Sandman stared at Raven as he left. Another shadow-made suit, resembling real fabric. Such a useful little power to have. He could do the same with sand, make it into any form. But if he wished to change it, he could only turn it to glass, the only other useful medium at his disposal. If someone wanted a little bloodshed, he could form a tiny glass ball and use it as a bullet. Then he could return it to its sandy original state and take it back, leaving no bullet trace. But he didn't like that method as much as the personal method. When the door closed, Sandman went to gather some new clothes and take them to the bathroom for a shower. He needed to get moving, to get to his last night's contract and collect the money from him, then check at the warehouse to make sure Raven had sent it early. If not, he would have to hang about for some time until it actually came in. When he stepped into the bathroom, Sandman found some clothes that weren't his. Raven's. How could the man forget them? They obviously weren't made of shadow.

Setting them aside, Sandman showered quickly and dried his hair while slowly dragging a brush through it. When it laid against his head straight, he dressed in his usual close-fitting clothing and, this time, a light but overweight jacket he could quickly and easily get rid of if necessary. He folded the dirty clothes, bringing them---and the card Raven had left---with him as he left the hotel room and decided to go home. Home, an apartment. An old apartment, the building made with thick, heavy walls and floors and small windows, and even a large fireplace. A building that had been built in the early 1940s and under the style of early Victorian, a beautiful place that had survived Vegas's massive expansion. Now only specific people lived there, and his rooms took up most of the top floor.

He took the clothes home, throwing them into a wash and going to the kitchen to make breakfast. Eggs with red and green peppers, ham and a red apple, and coffee to wake himself up a little more. While everything was cooking, he looked at the card he'd set on the counter. Raven was the only one to habitually call him Cicero, even in more private quarters. He had simply made the habit of referring to himself as what most knew him to be after time. Maybe he should try to do that in turn. He'd be arriving in the presence of Raven soon enough. Perhaps before the clouds cleared from the sky this evening.

Raven returned to his offices shortly, stopping someone on his way to his floor. An underling he trusted quite a bit. The man wasn't as cowardly as the others and wasn't afraid to think openly around Raven. He admired the man's courage. He gave him instructions, to deposit the cash into a metal case and to leave it at the place Ceciro told him to leave it. He trusted that the man wouldn't take the money. He knew what would happen if he did. There was no hiding from Raven.

He spent most of his day pretending to care about his businesses, the hotels, clubs and casinos he owned. It was getting late when the underling he had sent to do his bidding returned, telling him that the breifcase had been delivered. Raven searched his mind and was glad to see that he was telling the truth.

"What is your name?" he asked the younger man, realising that he hadn't learnt it yet. The man looked pleased and smiled.

"My name is Dillon Rold, sir. But you can call me Dill," he replied with a small bow. Raven grinned. He liked this man.

"What do you do for me, Dill?" he asked again, glancing over the man's appearance.

"I'm just a secretary, sir."

"Well, how about I change that? You can be the manager of one of my casinos, the Rowdy Cowboy."

"Yes sir! Thank you, sir!" Raven smiled and nodded towards Dill. The man left the room happily shortly afterwards, ready to start his new job tomorrow.

Raven liked to look after his more loyal subjects and he needed more like Dill around him. He turned from his desk and stared moodily out the window. Dill reminded him of someone, someone that he had tried to forget. He closed his eyes, and the image of Shadow came to him. The man had been so good-looking... And yet Raven had been to afraid to confess his love for him...

He wasn't moving as quickly as he'd originally intended. While wired on caffeine, Ceciro---as he decided to begin calling himself again, leaving his Sandman nickname for those that wouldn't be alive to recognize the face with the name---was sitting in front of the fireplace while in the distance, clothing tumbled in his drier. They were almost finished, anyway. What would he say to Raven, specifically? Ceciro wasn't exactly a power-hungry type. The only business he cared about was the contract he had at the moment. Ruling the world was quite a big ambition, and he'd seen throughout history what that large of an ambition did to people. He'd seen it in books. And through his own personal history as well. Maybe he and Raven shared pasts that were too similar. It's why he didn't attack the man when he'd hit him earlier. At least, he wanted to imagine it as the reason.

