Beautiful. Rain.
     A large, looming dark figure moves out of the sudden shower to save his cigarette, first beneath an awning and then heading to the side street to finish what he started. Smoke billows with a grateful sigh -- the first fag in a fortnight -- as he takes a break in the alley.
     Only vampires go to alleys on purpose, to smoke out of the rain and look dangerous. Them and the usual bums and riffraff. Davydd smirks as his dark green eyes lift up, peering from beneath the fiery brows to get a feel for how thick the clouds are, how long the shower will last.
     He's a huge, strapping, red-haired mountain, this man. His hair is a flash of copper and bronze, cut short in a near Caesar. He has the rough face of a miscreant rogue, with a boyish gleam and a bit of stubble to go with it. He stands here. He listens.
     The buildings are talkative tonight...
     Something's going down on Thropshire Street. Hmm...

     "Maybe tonight we'll get back together.
     Sound the alarms and break all the levers.
     These streets are ours, our anthem rings.
     You'd know the truth if these walls could sing..."
     It's a high-pitched, piping voice, that of either a girl or a young boy, with a definite cheerful lilt to her voice. She's a little off key (forgivable, perhaps, considering the rain), passing by the alley with rain in her eyes and unruly chrysanthemum-colored hair cut into a bob that's increasingly being plastered against her cheeks.
     She's got on a band jacket - something that looks like it could be off of Sergeant Pepper's, in brilliant green with silver buttons and embroidery, paired with a plain white t-shirt and a pair of jeans. The jacket's being huddled into, oversized as it is, and with good reason...
     "Amateur youth, sling down those signs
     Gather the masses, friends of mine
     I've got your back if you've got my hand.
     This isn't over, it just began."
     She pauses, frowning a bit as if having trouble remembering the lyrics - or possibly just as if a bit chilly, the way she tucks her arms in over her chest, hands in her armpits. Audi glances down the alleyway thoughtfully, not seeming to notice the rain aside from wiping water out of her eyes from time to time. "I don't know if I should sing the rest," she says gravely. "It might seem presumptuous to the heavens, and while I'm quite good at presuming, one doesn't want to be gatecrashing and waking up the neighbors both on the same night."

     He's not exactly invisible, but close. The dark clothes blend in with the dark alley on a dark and stormy night. The only thing that stands out is the burning end of a cigarette, floating midair for a moment like a pondering firefly. But he pushes off the stone, this mountain main, cocking up his eyebrows as you pass.
     You ... strange creature you...
     "I thought it was going well enough," Davydd lilts, eyes twinkling in the darkness. "Alley crawling, love? Are you armed?" There's a chuckle for that. Young women, wandering around by themselves at night, in dark alleys where dark men lurk. And they wonder why they get raped.
     His hands come up and he grins. "Not that I'm suggesting anything. Just... if it's a hobby, it's an odd one. Do you smoke?" He offers a pack to you, eyebrows lifted in genuine generosity.

     "I thought I saw something move." Audi nods, satisfied. "Though I could talk to myself just the same, if you'd prefer I pretend I didn't see you. You're no stranger than the things that I pretend that I do see, after all."
     She folds her hands behind her back, ignoring the tumult of water runneling down one cheek and through her hair. "Not crawling, no. I'm low enough to the ground as it is without getting all the rest of the way down, don't you think?" She is a little creature indeed, not even five feet - or if she is five feet, it is the evenest five feet you've seen in a while. "As for armed - well, I've got two of them, but they're behind my back. Does that make me into concealed weapons?"
     One corner of her mouth tilts up, then the other, and she tells you easily, "Audi. And no, I don't smoke. I spend too much time around things that are flammable and noxious gases - also flammable - to want to take the risk. Besides, I'm dreadfully poor, almost but not quite grovelingly so, so there's no real point in my acquiring vices above my station."

     Suit yourself. He puts the pack back in his leather coat to shield them from the rain. As well he could shield you, seeming twice as tall -- though he couldn't be. He'd be ten feet high if he were. "Davydd," he says. "Audi. Like the car, or like the Latin command?"
     Bizarre inquisition. Almost as weird as you are...
     "I don't know," he chuckles a moment later. "...if it makes you a concealed weapon or not, but... just so you're not caught unawares by things that lurk in alleys. I always get a bit nervy when I see young women walking about this time of night. It sets off something paternal in me. So, sorry for that."
     He inspects you for a moment. You know, Davydd, you should stop picking up women in the middle of the night, in the middle of the street. Honestly. "So, Audi for the car or for the Latin command, what d' y' do that has you skulking about the Strand this time of night? Heading to a club or home from one?"

