I ne woth whinder schal I

He doesn't bother making noise on the way down. Coil will know that he's coming.

He hates that. He misses when they would both get so wrapped up in their work that the other would have to distract them with sound. He misses their sounds. They were so much more... patient than the constant, nagging knowledge that the other creature is just there.

Zhas pulls down on the back of his neck. It doesn't make him feel any better.

He stabbed him between the ribs. He keeps thinking about it. He wonders if Coil still has a mark. He wonders if Coil even remembers. Zhas stabbed him out of instinct, to get momentum on him, to get him to pause long enough for him to smash Coil's skull against the floor. He could have killed him then, very easily, because it didn't feel like Coil was even in there anymore. His skin gave and he screamed just like the rest of them do.

He's tired. He just keeps thinking that, too. He's tired, in a way that he doesn't remember being for a very, very long time. He almost wishes he were still angry. He understands what rage is; whatever's eating him is something foreign and unbearable.

He unlocks the basement door, steps through, and closes it behind him.

There's a nice long hallway's worth of time before Zhas comes to stand in front of Coil's cell.

Zhas kind of likes cooking. It's like science, full of measurements and processes, but the end results are usually nicer than the results of his other experiments. As much as he hates giving in to basic human necessities like eating and sleeping, there is something kind of calming about making food.

He'd never admit it, though. The sun is shining, the window is open, the place is empty... and he's standing near the stove, measuring pasta and stirring it around in the bubbling pot with the same stoic, vaguely brooding look that he always has.

Zhas loves Halloween. And Zhas doesn't really love anything, so that's saying something.

The lights, the sounds, every painted face and every bizarre mask... The way everyone runs around, drinking and laughing at fairies and zombies alike. It's kind of ironic that the biggest holiday for vampires is also the one day a year that he refuses to do any work, often completely shedding his persona in favor of pretending to be something like a normal person.

He's gone halfway, now that he's convinced Coil to come. He's still mostly himself, but he's talking more. He interacts with people who approach him, he smiles strangers claps him on the shoulder for how kickass his face paint is. And he has to talk for Coil, of course, getting him things or explaining to strangers that try to ask the kid what he's supposed to be. It's usually a "joke" about him being a one-eyed, silent necromancer dressed up as a respectable gentleman, followed by waving him off as some obscure movie character if they don't have the right sense of humor for that sort of thing.

But while he has his fun, drinks up the sights, wanders plainly in the streets like he belongs there... He pays a lot of attention to Coil, too. Makes sure he's well-informed, makes sure not to take him anywhere he hasn't already been, tries to treat him to things he might like... Lets him explore anything he seems to have an interest in, hopes he doesn't come off like some pandering babysitter about the whole thing.

But really, after three or four drinks, Zhas's ability to worry about it completely vanishes. It isn't until after midnight that he finally settles them down somewhere, dragging Coil over to the little park in the middle of town and letting them collapse onto a bench for a little while. It's not a whole lot quieter--the place is filled with brave children playing hide and seek, teenagers negotiating candy trades, adults drunkenly trying to remember where they parked their cars--but it's sitting, and it's nice to have less immediate stimulation for a minute.

That, and to finish his drink. Zhas doesn't actually remember how he got this one out of the bar. But he's still holding it, and it's delicious, so he should finish it.