[h1][color=slategray]Kantus[/color] and [color=crimson]Dane Parish[/color][/h1]
[hr]
[indent][b][i]November 19, 1:37 AM
West Commons, Kantus' Clinic[/i][/b][/indent]
[sub][color=slategray]"Your rest is over. Wake up."[/color][/sub]

An intense, stinging sensation arose in Dane's chest, prompting his eyes to squint and his mouth to widen. He yelled as his vision returned to him, to faintly see a rather large needle dug into his shoulder, being twisted by a single, sickly-gray arm. As the needle was slowly removed, he could feel the wound heal all on its own the instant nothing was left inside it. He panted, glancing at the darkness around him, save a lone, dim lantern's light above his head. And before that light stood his captor.

Kantus tossed the needle into a waste bin set by a tray of unused ones. Next to the needles rested Dane's feathered cap, which the Lord of Owls promptly picked up and plucked the crimson plumage from. He ran his fingers through the elegant red vane, staring down at it with his unblinking eyes.

[color=slategray]"The Crimson Ibis. Albert Lammond's killer."[/color] He said, returning his eyes down to Dane, [color=slategray]"Even long after its demise at your peoples' hands, its striking visage remains. Untouched by time."[/color] He ceased caressing the feather and gently set it aside, on top of the cap. He grabbed another needle and hovered it over to the underside of Dane's chin.

[color=slategray]"I want you to tell me all that you know. Where the Fifty-Eighters patrol. How far their reach extends. Where Krecher and the widow are hiding. [i]Everything[/i]."[/color]

Dane raised his eyes to meet Kantus'. And he issued a proper respone.

[color=crimson]"[i]Fuck. You.[/i]"[/color]

Kantus did not reply. He turned his neck over to the further corner of the room, peering into the dim. Where his... [i]guest[/i], resided.