"Every one new? Remind me not to ask for directions later."Â?

He grinned. It was rather amusing that all of them were new in town.

Aishe had quite the unusual accent, he couldn't place it at all. Ambrose didn't dwell on it through when the big guy, Peter, finished off moving the table. Damned cane always made him look worse off than he was. He did his best to shake that thought off. It was a little harder than he'd hoped because he had to sit down.

It wasn't that Ambrose couldn't sit comfortably, it just always took a second and some adjusting to get the prosthetic to line up with the rest of him. How many years had he worn this thing and it still felt off?

But there was a nearly full bottle of Blue Label and he was being offered some. That was enough to get his mind off his leg.

"Ambrose Townsend. And a scotch sounds great."Â?

((Read mention of Aishe's accent in an earlier post... will edit if I've taken liberties.))

Apollyon poured another glass of scotch and passed it to Ambrose, not sliding it down the table this time.looking toward Ambrose he said,

"Honored to make your acquintence"he flashed a smile now, thinking of some conversation."would it be terribly cliche in 'getting to know you' conversation if i asked your occupation?"

Ambrose accepted the drink and it was defiantly a good scotch but it has better be at the prices they charged for it.

The question made him laugh, just a short laugh, because it was cliché. At least his current occupation was more palatable than his other.

"Since you're buying the drinks I don't have an issue with cliché. I'm a musician."�

He took another drink of the scotch savoring it, the peat, the malt, the burn; it did pay to be in the right place at the right time.

"Mind if I ask what the occasion is? Most people don't go in for a bottle like this without a good reason."Â?

Cyrus was surprised to say the least at Fallon's touches. It appeared she was coming out of her shell slightly, which was a great thing. He really did like the ear scritches too.

Nodding at Darius as he sat down for a fresh beer he tried to relax again. Moving to a more exposed table, even as close to the booth and back wall put him on edge. Now that it was not only his own safety but Fallon's and his clanmates, he was more on guard. At least there was not a table or booth occupied behind them.

The waitress brought out a fresh tray of appetizers as well as some interesting pastry wrapped things. At the quality of food and speed at which the received it he hoped some other patron wasnt waiting longer. With a hefty tip in her palm he sat back and inspected the newcomer.

As names were given he gave a slight head bow and stated quietly. "Cyrus. Nice to meet you Ambrose."

Cyrus had watched Darius tip the waitress. Vaguely he wondered just how much she had made tonight in tips, since he already palmed about $400 to her tonight. He hoped that her nights were better for it.

Sitting back he listened to the conversation with one arm along the back of Fallon's chair.

Apollyon raised his glass in a salute to Cyrus and Ambrose. glacing over to Aishe for a moment, he caught her eye and gave her a smirk.It was then Ambrose said something that caught his full attention.Apollyon's eyes widened at Ambrose's admission.

"Ah a musician eh? I can play a little guitar and some piano. Mainly classical, but I woudln't consider myself too bad of a metal player either. what do you find yourself playing mostly?"

Since she was used to just sitting around listening, as men talked, Fallon was content for the most part. Occasionally she would glance over at Aishe, and give a small grin, but wondered if Aishe felt as comfortable in larger, more male groups. She, herself didn't, but was making an effort to change that.

As usual, Fallon ate little, choosing to pick up something and just nibble. She was enjoying the beer Peter had shot to her, down the table. She had to smile when the action resembled a tv commercial, and surprisingly didn't spill.

It felt nice having Cyrus rest his arm along the back of her chair, though she didn't read anything into the gesture.

The topic of music came up, and Fallon almost blurted out her own achievements with a piano, but stopped herself. She doubted either Peter nor Ambrose would care.

Not being a musician or even slightly musical, Cy listened as he picked up a steaming wedge of potato and dunked it into the malt vinegar. It was very good, crisp and salty. He normally fed himself whenever he could to silence the churning thirst. Tonight he seemed to be successful.

