[center][img]https://i.ibb.co/mRZpnyT/BT.png[/img]
[color=beb9af]Location: Shanty Town  •  Mentions: None[/color][/center]

[b][i]Fall, 1768[/i][/b]

"Control your breathing," came the whisper from behind.  Barnaby looked on at the mark with intense concentration.  The target was a middle aged man browsing the farmer's market, currently trying to size up a pair of apples before making his selection.  "You have to move quickly and silently.  You've got to stop being a man and become one with the breeze."  Barnaby looked back to see his mentor, Draven, staring intently upon the mark as a lion would look upon an antelope.  

The advice nearly gave Barnaby a chuckle.  He did't typically make it a point to associate with vampires, but Draven was the enemy of his enemy and so their mutual objectives created a kinship.  While Barnaby was relatively new to life on the streets, Draven was rich with experience and lessons on how to survive.

"[color=d6d0c5]He's going to feel my hand,[/color]" Barnaby said quietly.

"Then make him feel something else, first.  No one pays any mind to hands being clapped to the left when there is an explosion to the right.  Create your explosion before you make your move."

His words were soft and velvet and the advice was sound.  If he was going to pick this pocket and snatch the money within, he was going to have to mask his move with a larger move.  For a moment, he thanked his lucky stars that Draven had found him and taken him under his wing.  Despite being a vampire, Draven was the best friend Barnaby could ever hope for.

[b][i]Present Day, 1875[/i][/b]

"[color=d6d0c5]I will render that blood sucking bastard headless![/color]" Barnaby shouted into the ether as he looked upon the gossiping beggars.  A fancy, dolled up enigma who seemed to have all the time in the world to acquire his fortune?  The specter reckoned he knew who might fit that description.  "[color=d6d0c5]I will watch and laugh with utmost satisfaction as that parasitic monster experiences the life slowly drain from his nigh immortal husk.[/color]"  The more he spoke, the louder he projected but the beggars seemed unphased by his outburst.  It had become quite obvious that they couldn't see nor hear the ghost.

Barnaby took a beat and tried to recall his senses.  He must be calm and collected to take on a clever devil like Draven.  His mind must be clear and calculating.  Out of habit, as opposed to necessity, Barbaby took a deep breath before exhaling slowly.  Finally, when his calm seemed to return, he inquired further.

"[color=d6d0c5]This [i]House[/i].  My days have been long and my memory's a bit more difficult to maintain than it once was.  Remind me, where is The House.[/color]"  His question was met with indifference.  In fact, the beggars seemed to not react at all.  Barnaby gritted his teeth.  He knew this meant they would be of no help.  He would have to rediscover The House himself.  "[color=d6d0c5][i][b]FINE![/b][/i][/color]" He shouted, but this time his voice had a little something extra behind it.  Like a noble in a carriage, his words rode on the back of a powerful fury that created a ripple in the ether.  That ripple touched both the realms of the living and the dead, sending a small spontaneous gust of arctic breeze into the air around which Barbaby stood.  The beggars paused and acknowledged the incident, but the anomaly was subtle enough that they soon brushed it off and went about their morning.

It was no matter.  Pieces of memory about The House of Earthly Delights was slowly starting to repopulate his mind.  He was even beginning to remember how to get there from Shanty Town.  The more he concentrated, the more he recalled and the angrier he got.  He could take pleasure in one thing, though: It was time.  He would have his revenge.  Barbaby would paint the streets with the vile leech's blood.