Vince swayed heel-to-toe, hands stuffed in pockets too tight for them. The failing light left his bare arms cold, a chill which quickly raced throughout the rest of his body. He had nowhere to go, so there he stood, with only $1.17 to his name. He needed a cigarette.

This city may never sleep, but it did seem to grow weary every now and then. Cars jerked around corners and side streets without the grace that they usually had when gliding over pavement. The streetlights didn’t glow, they twitched. Everything seemed a little on edge tonight -- at odds with the world. It was somewhat comforting to the nineteen year old. A malicious contentment came over him from the fact that he wasn’t the only one that was out of place this time. Not the most moral of emotions, but then again mercy is a weakness: or so says evolution.

The building that he shielded his back towards was nothing of interest; at least he didn’t feel so. Vince hadn’t even taken the time to look at the sign. It didn’t matter really, it’s not like he was going to buy something. He could shoplift (and did when necessary), but he currently had a greater desire for cash than any old trinket he was able to slip away with. Bars don’t charge in baseball cards. But unfortunately for Vince, the fish weren’t biting today. He wished he could remember the name of that guy who gave him some product last week. Vince had double charged at the warehouse and ended up with nearly a hundred dollars after he paid the first dealer back. Today; however, Vince had no drugs and no clients. Or more simply, he would be street sleeping again tonight.

He strayed his brown eyes in the direction of the few passing cars and lone pedestrians that were careful not to make eye contact with him. Though desperation approached on the horizon of his mind, Vince’s gaze remained dull. He wasn’t about to tap dance for anyone, for dinner or the moon. He’d rather starve. Though this very dignity had gotten him ‘into’ more negative situations than ‘out of,’ it was the only thing he had left that was solely his.

He discontinued his swaying, as it became an impractical way of warming himself; he now used the hard surface of the wall to lean back against. He wouldn’t stay at post for much longer. It didn’t seem like anything was going to play out anyway. God damn it.

And he still needed a smoke.

"There are twenty years to go,
and twenty ways to know
who will wear,
who will wear the hat.
There are twenty years to go,
the best of all I hope,
join the ride,
the medicine show.
And thems the breaks,
for we designer fakes
we need to concentrate
on more than meets the eye."

She had no idea way she was singing. Esspeically a song such as this. But she was in the mood to sing though it was not clear why. Geneveive was stood against the wall of a building, her almond shapped, ultramarine eyes watched as every now and again a car would pass her. She crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head back to look at the night sky. A soft sigh escaped her dark red lips. Her wine red waves of hair brushed against pale white skin.

"There are twenty years to go,
the faithful and the low
the best of starts
the broken hearts, the stone
There are twenty years to go,
the punch drunk and the blow
the worst of starts
the mercy part, the phone
And thems the breaks
for we designer fakes
we need to concentrate
on more than meets the eye"

Her voice was almost hypnotic to those who heard it. One of her weapons in catching her prey. 'Twas like a sirens song when luring unknowing sailors ships onto the rock. Geneveive laughed at the thought. "Fools...", she muttered but she knew that sometimes mortals just couldn't help them selves. She had to know, for she was once one of them. But that was long ago.

"Thems the breaks
for we designer fakes,
but it's you I take
'Cause you're the truth not I,
There are twenty years to go,
a golden age I know.
But all will pass.
Will end too fast you know.
There are twenty years to go,
and many friends i hope.
Though some may hold the rose,
some hold the rope"

'I think I'll go for a walk', she pushed herself off the wall and began to walk up the paved sidewalk. Her hips swayed in a femenine manner as she made her way. Her large and lond silk scarf flapped behind her like a pair of black wings. The heels of her knee high, black boots gave faint clicks, her lace skirt caressed her smooth, slender legs. It was a strange thing to be wearing black, leather hotpants beneath a skirt, but she didn't care if others thought it strange. This was her own sensed of style and she liked it. The lace sleeves of her black leather corset were ruffled at the ends. Her outfit was a mix between old fashion and modern day style, but it suited her well.

"And that's the end, and that's the start of it,
that's the whole, and that's the part of it,
that's the highs, and that's the heart of it,
that's the long, and that's the short of it,
that's the best, and that's the test in it,
that's the doubt, the doubt the trust in it,
that's the sight, and that's the sound of it,
that's the gift, that's the trick in it,
You're the truth not i,
You're the truth not i,
You're the truth not i,
You're the truth not i,
You're the truth not i,
You're the truth not i,
You're the truth not i,
You're the truth not i."

Observing mortals was something Eli-Rah did often and chosing one to stalk was relatively easy.
This one, for example, was walking alone, seemingly homeless, obviously poor, and unextraordinary.
Perched and cloaked in a shadow near the top of the building, Elidir had but to drop herself to the ground to take this person from his nowhere to her nowhere without a sound. He was boring her and his thoughts seemed to dwindle to nothing.
She thought of what he could become. What she could make him or give him at no cost to her. Money was nothing, shelter was nothing. Time was, of course, as plentiful to Eli-Rah as stars were to space.
++Something to do...++
Elidir glided to the pavement silently, without an expression. Still out of sight, she began to make curious noises, wondering how the young one would react.