Will you raise me up? Will you help me down?
Will you get me right out of this Godforsaken town?
Will you make it all a little less cold?

9:32pm, 20 May 2008
Breezewood, Pennsylvania

Highways can be so fucking ugly, Luke thought. The only reason for this little cumstain of a town is because I-70 loops around to hook up to the Pennsylvania Turnpike. A good cloverleaf would erase this place from the land's memory.

But that was the advantage. Easy exit. Luke hated to leave Jesse exposed in Washington--especially since Teo seemed to know his connection to the tall man--but staying near him would be a certain way to bring harm to Jesse. At least I can avoid having him get caught in the crossfire by staying away, Luke thought, then sneered: sure, trust Teo to leave him alone and come after me. Not fucking likely.

He's already in the middle of things. He's already in the crossfire. He's already been hurt. I've already hurt him.

Luke sighed and looked south, down I-70.

Help me, Jesse.

Will you hold me sacred? Will you hold me tight?
Can you colorize my life? I'm so sick of black and white!
Can you make it all a little less old?

9:32pm, 20 May 2008
Washington, District of Columbia

Clayton thanked the Senate Majority Leader, and they both eddied to other parts of the gala. The holds on Senator Thomas' legislation were all anonymous, and even the leader didn't know who had placed them.

This is fairly gruesome, Clayton thought as he wandered across the balcony of the Kennedy Center. He leaned on the railing and looked out over the glimmering Potomac toward Arlington Cemetery. Almost every lead to this Tremere was turning up a dead end.

Clayton sighed. He was no stranger to machinations such as these--wheels within wheels, games within games--but they were wearing on him. Certainly not because they were too petty for worry, as many Kindred seemed to think, but because they were too *important*.

Something crucial to New Hampshire was going on, there was no doubt about it. It was moving through the mortal world, as silent as a shark, but he could smell vitae behind it. It was too vast to know much for sure, except that it most likely posed a threat.

Always protecting, always defending. Merciful Father, Clayton thought, I might wake up a Ventrue tomorrow night.

A sudden thought troubled Clayton's mind and would not let it rest completely until the next evening: wouldn't it be nicer to wake up that way *next to someone else*?

Sandra? Anyone?

Can you make me some magic with your own two hands?
Can you build an Emerald City with these grains of sand?
Can you give me something I can take home?

9:32pm, 20 May 2008
Rehoboth Beach, Delaware

Jesse sighed as he tossed back some Southern Comfort. Everyone suggested that he take some time off after the funeral. He supposed the huge bags under his eyes were a good indication that he hadn't accomplished the "task" for this "stage," or whatever crap the psychologists were handing out like Prozac. Of course, six of his friends were only too eager to head out to Rehoboth for the end of May. Sure, I'll forget about how my brother came all the way from Austin to decapitate himself practically in my back yard, and run off to go cavort with scantily-clad boyz in bikinis barely worthy to be slingshots. Sounds like fun, or something.

And so he found himself sitting at the bar, drinking the vile swill some hot little number down a few seats had sent to him. And now Dietrich--or so he said his name was--was gabbing on about how interesting American men were compared to German men. Or Dutch men. Or something like that.

Goddammit, Luke, what has gotten *into* you? I need you *now*. *Here*. I need for you to help me, and be with me, and hold me. Because if you don't, this prattling fool is going to have to do it and make things all right. *Someone* has to.

Will you cater to every fantasy I've got?
Will you hose me down with holy water if I get too hot?
Can you take me places I've never gone?

9:32pm, 20 May 2008
Manchester, New Hampshire

Paul growled to himself as he passed the halfway mark on the pool at the Y. The water churned out behind him as he sliced through it.

It's all well and good, he thought, for these *beings* to keep poking me. But being a chew-toy for Things of Incomprehensible Power wore thin after a while.

Peace, the good Quaker in him chided, be still. You're stuck with this, so you might as well just deliver the messages you're here to deliver and move on, like you have before.

The Ahroun inside him gnashed his teeth. They dragged me here to *do* something, but these spirits can't get it together enough to tell me what. This is nonsense. If they would just be clear about what they needed to get done, I would go out and *do* it.

Water filled Paul's mouth and he came up sputtering. His head throbbed. The interior dialogue had distracted him from the rapidly-approaching wall of the pool. He was bleeding a little bit, but healing rapidly. The lifeguard looked over worriedly, but Paul held up a hand and waved, then gave a thumbs-up. Reassured, the lifeguard turned away.

Jesus, Paul thought, if this goes on, I'm going to need a therapist. He snorted. A therapist who would understand a blood-craving monster inside him arguing with a pacifist oatmeal-guy.

After a while, you'll forget everything,
A brief interlude, a midsummer night's fling.
And you'll see that it's time to move on.

9:32pm, 20 May 2008
Chicago, Illinois

Dominic pulled his leather jacket closer as he walked down Michigan Avenue. Nothing like a vacation to make him forget the disaster that book had turned into. A great idea metamorphosed, as if by magic, into therapeutic dogshit.

Maybe Manchester was a mistake. Hiding out there didn't help any, and seemed to have done more to dissipate his drive than to focus it. Maybe it was time to shake the dust from his feet once more.

He walked through the bustling people in a world of his own, not noticing the taxi that had jumped the curb until he was sprawled across its hood.

I know the territory, I've been around.
It'll all turn to dust and we'll all fall down.
Sooner or later, you'll be screwing around.

9:32pm, 20 May 2008
Someplace Else

Malachi rubbed his chin. So it seems Pendragon is on the move once more. Interesting.

Time to watch and wait. If he succeeds, there may be no need to move. If he has troubles, on the other hand....

Well then. Wouldn't that make things interesting?

[Lyrics: "I Would Do Anything for Love (But I Won't Do That)", Meatloaf. Mr. Loaf and I celebrate our birthdays on the same day, you know.]