     "There's a Latin command? What does it mean? And neither, really, though I do like the car. Vroom means go fast." Audi grins widely, lifting both small hands together to spike back her hair from her face. "My younger brothers and sisters just had trouble with my real name, so they called me Audi instead, and it stuck. I like it better than 'Audrey' anyway; Audrey's rather stodgy, don't you think?"
     She leaves her hands clasped loosely just in front of her chin, watching you from above the steeple of her fingers. "Pleased to meet you, Davydd. But don't worry about me. I'm not scheduled to die for at least another hour." And as if that were the most normal thing in the world to say, she reaches into a pocket of the oversized jacket, rummaging about for ... something.
     "You can be paternal if you like; I never met mine, so I suppose it'd be a bit of a novelty. I heard he was dead, but I don't know - maybe he just migrated." Audi tilts her head quizzically, finding a pack of gum and taking out a piece. She starts to offer it out, then hesitates. "...You don't really look like the sort to be terribly interested in bubblegum imprinted with Sanrio character's faces to me, and besides, you're smoking. I read once that if you chew gum and smoke at the same time, it reduces nausea, but I'll hold onto it in case you do get nauseous; just let me know. And no, I'm just wandering - it's a ripe sort of evening, that's all."

     Are you on crack?
     Davydd peers at you, saying nothing amid your... cascade of words, as many as there are raindrops and about as random. "Yes, it means listen... Audi... but... Audrey makes more sense, I suppose. If I were to give you a Latin name, I think I'd pick Loquacia..." As in loquacious. Talkative.
     "So, how are you going to go, Audi? Pills, jumping off something tall? You seem awfully... bubbly for a suicide," Davydd rumbles out, smirking as he flicks ash into the alley. "Is life that good or that bad..."

     Audi blinks. "Oh, I'm not going to kill myself. I like life! Why would I want to? It's just that, well, it happens, and then it stops happening. - Oh, right. I keep forgetting, it doesn't happen to other people. Or, well, according to Daen, anyway."
     She makes a frustrated expression, then sighs. "Sorry. I don't have very much practice at being around normal people anymore - my current job doesn't really encourage it, and - well, sorry again. I promise I'm absolutely not going to kill myself - or not on purpose, anyway, I can't promise not to by accident, I'm a klutz."
     She regards you with one blue eye, then a hazel one, mismatched gaze peering quizzically up at your considerable height. "I am talkative," Audi agrees placidly. "But I have some good reasons for it. Excuses. What about you? Aren't you worried about lurking in alleyways? Noone's perfect."

     "I didn't want to waste a perfectly good cigarette," he explains with a lilt and a smile. Large shoulders roll in a shrug. "The night's young, to be honest. I don't know," he takes a long pull from the cigarette, sniffs the air and then tosses the cig in the alley to drown.
     "I'm not worried," the accent dances around with a chuckle. "No. Maybe I'm just itching for a good fight. It's been a while. I should head to the pubs, aye? That's where the real adventure is." His hand makes a motion. "Now... what was that you were saying about... dying every night? That's a bit... peculiar, you realize..."

     "A good fight? Well, I'm afraid I can't help with that. You could probably flatten me with one hand," Audi admits candidly, tilting her head to peer at you again. "I don't know if the adventure is in pubs. It seems to me that's where people go when they can't find adventure - either to make up stories about the adventures they could've had, or to exaggerate about the adventures they almost had, or to find a substitute for adventure. But I don't go to pubs very often. I don't - quite - fit."
     No more than her band jacket - or even the jeans she wears, their cuffs rolled up to resemble something akin to old tires...
     "Well, I thought everyone died every night," Audi admits, "but I guess that's not true, is it? But it happens to me." She glances around, then heads to a lopsided stack of crates, climbing onto the first one and peering behind the others. "I was telling a fellow about it. I don't know if he believed me or not - I think he did, but I'm not sure. So much of what we talked about wasn't real, even though I almost wished it was. Well - I take that back. I did wish it was, and I do. But that part's real enough. I can't help it being peculiar."

     "Well, only the lucky ones, perhaps," Davydd humorously comforts. Such a strange girl. Well, she's just strange enough to survive London at night, I would hazard to guess. "I'm not much for pubs anymore. Maybe during nationals," football, "... but I'm in for a pint, out for a pint."
     I could use a pint right about now...
     "So... what happens to you... exactly?" A pause and he folds his arms against his chest. "Or do you know? You obviously wake up or... resurrect or whatever-the-fuck," he chuckles. "Unless you're an apparition?"

