The red light district was thriving. It always was nowadays, especially on Fridays. The street was lined with bars on one side, and leafy trees on the other. A slightly murky canal could be seen on the other side of this thin canopy, not quite blocked from view by a few benches. A couple of young women, very obviously very drunk, supported one another on one of these benches, poring over a polystyrene tray of fries. They weren't using forks, and mayonnaise clung stickily to their fingers. One of their high-heeled shoes tapped an almost empty bottle of wine on the ground next to them; it toppled with a gentle clink, and a splash of the liquid was wasted. They didn't notice for almost a minute, and when they did, it was the funniest thing that happened that evening. Then again, everything that happened that evening was the funniest thing that happened that evening.

Albert paid them no heed as he walked past, apart from to chuckle very slightly and shake his head. Humans really couldn't handle their drink, sometimes. Then again, vampires sometimes had similar problems. Still, he didn't remember any vampire passing out from a blood binge; one of the girls' heads had rolled onto the other's shoulder, and didn't look like it would be moving any time soon. It wasn't even half past nine.

Just a little up the road, he reached The Burlesque. Unlike many of the flashier, glitzier, and, frankly, sleazier clubs and bars in the red light district, its only signage was, just that, a small sign with Welcome to The Burlesque written upon it in cursive lettering. Perhaps more obvious was the doorman, or, rather, doorwoman. She was an efficient girl named Jo, quickly turning away the trouble without batting an eyelid, and politely welcoming everybody else in herself. Everybody, of course, meant 'predominantly vampires' with enough humans to keep the ratio intact, and it was a more difficult job than she made it look. Vampires in particular needed welcoming, simply because many of them had trouble crossing the threshold, even with the implied invitation of The Burlesque's sign. Apparently Jo was a lip-reader, and so could usually guess a vampire from a human just by looking to see if they were breathing. Albert, the proprietor himself, obviously had no such problems, and walked inside with barely as much of a hand-wave to the clients and staff.

The Burlesque was a narrow building, but most of them in Amsterdam were, and at least it had long rooms, if not wide. He'd still tried to make the place as inviting as possible; the ultimate lounge, with, of course, a bar. It was hardly throbbing with people, but The Burlesque was never full. That was part of the charm; being able to get to the bar from the sofas without pushing; being able to hear the band, a proper, live swing band, over the chatter of the punters; being served at the bar without half an hour's wait. Of course, the clients paid for it. The prices were inflated, even beyond the natural pricing of higher-quality blood and wine. Obviously, it was free for Albert (in the sense that he had already paid for it) and the bar manager, upon clocking his arrival, immediately brought a wine glass to his boss with a polite nod. Albert's nostrils flared as he raised the glass to his lips, and took a sip, careful not to stain the corners of his mouth. Wine didn't stain, but this wasn't wine.

"Thank you, Felix," he said, "I'll be upstairs."

Still holding the wine glass, and politely smiling at the guests as he passed, he strode behind the bar and into the stairwell. Like everything else, it was a little narrow, but that was the reality of life. Everything else in Amsterdam was getting thinner. The third stair squeaked - it had squeaked since long before Albert had bought the building, and even now the moan of the staircase could faintly be heard over even the band in the main room. There was a scurrying noise upstairs. Albert closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Obviously he had no need of the oxygen, but the action calmed him.

Albert wiggled his key in the lock. The Burlesque was his home from home, and so he had a private flat upstairs. It was small, but comfortable, with a kitchinette, small living room, a master bedroom and a small 'guest' room as well.

"I'm back," he called, as he opened the door to the lounge. A young man with dirty blonde hair was sitting right there, or, rather, had been sitting; he sprang to his feet the moment Albert entered the room. He too had a glass of blood ready for his sire, but, seeing Albert had already had been given one, he put it down on the coffee table with a moment's disappointment flashing across his face.

"Hello, Meneer Ogthoven," Alexander said, his neutral voice undermined by his quivering hands, "How was it?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Albert sank into the armchair, a particularly grand Winchester that seemed a little at odds with the minimalist décor of his town pad. He leaned back and crossed one leg over the other, "The builders took out a wall - a load-bearing wall. They had to reinstall the damn thing, so that's a week's work wasted."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Meneer Ogthoven."

"Do sit down."

"Thank you, Meneer Ogthoven."

Albert sat down on the squashy sofa opposite the armchair, perched on the very edge of the cushion, . His eyes were locked directly on Albert's, who struggled to meet such an intense gaze. The room was very quiet, apart from the muffled sounds of the band downstairs.

"How have you been this week, Alexander?"

"I've been well, Meneer Ogthoven," his eyes were flickering. Albert only ever asked out of basic politeness these days. It wasn't that he didn't care; it was that he only ever received the same answer.

"Have you been working?"

"Yes, Meneer Ogthoven. Felix has given me tonight off."

"Good boy. And has she been?"

"Madame de Sauveterre, Meneer Ogthoven?"

"Yes. Madame de verdomme Sauveterre."

"I haven't seen her, Meneer Ogthoven, but I can go and ask Felix if you like," Alexander began to get to his feet, but was stayed by an exhausted wave of Albert's hand.

"I can ask him myself, thank you. I was given lips."

"Yes, Meneer Ogthoven," Alexander's eyes remained locked on Albert as his sire slowly took another sip.

"Do you want that?" Albert lazily pointed at the glass on the coffee table.

"Is there something wrong with it, Meneer Ogthoven?" the progeny looked horrified and started to his feet again, "I can get you anot-"

"Alexander, no," Albert's temper began to flare, and Alexander half-fell back onto the sofa. There was a pause and Albert took another deep breath, "I'm heading back downstairs in a moment. It doesn't look good for me to swan around drinking blood we don't sell. So," he pointed back at the glass on the table, "If you want that, drink it."

Alexander picked it up and held it in both hands between his knees, taking tiny, uninterested sips, "Thank you, Meneer Ogthoven."

"It's nice to be able to have a drink together, Alexander," his progeny perked up a little, "Perhaps, later, you might join me downstairs?"

"Yes, Meneer Ogthoven."

"But only if you'd like to," Albert paused. He wished that Alexander would respond, but he could sense the uncertainty seeping from his progeny's every pore, so he continued, "It's your night off, after all."

"Thank you, Meneer Ogthoven."

"Don't thank me; thank Felix," and then corrected himself before Alexander could jump to attention again, "Don't actually thank Felix."

"No, Meneer Ogthoven."

---

Downstairs. Albert breathed a sigh of relief and tapped his foot to the music he could now hear properly. They were his house band, and had actually given them contracts, as a band and as individuals, that were only to play other venues or occasions with his express permission. It was always neater simply to buy those things you wanted.

