I would swallow my pride,
I would choke on the rhines,
But the lack thereof would leave me empty inside.
I would swallow my doubt turn it inside out,

Find nothing but faith in nothing.
Want to put my tender heart in a blender
Watch it spin around to a beautiful oblivion
Rendezvous then I’m through with you.

I burn, burn like a wicker cabinet chalk white, and oh so frail…

-Inside Out-Eve 6

Dawn brushed an inquisitive fingertip across the mute length of Aisling. However, much like the artists strokes become more assured when the image of what shall grace the blank canvas presents itself in their mind, so, too, did the tint of pale rose and faded orange and shadow lavender outline the nude form of the ‘wolf with more certainty. Aisling lifted her head from where it rested upon a single outstretched forearm, sprawled at a rather inelegant angel upon silvered shards of glass, as broken as the dreams and promises of the person who had drank from their contents. Aisling lifted her head from the damp concrete, her flesh sticky and run slick with crimson. She rose, albeit inconsistent on her feet, stepping from the thick pool of her blood that was as silent and deceptively calm as the emotionless skyline. She leaned against the abrasive brick of the alley, smoothing back her hair with fingers slick with blood. Her breath came in shallow inhalations, and her vision fogged now and again, as if her eyes were bleared with sleep’s shadow. Slowly but surely as shadows claim the final kiss of the dying sun, the silver that coursed within her veins began to take it’s toll. It was then that her legs, as if possessing a devious will of their own, failed her, and she once more fell to the earth. No more, she thought, as if pleading to the deaf ears of long dead gods. Jesus, no more, she shrieked inwardly. With that, she inclined her head to the pale horizon and unleashed a most inhuman howl of anguish that chilled the marrow of passerby. In that single sound was the cry of a broken soul with nothing more to lose.

Faolan snarled, his flat human teeth renting the air in a rather pathetic gesture as Dylan pinned him to the void wall, eyes not unlike sullen flames as his own fangs elongated and drew minute beads of many faceted blood upon his lower lip. “You bastard,” he snarled. “What the hell do you mean you don’t know where she is?” “Just what I said,” grunted Faolan, shoving at Dylan’s arm in a rather ineffectual manner. “As I’ve already told you, she insisted that I bring Blood here to tend to Cahan. I have no clue where she went.” “So you leave her full of silver in a gutter somewhere?” He snapped, hefting Faolan. Blood grew rather pale and he fluttered his hands in the air in an equally ineffectual effort to soothe the disgruntled vampire into setting the snarling ‘wolf down once more. “Put him down? As you wish. Where’s your goddamn euthanasia?” “Guys-“ Blood began rather weakly. “No? Hmm. I’ll just settle for a butcher knife, then. Puppy here is going to take a trip to the vet’s office real soon.” With a dismayed look, Blood opened his mouth as if to voice his protest once more. With a snort of contempt and disgust, Dylan cast Faolan from him, smiling in grim satisfaction as the back of Faolan’s head struck the wall with a rather unpleasant crunch. “Come on,” he snarled darkly. “Puppy and I are going to put his ‘Trusty’ side to use. You’re going to help me find her, in other words, you sorry son of a bitch.” With that, he jerked Faolan up from where he sprawled in an inelegant manner on the floor.

Time crawled like an ant burdened by a hard shell of wax upon its frame as a candle dripped the warm liquid upon it, securing its minute feet to rotting floorboards. Aisling’s lashes kissed the grime of the pavement with an absent air, her vision no loner faded but absent, eclipsing her in eternal shadow. The broken sound of a sliver of glass as it danced with haste from underfoot caused her to jerk her head up, gazing about sightlessly, snarling and baring her teeth, though a nude female huddled among spilled trash was far from an intimating sight to behold. A hand settled upon her bare shoulder. With a snarl, she promptly sank her teeth into the side of their hand, the metallic tang of blood flooding her mouth. There came an indignant yelp. “Ouch, you crazy bitch,” muttered Faolan, the statement less of a condemnation that the proper, and rather impressed, calling of her gender. She withdrew her teeth from his hand then and inhaled gently, catching the vague whisper of both his scent as well as Dylan’s. Faolan winced as he noted the silver that colored her veins. “Only a flesh wound,” she murmured with a wry smile. Exhaustion flooded her frame, however, the moment Dylan gathered her up, and she found herself resting her head upon his chest as he carried her from the alleyway, nodding curtly as Faolan produced a rather tattered blanket and draped it over her.