Resisting the urge to put some on a plate for Fallon he contented himself to watching and listening alertly.

Aishe was gratified when the thoughtful (and well-tipped) waitress brought out another soda. She felt slightly guilty; she knew the waitress was getting decent tips from Peter and Cyrus, and although she wasn't strapped for cash, she certainly couldn't add the same amount. So out of embarrassment that her tips might be substandard, she didn't give the waitress anything at all, deciding to leave something at the end instead. The woman didn't seem to mind.

As the conversation turned toward music, she fell silent; she was no musician although she could appreciate a good tune. It was simply nice to sit and listen to new friends enjoying a chat. For once she didn't really worry about who was what or who was biting who. Oh, she had her suspicions, but she found tonight it just didn't seem to matter. Time to relax.

Fallon smiled at her from time to time, and Aishe responded in kind. She really liked the quiet woman. She seemed a bit shy, but Aishe could relate to that. She had been considered the local wallflower before her arrival in Nachton... no, since before then. She wasn't sure what had changed her. Kem, perhaps. It was as if one of them had to be the more outgoing, and Aishe had fallen into the role. Perhaps it would be so if she and Fallon were to be friends. She wouldn't mind finding out; Fallon was just well - likeable.

It took a second but Ambrose noticed he’d missed Fallon’s offered hand. He smiled in apology. Generally, he was better about basic courtesy, especially with women, and he’d blown it this time. He chose to blame the laps on being distracted and smiled his apology to Fallon.

Peter, however, seemed rather enthusiastic about the music and he responded to that.

“I can manage classical but it always comes out sounding wrong. And since I do studio work for who ever needs me or wants to pay me I guess you’d call me a jack of all trade but metal that and the blues… I’d guess you’d call them my forte.”

Apollyon nodded his head as he listened to Ambrose.He heard him speak about being a studio musician, which isn't too bad of a job. He had done his share of studio recording work in the in the 80's

"Sounds cool. If ya wanna jam sometime, Id be down for it."

His attention shifted back and forth from each of the companions,He never had a peticular group of friends. Even when he was human. Most of his subordinates found him a little too dedicated to his profession, he was very demanding of his troops. Then as a vampire, he hadn't really desired any company, he had made enough coin over the past thousand years to make up for it however. He beamed a smile at each of them and listened to the conversation.

Cyrus resisted the urge to hiss at Ambrose for shaking Fallon's hand and smiling at her. He knew it was silly but this overprotective feeling kicked in about the time that she shook hands a bit overlong with that Tristan fellow.

Fingers tingling with the need to rake his claws against something he picked up the bottle opener. Deftly moving it through and over each finger of his right hand helped calm him down slightly. Realizing he had been gripping Fallon's chair tightly he let go and patted her back gently.

"Do musicians generally do that? Meet one another and simply get together to play?" He had seen innumerable musicians play but never having been one or knowing any personally he was unaware of the intricacies.

She was glad Ambrose had finally shook her hand, as she was feeling quite conspicuous waiting. She smiled at him and sat back in her chair. It was strange though, as she could have sworn Cyrus had tensed as she shook the other man's hand. Looking over at him, she felt him pat her back, and smiled. She must have been imagining the feeling.

The talk of music had become a little less than interesting to Fallon. She love playing piano, and hoped to rent one for her home soon, so she could go back to playing, but in the context of playing professionally, it just wasn't for her. She liked keeping her work separate from her job...just another reason why she never had a desire to have her own children; after being with them all day long, she enjoyed going home to be alone, or with adults.

It did cross her mind though...what it would be like to sit down at the piano, with Peter, and Ambrose, and play some time.