He had left Alexander upstairs lest he throttle the boy. Once upon a time, he would have specifically sought out the obedience - modern progenies were increasingly independent. It was a sign of the times. There were more outlets outside their immediate vampire networks; it was like American kids discovering rock 'n' roll. On the few occasions where Alexander was to be seen in public, directly associated with him, he'd typically received compliments as to how well Albert was raising his new progeny. The only thing was, Alexander had been fully fledged for over a decade now. He had been set, very deeply, in stone. Shaking his head, he ordered a drink from the bar. He went through the charade of paying his money into his till for his own bar's drink and sat down in one of the grand sofas to enjoy the band.

After years in the anti-vamp movement Natalia’s life had become a strict routine that kept both her mind sharp and her body honed. While she was well aware she was no longer being trained for war any longer and that perhaps the rest of her ‘family’ had been murdered that night it was often the only thing that kept her from falling into a black pit of despair that desperately called her name. Just a few months ago all she had left of her old life was the falling snow on her face and the smoke rising from the place she called home. Amsterdam had been such a culture shock, vampires and humans sharing the streets without aggression, even…fornicating in some places. It both fascinated and disgusted her in equal measures and it was this confusion that led to the routine’s implementation.

Her days were spent training, burning off the energy she accumulated through the night shifts she worked. It still made her skin itch to work so close to vampires, to pour and serve them the blood of some poor human from god knows where. How much did they really know about the source? In her training Natalia had learned that the best place to find our information was often the targets own turf. What better place to look for her mysterious green eyed monster than in a bar run by his people and frequented by both them and their silly little walking, talking blood bags. Though the shifts often left her frustrated in one way or another and so as to not carry it into the next day her training schedule was necessary. Monday’s were kick boxing, Tuesdays’ were Jujitsu, Wednesday’s were pole dancing lessons –for leg and arm strength-, Thursday’s were her day off but she’d run or swim usually, Friday’s were bag work and the weekend varied depending on her mood.

She’d been working her bag for half an hour, her knuckles, shin’s and knees red as she went over and over every drill she remembered. Open fist fighting, palm strikes, heel strikes, her hair slick with sweat and sticking to her forehead but despite the labour in her breathing and the concentrated movement of her styles she was not fully aware of her environment. Her mind had been allowed to roam as her muscle memory carried her through elbow strikes and knee lifts, she had yet to find a trace of the green eyed monster that had, for some reason, spared her that night in the snow. Not so much as a rumour had filtered to her ears in that bar for the walking dead and their meals on legs. Of course she wasn’t there just to find that man but to find herself, even now she was both fascinated and disgusted by vampire culture. Though did that confusion mean she was a traitor to her family? Or simply that she thought she ought to know more about her enemies? She hadn’t given up on the idea of revenge but neither was she in a screamingly urgent desire to find and kill those that had murdered her kin.

At the beginning of every shift she was glad she didn’t see the man she was looking for, her mind embroiled with the various things she’d do to him if she found him but by the end of the night she found her heart ached at not having found him. What had been the point in saving her if he didn’t show his face to her again? Most of the people in the gym she frequented had learned not to approach her when she was working a bag, the first and only time someone had they’d been left with a dislocated shoulder coupled with profuse apologies but every now and then someone new arrived at the gym. Due to her short stature and lithe frame they often misjudged her, taking her for some form of dancer rather than a fighter and such was the problem then.

There were only two bags in this part of the gym, one was being used by a well known MMA fighter and one by her, so the man had sauntered over with the intention of some quick quip and a little intimidation to run the mousy girl off. In her sports shorts and tank top, hair in a pony tail she looked as unthreatening as a woman could possibly get and so he went to tap her shoulder a rather smug grin already on his face. Sensing the movement her mind recoiled from its thoughts as she grabbed the thick wrist and slid a step diagonally back and behind, twisting she sent a trainer into the bag of his knee’s making the unsuspecting man topple and fall, her arm twisted his one eighty degrees and up until his wrist was well above his head and her foot on his shoulder blade forcing his face toward the ground and pressure onto his arm. The look in her eyes was likely rather concerning, the woman –who was still pulling herself back into reality- had a blank gaze upon her features, even as the downed man cried out. In fact it was only when he tapped his other arm on the mats that she fully regained her senses and released him.

As the guy rubbed his arm and got to his feet Natalia brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, “You startled me.” Mother Russia accenting her words, “I’m sorry.”
“No no, my fault.” The guy confessed, muttering some choice words beneath his breath before laughing it off. Turned out he was a bouncer at one of the seedier clubs in Amsterdam and had almost lost against a rather stuck up vampire client so thought he’d come do some physical training. He did tell her his name but she had only feigned interest and carried on the conversation until certain he wasn’t going to press any charges. He wasn’t which was good, with a sweet smile she apologised again and hit the showers, the water relaxing her tense muscles.

__________________

It was around Nine when she arrived for her shift, Downstairs in Red, for the vile cesspit it was, was better than nothing. When several of the higher class bar’s had turned her away for insufficient paperwork or a permanent address all that ‘The Red’ had asked of her was if she knew how to mop up vomit, pour a pint and the difference between the two. Of course she doubted old green eyes would come to such a low brow place, there’d been something about him, though she was uncertain if that was just a child’s fantastical spin on things. It had been an invaluable learning experience and tongues here were often loose for a bartender who had a little cleavage and a pretty face. In fact sometimes the money she made in tips was more than she earned that shift and she certainly wasn’t complaining.

Her idle spot though was The Burlesque, if anyone knew who Green eyes was, or of him they’d likely be there with the other movers and shakers. The rather plucky greeter had turned her away the last time she’d paid it a visit, not dressed properly or some other poor excuse to keep her out. Which had lead her to the rather desperate move of hand writing a CV and posting it to the Burlesque for the Attention of the bar owner. That had been a day or two ago and she entertained herself with the knowledge that just maybe the rich bastard who owned the club would be reading it over now.

With a sigh she slipped around the side of the building where the staff entrance, bins and loading area were all crammed into the thin alley. As there often was one of her fellow bar tenders was out on break but not alone, some nameless vampire attached to her neck and she was moaning like one of the whores upstairs. Perhaps she was awaiting a promotion? Natalia ignored them and slipped inside, gauging her reflection in the smudged mirror that hung nearby before heading towards the bar. Today she’d opted for the more neo gothic look, PVC pants hugged her legs, slashes ‘fashionably’ ran horizontal every inch or so from the top of her thigh to her ankle. She’d opted for a Red satin blouse to be held in place by an under bust corset that lifted and framed her chest for those ‘extra tips’. It was a sleazy way to get more money perhaps but she had to fit in and most the women here were as undressed as they could legally be. She’d pulled her hair up into a high pony tail, the ends brushing her shoulder blades and with smoky eyes and a dark red lipstick she fit the bill for the bar.

“About fucking time.” Came the call from her co-worker, Jenny, Jasmine? Something like that, currently wearing what Natalia called a ‘belt’ with some fish nets, bitch boots and a tube top. She had a tray balanced on her hand and immediately wiggled passed their boss to hand over her key, “See you tomorrow night and good luck it’s heaving tonight!” Natalia hiked a brow as the woman pulled crumpled noted from between her breasts and wiggled passed to get her coat. Jessica –wasn’t much need to know co-workers names- was right, as Natalia stepped onto the bar floor she was met by the sort of noise she’d always associated with locusts. The prog rock band playing at the other end was drowned out by shouting, laughing and god knows what else as they all struggled for room close to the action. The band were rubbish, they couldn’t really sing, were not very good at playing but humans and vampires alike were head banging or dancing along to every out of tune number.