The fireplace was quiet. Usually he lit something at night, when the air grew cool. Vegas was, after all, in a desert, and it grew cold at night. Even in this old building it was hard to keep the air a constant degree. Sighing, Ceciro fiddled with his jacket as the buzzer somewhere nearby buzzed, and he jumped up to retrieve the clothes. His he tossed onto the top of the washer, and Raven's, he folded, placing them into a bag. Why did he care...? Just throw the clothes away... In his mind he wrestled with the decision, until he finally gave up and took it with him. He had two money drops to retrieve, and no time to sit about wasting time. After all, he had more of a chance of getting more contracts if he were on the street. Mob and mafia bosses, along with small-time crime leaders, knew him by look. Others had to go through a variety of sources.

The first drop was simple enough, a newspaper passed off with the bills slipped between them. He threw the paper in a recycle bin after plucking out the small bills and stuffing them into a pocket. Then he started off to the warehouse, not a great distance away. And then what? Go home, put the money in his safe, get his guitar and start playing for tips like he usually did to pass the time? In humid, uncomfortable air? Perhaps he'd just skip the wait and go right to Raven. His mind was so conflicted now. He didn't think of the concept of desperation---showing up so soon wasn't a form of desperation, groveling and crying into someone's coat was desperation. This was boredom finding meaning.

Raven was growing bored once more. He was surprised that Ceciro hadn't appeared before him before the evening fell upon Big Vegas. He switched off the power in his office, leaving to go up to his living quarters once more. The elevator was broken today, for reasons that his electricians didn't understand. So he went to the fire escape to walk up the two flights that led to his apartment.

When he finally reached the top floor and unlocked his door, he went inside and opened the curtains. He watched over the city for awhile, lost in thought. He almost owned it all. This city that he loved and despised all at once. He turned and went to the kitchen, finding some food to cook up for himself. It felt oddly lonely in his apartment as he ate, a feeling he only got when remembering his old friend. Shadow had lived here with him, had helped him with his business, had helped him control his powers...

Unable to take it any more, Raven left his apartment, after changing his clothes into something made of real material. He locked the door and started down the stairs, humming to himself. What could he do to pass the time? He decided that he felt like going out to a bar, maybe to pick up a new plaything.

After picking up the second dropoff and taking it home immediately, Ceciro was lost for something to do. Just how long did Raven spend in his office? Was he ever bored? Ever busy? Ever wont for something to do to take his mind off everything else? He kept carrying around the bag, placing it in a satchel he decided to carry with him, slung over a shoulder. Perhaps the thing that kept him from going to Raven immediately was the method of proposition that had been given. A heat of the moment kind of thing, where minds shared incentive, reaching for the same goal. He couldn't be serious... No. Ceciro knocked himself out of that train of thought. But he'd memorized the addresses on the card anyway... He sighed.

He should indulge his demon side a little more, perhaps... go to a bar or club or something else. Lure someone in with promises of otherworldly experiences. Yes, who didn't adore those strange experiences, things that didn't involve drugs, things that were strange and new and unique... Ceciro flicked his hair back and looked up to the buildings he was passing. It was rare not to find a place owned by Raven. Nine times out of ten one would be at an establishment he owned, but somehow he'd found himself both living and frequenting places the man didn't directly or indirectly have a part of in any way. Interesting.

Now he was passing apartments. High class things. He had a bit of a walk ahead of him, but it was early enough. The sky had cleared, but the lights of Big Vegas didn't allow stars to shine.

Raven didn't like to go to places he owned. Everyone knew him and it was hard to slip away with another man under the eyes of his employees and followers. He frequented the parts of Big Vegas that weren't owned by his mob, or any other. A small bar that sat in a darkened alleyway, that most people never saw. He entered it now and glanced about the darkened place. The bar tender nodded at him, but didn't greet him. Another demon, one that knew of his powers.