     Audi makes a face again, then holds her hand palm up in your direction. "Feel my hand if you like. It won't go through. I think I'm a little too solid to be an apparition, thanks. And ... no, I just - it just happens. I try not to be out and about when it happens, it gets awkward. People aren't comfortable around it, and claiming to be narcoleptic only works so much."
     She slips her other hand into her pocket, sliding the gum out of sight. "It's not like anything, really. I get the impression of it being like a restaurant, almost, where my table is never ready, don't keep asking, we'll call you. I feel a bit bad about it, but it isn't as if I do it on purpose, and I honestly don't know why it happens - it's always happened, though. And after a bit, I ... wake up, I suppose." Audi shrugs complacently. "I don't know what it means. People don't tend to pay much attention to what I say anyway, so I just let them think what they like - that I turn into a pumpkin after one in the morning, and so on. Does make dating a bit difficult, but my current job's rather done a number on my sex drive."
     She grins at that, sitting on the edge of the crates and letting her legs dangle, hand still extended. "Got a guess for me?" Audi inquires, "Or do you just think I'm stark staring bonkers? If it were dry," she adds, "I'd do you in chalk, but it's a bit wet for that."

     "I think it means you're stuck, mate," comes the earthy tone. "You're in that cycle for a reason. Have you been able to retrace your steps, see when it started? What you were doing at the time. What might have been significant, even in the small, insignificant things? Patterns. That's what you need," Davydd says pointedly, dispensing life and death advice in a dark alley.
     But, who better ... really... than the vampire Holly King to talk of Life and Death and Rebirth?
     "How much time do you have left? Time enough to get out of the rain? Maybe chat about this a bit more? You know... you're not the only one stuck in a pattern..." I do know something about that. Yes... yes, I do. He peers at you, blinking incredulously. "Ruined your sex life?" Did someone say sex? It's like saying 'food' to corgies. "What do you do? Strip?"

     "Well, it's been doing it ever since I can recall - my whole life. Mum wouldn't let me go on sleepovers because of it, and she never really liked me, anyway," Audi says easily, swinging one leg and leaning against a crate to the side with both hands. "But on the up side, it did mean I always had my own room living at home; my brothers and sisters weren't to disturb me when I was sleeping. You know, I don't think any of them actually know."
     She props an elbow now against the edge of the crate, leaning slantwise as she watches you, her other hand lifting to smother a grin. "I don't know what time it is for sure, but I think I've got a couple of hours, if you like? And well, no, I don't strip. Who'd pay to see me take off my clothes? I'm not exactly ... ah ..." She stands up with a hop, straightening and waving both hands in an effort to find the words. "...Statuesque. Or even stacked. Though I suppose I could encourage the pedophilia market - well, I've got breasts, so maybe not that far, but. Anyway, no, I'm a clerk in a porn shop. So mostly the men I meet are customers."
     Not exactly a job for romance...

     What a discovery porn was once. Coming from such a repressed Middle Age into a new millennium where everything is on display and nothing at all is sacred, it was salacious for about half an hour. Then it was upsetting. Then it was dull. If he's going to play a voyeur, then goddamn it the other participants are going to be well within reach.
     So when you say it, he gives a bit of a cocked-back look and a half smirk. "That'd put me off my feed," Davydd rumbles. "Why not a ...barista or sommat?" he wonders suddenly. "Cute bird like you, bubbly personality," his hand makes a kingly wave in the air, "...surely you could make a killing in tips, distributing pints or coffee. And plenty of opportunity to dispense some free advice. And I've seen short strippers," he notes, "...not that I'm suggesting anything..."
     But back to the matter at hand. Your impending...and habitual... death...
     "Must have put the shock in her, thinking you died of crib death every night," he mulls in thought. "Perplexing. Course, I know some folks who die every night. It's not that uncommon a problem. Hell, for years I was cursed myself with sommat similar." He reaches inside his jacket for his pack of cigarettes. Another refresher. "So... how does it happen... describe it to me..."

     "I'm too short for some of it - and while I'm bubbly, I'm not all that aggressive," Audi says candidly, brushing off the seat of her jeans. "To be a good stripper or barista, you pretty much have to be aggressive. I've been a barista before. And I worked for a florist's. And as an interior decorator's aide, and as a bank clerk, and for more convenience stations than I can count. I ... well ... don't tend to have the best luck with jobs, so having found one that seems stable, I've stuck with it. It pays the rent, at least. And they don't mind if I work on my own stuff when it's slow. As for being a stripper - I'm a klutz, remember? Most men mightn't mind having a girl land in their laps, but that depends entirely on her velocity at the time of impact."
     She runs a hand back through the drying bronze curls. "Really? I thought everyone died every night, but that it was - well - taboo to talk about it, or something. You know, one of those things people just ... don't talk about in polite society. Like nose-picking, or masturbation, or discussing which hand one uses to wipe oneself after having a slash." Audi begins wandering aimlessly along the alleyway, looking at the bricks in the walls absently. "Someone ought to paint a mural here. Maybe I will, next weekend, when I'm off."
     "How does it happen? Well, there isn't much to tell to it. It's usually a bit after one or so in the morning when it happens - I can feel it start, but once it starts, it goes fairly fast." Audi stops abruptly, bending down to tie her shoelace. "It feels a little like when you've been sitting too long and your circulation's been cut off - all the nerve endings tingling on the wrong side of the skin. And then it gets really bad for about ten seconds, and everything rather goes blue, and I hear something like the wind, very strong, rushing past my ears." Audi straightens, turning to look at you with both hands against the small of her back. "And then I black out."