The bar was the other centre of action, people pushing to get close enough to scream their orders and others holding their drinks above their heads and struggling back out of the way to the only relatively quiet middle ground there was. Grabbing a glass she briefly span it back and forth in hand before making her way into the fray. “What can I get you suga’?” She shouted over the band and ambient noise, a meek looking guy met her gaze and quickly looked away. She started pouring him a vodka, “Ah shit hunny, this ain’t no bar for you. Get this down your neck.” The undiluted liquid was held over the bar to him and her other hand indicated with index finger for payment. The little nerd smiled shyly and handed over a note which he didn’t get to see the change of as he was swept away by one of the girls, Natalia shook her head and moved swiftly onto the next customer.

It felt refreshing to walk outside after a long day at work. A soft breeze caressed Christina's cheek as she walked down the narrow streets of downtown Amsterdam. The sun had begun to set, making the sky slowly turn from blue to a shade of pink, followed by dark crimson, purple and orange. It was a beautiful night, but Christina couldn't quite enjoy it as much as she would have done a few weeks ago. The reason? She really, really didn't like her new job. Since last week, she was Jan Bakers' newest personal secretary in the Amsterdam main office. She had to take calls, send mails, schedule appointments for meneer Willem Snijder, her boss, receive meneer Willem's guests and bring him his coffee from time to time. Those things she actually liked, meneer Willem was a strict but just man who liked her results, he wasn't sentimental and never asked personal questions. Besides that, he had an amazing talent as an architect but he was hopeless when it came to planning and scheduling, making Christina's work all the more important. What made Christina dislike her job, was the environment where she had to work. The building was seemingly made entirely out of glass and concrete, lacking all the charm that she remembered Amsterdam to have. During her working hours, the sun shone brightly into her small office and although it wasn't as bad as being outside, Christina was forced to always wear sun block combined with thick clothes that covered all of her skin. It didn't really help that the walls and floor, even most of the furniture were all painted white. "To create the illusion of a larger space," meneer Willem would declare.

Today she had requested to let her writing desk be moved to the other end of the room, where the sun wouldn't be pestering her all day long. But even more than the sun, the simple idea of taking orders from someone who wasn't even a quarter of her age was nerve wrecking. For the last two hundred years, Christina had been able to decide exactly when, where and what she would do in whose company. She had been as free as a bird, traveling from one place to the next whenever she felt like it. Or well, maybe an old wolf who sensed he wasn't the only hunter in his woods, would be a better metaphor. She hated to admit it, but wherever she had gone she had felt haunted. She had thought that maybe she'd feel less hunted down if she'd start behaving like an actual human again. But she hadn't had a clue how hard it would be to adjust to a human routine. Waking up at six, breakfast, shower, at work around nine, pretend like the blood you're drinking during lunch break is actually tomato juice, back home around six, eat a little, drink, sleep. She had forgotten how dull the life of humans could be.

Christina let her thoughts wander as she walked. It usually took her about an hour, walking from her work to her canalside house. She didn't really mind, after all it was good exercise, it was great to just be able to let her feet carry her along as she let her mind wander after a long, stressful day and thirdly; she didn't have a car nor license, so even if she had wanted to, the only way to shorten her journey would have been to let Jan pick her up after work (as he had often offered to do) or use the tram on some parts of her journey. She had never really gotten used to cars, trams nor bicycles. And the sight of a nineteen-year-old attempting to learn how to cycle was something that made her pride forbid her to learn how to ride one. But the last and best reason was that Christina wanted to rediscover her hometown -it surprised her that she still thought of it as that, her hometown. How long had it been since she had actually had a home here to return to-.

The first fifteen minutes would guide her through the newest parts of the city, the always over packed highways, the office buildings, towering into the sky like concrete giants with lamp-lit eyes that woke after dark. After that, the road would take her past the railways, into one of the little places filled with green, making her feel as if she wasn't in the city at all but on the countryside. Unfortunately, the sound of cows mooing had been replaced by the sound of metal wheels on rails when a train passed with the sound of thunder. And finally, the new city would make place for the old, the real heart of Amsterdam. Luckily, unlike Rotterdam and Arnhem, Amsterdam had been spared during the War and most buildings that framed the canals were the same as Christina remembered them.

A sigh of delight crossed her lips as she reached her street. The beautiful sunset sky had turned a darker shade and the azure turned to sapphire. Her house was one of the larger ones and was painted completely white. A wall lantern provided her with just enough light to rummage through her bag in search of her keys. However when she finally found it, the door had already opened. "Welkom thuis mevrouw Christina." A young, blonde man in his late twenties stood in the hallway with a broad smile on his face. "Thank you Jan." With a few steps she was inside.

The second sigh of relief of the evening crossed her lips as she let herself fall onto her sofa in quite an unladylike manner. The sofa in her small personal library on the second floor of the house was her favorite place in the house by far. She gracefully lifted one leg and Jan quickly knelt down to relieve her of her shoes. "Oh, Jan. When you go downstairs, please be a dear and bring me something to drink. The Gressièe from last July would be most pleasant." Jan's only answer was a short nod as he left the room, taking her black heels with him. Christina realized that she should remind herself not to wear heels anymore to work. It was quite satisfying to be able to look others into their eyes, but the hour walk back was too much to handle while wearing heels. She had actually taken them off and walked a part of her journey barefoot a few times. But with all the tourists and students throwing their empty beer bottles wherever they liked, walking barefoot in the centre of Amsterdam wasn't such an intelligent plan.
Jan returned as silently as he always did and he had to cough before she noticed his return. "Ah, thanks dear." She said with a smile. Jan answered with his boyish smile and twinkling eyes. After she had taken the glass with blood from his outstretched hand, he settled down on one of the armchairs standing next to the sofa.
"So, how was work?"
"Hmm... Just utterly delightful, as usual. I did make some progress on getting rid my arch nemesis, Mr. Zonlicht. So perhaps there'll be some improvement in my working conditions."

Christina couldn't help but frown as she took a sip of the red liquid. Some claimed that the older the blood was, the better it tasted. But Christina had tasted enough samples to know that the fresher it was, the more delight it brood to the palate. Jan noticed her discomfort and for a moment his ever-present-smile disappeared from his face.
"It's not any good, is it Mevrouw." He didn't ask, he simply stated a fact. But Christina preferred not to speak badly of the bottled blood he had managed to obtain.
"Tch, I always tell you to just call me Christien or Chris or Christina or whatever you prefer. Just not that "Mevrouw" every time. It drives me mad."She continued as she put the glass on the table standing next to them. Before she continued, she took his hands in hers and looked him in the eye. "Aren't you after all my dearest and eldest friend. You've been everywhere and back with me. It just pains me that you are still so formal. And yes, I know that you are just the son of a sailor. But look at the world. It has left those days behind."