He went to sit at the back of the room, eyeing a drunk man at the counter. He wasn't quite to Raven's liking. A bit too old. But perhaps he could simply skip the first parts and murder the man, consuming his soul and essence... He ordered a drink from a passing waitress, becoming lost in thought again.

He was thinking about the Strip again. Why? A man that worked in shadows didn't place well in the harsh lights of that particular street, those particular casinos, hotels, bars and clubs. There were so many little hole in the wall places that looked more like rat traps but were cleaner and better than those big-name places that had a thousand-dollar minimum. He veered away from all that, opting to duck away from the bright lights and people and slink away into his nature, his home, the darkness and shadow, that which gave him cover, which gave him protection from prying eyes. He shook himself off as he walked, finding himself passing little doorways, muttered conversations, sidewalk gambling and discreet-but-not-discreet drug deals. Where was he going...? Wherever it was, it had to be good. It had to have more entertainment.

The little bar to the left, with a buzzing 'open' sign. Not many people here, but a low music Ceciro didn't care to listen to. It was quiet, and sparse, with some people---human and not exactly---scattered about. The not-exactly-human bartender that only regarded him, and didn't say a word. Darkness. Darkness for the stalker. He breathed out, feeling almost at home among the strangers. He went left, then back, settling into the corner. There was a weekend-drunk nearby, tapping his foot. A quietly-bickering couple---poor things. A reclusive type right at the bar, no doubt a man on the way to alcohol poisoning. A kid that didn't look nerly old enough to be in a bar in the first place. A few others, but Ceciro busied himself with his bag and when someone approached to ask about his order, mumbled that anything clear would suffice. He was mostly here to exist, rather than completely waste his money on a single night and desperate regret in the morning.

Raven couldn't believe his dark red eyes. Ceciro had entered this bar and sat away from him, against the wall. Out of every bar, club and casino in Big Vegas, the man had chosen to wander into this particular one. Was Raven's scent still lingering in the man's psyche? Did Sandman know that he belonged to Raven now? He didn't care for an answer. Instead he swept his thoughts towards Ceciro, feeling the solid walls once again.

Fancy seeing you here, he thought with amusement. His eyes staring hard at the man. Soon Sandman would look up, and how would he react to see Raven there? Would he be happy? Annoyed? Angry? Worried? Raven waited to find out.

What...? The voice was unmistakable. Not many could project their thoughts to him,even fewer were acknowledged. But they weren't allowed into his mind, nor were the feeling fingers. The city was massive, absolutely massive and yet, Raven was within the room. Not simply within the room but so close he could... smell the man. The demon. Demon and man. A half-blood. Yes, that was what he was... Half and half.

One may call this a coincidence. But I don't believe in coincidence. He replied within the confines of his mind, opening up just enough for that. He thanked the young woman for the glass she offered and fingered the top of it. I believe you forgot some important things in my hotel room this morning. I have them with me. And I decided to take you up on the offer you proposed, if it's still applicable. I wish for something... different. I'd be a fool to turn you down. Mental conversations were so private. So secure. And since he could feel others trying to breach his walls, it was safe. Safe enough to hold such talks within general speaking distance, as if neither knew the other even existed. How interesting that was. Ceciro grinned at the thought, sipping his drink. It had no taste---probably vodka.

The reply... Raven was pleased he could converse in this manner. Anyone else would have gone insane by now, but not Ceciro. He had a strong mind. That was only one of the things he liked about the man. Important? Raven tried to think what he could have lost in the Sandman's hotel room. Usually he was so careful about his belongings. Nothing is important to me. Except his public image. He couldn't stand to lose it all.

His drink arrived and he took a sip, again looking over to Ceciro, who hadn't looked up yet. We are safe to speak here. None of these mortals can hear us. Curtsey of the bartender there. The demon whose only power was to create a bubble of silence around selected people, so that anyone else couldn't hear the conversation. All they could hear was nonsensical chatter, like the pair of blondes sitting at the wall opposite them.