     "And nothing, of course, until you ... wake again?" Davydd wonders curiously. Perhaps you might wonder (as many would) why a perfectly normal looking man would be speaking so casually about a woman dying every night, not the least bit troubled by it, quite knowledgeable actually, and without the slightest tinge that you are absolutely off your rocker.
     He ponders on that a moment while he lights a cigarette. The incandescence of the flickering flame reveals him to be a large, handsome man, a bit too fine in the face, with dark green eyes and copper hair. Nice clothes, he's not hurting. As the fire goes out and the zippo is stashed, Davydd turns his head and blows the smoke elseplace.
     "That is a predicament. And ... no... not everyone dies at night. Hell, some folks I know die during the day. It's called a job." Davydd cackles warm sound and warmer smoke, beaming at his own humor. Been a while, Llywelyn.

     "Nothing," Audi confirms, "though when I wake up, if I haven't been careful, I might have bruises or the like from where I fell down. Dying doesn't let me stay on my feet, unfortunately. I usually try to be in bed early, though I don't always succeed." She crinkles her nose, then shrugs. "You're taking it a lot more seriously than the last two people I told about it. They were sympathetic but not very, ah, forthcoming."
     Her own clothes are only a step up from thrift store - if that. There are paint stains on her t-shirt, or possibly ink - she looks a little smudged, urchin-like, but it's still a step up from a cardboard box...
     "I like my job. Mostly. At least I get held up at gunpoint less often." Audi pauses to consider this. "And asked out less, come to think of it. Especially at the same time. Where do you want to go to talk?" She has no qualms, apparently, about wandering off to talk - at least, as long as you don't suggest your studio and your etchings.

     "Somewhere with a sofa. You know, just in case you die." His mouth cants to the side in a madcap, comet grin. It's a signature look, you know. More than half an hour in his presence and you'll come to know that. "I have a place... well, it's mine, I don't live there. If you pass out and die, no one'll really notice."
     What is it, the morgue? The cemetery?
     "It's..ah... right over there," Davydd gestures with general wave. In that direction? The Thief River Motel. "A spot of free coffee... something to eat might be nice while you wait to meet your Maker. So... speaking of... do you ever...dream of things you might see when you're on the other side of reality?"

     "Oh, I don't drink coffee. Well, I used to, but my coworkers forbade it, so I had to give it up." Audi looks momentarily wistful. "I really LIKE coffee, too. Especially with lots of sugar and cream." But such crosses to bear are hers, it seems, and she peers up at you on tiptoe. "Yours. A sofa. Over there. A motel room."
     She pauses, eyebrows quirking up. "Well - as long as you promise me you're not a necrophiliac, I guess. I'd hate to give it up just because I'm too dead to say no. And what do you mean, things I might see?"

     "The ...restaurant," he decides on that term for it, though he means it in only the loosest possible definition. "...has a sofa...like I said, I don't live there. I just own it. A new project of mine. Last ownership took shite care of it..." The Thief River does have a bit of a reputation.
     Davydd moves away from the wall, cigarette stuck between his lips as he glances this way and that way and heads out of the alley. His stride is as much a march. The man moves with both speed and distinction. All the power of Mars, with all the swiftness of Mercury. "You know," he says, expecting you to keep up with him as he heads to the motel, "...things. Angels and what-not...or ...whatever your otherworld or afterlife might consist of...do you ever dream of things you could swear have happened but... you don't remember them?"
     Just because your body is dead doesn't mean your soul is dead...
     "Well, you're not at work now, so you can have some coffee. My treat..."

     "Like I said, it tends to be ... vague. I get the impression that they're surprised to see me - well, not surprised, exactly; more resigned now." Audi moves to follow you, having to trot to keep up; her legs are that much shorter. "As if they were surprised the first few times, but by now they're over it and wish I'd stop turning up. They don't seem mad at me exactly, just - exasperated. But I'm used to that."
     Apparently, she's willing to take you on face value. Thus go the naive waifs of the world - that, or when you die every night, you just haven't got much of a sense of self-preservation.
     Audi perks up immediately. "Coffee? Well - if you're sure. Thank you! So what do you do when you're not buying restaurants? Are you a professional chef? Can you make cherries jubilee? I've never actually had cherries jubilee, but it sounds good. Don't you think so?"