"I just hope it didn't leave us behind Chris." Jan answered, looking worried for the first time since they had come to Amsterdam. "I mean, honestly Mevrouw...Chris... I love to be back, but everything has changed so much, I looked around the old centre today and I couldn't spot Oude Kees' bakery shop, nor Elizabeth's tailor shop and I didn't see Maester & Sons either." His voice started to sound panicking and Christina moved her hands to his face.
"Snap out of it Jan, look at yourself. Look. Look at how that coiffeur lady cut your hair 'to the latest trend sir, I guarantee' and that nice suit you're wearing. You're more than certainly keeping up with time. Nobody will ever suspect a thing.." His pained expression made her halt for a moment.

"Honestly... Please forgive me speaking so frankly Christina. But honestly, it's you that I'm worried about. Don't you see? You never go out to meet... our kind. You just try and pretend to be human, while you are not. You're still living in the past, trying to act as if nothing has changed. But sweet Christina, everything has." Slowly, Christina removed her hands from his face. Her lips tightened and the look in her eyes turned from compassion and pity into a glare. Slowly she raised from the sofa, as she stood tall she looked down upon Jan. Her hand reached down to the table where it found the half-filled glass. She hesitated but a second, before she threw the content in Jan's surprised face.

"Don't. Ever. Say. That I live in the past. After. All the. Effort that I went through to keep up. Well... I'm sorry for not quite being able to forget. But may I remind you I had a fabulous life before that bastard took it all away." She was close to screaming and crying at this point, but she managed to contain herself. It took all of her strength to not break down and apologize to Jan, tell him that she didn't mean it and that she loved him like a brother. Her pride wouldn't allow it.
"Very well. I'll go and seek some of our.... kind, if that pleases you. Don't bother to come and find me, I'll be perfectly fine on my own." She didn't want to hurt him, but it felt so right. He was always nagging about the way she handled things. She had simply had more than enough. Christina quickly turned around and ran off the stairs to her bedroom. Jan's face, covered in blood and his bright blue eyes almost overflowing with loyalty and hurt... She wouldn't be able to forget that... Not for a while.

---

Christina had managed to find one of the better looking bars in what was usually called the Red Light district. The whole atmosphere of the neighborhood felt wrong and this place, "The Burlesque", was the first place that she had come across that actually felt inviting, without the seedy vibe the other establishments gave off. Christina walked in circles for a while in front of the pub. She wasn't sure if she'd enter or not and even if she'd want to, she first needed to get invited to be able to go inside. She'd heard that most vampires these days were able to just go inside wherever they pleased, but for Christina it was a part of her system, something unable to be untaught.

Just as she was thinking of just leaving and returning home to Jan and her bed, a blonde girl who had watched her from her spot near the door as Chris had walked around, approached her. Although, 'girl' wasn't really the right word for the woman. She was obviously a regular at the gym and looked as though she'd stand her ground in a bar fight and most likely win it too. "Can I help you m'am? My name is Jo and I'd like to invite you into our humble pub. I'm sure you'll find The Burlesque quite to your taste, we have the finest liquor, fresh or bottled and our own house band is performing tonight." Jo had seemed to sense that Christina was feeling uneasy and after her kind yet polite words, Christina felled her tense muscles relax slightly. "Thank you, that's most kind of you." Jo nodded with a polite smile and stepped aside as Christina walked inside.

The atmosphere inside was indeed very pleasant. The pub was decorated in about the same style as Christina had done with her house. Elegant, fitting with the building's age. Christina smiled slightly as she remembered how her father had told her about the fuss that had been made back in the day because of the new tax on buildings, based on their width. Of course the Amsterdammers, pragmatic as always had found a solution by simply building their houses in length and height instead of width.

The life band also added to the pleasant atmosphere and Christina found herself unconsciously tapping her feet along to the beat. It was a shame that she didn't have her violin with her, otherwise she'd have asked the gentlemen if she'd be allowed to join them for a song. The place also wasn't as crowded as she had feared it to be. Content with her new environment, Christina slowly walked towards an empty table. Her heels weren't kind to her feet but she still had convinced herself that if she'd reintroduce herself to the vampiric scene, she'd at least do it in style. She was wearing a dark blue velvet dress that fell down just above her knees. Her black heels and the black rose she had attached to her pinned up hair matched the black bow on her waist. As she sat down on the comfortable chair, she decided that she'd first watch the other clients before she'd take any action herself. The unusual politeness Jo had showed to her seemingly nineteen-year-old self made her suspect that she knew -or at least suspected- Christina to be a vampire. It'd be wise to first make sure who in the establishment were humans and who were not before she'd order her blood and be extra sensitive to their emotions. And knowing humans and their liquor, she was sure that most of them would experience some extreme emotions tonight.

The transfer from the country to the city had been difficult for Alexander and meneer Ogthoven. Both were accustomed to the silence of rural isolation and the trappings of a large mansion. Admittedly, many areas of the tuinhuis van Ogthoven were dilapidated and in urgent need of repair, but those areas suitable for habitation remained spacious and lavish. Alexander had spent the best part two decades exclusively within its walls and grounds, and, though meneer Ogthoven had spent more and more time in Amsterdam as the Age of the Vampire had drawn in ever closer, those visits had retained for him a sense of ambassadorial grandeur and novelty. However, as meneer Ogthoven's interests in the city grew and the manor's state of collapse worsened, it became inevitable that they would have to move.

They had moved into the flat above The Burlesque perhaps fifteen years ago; Alexander no longer had any meaningful grasp of time, being simultaneously over fifty years old and looking just twenty. Back in the tuinhuis van Ogthoven there had been no means of or reason for measuring the passing time: occasionally meneer Ogthoven would bring a newspaper back from the town with him, but Alexander's grasp of Dutch was poor and his interest in current affairs nonexistent, so, apart from the changing seasons, years had begun to mean nothing to him.

The flat was a small one, with bulk of the building devoted to the running of The Burlesque. Of four stories, the flat took up just one, with two floors kept vacant for paying guests and, of course, the main lounge was one storey of its own. The space didn't really bother Alexander, but meneer Ogthoven's temper was its own concern, and, when they had first moved in, his sire had felt cramped to say the least, and become proportionately irate. Since then, they had settled into their new lives somewhat; meneer Ogthoven had hired managers for his various businesses, leaving him more time for politics and to take occasional trips back to the manor to oversee its refurbishment and, for his own part, Alexander had taken on some shifts in The Burlesque, on meneer Ogthoven's instruction, which kept him busy while his sire was unable to occupy him. He had slowly become accustomed to the disruptions of urban life and the people and noise from downstairs came to bother him less.