Nothing? Now that was worrisome. If nothing was important to Raven... He shook his head, looking up and rolling his tongue between his teeth. He hoenstly wasn't afraid of being overheard here. Here where most were preoccupied in their own poor life choices or too busy with themselves or others to bother with some random loner that probably looked a bit too dangerous to approach while in a weak state of mind. But now he was second guessing himself. His idea. His decision, mostly.

You slip up, Raven. You care about nothing? You probably care about something. But not what I feel is safe to accept. I'm already paranoid enough---if things go sour with us I'd rather not kill you, which I know I could do: A demon can kill a demon, though humans have difficulty with the act. And if something were to go wrong, what then? Truly you would... worry. As I'm sure most of my contacts do. They worry that I'll get in over my head, try to overtake them. They react. I kill them. It's simple math, something I may not excel in but can comprehend. It's happened before, in fact, don't think I'm just speculating.

Ceciro sighed, lifting his gaze to the ceiling. How unfortunate if he were to become enemies with Raven. He couldn't exactly catch the sand, much like Ceciro himself couldn't catch the shadow---he could only hide in it and wait for his moment to strike. Look over his shoulder obsessively, feeling someone stalking. If you care about nothing, why would I feel safe with accepting an offer you give? And give while compromised, no less. He dipped his finger into his glass, rolling it along the rim. If it were crystal, it might have sung.

Raven couldn't believe the reaction he got from Ceciro. Of course he cared about somethings, just not as much as the usual person. Let me rephrase before you philosophise yourself to death; I care not for material things. Such things are easy to replace. But other things... Friends, family, respect... Power... Yes, even a demon like himself knew what it was like to love, to trust... And to lose it all. He shifted again, deciding to stop trying to force contact between them.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe a grain of you has been left somewhere. He smirked and drunk deep, not feeling the effects of alcohol in his system. Another thing he had inherited from his father; no drug could take affect. It would be... cocky of me to think nothing could ever go wrong... But I am careful. I control the authorities and no one dares to take on my gang... Not after what happened to the Johnsons... He blocked out the flash of memory, not wanting Ceciro to see that side of him. The weak side that cared... That hurt...

Ceciro tilted his head toward Raven, but didn't look his way. I'm not afraid of death. He knew he'd die young. He just made a point to push it a little every moment he could. Push that limit, see how far he could go before someone snapped and tried to attack him, before he enveloped their body and squeezed, crushed the life out of them. But there's that word again: Power. What makes you think you can rule the world? Not that I"m trying to take away from your concept of total control, or your ambition, but I've seen things go bad for plenty of people that desired the entire world. Respect from everyone. People fearing them, hating them while revering them. A concoction of war waiting to go down.

A grain of him...? No. He was never left anywhere. At least, not his sandy self. He controlled every grain. He felt it all. If it didn't come back to him, he would know. He would feel it. But he didn't let Raven know. This is why I don't deal in my own gangs. My own 'crew'. I work alone because it's a matter of trust, and I'm too damned paranoid to trust. I know seeds of doubt can be placed in even the most devoute servant of their own personal god, whomever that may be. I've seen it. I've done it. I've invaded their dreams as prophecy, concept, recurring dreams, their own little ideas, growing, following them to the real world and seeping into their daily thoughts. You can never be too careful. You can never fully trust your group. I'm not trying to pit you against them---trust me, you would know if that were happening---but this is my own thought. I may trust you---but should I trust them? He glanced Raven's way for the first time, but his hair was in the way. Raven wouldn't know he was eyeing the dark-haired man.

I never trust anyone fully. He admitted, knowing that that was a lie. He had trusted someone once. They can change, motivated by fear, greed... I've seen it too many times myself. Yes, in other gangs that didn't have as much control and power as his had. They'd self destruct, killing each other off in hope to get the spoils. It was human nature, of course. Humans can be convinced so very easily to follow you. Even those too 'noble' to take a bribe... They fall when you threaten those they love. And yet, they too, could very easily turn against him.