     "Well, I didn't buy the ... well, let's be honest, it's a kitchen really and a few chairs and such. It's inside the motel. I bought the motel. I wanted to make it available to those who lived in the city... but who had a hard time finding a good roof. Part of it's open to the public, part of it is going to be closed off for low-income housing. I'll likely get rid of the food joint that's in there now, open something good but ...you know... on the cheap side."
     He must not need the money. He doesn't look like your average London slumlord.
     "Hmm... well," Davydd stops suddenly, letting you catch up to him...and possibly catch your breath. "...at least the universal forces aren't pissed at you. That's not the sort of thing you want to stare in the wrong end of." He smiles pleasantly, if a little too knowingly, and points to the motel. "There we are...right off the strand."
     The Shite of the Strand it was once called. It needs repairing, but already parts of it have had a new coat of paint. Yeah, yeah, shite with icing on it is still shite, but you have to start somewhere. There is a neon light for the small diner and a sign posted saying No Vacancy in the motel window.
     The diner's a hole in the wall sort of joint, and that's being grand about it. It has a total of ten tables and one booth, none of them matching. The floor is linoleum. The food? You know, it could be worse. Davydd opens the door for you and holds it open even, ushering you in with a wave of his arm. "Have a seat. Decaf?" He chuckles, the diner's light casting a glow on him that makes him look otherworldly.
     And it doesn't take much...

     "Ohhhhh, a motel. I see." Audi nods, bouncing up to a halt next to you with a scattering of tiny pebbles where her feet hit them. "I don't think anyone's angry with me. Of course, if they were, I don't know if they'd tell me."
     She ducks in under your arm without really having to duck, nodding amiably. "Thanks. And ick - decaf?" She looks disappointed. "Well ... if that's what you've got. I like caffeine, though." Audi drops into a seat, leaning forward with her chin on her hands, one floppy curl landing squarely over an eye. "You look different."

     "Different? Me? How?" The small nose wrinkles and his look is one of You're putting me on. "You've just met me." A pause. "I think. Right then... Jenny!" Davydd's voice lifts so the woman in the back can hear him. "Can you get me a couple of cups of coffee, please?"
     The woman in the back's in no particular hurry. She's talking on the phone with her boyfriend. "Aren't we closed yet?" she says instead. "It's late you know..."
     "Well, for an old man and new employer..."
     "Oh...alright then. Just a second, Archie..." The woman's not old, as one might expect, just a woman who looks older than she actually is. Alcohol and cigarettes will do that to a body. "It'll be just a moment... hi," she says over to the young woman.
     "That's fine," Davydd says, locking the door behind him and putting up the closed sign. "We'll be it for the night. One cup and then you can go home..." Davydd takes a seat in the booth, takes up half of it in sheer mass and the rest of the small space in presence, and he stamps out his cigarette. "So... you have dreams... ever thought of writing them down?"

     "Different - not different from how you looked, but different from other people. More ... I don't know. Radioactive, maybe." Audi grins, sliding further into the booth as if to make room. "And hi!"
     The greeting is turned to Jenny, along with another radiant smile. No one can be as up as she is without stimulants, surely. "I don't guess you maybe have anything other than decaf?" Ah, such hope in eyes and voice alike...
     She turns back to you, cracking her neck and then straightening up to reach into her band coat. "Of course I write down my dreams. I write down everything. It's all gold, isn't it?" Audi looks at you quizzically, pulling out a sketchbook and slipping it in your direction. "Here - it's not all dreams, of course. But you should start with London Bridge, maybe, and - oh, I don't know. I've got more at home, of course."

     "I was kidding... about the decaf..." Davydd says so thoughtfully even as Jenny comes over with two cups on a rickety cart and a carafe of coffee, sugar and cream. He's reaching for the notebook already, tipping his head to the side to look at it as you hand it over.
     Meanwhile, coffee...
     "Here you, love," Jenny says, no more than 40 and wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a scarf around her head, polka dots. Strangely flashy. Her accent is decidedly northern, outside London. Way outside. Like, Edinburgh. "I'll be off then..." she announces.
     "Evenin'," Davydd waves. He looks at the book as he whistles: London Bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down....

