The perfect drug.

[Michael Cline]

He sat down in the restaurant and relaxed, it was so rare for him to get a day off. Not that his job was particularly demanding, but he was still ran ragged by Ms. Sasseeri, in one way or another. It was good to get some time to himself. He'd made reservations for this restaurant almost 2 weeks prior, and still just barely gotten in. This was the sort of establishment he never dreamed he'd be visiting when he was growing up, and yet here he was.

One of the many perks of his position within Ms. Sasseeri's "organization." In most instances, when he was out he at least took a guard with him, one of the twins or some low level nothing. This however, was just him - in a fancy restaurant on his day off. Perhaps he'd go catch a holo-flick after this, or do some shopping.

The waiter sat his cup of coffee down in front of him, and he took a sip, leaned back and just let the relaxation overtake him.

[Trance Demont]

"Another found dead, sir. Already the media droids are flocking like vultures."

This one, he was a bit plump. But he smelled clean and strong like any protector of the law should. The stubble on his face always was a bother, but he could look past it when the time came.

"Vultures? Let them come, Drek. There isn't much left anyway, I presume..?"

Now, this was a fine catch. He wore sunglasses but quite obviously his eyes were blue. Blue was nice. The sandy blonde hair would get in the way, as would the shiny weapons dangling from his utility belt.

They wont even know what hit them.

"No sir. The tongue was removed, the heart, and the eyes. All of those are missing. The rest of it is strewn about the alley. Just like all the others." The stubble-toting man answered in disgust, rolling his beady little eyes and shaking his head. "What kind of monster would do such a thing?"

Monster!? Now that's just rude.

-----

"Ahem..." Enter the opposition.

Trance Demont was a very handsome, young man when he portrayed himself to be thus. He had extremely dark brown hair with a few red gooey tendrils thrown in there. His eyes were a startling orange flecked with silver and his voice was quite hypnotic, or so he was told.

Currently, he was garbed in his flashy attire. It had been a big day, after all. However, the loose cloth sleeves of his dress shirt were thoroughly saturated by the goriest bit of finger paint to ever be had. The lapels of his finely pressed black vest had been shredded and his shoes were tarnished by flecks of dried blood.

Stepping forth from the shadows, as any imposing villain might do, he gave the pair a quick once over before wiggling his crimson fingers at them in a hello.

"W-what... do you want..?" The larger man fumbled with his words. Trance was quite pleased that it had dawned upon them, his identity that was. Sometimes it took a few more ahems or maybe a couple limbs. An arm or an ear, for example.

"I thought that would have been obvious." Mr. Demont scolded, though he smiled quite brilliantly. He approached them further, admiring how their knees quaked and their feet locked themselves to the duracrete walkway. Quite foolish of them to stand in a dark alleyway, when in fact, that was where the rest of his murders had taken place.

"I want your entire face. You have a delicate complexion and it will taste soooo..." He brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them. "And as for you, your eyes will do nicely."

The look of horror... he was quite certain that was his favorite part.

-----

Emerging from the alley some time later, his orange eyes guarded by the sunglasses he had pried from the man's face, he began to stroll down the street. It was time for a change of scenery. While he was no longer hungry, there was something about the idea of fine dining that appealed to him. Turning into the nearest cafe, he plunked himself down wherever his bottom guided him. Oh darn, someone had already claimed this spot and he seemed to be keenly interested in his sleeves.

"Ahaha.. pardon my manners. I would have washed them before I sat down, but then they would have been pink. That is just not my color, see?" He explained, placing one bloody hand upon the pristine white table cloth.

[Michael Cline]

And just as quickly his quiet day alone was shattered. A man had emerged, no reservation, no invitation, just sat himself down and placed himself there. More intriguing was his garb, not the clothing, but the stains.

He took another sip of his coffee, barely shaken by what he saw. A criminal, even one with the 'legitimate' angle that Cline had, understood a criminal.

"Oh I understand completely, that type of stain can be a bother to get out." His biggest concern wasn't the man in front of him, he could deal with the man if need be. His concern was being seen associating with him. That could raise questions, questions that Ms. Sasseeri did not need leading back to her. The blood was fresh, his trail was still warm - that was most troublesome. Only a complete madman would do what he was doing, in the manner he was.

"Is there something I can do for you, before you go?"

[Trance Demont]

"I wouldn't be against a cup of Rec Tea, actually." Trance suggested, flashing the red head a gleaming smile complete with jagged rows of teeth and massive canines. Teeth, he found, were the hardest part of shapeshifting. Of course, not every changling was as finicky as he.

Catching his expression in a bit of crystal lain out on the table, he lifted the object and scrubbed away an offending blood speck from his eyeteeth with his vexingly long tongue.