He lay on his bed in his room. Officially it was the flat's guest room, though Alexander probably no longer qualified as a guest, having slept in it almost every night for fifteen years. It was a tiny room, only a few metres across in either direction, and almost entirely featureless - it comprised a chest of drawers, a wardrobe and a single bed with plain sheets. Its sole decoration was a single Sex Pistols poster neatly taped to the wall, its four sides perfectly parallel with the other lines in the room. Alexander no longer listened to music, and much less punk - meneer Ogthoven had bought it for him to encourage him to personalise his living space, but Alexander had only put the thing up out of politeness.

He had been lying on his bed from the moment meneer Ogthoven had headed back down to the lounge, his eyes wide open. Really, he was trying to stare at the ceiling, but his gaze kept being captured by the half-glass of blood on the chest of drawers - not that he had any desire to drink it. His overriding desire was to wash up the glass. It was cluttering up the room, but he shouldn't waste it.

Meneer Ogthoven had invited him downstairs, and so Alexander, who'd already made sure he was presentable before meneer Ogthoven returned, had put on his shoes ready. "Only if you want to," meneer Ogthoven had said. Alexander rubbed his face with his forearm and rolled over, careful that the soles of his shoes didn't touch the clean linen of the bed. Perhaps he ought to go; Meneer Ogthoven wouldn't have asked him to unless he wanted him there. And there was nothing to do up here; with his sire out of town, Alexander had exhausted all possible tasks and chores that might keep him busy during the days, having cleaned the flat to within an inch of its life and all of the laundry had been done. If meneer Ogthoven had changed his shoes, he'd have something to polish - but he hadn't.

There was no putting it off any longer. He took a deep breath in, a trick he'd learned from his sire that was biologically pointless but useful for calming oneself down. With one hand on the bannister, he headed down the stairs.

A single light shone through the dark building coming from Anthony’s office, as he looked through the paperwork in three high stacks, on the top of his desk. The first stack was incoming cases to be taken by either him or one of many lawyers that worked for him. The second stack was closed cases and the ones that had been lost, though there weren’t many, which would be going to the records room. The third stack, the one he was looking through, was full of applications for the new lawyers and legal assistants that needed to be hired with this new floor being added. With this new partnership he hoped to get more human clients, even after all those years, many of his clients tended to be vampires.

The sound of his office door clicking open caused Anthony look up from his work with narrowed eyes, as the head of the built up blonde security guard named Thomas, peeked through the door. Humans truly were quite rude anymore, even when he had been a human, he had been raised to at least knock before entering. It actually had made that rule as a fledgling much easier to follow. If the boy had belonged to Flora, he would be dealing with the metal punishment for being so disrespectful. When Thomas noticed the fact Anthony was there, he stood straight, clearing his throat, before a hand came up to knock on the now opened door.

“What do you want Thomas?” He snapped a little at the man, perhaps a little more loudly than was intended in first place, which made the big, built up human jump a little bit, and Anthony sighed slightly. He had been in the office since six in the morning in order to get things really for a meeting the tomorrow and it was now being clear that he was starting to get thirsty. With his left hand he pinched the bridge of his nose, before rephrasing himself slowly to a more sociable response. "What can I do for you Thomas?"

“I’m sorry Mr. Caito, I saw the light on in your office, and I was doing my job and checking for trespassers.” The man answered still rather tense, the fact he was far from Anthony liking him didn't make the situation much better.

“So you thought, I’ll just stick my head in a room with possible intruders? What would you have done if they had weapons?”

"Um..." Thomas pulled on his tie softly, a common sign of nerves of humans. One of the first things he had learned to watch for at the beginning of his practice, it made it much easier to tell if the witness on the stand was telling the truth or if there was something they were hiding for Anthony to find. "..I honestly hadn't thought that far ahead sir."

Anthony stared at the man blankly for a few seconds, this was the reason that he disliked stupid people. They seemed to always be the ones that walked head first into danger without thinking of the outcome or whom they might end up hurting because of their actions. Though he had a feeling any lecture or attempt to make the boy smarter would go in one ear and out the other, in the long run it would just be a waste of his time and effect, what he really needed was to hire someone with more intelligence than Thomas. He put the papers he had been looking at back on top of the third stack, to insure his desk was tidy, before getting up and heading for the door. "Your apology is accepted, Thomas. Please leave now." He said frowning as he got close to the man and ushered him out.

As he went to turn off the light, he glanced over the office once to make sure it was clean and nothing was out of place. It was narrow, though he made sure to arrange everything where there would be plenty of room. His desk, that was in an L shape sat in the across from the door, making his back face one of the two windows in the room. There were two cushy chairs directly in the middle of the room, and in front of his desk, on the left side of the room sat a bookshelf, to the right was a small couch, and by the door hung his many degrees. To break away from the normal light wooden floors that were through the rest of the building, his office had a soft brown carpet, the walls were a light Cadet blue. Anthony flipped the light switch off, and headed out of the building ignoring the fact that Thomas watched him as he was walking past the front desk.

---

The Red Light district, though many humans seemed to find the atmosphere of this place ominous, it didn't really effect Anthony as much anymore. In fact as many times as he tried to switch to bottled blood, it seemed like every other night he would find himself back here. Although occasionally he would go to Downstairs in Red despite the fact that it was rather sleazy, and ran down, however, the last thing he needed was to be known for going to such a place. So he still preferred The Burlesque, mostly because it was quite as much of an embarrassment to be seen there by his vampire clients.

The doorwoman Jo gave a polite smile as he came towards the building meeting him halfway to the door, the need for an invite to enter wasn't as burned into his moral code as it was most vampires, though he still waited out of respect to the owner of the dwellings. "Welcome back sir, I'm sure that you’ll find that the house band is quite up to par tonight, please go in and have a nice evening." She said politely making Anthony nod to her before going inside. The Burlesque as usual wasn't very crowded, the swing music easy to hear as it flowed throughout the lounge. The feeling of this was almost calming, if the room was a little wider, and had piano music instead of swing. It would be almost like his Sire's home had been during parties.

He made his way to one of the tables, followed shortly after by one of the staff. Anthony wasn't really interested in the blood sold at the bar though, instead he inquired about any of rooms for feeding were opened. "I'll have to check sir." The skinny raven hair staff member said softly, before turning to leave the table. "Grazie." He replied before relaxing and listening to the band play.

“My word, it's beautiful.” It was after all, a child's painting, it was messy, different shades of colours splashed from top to bottom, however, she was a firm believer of the beauty in simplicity. And there was no better beautiful simplicity than that of a child's work of art. The girl flushed a shade of pink and smiled, “Thank you.” The girl said with a small whisper. The elder woman beamed back, the girl was no more than six, dimples, button nose, a natural childlike curiosity within those brown eyes.

“Are you enjoying today?” The woman asked, kneeling to bring herself level with the child.

She nodded.

“What's your favourite exhibit?”

“I liked the Egyptians. I thought they were pretty, and they liked cats and I cats.”

“Did you see the mummy?” She shook her head, the girl leant in closer and whispered, “I was scared.”

“If you'd like, I can come with you to look at the mummy.” The girl smiled widely and nodded in agreement. The child's barrier of hesitance slowly came down, and her shyness was soon replaced with boldness. “Are you a vampire?”