     The sketchbook is loaded; there are extra pages crammed in, in danger of falling out, some folded, some ragged or worn about the edges. And the images are ...
     Soldiers stand on the stone bridge that crosses the Thames, the buildings all stone and wood as well. They seem alert but at ease, clad in leather with swords. There is a barrel between them; the barrel contains human thumbs, and to one side is a tall pile of bows, discarded. The waters are smooth beneath the bridge, charcoal drawing that it is, slightly smudged around the edges.
     A more modern London Bridge has steel cables being spun by enormous glittering-carapaced spiders. A Citroen's caught up in the rafters, being woven over even as a horde of baby bridge-spiders already eagerly nibbles on the bumper, while a troll lurches from the riverbed to drag up a long line of muck and telephone cabling to use as a lure. Cars go by on the bridge's main path, oblivious.
     A girl in a Harlequin outfit sits crosslegged on a desk in a receptionist's office, smiling merrily as she juggles glass paperweights filled with snowflakes. The receptionist in suit and bunned hair holds a stenographer's pad, drawing back in horror from the other side of the desk. There is a certificate for Employee of the Year on the wall, and potted ferns hang near the desk's leftmost corner...
     Geese stream by in vee-formation over a farm, chickens raising their heads to watch the geese flying away. A fox slinks around the rocks and trees at the far edge of the scenario, a tiny figure dressed in green and brown riding behind the fox's neck. The farmer's daughter leans over the fence, watching the geese as well with one hand pressed against the pregnant swell of her belly as leaves blow by on the wind.
     A fashion model slinks across a page with bobbed shiny black hair and leopard-print dress, lips painted red with blood stains at the corners of her mouth. Her shadow is the silhouette of a leopard, and it falls over the mauled body of a young man with natty pin-striped suit and boutonnière.
     A Spanish dancer leans out of her window, flowers in her hair, eyes saddened as she looks at the funeral procession going by in the street below. The coffin bears a Hebrew symbol burnt into the wood; though the automobiles are from the 1920s, the one with the coffin in its open back is being drawn by two massive black bulls.
     An army of children dressed in black and grey and white are gathered on a riverbank, solemn eyes and faces regarding the viewer. All of them have improvised weapons of sticks, stones, bits of metal, and though the drawing is black and white, the weapons are smudged with red.
     A carnival is in full swing, rollercoasters coming to life in the form of painted dragons and ferris wheels in the form of flying cages. The merry-go-round's pegasi and unicorns charge off of the stand, all to the apparent delight of the patrons, with one hippogriff reaching back to take a bite of its rider's cotton candy...
     A plain white room has a row of benches and potted plants. A small, dark-haired girl in tattered clothing sits on a padded bench, coloring in a book and going outside the lines as often as not. Through the open doorway, there is a masked ball in full swing, waiters moving amidst the revelers in direct contrast to the apparent silent stillness of the waiting room.
     Audi grins at Jenny. "Thanks loads. Sorry to keep you, but blame him!" She jerks a thumb at Davydd, falling onto the coffee with ravenous glee. Sugar and cream are both added to her cup to the point where it almost sloshes over the edges, and she slurps at it with more volume than etiquette.

     Fiery eyebrows lift and lower periodically, punctuating his unspoken reactions as he flips through the book. He doesn't look up at you. Those dark green eyes, quite a dark shade of green, like they are two green worlds all on their own. His expression shifts from amusement to Holy Shite What Drugs Does She Take?
     "I don't know shite about art," Davydd glances up to you, his hands turning another page. "Seems a girl with pictures like these could sell them to a comic publisher if nothing else. So... these are dreams? You remember them, and jot them down when you spring back to life and consciousness?"
     These pictures of Chaos. Where do you go when you die?
     "I hear the astral plane's a real kick in the arse," Davydd rumbles out again, sort of teasing. Sort of not. He peers at you, looking focused and a bit perplexed all at once. "It's a hell of a curse you've got there... "

     "Some of them are dreams. Others are just - ideas, I suppose. Stories, but they haven't finished turning into stories." Audi lifts her cup on both hands for a large gulp, then sets it down neatly, propping her elbows on the table with her face between her hands. "Things that could happen; things that maybe happened once when noone was looking. Some of it's just - symbolic. Some of it isn't so symbolic. That first one," she leans forward to indicate the soldiers on the bridge, "that's from a dream I had. A waking sort of dream - I looked at a photo of London Bridge, and - that's what I saw."
     She settles back, folding her arms over her chest with a loose-motioned shrug. "I've been trying to get a job as an illustrator for children's books. Only, it's not the sort of work which is awfully steady, and I don't rather want to turn out pictures for shop windows. So I just - do what I want, and take what jobs I can find, until things fall into place. They've got to eventually, haven't they?"
     You speak of curses, and she blinks, once, eyebrows lifted. "Curse? I never really thought of it as a curse. After all, it inconveniences me, but other than that, it doesn't really limit me particularly, does it?"

     "Curse... Blessing, they're all the same," he lilts. "There's never one without the other. But I suppose it all depends on your point of view. You may be more comfortable with a grey existence than I am." Davydd smiles a bit, then closes the book with a mighty exhale.
     "Was there something in your childhood, maybe... something pivotal? You say you've always remembered this being your condition... I wonder if that's so." He peers at you again, as if he's trying to sort out just what you are.
     Which, of course, he is...
     "I mean, it can't happen for no reason," Davydd goes on. "Not something like this. Dying every night? Just on a whim?"