Standing abruptly, Demont flung out his arms, crimson splatters dotting the tables, customers, and other shiny baubles decorating the restauraunt.

"Nevermind. Word is they are looking for a suspicious character and I fit the bill. I hope you don't mind, I took the liberty of telling the man up front I was your long lost cousin twice removed and it was an emergency." Said man seemed to be telling as much to the two authorities checking in. How quaint.

"Ta!"

There was some shouting, some banging crashing blasting, some screaming which he thoroughly enjoyed, and then the slam of the back door as he tore out of the restauraunt.

"Is it me... or is this planet like.. starting to blow?"

[Xanatos Etanial]

Please to delete, wrong account.

[Michael Cline]

Lovely. Wonderful. FAN-FRECKING-TASTIC. Police questioning is not what he needed, not to mention how it would disappoint Ms. Sasseeri. He stood up, dropped a few chits onto the table and strolled out quickly and quietly. Vanishing just as the authorities burst onto the scene, leaving them to scratch their heads and wonder.

This had been HIS day off, and it'd been crashed, the madman wanted to play? Cline could do crazy. Cline could do violent. Cline could do DEADLY. Forget shopping or a holo-flick he had a new obsession for the day, a little payback upon his strange visitor. Thus it began, and Cline caught his trail, following at a short distance.

[Trance Demont]

Trance made a vow then and there that he would no longer commit such horrid acts in the seclusion of a dark alleyway. He'd just have to find a spooky warehouse or maybe some kind of nightclub. Too overdone. In this day and age it was very difficult to be original. Unless you were utterly mad. Pity.

Skidding to a halt, the tall man sniffed the air. The muscles on his back twisted and his own delicate complexion darkened a shade. Then another. The leather of his gloves let out a disapproving squeak as his clawed hands flexed.

"Another perfectly good shirt gone to waste, it seems. The stains were a bit much anyway, I suppose. But they tasted so good, my manners must have just slipped my mind. Come, then..."

Trance offered softly, pivoting on his heel and removing the sunglasses from his face. Those orange eyes glowed like some unholy fire and he could feel the hunger rise up within him again.

"The prey have never tried to take a piece of me before..."

[Michael Cline]

"I think you've mistaken who the prey is." He let his steps echo against the tall durasteel and 'crete buildings around them, and slowly began to roll up his sleeves. He couldn't underestimate him, the air around him was dangerous and thick with deadly intentions, Michael could see it as clear as day. His gift, not that he needed it for this one's intentions.

"You're ruined my day off. I'm not precisely... HAPPY about that. Mr....?" He paused, tilting his head slightly, "I would like to know your name. Before your lips and face are too shattered to speak it."

[Trance Demont]

"Demont. Mr. Trance Demont." He replied, flashing those razor sharp teeth at the young man again. A ruined day off, he couldn't imagine the horror. It was like going hungry for a whole day! Not that he wanted to be thinking with his stomach. The kid was to thin anyway. But he did have nice eyes.

"My apologies for ruining your day off, Mr...?"

No, no. Don't tell me yet! I want to pry the name from your lips as I'm ripping them off your fa-

"Cline... was it...?" He ventured, breaking eye contact.

[Michael Cline]

An apology? The creature had... actually apologized to him? Hmmm, that was most unexpected. He had anticipated some epic battle between himself and this man. Culminating, of course, in his victory and vindication.

"That is correct, Michael Cline. You're quite fortunate that the restaurant has no camera system in place, or my face would be plastered all over the evening news. Then I WOULD have to kill you." He just smiled, an all-together pleasant "I'm not joking" smile.

"And while you wear your violence on your sleeve, Mr. Demont, do not think my lack of blood spatters indicates any lack of stain."

[Trance Demont]

"Of course not, Mr. Cline." Trance stated, imitating the young man's voice perfectly. Was it just him or had this kid actually made him lose his appetite? No matter, it'd be back in a bit.

"I can smell the blood on your hands from a mile away. Why do you think I sat at your table?"

[Michael Cline]

"Because you're a certifiable criminal whackjob?" He smirked a bit, "Why else would you be running around covered in the blood of your victims with the police chasing you at every turn. Really. You should at least make an attempt to hide the evidence, or if necessary yourself."

He always forgot about aliens such as this Mr. Demont. Thoses who could smell blood. His day's work prior, he would bet. More low-lives who didn't think they would have to pay back what they borrowed. One of them had been a bleeder. He was certain that was the blood he smelled on him, despite showering several times afterwards, some things just don't go away quickly.

"I really must insist we take this conversation someplace else, for the reasons of discression I just advised."