a slight pucker; it was quite a face, one that children would laugh at while their mother tried to think of a way to scorn them for the childs' previous mishap.

He stood up with a grumble, brushing off the dirt that collected on his worn jeans and frayed jacket as if they were brand new. He walked over to the woman without averting his gaze. With an outhrust finger, he prodded her arm. "What'chu lookin' at, missy? Hm?" He poked her again. He glared with one eye, still with his jaw askew.

Mischief floating into the young hobo’s eyes, and it made Helen uneasy. Hobos usually had a habit of causing trouble, simply because there wasn’t much you could do to them. Perhaps take away their dumpster, or throw them in jail. But even then, you’d be giving them a meal and a place to sleep. Not to mention companionship.

The hobo brushed himself off, perhaps wanting to make himself look somewhat presentable, though Helen doubted that was the case. He poked her arm, and she glared at him. “Simply captivated by your mumblings.” She responded, blatantly. Helen couldn’t’ remember specific mumblings, but when one is alone so often, there isn’t really point in remembering such things. Though, she was aware of her mind gone awry through all of these long years.

Kalix didn't like this one very much. Then again, he didn't like anyone that was in a better position than himself. She just seemed a combinateion of uninterested, annoyed, and not-having-to-be-here, which always thoroughly aggrivated Kalix. He poked her again, inching past that comfortable barrier people have around themselves. "I'm glad my half-witted comments not meant for your ears is amusing to you, missy."

He glared at her a couple seconds longer before holding up the finger he had poked her with. "Oh, one moment..." He reached behind himself and up under his hoodie, but just enough so that it wasn't obvious it was his jacket. With a heavy grunt, he yanked on the 'hidden' metal pole (though from behind, it was somewhat obvious something was stuck up there) till he pulled it free with a clank as it fell from his grip and bounced off a tombstone.

With a sarcastic, relieved sigh, he continued, "Ah... much better." He pretended to be breathing better as he nodded at her and pointed with his poking finger, "You might want to remove yours, too, before it gets stuck up there perminately." His knees were bent slightly with his hands flat on the tops of his thighs and his stare intense as he licked a lip with the anticipation of her reponse.

"I'm glad my half-witted comments not meant for your ears is amusing to you, missy."

Helen shrugged with apathy, and simply stared off into the night. Though he poked her once again, and she crumpled her brows, letting him know her distaste for such an action. He better watch himself. "Authentic entertainment is hard to come across these nights." She said, especially after reading the majority of what was in the city's library at least twice each.

Helen rolled her eyes with disgust at the hobo's display, and apparent lack of manners. She sighed, and repositioned herself against the tree, and shook her head. She couldn't exactly remember why she was in the graveyard in the firstplace.

The vampire's lips upturned only slightly, only clear to one whom looked hard enough, and snickered. "Oh, what a funny lad you are," she explained with acrimony in her voice. She rolled her eyes once more, and sighed, returning to her previous slouch on the tree.

Kalix couldn't believe this woman. here she was in the middle of a graveyard with seemingly nothing to do, and she's irate! Why doesn't she just leave? Well, if she had a better place to go, as most people do, Kalix was going to find out. How could he possibly get any more wack-o? His next idea didn't need any thought.

As she slouched against the tree behind her, he took the half-second of her eye rolling to get a head start. He walked to her left with purpose, bent over slightly at his waist to try and get a better look at her butt. "Hm... It must be stuck up there good." He walked around behind her to try and get a better view from her right side. "How long have you had that thing up there, missy? You sure are one cranky woman for someone who has much better places to be than in a graveyard teasing some poor hobo." He couldn't ever put into words how tempting it was to pinch this cute little butt, but he kenw that would be going to far; that, and women nowadays carry around Mace. He was sure this little lady had to have some kind of defense, otherwise she wouldn't be where she is right now.

As the homeless male criticized her being, Helen simply brushed off what he said, and shook her head lightly. She picked at her nails for a brief moment before looking back at the hobo. “I’m afraid I don’t have the habit of sitting on poles and getting them stuck up my ass. My deepest sympathies go to you though, maybe you should have that problem checked out?” Oh, the joys of glorious sarcasm.

He paced around her, and Helen turned, to where she was facing him. Sure, her butt was a wonderful spectacle, but this hobo wasn’t going to get a free show, especially after such snide remarks. Despite her female appearance, she could hold her own as well as any vampire could, which was rather intimidating on a mortal scale.