She picked up a french fry and dipped it into the malt vinegar, as she'd watched Cyrus do. As it touched her tongue the sharp, acrid taste of vinegar almost made her lips pucker. But once the flavor mingled on her tongue, she found she liked it. Fallon never went in much for ethnic, or unusual food, and therefore had lived with a really limited menu. Food just wasn't a high-point for her, probably stemming from the fact that her mother had been the world's worst cook...when she cooked. There had also been some very lean times in her younger years, when her mother was less than attentive. Learning to adapt, meant learning to get by with as little as possible, and after all those years, she just didn't normally see eating as anything more than a necessity...much like using the bathroom facilities.

Now...now that she no longer had the actual need to eat, it held even less interest. But for appearances, she knew she'd have to continue to keep up some sense of normalcy, and that included eating...at least a little something.

Leaning back in her chair, her head accidentally brushed against Cyrus' arm on the back of her chair. She abruptly sat up again, straightening her spine, and looking down at the remaining piece of potato in her hand. She cast her eyes upward through her lashes, around the table, to make sure no one else took notice of her sudden movement. It seemed no one had, so she relaxed again.

The bottle opener continued to circulate through his fingers, giving him something to occupy them with. This was a simple skill he had learned first with a light throwing knife. He had no need to 'assist' it along its path as it flipped over and under.

Fallon's reflex to bolt upright saddened him. Wishing he could make it all go away he gently stroked her back in a comforting motion. Tongue carressing his fangs he plotted the demise of the abusive husband and the vicious vampire.

"I wouldn't say no to that offer."Â?

Something in the way that Peter had asked about music made Ambrose think the other guy wasn't just a hack amateur. He didn't know how good, but he suspected he'd be someone with some talent.

He hadn't been paying too much attention to Cyrus and Fallon, and so missed any tension there. But they did seem more 'together' than Peter and Aishe.

"Do we do that? Yeah, I guess sometimes we do. But I have yet to sit on a street corner with my guitar and hope someone will come by and play with me."Â?

From the question, he guessed that Cyrus wasn't a musician. Of course Ambrose hadn't started out that way himself. But having a lot of time on your hands caused a person to develop new skills.

"What about you Aishe, do you play?"Â?

Aishe had been following the conversation with mild interest, but when Ambrose directed his next question at her, she had to shake her head.

"I had a very brief power struggle with a clarinet in 8th grade. It didn't take my parents long to get tired of hearing something resembling a tortured duck coming from my room, and from there on in it was art class all the way." She gave him her bright smile, with a helpless little lift of her shoulders as if in apology.

"It was better for all involved that way. What I lacked in musical talent I made up for in art. I'm no Van Gogh but when I'm on site at a dig, my sketches are at the very least recognizeable."

Deciding to pass the buck, she looked over at Fallon, her smile not diminishing. "What about you Fallon? Did you have to go through that too? Probably not. I don't think anyone could perform on any instrument much more abysmally than myself with that awful clarinet."

Aishe didn't mind the self-deprecation. Even she had to laugh at the image, perhaps even moreso, for she recalled with horrid clarity the expression on her parents' faces when she would bite the bullet and start to practice like a dutiful daughter.

His touch was very comforting, though Fallon didn't equate it with her previous action. She guessed he probably wasn't even aware of the touch, but it meant a lot to her anyway.

Listening to Aishe, Fallon covered her smile with her hand, for fear of offending the other girl. Her tale of making a clarinet sound like a duck was quite amusing though.

Taken a little off guard by the question from Aishe, Fallon sipped, and swallowed her beer, managing not to choke.

"I play...piano. I started learning when I was around...five, if I remember. Details from back then get fuzzy sometimes."

She smiled and grinned, not at all speaking as if sorry for herself, but just stating a fact.

The neighbor lady, Mrs. Gregson had taken pity on Fallon, and the lack of attention she got from her mother, and over the next two years taught her how to read music, and play simple songs.

"I was just sitting here thinking I'm going to use my first paycheck and see about renting one...piano that is. I used to find it very relaxing to sit and play for hours."

Though that was before Ted. Ted would never allow her to spend money on such nonsense...not even her own.

"I miss it."