     "It isn't grey, to me. There's all sorts of colours. They're just - blended, so I suppose it's hard to see at a distance." Audi waggles a hand, then returns it to her cheek. "And I don't know - I can't think of anything. I'm one of nine children - I'm the oldest at nineteen. My father - well, I never met the man, or not that I recall. So I don't imagine it's got anything to do with him, and besides, last I heard, he's dead anyway. Though I suppose if it's a less permanent sort of death like my own..."
     She tips her chin up, watching you curiously. "Why can't it? Couldn't it be something like - like epilepsy? I mean, if you think there's a purpose to it, I'm happy to go through ... tests, or exams, or whatnot, but I don't - I just don't know what it'd be. Maybe I'm just practicing extra hard for my real death."

     "I just have a hard time believing someone can die every night and wake up again without there being something else to it, that's all. It's not exactly like epilepsy is it... or any other disorder. You actually expire and resurrect on a nightly basis. Don't you find it a bit ... I don't know... odd? Haven't you ever wondered what it could be or mean? Apart from a Cinderella story nightly...inconvenient, to say the least."
     Davydd sits back in his seat. "I don't have any answers for you. Hell, before you can get answers, darlin', you need to ask a few questions..."

     "Of course I have." Audi frowns into her coffee cup, then picks it up again with another shrug, and something like a sigh, immediately suppressed. "I always wonder. I wonder all sorts of things. Why do I see the world in colour when most people see it in black and white? Why do people go so far out of their way to make each other unhappy, when it's so easy to be happy if one tries? I just - haven't got any idea where to start. They say that matters of death and rebirth are matters of religion, but I haven't any desire to go poking about in churches - if they didn't burn me as a witch or throw me out as a liar, they'd lock me up as a danger to their belief system. After all - the last man known to rise from the dead has got a bit of a lock on an entire segment of the world, hasn't he?"
     She offers you a halfwise smile, then looks up at the ceiling. "The thing is, I don't know what to ask. What do I ask? Who do I ask? Where do I go for answers? It might mean something, but the Encyclopedia Britannica doesn't cover this sort of thing - and I admit to being just a wee bit cautious in my own way of falling into the hands of people who've got strong opinions on things like this. But they're also the ones most likely to have the answers, aren't they? It's their interest or their passion, so they collect this sort of thing."
     Audi lowers her head to look back over at you with a toss of rumpled bronzed curls. "The only catch is, they might decide to collect me. And you know what happens to things people collect, don't you? Butterflies get chloroformed and stuck through with a pin to keep them pretty. Birds and deer get shot and then stuffed. I don't know if I'd really die, then - if my table would finally be ready - but if not, I imagine that'd be an uncomfortable sort of half existence. And even if they just locked me up ... well, I'd rather not. Would you?"

     "Well, of course not," Davydd rolls out with a slant-wise smile and a half chuckle. "I die every morning myself. In a manner of speaking." He pauses the conversation and reaches into his coat for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He lets the silence linger while he lights the cigarette, sets the lighter aside and takes and then lets out a breath of smoke.
     "I suppose I'm the same as you really. Acceptance of the inevitable. I just wonder how it happened to you? How you were born this way? Or whether something was done to you to make you die every night at midnight. I mean, it's just peculiar. Grown men and women, I've seen. Children? Never."
     He flicks away the ash, looking at you from beneath his brows, and he grins again. Sharper teeth held behind, invisible. "We each have our own struggles, things we have to hide from the light of day. Some more than others," the smile slants. "But look... I didn't mean to upset you. I guess I'm just trying to figure you out....if it doesn't bother you, fuck it then...you seem to be handling it well enough..."
     "By the way..."
     "What made you think you could really tell me? What if I were a priest? Or some rabid lunatic?"

     There's a blink for your admission, and a hazel eye is turned warily in your direction, then the blue. "Really? The entire thing - get out of the way, I'm falling do- thud? Not that I usually can talk when it's happening. I can sort of feel it - but only sort of. And then - then I'm gone."
     Audi picks up what's left of her coffee, looking into the cup mournfully as she observes its diminished level. "If something was done to me, mum doesn't know what. She doesn't like talking of it - she thinks I'm evil, I think. Not that it stopped her from having me more or less raise my brothers and sisters, but." She shrugs. What can you do. There is no bitterness for it.
     "I'm not upset. Not really. I'm just - I wish I had answers. I wish I even had questions," Audi admits. "I don't ever want to be normal, not truly normal - but ... it'd be nice, wouldn't it, to be able to stay out past midnight. To have friends over late. To be able to kiss a boy because you don't have to wonder what to tell him if it ever gets to late nights or overnights. I wouldn't mind ... knowing if there's a way out of it, or if I'm - stuck like this. I just - well, I don't let myself be upset. Because I've no way of fixing things, have I? And I like people. Really, I do. I just - can't let them ..."
     She lets it trail off, giving you a wry smile. "No point in getting myself down, is there? I just try not to think about it. And you're not a priest." Audi seems certain of that. "Or if you are, you're not a Catholic priest - you're not someone who'd, well, lock me up. You might be a lunatic, but you haven't seemed particularly rabid so far. I just go by my gut feelings on these things! And I'm right, aren't I?"