“Sebile!”

The man marched to his daughter with panicked urgency. “You don't ask questions like that, it's very rude. Forgive us, Madame de Sauveterre.”

Jennifer smiled at the pair, Sebile shared her father's eyes. But Jennifer presumed the dimples and nose were a product of the mother. “Heer Dederick, I have lived for a long time. It takes much more than someone to inquire to if I am a vampire or not to offend me, but yes, Sebile, I am indeed a vampire.”

“You said you've lived a long time, did you know any mummies?”

Dederick chocked on the air around him. Luckily for him, Jennifer de Sauveteree was leisurely in her nature, something a lot of other vampires lacked. “Maybe not that old.” Jenn gave a gentle squeeze to the cheek of the girl who turned an even brighter red, but whose smile grew wider. “Run along, there's still plenty of the museum and gallery to see. Once I've finished talking to your father, we'll take a look at the mummy together.” This satisfied the young Sebile, who smiled a farewell smile, running away to rejoin her classmates. Painting still in hand.
“Madame de Sauveterre, please, forgive my daughter, she-”

“Heer Dederick,” Jenn stopped him with a raised hand, “It's perfectly fine. You're daughter is a charming little girl. To seek to bottle her curiosity is a crime.”

The Voltaire was a communal effort of knowledge and creativity; of facts and of expression. It had been built to mirror the centres of cultural architecture of classic antiquity whilst also compartmenting the modern day. Ornate chambers and marble walkways, matched with Scandinavian modernism of pristine white-gold and the latest in technology. The Voltaire was a culmination of the past and of the future. It was the largest public lending library in the Netherlands, with 1.45 million books, not counting the large collection of manuscripts, play scripts, newspapers, music recordings, videos, databases, maps, prints and drawings. It was initially funded privatively, then with the changing nature of the new Amsterdam, it was provided government support once they discovered that a vampire was amongst the leading benefactors, then came the schools and the colleges and the universities. Dederick Van Der Sar, a relatively powerful businessman, was one of several who had invested in the project, he also sat on the board of members. He had been a man who Jennifer had grown to know well and she knew all too well that Dederick Van Der Sar, after all of these years, was still utterly terrified of her. And though Jennifer would never admit it openly, the Voltaire was hers. It was the silently acknowledge fact amongst the board of members.

Jennifer studied Dederick carefully, his eyes tracked his daughter's moments closely. Worry was etched on his face. “Madame de Sauveterre, I think I should call it a day. Sebile has been very active today and must be growing tired.”
“Heer Dederick, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

He had composed himself well in reaction to the question, he took his time to answer carefully. “Of course not, Madame de Sauveterre, why would you ask such a question?”
“Dederick, I am old, and in age you grow to become wise to the people and people around you. I have known you for several years. We are business acquaintances but I have always been aware of this wall between us, so I ask again, are you afraid of me? Please, be honest.”

Once more, he had composed himself well but Jennifer had caused a crack in his often steely defence, “Madame de Sauveterre, change is a process that takes many years and fear is a very strong word.”

Jennifer smiled, revealing a small flash of her teeth. “Dederick; all I desire is a cordial relationships with all my partners within the project. If you are at all wary of me, that is fine, I understand that some people have not yet come to terms with my kind, it's understandable. If you do feel this way, please, let me know and I will do whatever is possible to make you feel comfortable in my presence. We have known each other for several years now, you should not feel the need to step around on egg shells.”

“Madame de Sauveterre, I didn't mean to offend you.”

“And you haven't – in fact, I value your honesty.” The free hand of the vampire slowly climbed up along the arm of Dederick, fingers that ran across his fine suit with slow pace as to drink up the fine texture of the material that the richest of money could afford before coming to rest back-hand on his shoulder. “Heer Dederick,” Jennifer said, meeting her gaze with his, “I am not a threat, you have nothing to fear.” It was not statement, it was an instruction. Her hand then slipped from the shoulder of Dederick; who had an expression of someone trying to search for something he had just had moments ago. “Maybe you should take Sebile back to the Egyptian exhibit, I understand that she was too scared to go look at the mummy. Maybe her father could protect her better than I?” She suggested quickly with Dederick agreeing.

“Of course, Madame de Sauveterre. Thank you for engaging with my daughter, it was very kind of you.”

“It was my utmost pleasure, and please, call me Jennifer.”

I should be the very last vampire you should fear, mister Van Der Sar.

It had been one of the scarce days that Yannick allowed himself to take a break from painting. After all, he had almost finished the small landscape that Mevrouw van Beusenkom had requested and he truly needed some inspiration for his next personal work. From time to time he would take his bicycle from the small shed (which he shared with the four others residents of the student house that Yannick called home) and make a long cycling tour through Amsterdam and its surroundings. But this day he felt that he'd find more inspiration in the work of those who had preceded him. So after locking the door to his two-room apartment, he shared the bathroom and kitchen with the others, he slowly walked down the steep old stairs and outside towards the shed. But before he had the chance to open the door, a blonde head appeared outside the front door.

"Hey, Yannick. Where 'ya going?" Ralph was a tall young law student, originally from Lelystad and a few years older than Yannick. He wasn't ugly and often boasted that he was achieving to become what was called 'the eternal student' and to Yannick it seemed like his main interests were drinking beer, soccer, beer, girls oh and let's not forget about beer.

Trying his best not to sigh out loud in annoyance, Yannick slowly turned his head towards the young man and answered.

"I'm going to visit The Voltaire. You can join me if you want to. But I s'pose you are too hung over for that, aren't you?"

"I'd almost feel insulted by that if I didn't love you so bloody much Yan. And if you weren't so right of course." He smiled sheepishly and made a failed attempt at fixing his bed hair. Yannick granted him his famous almost-but-actually-not-a-smile before he turned around to open the shed and take out his bike.

"Hey, but you are coming tonight, aren't you? You know, the party, around midnight? I did invite you didn't I? You should come Yan, it'll be fun. Bring a girl along and it'll be even more fun. Hey. Don't you just leave without saying anything. Turn that bike around right now you oaf!"

Yannick replied with a vague 'maybe' and a wave of his arm as he cycled to the front of the alley. If he had worn shoes instead of socks and if the tiles hadn't been damp due to last night's rain, Ralph most likely would have followed and stopped him before Yannick would have the time to open the locked gate in the front of the alley. Fortunately for Yannick, Ralph ceased his eternal attempt to invite him to his parties due to the circumstances, for now.

---

Thus, after a short ride, Yannick found himself, for the first time since he had moved to Amsterdam, walking the hallways of The Voltaire. It was a remarkable building, made even more remarkable by the great exhibition of art of all times which had been gathered and displayed within its walls. It was quite busy inside. Students hurried to and from the enormous library, elderly couples were slowly walking from Monet to Mondriaan and an exhibition on the Chinese culture. Most prominent represented were the large groups of Asian tourists and school kids who all seemed to have a school trip today.