Dylan placed Aisling upon the couch with a rather ginger air, careful to settle her in a position that would not grate in an unpleasant manner upon her wounds. He was well aware that her continuous blood loss would not halt until not so much as a sliver of silver remained in her bloodstream. With a murmur of apology, he slid the tip of a blade into her wound, burrowing the tip still deeper until he was rewarded with the rasp of metal upon metal. Aisling snarled, and twisted in a mixture of pain and protest. Had it not been for the steadying hand of Dylan that held her rising, she doubtless would have savaged those who attempted to come to aid. As it was, she merely sank her teeth into the cushions of the couch, leaving what would later prove to be a permanent indentation within its design. Dylan coaxed the bullet closer to the surface, wincing as it grated audibly against bone. When at last it came into view, he seized it between his thumb and forefinger, before dropping it with hollow sound on the table surface. The first removed, he rolled her gently on her side, and repeated the gesture, though this one was far deeper and dangerously close to her lungs. Within the space of roughly twenty minutes, it, too, joined its twin upon the table. That done, he then lowered his cool lips to her flesh, hesitating only briefly before plunging his fangs into the wound, drawing the silver that spider-webbed across her skin, drawing mouthful after mouthful of blood, despite the risk to them both. The mixture of pleasure and pain was vaguely intense. Only when the silver faded from her skin did he halt in his actions. Only then did Aisling fall into a fitful sleep as her skin began to knit back together.

Later that evening, Aisling awoke to find herself within her own bedroom. It was, according to the bold neon glow of her bedside clock, a little after 5:30 in the evening. With a shake of her head to clear the slight vertigo from within her mind, she rose with a ponderous air, pushing back the cloying embrace of the clean linen sheets. She racked her fingers through her air, before opening the door to her bedroom and venturing downstairs. No sooner had the sole of her foot touched upon the floor, than she found herself swept up in Cahan’s embrace, which she returned, albeit gingerly. “I see you’re feeling better,” she commented, relief evident within her tones. Cahan made a so-so gesture with his hand. “I am, antidote wise. Belladonna wise…Blood says it’ll be at least another week or so before I can help you with the bounties. And you? How are you, you old silverblood?” “Better,” she commented with ready, reassuring smile. Her brows furrowed, then, as if she had suddenly recalled something to memory. “Cahan…weren’t we booked to play at the Vixen tonight?” She inquired, rubbing her temples. He nodded. “Dylan was just about to cancel, what with the wolf moon.” “It’s a good six hours off. Besides, Cerebus is bound to be there, and I have a few answers I’d like to beat out of him. Tell him not to cancel. And tell the others to go home and get their instruments. I’d like them to be there within the next hour.” Cahan looked uncertain, but nodded his assent. “Thank you. And Cahan?” He turned back to face her, dark mop flopping into his eyes. “Yeah?” She smiled gently. “Love you.” “Awww. The doggy loves me. Give us a kiss, then. But…brush your teeth first. Dog breath-not a turn on,” he joked. Seeing the annoyed look that marred her features, he returned a smile and waved. “Love you too, you bloody insane Scott.”

Within an hour, the previous band Silver Tears had long since finished their set, and the various band members nodded in acknowledgement at Aisling and the other members of Jaded Demise as they took down their equipment and packed up their instruments, allowing ‘Demise to take their throne. This was, after all, indisputably their territory. No sooner had they set up their equipment and each member had unpacked and set up or strapped on their various instruments, than Aisling launched into the opening chords of one of their originals. Usually they started with covers, but tonight was different in many respects. Aidan soon added his base to her own, as Aisling clutched the slender body of the microphone and began to sing the opening lyrics to “Not Tonight.” It was a tribute of sorts to the ‘wolf within. Once the chords of the song faded, they promptly launched into “Invasion of the West End Barbie’s,” yet another original of theirs. After that, it was “Goodbye Sunshine,” and “Quake.” Two hours into their set, Aisling indeed noted Cerebus leaning against the wall with a vodka clutched in his ring-bedecked fingers. “One more original?” She asked Dylan. He shrugged looked to the others, who nodded. She nodded, pondered a moment, and then launched into “Get A Grip (Don’t give in.)” She noted that many of the evenings couples had begun to stir with impatience. Aisling nodded to them and switched to the cover selection she had put together at the last minute. Within a moment, they began with “Rain Song,” followed by “Everything Burns,” “Prayer of Saint Francis,” and concluded with “So Cold.” With only two hours before the full moon left to go, Aisling jumped from the stage and pressed through the crowd, without stopping to shrug free from her guitar as she did so.

Pressing through the throng, she strode purposefully to the space where Cerebus lounged. He raised a cultured brow. “Aisling,” he greeted. “In the flesh…and not the fur. Is it not a wolf moon this evening?” She growled and pressed in closer. “I can still bite, Cerebus. And I will, unless you provide me the information I need.” “Really? And what would that be?” She shoved him and pinned him against the wall. “Mmm. Right here? You sure?” “Shut up. The last little mission you sent us on-we were ambushed. You wouldn’t have anything to do with that, now, would you? For your sake, I hope not.” He shrugged. “I heard about it. But I had nothing to do with it. I believe Cearul is to blame.” “How did you know about Cearul?” She growled. “My dear, everyone knows about Cearul. She’s been working both sides for the past year. I really thought you were clever enough to pick up on that. High times ahead for her, or so I hear.” “What do you mean?” Cerebus merely smiled in answer before handing her yet another address and melting into the crowd. Try as she might, Aisling soon lost him within the throng.