As you said, demons are hard to kill. He looked over to Ceciro now, wondering if the man was looking at him. And where would be the fun in that? To kill me before we could really start the amusement? Perhaps he was sounding too cocky now, but it was true. Sandman was so much like him, it was scary.

Maybe I'm just too devoid of fear. I'm not afraid of death even if the bar is set too high. Maybe you need a disposable killer. Besides, wasn't that what he was? Now that Ceciro thought about it, he did a service for others to get money in return. He was a whore. Ceciro gritted his teeth. It was different. Maybe he could be so easily classified in the minds of others. But what he did took far more skill than the average ten-dollar whore on the street.

My amusement comes from various places. I can easily find another to fascinate me for a time. Big Vegas is true to its name, after all. And who could he find? Anyone, really. Everyone had a grudge. Everyone had someone they wanted dead. Everyone had their moral weaknesses. Their sins. Though I'd love to raise the stakes a little. He admitted after a moment. I'll kill you you. As long as you spare your sweet little accountant. If he steps out of line or tries to go against you, I'll take care of him. But for now I feel he should live. If only for the amusement of his employers. Surely you thought of that first? Raven didn't seem the kind to get rid of someone until they had fully and completely outlived their usefulness. And if the accountant didn't have any use left in his current job, he could always change occupations. If he desired his life.

Raven laughed out loud, though no one looked to him. Perhaps the bubble of silence had been placed over him, or maybe they thought he was talking on the phone to someone. He glanced about the place before he continued his secret talk with the man he found so interesting. I've already kept him alive a lot longer than I should have... He had killed the man's family in front of him, forcing him to work for him. He was surprised that Raide hadn't simply killed himself out of grief. No, the man was a coward, and he was also selfish.

Why do you like him so much? He's just one of many at our disposal. So many more trustworthy humans that would follow orders without hesitation...

Ceciro felt a pang of sadness that wasn't his own. It slid down his spine and then was gone. An odd reaction to the sound of laughter, if anything. Perhaps. But I do love how nervous he is. And as to the pain he must feel at whatever you did to him, I can ease it. I have a drug few can claim to own, and even fewer have the chance of experiencing---dream manipulation. You saw me enter your dream,, but then, I did nothing to it. I could have changed it as I liked. I could have manipulated the world around your dream-projected body to make it anything you wanted to see. And I can do it to anyone I like. Just not himself. It was impossible for him to enter his own dreams, and that felt as if it weren't fair. He wanted to change the course of his own. Wanted to dream the best things he could, and make them feel real.

I suppose it's settled then. I've already agreed to join you. You obviously don't want your clothes back. Do you have any other plans, or should we be leaving? At that thought, Ceciro drained his glass in just a single gulp, wincing a little and shaking his head. It wouldn't do anything to him. Drugs didn't have that effect. His demon blood killed it immediately.

He could do anything... Raven closed his eyes. Ceciro could bring Shadow back from the dead, if only in his dreams. But... He couldn't ask for that. No... He'd give Ceciro too much power... And knowledge. No one was allowed to see his human side. He opened them again and nodded slowly.

Do what you want with him, I don't want to see him again... He opened his eyes and finished his drink, turning his gaze about the bar. A kid he hadn't noticed before was sitting nervously by himself, drinking down beer. He was obviously too young to be drinking, but the fake id he held permitted him into most bars. An easy target for Raven. It's settled then. You to only take hits from me. To spy for me. If someone is to ask you for a hit, you must first report to me. I want to know what they are planning, who they are wanting dead and why... Soon we'll get rid of them and control the whole of Big Vegas. He expected Ceciro to complain. He was a loner, working for himself on his own terms. I shall pay you handsomely, have you moved to a more desirable location, give you anything you want...