Appreciating Aishe including her in the conversation, Fallon sought to return the favor.

"Do you ever draw other things? Portraits...landscapes...things besides what you see at a dig?"

Once more Aishe found herself shaking her head. "Alas, no. It has ever been my failing. I'm not really the creative sort. I know that sounds hypocritical. I mean, to be an archaeologist one must try to assemble a picture of the past from the few remnants remaining, and that requires a certain amount of imagination. But really, it's just like a puzzle. The pieces are already there. With art, to really draw, you make up the pieces as you go. And I just don't have the talent for that. I need something in place already."

She didn't speak with regret; she was very comfortable with who she was. She would never be the imaginitive, creative, innovative type. But Aishe liked solving puzzles and riddles, and didn't mind at all being pegged as boring, or unimaginitive, or any number of names.

Honing in on what Fallon had said, she asked, "How much does it cost to rent a piano? Wouldn't it make sense to simply buy one? If you enjoy it that much, it certainly wouldn't be a waste, and I'd think a monthly payment would be better to put toward a purchase, wouldn't it?"

Aishe had no idea how things like that worked, but if it were anything like living somewhere... well, why not buy rather than rent? She looked not just at Fallon, but to Peter and Ambrose, the other musicians at the table, as well. Maybe they knew also.

"Well, they cost about nine hundred dollars for a six month rental period...and to buy they're almost four thousand. The man I spoke to at the music store did say we might be able to work something out after the first six months is up. Right now though, because I'm new to Nachton, and have no credit experience, that's the best deal I could find."

She gave a small shrug, as she didn't much care though...it would be worth it to have something like that in her life again. She also didn't want to think about maybe making a mistake with such a decision in her life. Unable to make decisions in the past meant these were just that much more poignant. If they turned out badly, what would that say about her?

With a chuckle he raised his glass at the picture Ambrose had summoned with his comment. It was quite hard to picture either of the two large men sitting on a corner with a cardboard sign that read 'Musicians wanted'.

Cyrus listened to the talk of music and art. He had never found the need for either as a creative outlet. Collecting momentos of the past and running through the wild was enough for him. Kept him active and out of trouble, for the most part.

Though this topic did give him a great idea for a housewarming gift for Fallon. A nice piano that would fit in the new place that she did not have to worry about.

Picking up his bottle opener again he began rolling it through his fingers. The bent ends were not too problematic but one was pointed. As the metal spun in a circular motion his fingers deftly moved it along his hand to his pinky then back again. It wasnt until he shifted his attention that he realized he was still petting Fallon's back. Hopefully she had not minded overmuch, as he doubted she would say anything.

He was removing his arm from behind her as the bottle opener caught his thumb with the pointed end. Just enough to nick the skin and a drop of blood welled up. Annoyed with the slip he placed the bottle opener in front of himself and sucked his thumb into his mouth, licking the drop away. The tiny wound closed quickly but having an open wound in front of two fellow vampires was probably not a smooth thing to do.

"Guess it was good I wasnt using a knife. Damn near lopped off my thumb doing that once." Was all the muttered explaination he gave as he felt young and foolish. Something that rarely happened.

Being attentive to the males, in this case Cyrus as he was her 'date' of sorts, Fallon's focus didn't stray far from him. When he began playing with the bottle opener she smiled, and assumed he was slightly bored.

When his hand left her back, she realized she missed it, but she couldn't appear needy and mention it. Instead she patted his thigh, but didn't leave her hand. So far he didn't seem to mind her occasional touches, but she didn't want to overstep, and end up angering him.

When he cut his thumb, she grinned. It seemed boys would be boys, no matter how many hundreds of years old they were. She rubbed the slightly injured thumb, under the table, and his hand as well. When everyone else's attentions looked to be elsewhere, she leaned towards Cyrus' ear, and whispered.

"Are you okay? Still hungry? Want to leave?"

She had come with him, and owed him deference not only because of that, but because of what he had done for her.