Kalix stood strait up, or as strait as his slouching allowed him, and crossed his thin arms that looked somewhat odd on his broad frame. "You must be incredibly bored to be wandering around a graveyard and being entertained by a hobo checking out your bum." He uncrossed his arms and poked hers again. "Why doesn't someone like you have something better to do than tease a poor guy with a dumpster as a best friend, hm?"

He sat down at the base of the tree with a thump, obviously not caring about the dirt on his clothes as he had pretended to before. "Are you so dispicable that less fortunate people turn you on?" He stared up at her without even a hint of anger in his deep voice and gray eyes. He was merely asking a question. Granted, his bluntness could be as hard as an iron mallet, but his tongue has long since dulled and his malice faded.

Helen glared at this horrible male. She narrowed her cold eyes, and wondered where the hell he came up with such accusations. She raised her lip slightly with a silence growl, slightly showing her fangs. Trying to resist the call of slashing his throat, and feeding on his blood. “You best not say such things, hobo.” She inquired. If he didn’t stop saying such things, she’d definitely lose her temper, and kill him.

His petty statements were insulting, sure, but it was just a hobo. What was he going to do? Infect her with some street disease? Well, technically she’s already dead, no more diseases for her, and well, she simply smirked, and shook her head. “Don’t flatter yourself.” Helen questioned herself; was she in the mood to stick around and deal with the homeless man, or should she slit his throat and feast on his blood? Eh, she wasn’t hungry, and she’d gotten enough bad tastes of dirty flesh in the past. She decided against it.

"Ugh!" He threw his head back against the tree with a thunk and his wince expressed his immediate remorse for said action. "...You're hopeless." He shifted his position so that his legs were out infront of him with his knees bent upward and his feet planted; he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his arm bent inward so that he could rest his head.

He glanced up at her from the corner of his eye. Using that eye to point to the spot next to him, he said, "Well, if you insist on hanging around even through my verbal lashings, Miss, then take a seat and tell me about yourself? How's life on top of the social structure?" His apparent drunkenness seemed to fade in the breeze.

The hobo’s sudden loud expression made Helen jump, and her eyes grow wide. She blinked and tilted her head in confusion. What was this man’s problem? Perhaps she was hopeless, but she was confused on why this man, who barely knew her would think so. Was she an obviously hopeless person? She was reading way too much into the situation.

"Well, if you insist on hanging around even through my verbal lashings, Miss, then take a seat and tell me about yourself? How's life on top of the social structure?"

Helen breathed outwardly, and closed her eyes. She chewed on her lips for a moment, and twisted a loose thread from her worn sweater in-between her forefinger and thumb for a moment, before opening her eyes again. “I was once on top, but not anymore. That… That was a long time ago,” she breathed. “Now, few know my name.” Helen shrugged, not really giving herself much credit, because there wasn’t much to give in the first place. In her own way, she was as invisible to society as this hobo was. Though… She didn’t live in a garbage can, and she had a much more preferable cuisine than he.

Kalix eyed this woman quizzically with an upturned eyebrow. "Few know your name and you think that deturmines social status?" He adjusted his position so he didnt have to twist his neck so much to look at her. "Hun, I bet more people know my name than yours and I can guarentee you that you're in a better position than I." Almost like a side-thought in a scripted play or movie, the hobo turned his head down and to the side, muttering to himself about "keying cars." He cleared his throat and went back to talking to this lady. "Besides, you really shouldn't compare us." He paused before making his next comment. "I'm Kalix, by the way."

Helen sort of shrugged, and didn’t answer his question. She did not exactly exist within the social statuses. Though, she was certain he wouldn’t understand that. Was there a social class for vampires? Or at least melancholic, and depressed vampires?

"Hun, I bet more people know my name than yours and I can guarantee you that you're in a better position than I."

Despite her reluctance, that statement put a small smirk on her face. It was a grim smirk, but she was amused, nonetheless. She was a bit befuddled though, for she hadn’t compared them aloud. She didn’t say anything about it, and ran a fang over her lip at the idle time. As she kept doing it, it torn a hole in her skin, and she sucked at the blood. He introduced himself, and Helen’s smirk faded, and she muttered her name to him. “Helen.” She really was a solemn lass, but then, what was there to be happy about? Seldom were there things that made her smile anymore. Back in the day it was her books, but over the years she had read them so many times over that the same jokes and irony just sort of got old. Maybe that was her problem. She was so stuck in the past, that it dragged her down like an anchor, and refused to let her go. A nasty situation when you think about it.