He watched the man still, through the veil of hair that covered that side of his face. The way his eyes landed on the young man that was too young to be in a bar at all. I prefer to stay where I am. It's not that far a walk from the address on your card, and nearly impossible to become a resident there in the first place. Beautiful spot, I'm surprised you don't own it. He stood and stretched, digging in his pocket for the fold of money he usually kept there. Just don't put me to a schedule. And no, I don't play well with others. I just hope this lust for power doesn't lead you down the path that many an emperor and king have fallen off. Lying the money on the table without counting it, he stepped around and deposited the bag on Raven's table. "I don't care to carry your clothes anymore." He muttered, leaning down low. "And... have fun with your new plaything. He looks about legal. Heh... Maybe. See you tomorrow."

He stood, clicking his piercing again as habit demanded, and held his head high as he walked pointedly into the cool desert night. Pocked by the lights of other tiny, buggy bars and battery-powered lanterns illuminating gambling circles, he wandered. Home... No, he didn't want to go home. Maybe he could get into the desert and wander. Wander with the sand, his kin, his innumerable brothers and sisters. Maybe he could pass the time scaring people. Maybe he could, in fact, go home, eat, and play his guitar. He was still a little rusty, after all. Raven didn't know much about him---perhaps it'd be a bit of a surprise to the man to figure out that Cicero---Sandman---wasn't, in fact, one-dimensional.

Raven smirked as Ceciro left, feeling a strange emotion raising in his chest. He was excited and happy to have the Sandman agree to be with him. He glanced at the bag, vaguely remembering the clothes he had dirtied and left in Ceciro's hotel room's bathroom. How considerate of him to bring them, although he could have always brought more. Or made it from the shadows surrounding him...

He turned his attention to his new plaything, scanning his thoughts. His name was William and he was 17, turning 18 next month. He was nervous because his friends told him they'd meet him here... But now that he was here, he was certain that one of these people might be bad... Oh ho ho, Raven would show him how bad someone could really be... And all it took was for him to wait for the teen to become totally intoxicated. It was easier that way.

Ceciro focused, eyes closed, on his music. While he didn't read music or actually know the name of the chords he was playing, he knew how to play from memory and practice. As long as he didn't look at what he was doing, he could play just fine. Watching his fingers go from string to string became confusing, and he quickly lost himself. Now he played, and amidst a country-like music, he thought. Just because he was the most feared hitman in the city---possibly the state---didn't mean he was supposed to get into working with the most feared boss in the city. And he was a loner. He didn't like being tied to anyone! Maybe that was why he hadn't... Ceciro growled, shaking his head and plucking the strings harder until he realized he was probably about to break them.

He didn't like it. Didn't like it at all. Raven seemed so obsessed with power. With ruling the damn world. He'd die trying to get that dream to come true, and it was so frustrating. He'd seen it before. He saw it before, and was a part of it before. Setting the guitar aside, confident that he'd cleaned the rust off his ability, Ceciro leaned forward and grabbed the glass ball from its pedestal on the center of the coffee table. It was blown glass, rose-colored, with an infinity loop in the middle. That was gold. It wasn't necessarily Ceciro's style, but he'd kept it for a long time. For you. The legacy we leave will live for an eternity. The words were still heavy in the back of his mind. Ceciro glared at the symbol, clenching his fingers around its delicate glass casing and jumping up, raising it over his head and pausing. He wanted to throw it, shatter it, snap the loop in the middle. Infinity? Eternity? Neither mattered, obviously.

Sighing, Ceciro placed it on the black iron pedestal and flopped down. He couldn't do it. Never could. Never would, perhaps.

Raven straightened himself, wiping the blood and other body fluids off his jacket. Another suit ruined because of his blood thirst. He probably should start caring about it, like Ceciro seemed to think. He looked back down the alley way, making sure that nothing was left of his victim. Another teenager disappeared on the streets of Big Vegas. No one would care. Only the boy's parents. At least they would never know the way their son had died.

He caught a cab back to his building, paying the fare and ducking into the revolving doors that were guarded day and night. The lobby was empty, except for the guards. He took the stairs, after seeing that the elevators hadn't been fixed yet, and climbed to the top of the building slowly. By the time he got home, he was exhausted.