Yannick himself preferred the relatively small collection of "Oude Meesters" as they were often called. Rembrandt van Rijn, Frans Hals, Johannes Vermeer, Jacob van Ruisdael and so many more. However, the multiple classes who seemed to be having a school trip today made it impossible to find the peace and rest he needed to focus on the Meesters' works. Trying to avoid the bands of yelling children, he ended up walking into the part where the more modern art was exhibited. These paintings and sculptures weren't half as inspiring as the "Oude Meesters", but they had to do for now.

As he was strolling through the halls, occasionally looking at some art, he heard some voices coming from a room not too far away from him. These weren't the voices of little kids and thus he decided to at least partially yield to his curiosity. Walking further, the voices became distinguishable and Yannick managed to hear part of their conversation.

“Dederick; all I desire is a cordial relationships with all my partners within the project. If you are at all wary of me, that is fine, I understand that some people have not yet come to terms with my kind, it's understandable." 'My kind'... the female voice belonged to a vampire, Yannick realized with shock. But well, in Amsterdam it wasn't as strange to meet vampires as it was in the north. “" We have known each other for several years now, you should not feel the need to step around on egg shells.”

“Madame de Sauveterre, I didn't mean to offend you.” Madame de Sauveterre! Yannick gasped softly. She was practically the owner of The Volaire and a great patron of the arts. If possible, he'd love to have a small conversation with her.

“ “And you haven't – in fact, I value your honesty.” Yannick pretended to carefully examine a piece of art close to the room where the conversation was held. The painting seemed to be made by a child. He'd never understand why people would call this art, but the use of colours was truly interesting. “ “Heer Dederick, I am not a threat, you have nothing to fear.” ... “Maybe you should take Sebile back to the Egyptian exhibit, I understand that she was too scared to go look at the mummy. Maybe her father could protect her better than I?”
“ “Of course, Madame de Sauveterre. Thank you for engaging with my daughter, it was very kind of you.”
“ “It was my utmost pleasure, and please, call me Jennifer.”

After the man had left, apparently to entertain his daughter, Yannick coughed curtly to attacked Madam de Sauveterre's attention. He walked into the larger room to show himself and he took off his cap as a small sign of respect.

"Forgive me m'am, but I happened to overhear a small part of your conversation. You're Madam de Sauveterre if I'm not mistaken?" He looked at her with hope gleaming in his eyes and a shy smile on his lips. If he managed to convince her to patronize him, he'd have a chance to climb higher in the world of the arts and make a name for himself. "My name is Yannick Bakker and I'm an artist myself. Although I doubt someone like you would have heard of me." He extended his hand to shake hers, suddenly a bit insecure. Did vampires even shake hands?

Thus far, Christina had caught eight in the establishment with a lack of breathing. The other six were most likely human or they put enough effort in breathing regularly to not stand out too much, like Christina did herself. However, most vampires, especially the younger ones, tended to be pride instead of cautious about their special nature so she was rather sure that there were currently six humans in The Burlesque. She elegantly raised her arm to catch the attention from one of the waiters and order some fresh blood. Only six emotional jammers... That'd be doable. With a charming smile and a fast pace, it only took the waiter a few minutes to get her a drink. She was just about to take a sip when a new customer entered the bar. He was relatively small although he'd still be half a head taller than Christina. With his black hair and olive skin, he possessed all the distinctive features of an Italian except for his blue eyes. Christina unconsciously spun her glass around in her hand, creating a small whirlpool of blood as she studied the man. He was dressed like an Italian too, with a smart suit emphasizing his build. He most likely was either very aware of his roots or he had come to The Burlesque right after work. Christina suspected it was the latter. Her suspicions were confirmed when he said 'Grazie' to one of the staff.

Italy... She had lived in Italy for almost a decade herself, but that was over a hundred years ago. Italy was where she had bought her precious violin, in the small town which was now ruined by the 2012 earthquake. Whatever memory she´d reminisce about, there would always the shadow of things that happened later looming over it. She let out a small sight of frustration. Just like focussing on her breathing, sighing somehow always managed to let her relieve some stress. She took a sip of her blood and made an uncharacteristically impulsive decision.

She slowly got up from her table and walked over to the table where the Italian-looking guy had seated himself. Christina sat down on the chair in front of him, put her drink down on the table leaf and smiled at him in a charming but slightly forced way. "Excuse me if I'm wrong but it seems to me as if you are from Italian descent. From what part of Italy are you exactly?" She tried her best to sound like a nineteen-year-old, but she didn't exactly succeed, as usual.

Lailaa clung to the railing on the bus as she stood with everyone else as she waited for her stop. Her eyes looked at the ground, the fight just before leave lingering deep in her soul. The white mug flying over the kitchen table as he screamed at her before shattering against the wall behind her. Her eyes watered a little, making her bring her hand up to carefully run along the bottom of her eyes so it wouldn’t ruin her make-up. She let out a slow breath before closing her eyes. She could feel the hum of the bus in her bones, the sounds of the people all around her. Chatting, music playing from earphones, and the turning of the pages of a book.

Ding. The bus rung out making her blue eyes open again as she looked to the front to see the glow of the sign of a requested stop. She pressed her lips together. It was a night like tonight that she wished she still worked at Down In Red, rather than the higher class The Burlesque. Her hand came up to her neck rubbing it a bit, the marks from a vampire bite still showing against her pale complexion. Meneer Caito was the reason for the change in her job. It paid a hell lot more then Down In Red and usually had more pleasant clients. Yet still there were days where Down In Red would call her to see if she could work. Only about once a month could she help them out.

Ding, Lailaa glanced out the window to see they were coming to her stop. She let go of the railing and wiggled her way over towards the exit. The bus pulled to a stop and she stepped out into the cool night air, her heels clicking along the prick work of the side walk. Reaching up she pushed a piece of her blond hair back out of her face that had fallen out of her up-do. Lailaa was dressed in a lovely black dress, that reached just pass her knees. It was strapless and clung to her body before flaring out at her hips. It was the first really nice dress she owned. Meneer Caito had been the one to give it to her so she could get the job at The Burlesque.

She turned in towards the red light district paying no mind to the people that cluttered the area. Lailaa kept her head down for the most part, her hands pulling up the strap of her small purse as she made her way to work. As she got closer to the building, she finally glanced up seeing the back of a man. At first she paid no mind to it, but as they got towards The Burlesque, she realised it was her boss. She felt her breath catch a little. It was really the only vampire that made her feel uneasy. She tried to reason it as it was her boss and therefore, he made her uneasy, but she’d never really know if that was true. He was estranged to her having been hired by Felix. She had seen him and met him once or twice, but it was more of a hello, shake hands and go back to work.

