Vodka and Whiskey might have been a bad call. But try telling that to our resident rock'n'roll rebel. He was already quietly lamenting his existence in an ironicaly appropriate fashion. The experiments had left him with pale skin and sharp teeth like an animal. So, a dance club where everyone dressed up like vampires seemed like a great place to hang out. Unfortunately, the kids here were all too human. They were just like normal people but with a different dress code. 

Daemon wandered through the crowded club, with it's candlelit darkness and horrible dance music. He'd much rather have been listening to Venom. Or anything with decent guitars. But this city never seemed to get any decent bands through. And when it did, those concerts weren't exactly the best for meeting women. Not that he'd done much better here tonight. 

It was bloody ridiculous. Three years and he hadn't managed one single successful seduction. What a wanker, he thought mercilessly to himself. Whatever. He'd had enough of this place, anyway. He pushed bitterly through the crowd in the direction of the exit. He could have just appeared outside, but it didn't matter. No one would notice him either way. 

Once he actually escaped the throng of goths, he rushed down some stairs and out of the doors. 

Outside was an alleyway where several peirced and tattooed figures in black stood around smoking. Daemon barreled past them and into the night. 

It was only a few blocks away when he stopped and vomited all over a shop window... 

[hr] 

Now he was waking up. On a bench. In the park. Where he had slept. Like a homeless man. Cursing thie sun for blinding him, he fell off the bench as he attempted to stretch. He landed on his back and immediately shielded his eyes from the sun. He then gave the sun the finger before just laying there for moment. 

Some time passed. He wasn't aware of how much. Nor did he care. He was rather distracted by a killer headache and hating everything. Eventually he leapt onto his feet. Even being hungover couldn't take away the years of training he'd received and then continued after his escape. 

But what did any of it matter? He needed a drink. 

Walking through the park, in order to leave it, he saw the magician. And he swore he knew his face. He saw him as the magician card in tarot in his mind's eye. And then he saw a flash of the tower being struck down by the thunder of the gods. And fire and chaos. Grabbing his head he missed a moment and looked up tu see and armless woman struggling to get up. So he went over to help her. 

"Are you alright?" He asked as he placed his hands on her hips and helped her up.