He locked the door behind him and went straight to his room, flopping down on the king sized bed and falling into a deep sleep almost instantly. His dreams were troubled, as they usually was, and he awoke in the early hours of the morning, not feeling rested at all.

He went to bed at two in the morning. The wooden-and-brass clock on the wall chimed twice as he passed it, removing articles of clothing as he went and draping them over his arm until he deposited them all into the cloth hamper in the corner of his bedroom. Dark red walls and oak crown molding, heavy carpet, a large, high full-sized bed with a soft mattress. Generally he slept relatively well. A light sleeper by nature, he woke at relatively slight provocation, and dreamed rather plainly. He huddled down under the blanket and sighed, crossing his hands on his stomach and staring at the plated ceiling until it grew dark, and everything fell away.

There were few dreams tonight. One ongoing dream, however, was filled with shadows. Long arms, slithering toward him then fading out, spreading to the corners and then falling like rain. A blue-haired man. Blue hair kept up in a high ponytail and dark, intense eyes. Those eyes faded. The skin grew black. Something happened---the form went back, the blue of his hair turning murky green and falling to whatever the floor was. Gold looped the world, and seemed to constrict Ceciro like a giant snake. It forced its way into his ear. Forever wasn't very long, was it? I guess to each his own. Ceciro gasped, feeling his hands go up to his ear and claw at it until it peeled off into his hand. Disgusted, he threw it down and the snake slithered to the floor to swallow it whole.

He woke in the same position he'd fallen asleep in, only his hands were clasped around one another and numb. Sighing heavily, he shook his head and looked around. The morning was here, the sky just barely glowing in what little amount he could see. He turned over, still feeling exhausted, and buried his head under his pillow. He'd go to Raven's place of business today, but later. Maybe at noon, if he could go back to sleep after that.

He lay in bed for a good couple of hours, not feeling rested enough to get out of bed, but not feeling tired enough to sleep. He thought about many things during this time, from his childhood to business. Yet, nothing was ever clear to him. No matter how much he thought on the subjects, he could never find an answer. He turned over and stared at the wall, a faint memory returning to him. Was it a memory, or just a dream? It had felt so real...

He was lying on his back, floating between awareness and sleep. Shadow had brought him up here, after a night of drinking and doing other such things. His friend, the man he had respected and loved more than anything in the world... Shadow. The white haired man leant over him and kissed his lips, lingering long enough for the warmth to spread down Raven's body.

He blinked and turned again, staring out the large windows and towards the lightening sky. Did this really happen? Or was it just his imagination, giving him something to long for. What if Shadow really did love him...? He sighed and shook his head. Why did he still think about the man, years after his death? Why did it still hurt? Was it the human in him that did this to him?

Ceciro failed to go back to sleep and got frustrated at that, getting up and foregoing clothes, stalking into the living room and flopping down with a huff. Whatever sleep he'd fallen into las night, it had been very light, more than usual. His dreams were normally so... dark. Like shadows with no form, and they meant nothing to his waking mind. But now... Why did he have to have that kind of dream? It was like a trip into a river of guilt he shouldn't have. He hadn't done it! Glaring at the table, at the gold infinity symbol in its little glass prison, he growled and forced himself up, wandering into the bathroom to start a bath and make it as hot as he could stand it. It didn't do much to wake him up, but made him feel like this was, in fact, not a dream. no, it wasn't a dream, though Ceciro would have preferred it to be. It meant he was asleep, and would wake up later feeling more rested. But no, he had to endure the day with a faint exhaustion behind his eyes, in his limbs. He sighed, ducking down below the water and soaking his hair, washing it with a scentless soap and conditioner and, later, shaking it out so its natural part returned.

He didn't eat before he left the building. The sky was bright and clear, no sign of the desert anywhere from where he stood, though it pressed in on the city in every direction. Sometimes dust floated in the air, and storms blocked out the sun for a few hours. Maybe he would stop by a cafe... Or a little bar. Or just skip all that and go right to Raven's place of work. He was so conflicted...