Coming up to Jo she smiled. Jo frowned a little. “Yeah I know, sorry.” Lailaa said forcing a bigger smile. “See you later.” Lailaa said knowing she was a little late. She didn’t rush in as she let her eyes follow the boss, her eyes flickering over to Felix meeting his eyes with a nod as she then took the stairs two at a time to head down the hallway of the upstairs floor. Her room was towards the back. She reached into her bag and pulled out the personal key she kept and unlocked the door before closing the door behind her. The first thing she did was flip the sign over from empty to, open, the last sign having ‘taken’ on it. Lailaa glanced into her room. It was nice, just like a hotel. A bed to one side, a love sit on the other, with a table and a mini fridge. A bathroom connected to it and there was a little safe in the closet. She spun it open and put her bag in there before closing it. The only thing from her bag was a book that she kept well waiting for someone to want her room. She made her way over to the love seat and sat down crossing one leg over the other as she opened her book. Within five minutes of her arrive the black phone on the bedside table started to ring. Lailaa got up placing her book on the table and picked it up. “Yes?” She said.

“Anthony Caito is here, shall I let him know you are ready?” Felix said from the other end.

“Of course. If he wishes I can come down and chat at the bar before heading up to our room.”

“I shall let him know and call you back.” He said before hanging up.

Lailaa smiled a little and placed the phone back down and walked over towards the signs at the door and flipped it over to ‘taken’. It would also show up downstairs behind the bar as to her room being used. Maybe tonight would get a little better. Hopefully. He had a way of knowing when she and Carlo had, had a fight.

Throughout the reverberating sounds of the hall, the sounds of children laughing and teachers informing, she felt the cough of attention directed at her. “Forgive me m'am.” Came the voice calling her gaze away from Dederick and his daughter, who were just now departing for the Egyptian exhibition. She spun on heel coming to bring her sights upon the young man stood before her. As he spoke, she took in his appearance, how he spoke, how fast he spoke, how articulate he was, how he held himself. She caught the excitement and the apprehension of the boy. She drank it in and watched him carefully, as she did with all people whom she had the pleasure (or displeasure) of acquainting herself with for the first time.

Yannick Bakker, was his name and an artist he claimed himself to be. Modest is the boy, she thought, if not a little fearful – a little confidence never harmed anyone. She had been in this situation many times, the young artist with the glean in their eye, both hopeful and terrified. For here they stood, like many before young Yannick Bakker, offering their heart and their passion, out towards her in the hopes that she will protect it forever. It was a cruel game, but a game, all the less, that she utterly enjoyed.

And now it was Heer Bakker's turn.

“Whilst I did not know the name, Yannick Bakker before, I certainly do now. And you are correct, I am indeed Madam de Sauveterre.” She said, finally indulging him as she took his hand and flashed a smile that revealed the tips of her fangs. It made for good measure to gather how a human would react to her being vampire, plus, it usually put the more roguish ones in their place.

“Usually, most artists have to earn some communal recognition that I may notice them for myself and go to them directly to offer to my patronage or, if the they feel brave, book an appointment months in advance, toil away for several hours, long into the late night and early morning. To then only present their work to me, and only me, to judge if they are worthy. You have done neither,” she stopped, allowing it to sink in somewhat for the young Yannick, before carrying on. “However, you've shown some initiative to deciding to just simply approach me without any of your credentials to show. As a result you've leave me rather bemused and yet curious, so, let us talk. So tell me, Heer Yannick, what is your movement? Your art style?” She asked, before deciding to go back on her question. “Better yet, show me, take me to the gallery that you believe resembles your work or whatever inspires you if do not like to confine your work into a movement, plus, we can talk somewhere a little more quiet. Children may be our future but, this time now is ours.”

At least part of the rumours appeared to be true. Yannick suddenly felt utterly out of place, wearing his grey comfortable jeans, navy chequered tweed jacket and red beret. This woman's presence and her words made him feel so...common. Her gaze seemed to pierce straight through his soul, seeing all that he was and giving him the urge to tell her the truth and nothing more. The moment she bared her fangs, he felt a reflexive shiver go down his spine. She was truly a vampire. His instincts told him to hit her and make a run for it, but he was wise enough to repress that urge. As he looked at her for a while, he in turn drank in her appearance. Vampires had always had the strange effect of making him feel attracted yet repelled to them. He felt slightly uncomfortable in their presence yet loved to study their appearances. Especially their eyes distinguished them from ordinary humans. For while their body was usually young, their eyes betrayed their true age and the things they had seen to him. Madame de Sauveterre herself was no doubt beautiful. The soft line of her jaw, her pale skin, her striking eyes which seemed not quite blue, nor grey, nor green. It would be a challenge to find the right colour for that. Her red hair and artfully modelled lips made her appearance even more interesting. Her words reminded him of the impulsiveness of his action, almost making him start to doubt himself. But still, Madame de Sauveterre remained friendly. Between the lines, she seemed to dare him: You want me to look at you? Make me. Yannick pushed aside his feeling of discomfort and decided that he would, or go down trying.

Without a second thought, he guided her towards the Oude Meesters. Their footsteps echoed through the hallways, where apparently the children were no longer present. His voice betrayed his passion and love for the subject as he talked to Madame de Sauveterre as they strolled. "My main source of inspiration, or rather, my guideline and role model is the work of the Oude Meesters of the Hague School and those of the Golden Age. Their way of painting, it is an art in itself. Creating the paint themselves and patiently waiting for it to dry. Months, or even years it would take. They put their love, heart and soul in their works. It's true craftsmanship. And then I haven't even started about their influences, themes and the beauty in their work. Now you should not laugh nor think that I'm living in the wrong age, Madame. I can assure you that their work is as relevant as ever. After all, craftsmanship is what a lot of people crave these days. The carpenter, the shoemaker, the hatter. It's all again so fashionable and trendy these days. People finally start to realize that in this day of industrial design and production, only real craftsmanship preserves the love and joy in its work." As they reached the halls with the art of the old masters, Yannick had started to point out some of his favourites and inspirational sources, pointing out the use of colour, Claire obscure and different themes, forgetting in his enthusiasm that of course she already knew all this. His eyes were staring into the distance, a blissful expression painted on his face. His thoughts seemed far away as he halted for a moment to catch his breath. "I would not dare claim that I'm on the same level of these masters, Madame. However, I'm a student of them and I'm trying to capture the world in the same vision they had. Of course, I'm not trying to copy them exactly. I paint people and events and the problems of this time. For what is the artist if not a mirror to society?"

Then he finally turned to her, his eyes shining confidently and filled with passion. "I can understand that my words would not be enough to convince you, Madame, nor would it be fair to the other artists that have sought your attention in... the common way." A sly smile crossed his face for a moment before he continued. "So if you'd do me the honour, I'd be more than willing to show you the truth in my words by portraying you. Of course, it'd take quite a while and you'd have to model for me and in the end there is the possibility that you wouldn't like my work that much after all. But there's also a chance that if you're willing to give me this opportunity, I'd be able to proof to you that there was no falsehood in my words and you could be the one who unleashed the revival of the Haagse School together with me. Are you with me, Madame de Sauveterre?" His smile was gone now, a serious but determined expression on his face as he held out his hand to her. Patiently waiting for his potential partner to make up her mind.