     "I've no love for puttin' folks in jail. I don't go around passin' judgment, either. I mean, let he without sin cast the first stone, right? Or is it he who lives in glass houses shouldn't throw rocks? I always get them confused..."
     Davydd takes a mighty pull of fire and released smoke. "It doesn't work exactly like that, thank god. But at dawn, I have the uncontrollable desire to sleep. And then I sleep. Really really hard," he smiles a bit. "I don't dream, or if I do I don't remember them. I wake up ...and then go about my business."
     He shrugs a bit. "It doesn't have to be like that, you know. I've found someone who doesn't mind I don't move in bed. You never know... people can be rather understanding. That is... if you pick well..."

     "You're right on both, actually. No mixing of metaphors. But you're in the minority, aren't you? I give people the benefit of the doubt. But I also try to trust my instincts." Audi nods sagely, patting herself on the head. "It's a big world out there, and I'm little. So far I've always been lucky. I think I ... appeal to people in the same way that baby ducks do. People don't run me over, mostly. If I get robbed, the robber stops to ask me for my phone number. But I know the odds."
     She glances up at you with the frank honesty of a South End girl. "I do know the odds," Audi repeats, "and let's face it - I look at my mum's taste in men. My da died shortly after I was born - or maybe she just wishes he had. And then she went on to have eight more, and she still hasn't got a steady man. Some things are genetic, right? What if I've gotten her taste in men? Picking well seems to me to be the sort of thing that happens with a bit of luck and a bit of care and a bit of experience. All I've got is luck."
     She taps the rim of her coffee cup three times, as if to summon a rabbit from its depths. "So how did it happen, with you? Did you always have it - or are you as you put it, under a curse? I'm glad you found someone, though. It must be hard. Stuck like that, I mean - though you don't seem bothered."

     "It is what it is, right? I can no more help it than you can." He pauses to think, head tilting and he watches the cigarette give up the ghost as he stamps it out. "Funny you should mention epilepsy. That's sort of how it happened. I had these fainting spells after I hit puberty. I guess I was about fifteen when it started. I still got older as you can see." Davydd smirks at that.
     It's not the truth, but it might as well be...
     "I noticed it after that, really... " Well, after he was 36 and found out he couldn't die. Well, not permanently. But that's another story. "It's had its moments of being hard, sure. And I've gone in and out of being bothered. But I'm a damn sight older than you are...I've had more time."
     Speaking of time. Davydd moves his arm, sleeve adjusting so he can look at his watch. "I have to be somewhere, but ... here...let me give you my card..." He reaches into his jacket, removing a simple white card and a fountain pen. "This is the number here. If you ever need a place to crash, don't worry about money," he waves that off. "Just give me a call..." He jots something down then pushes the card to you.
     He's written his name down: Davydd Llywelyn. There are two numbers, one to the motel on the front and another number on the back. "Everyone needs a friend, Audi..."

     She glances at the card with curiosity, then nods. "Well - okay." Audi takes the slip of pasteboard, eyebrows lifting, corners of her mouth crooking slightly. "Thanks. I think. You don't seem like a pimp," she adds candidly, "which is just as well. I'm not that kind of girl."
     As if you needed to...
     The card is slipped into the oversized band jacket and she reaches for her sketchbook, stuffed as it is. "Though," Audi adds easily, "if you know someone looking for an illustrator - well, let me know, oh kai? I wouldn't mind. See you, then, I guess. Have fun?"

     "I know some folks in the art business. I don't know shite about it, but... they do. So... I'll see what I can scare up for you." He may mean that literally, the way he smiles. Davydd rises. "Hey, help yourself to the coffee... the door will lock automatically when you leave."
     Pimp? Moi? The copper-haired man gives a chuckle. "Don't look a gift hotel in the mouth, young lady. Promise. I'm no pimp. I haven't the slightest desire to take advantage of you." Been there, done that. "Just...keep that number, alright? Call it if you need to. Or even... if you just want to. We living dead things have to stick together..."

     "Sure. You don't seem scary, though. More cuddly. Like an oversized teddy bear." Considering the sort of artwork she does, that might be scary in and of itself...
     Audi settles back in her chair, lifting her cup. "I can't stay too much longer, myself. It's almost time for me to head home so that I don't - well. You know. Get caught dead here. I'll keep the number - promise. I'll even get a cellphone so that I can use it, how's that? Take care, and mind your head - it's going to rain again, I can smell it."
     She leans back in her seat, letting her head tip back so that she can stare at the ceiling, hands folded around the edges of the mug. She's in no tearing hurry, at least...

Posted by rowan at May 06, 2005 11:48 AM