At precisely 6:30 am, Gregory Sharp's generic alarm in his generic room sounded. He rose from his generic bed to quickly clean himself up in his generic bathroom, then returned to his bland gray shaded room to find a neatly laid out suit on his bed, which had very much not been there when he'd gone into the shower.

"Lawrence!" He griped aloud, despite being well aware that his 'brother' was long since out of earshot. "Treat me like I'm a child, will you... bastardic wanker." Despite being Brit through and through, even Gregory had to admit he'd never be able to out rant his old, smaller counterpart with all his unsophisticated cockney, so 'bastardic wanker' would have to suffice for an insult.

Dressing in suit that had been lain out for him, despite his protests, the 6'3" boy in his early twenties raked his scraggly brown locks back out of his eyes before smoothing down the black, pink stripe west and emerging into the dark blue wallpapered corridor of the residential wing of the London temple. A quick glance at his gold pocket watch (which had also been a gift from Lawrence) told him it was already nearly seven. Lawrence would be at breakfast by now, just finishing up, likely having his second cup of Earl Gray for the morning, perhaps coffee if it was a particularly bad morning following a particularly bad night... a scotch kind of night.

As he walked down the hall Gregory pondered to himself what it would be like to be able to express ones entire mood simply through the beverage they were consuming. He could have a scotch kind of night... couldn't he?

No... no he couldn't. It simply wouldn't suit him. Alcohol didn't suit him. But coffee... coffee and tea, those could suit. And if they did... what was this morning? Was it a coffee morning? Or was it time for Constant Comment? What would his beverage choice say about him?

Apparently nothing.

Lawrence sat waiting at the table they always managed to single out, his own tray before him, as well as one for Gregory. Once again, his decision had been made for him.

As he took his seat, Gregory began to wonder if he really had his own personality at all.

((The part of Lawrence tonight will be played by Hyena. -pauses for applause-))

"I see you've found the suit I laid out for you," he said, looking rather haggard. Ah yes, coffee. And by the looks of it not his first cup. Last night must not have gone has he'd planned... whatever those vague plans might have been. Today he gave very much the appearance of a well-kept ghost: grey eyes sunken into deep holes in his face giving the impression of a very young person asphyxiated on school picture day. He moved slightly, avoiding his brother's eyes, and the scent caught on the draft. Whatever had made Lawrence's night such a chore had involved blood. He reeked of it. "The colour suits you."

"You always dress me the morning after you've been... hunting..." Gregory stared at his brother with eyes of far to knowing green. "And you're drinking coffee. I can still smell the scotch on you. Dare I even ask what went wrong with your pursuit of your query?"

"It was... just a rough night is all," Lawrence said into his coffee mug. "It got a bit messy. I'm sure you don't want to hear about it."

Partially raising one eyebrow in the closest Gregory usually came to real expression, the corners of his lips twisted into the slightest hint of an ever so sadistic smile. "Oh don't I?" The smile grew. "It was the little blonde imbecile you've been toying with, wasn't it? What was her name again? Megan? Have you finally ridded us of her aggravating presence brother? Oh do tell me that you have."

"There was nothing wrong with Megan, Gregory," Lawrence snipped. "She was... enthusiastic at her worst. Hardly the terror you make her out to be."

"Nothing wrong. Nothing wrong?!" He picked up a biscuit and tore a bite off of it, gesturing with the little bit of food in his hands as he spoke. "She talked, CONSTANTLY! And never mind the fact that she had to touch me all the bloody time! Seriously is it really so terribly hard for Americans to understand that I don't want to be bloody well hugged all the damn time? And then there's her sick obsession with demons. Seriously Lawrence she thinks they're friends beasts that can be 'evoked' to help her with her bloody mathematics homework at university! How can you say there was nothing wrong with her?"

-

"Well, I suppose when you put it in those words she might have deserved a rushed and sloppy dissection." He put his mug down. "She was so... dull. I thought that, given her disposition, she would squirm. Or at least scream." He sighed.

"She was probably on something." Gregory mumbled into his coffee mug as he picked it up for a long over do sip. Now that he thought about it, this probably would have been a coffee morning anyway. "How did you know I'd want coffee this morning?"

"Because you were twitching in your sleep, and then immediately showered upon waking." He brought the spoon to rest. "What nightmare were you reliving this time?" He said it as though night terrors were nothing but the norm, which it was. He found it difficult to show concern, concerned though he was.

Gregory paused, staring straight down. "You know, it really should disturb me that you watch me sleep from time to time." Raising his eyes, he noted the stoic calm on his brothers face that said the conversation wouldn't progress until he'd answered the question. "Him. It was of him again. It feels as though I haven't had a peaceful nights sleep since we've been back. He's dead. I know he is. We watched it happen. But dead doesn't seem to mean gone. This whole place... it's still saturated with him, with the way things were."

Lawrence sighed. "I might have thought so." He seemed to be hiding something about himself, but that was the norm. If there were any emotion present on his face before, it was gone now. "He did govern this place for the larger part of three decades. At the risk of sounding like the Frenchman's dreadful sister, I would not be surprised if he left some..." and at this, he lifted his hands and wiggled his fingers in a mockery of something spiritual. "Resonant energy or some... such. It will pass with time."

Gregory nodded, but just barely. "Do you think we should have taken her advice and had one of the more... flippant.... new age... types do their cleansing or whatever it is they think they do?" He waited a moment, still staring into his coffee mug, then answered his own question. "No. No of course not. That would have been silly, wouldn't it."

He looked up again, a wistful twinkle in his eye. "Brother... do you suppose he's in hell?"

"I certainly hope not," Lawrence said flatly. "Hell is far too good for him. I think he's been reincarnated as a hog in southern Kentucky." One look at Gregory's face told him that his joke was not received as well as he'd hoped. "You really are worried that he's lingering, aren't you?"

"I am." He said without hesitation. "I was thinking that, perhaps, if I could have.... could have... her... find him down there, just to know he was there, hopefully trapped forever... that perhaps I would rest better." His shoulders seemed to slump a little further. "But... she's been so busy lately. I really oughtn't bother her with something this silly."

Lawrence cringed at the possibility of having to deal with her again. Their interactions had been brief and few, but that was all that had been needed to discern her nature enough to know that he wanted to keep their encounters as minimal as possible. "If it is important to you, then it isn't silly. She still does belong to Josephine; I would be willing to bet that I could pull a few strings to get her over here. Although..." At this, he lowered his voice so that only he could hear the words that came from his mouth. "Anything she can do you can do and with far more finesse. Just because she saved the world doesn't mean she's superior. Its simply a matter of notoriety."

"What? Who? The Witch? No no no no. Don't be ridiculous. I'd rather go completely mad than admit that I needed help from Felix Medhi's dreadful sister again. Not her." He made a scoffing sound in his throat as though it was an entirely discomforting thought. "I was talking about... /her/. I meant... Mother."

Lawrence's breath seemed caught in his chest. "Gregory, she's in Hell." Gregory sank backwards as though he didn't need the reminder. "Gregory, she's a demon. You've only just recently gotten to a point where you don't try to kill them on-sight. Are you certain you're ready for that?"

Gregory thought about it a little longer than he should have needed to before he answered. "If... if I call to her, she will come as a human... wouldn't she?" Of course she would. She was Mother after all. Gregory drew a deep breath and quietly reminded himself of such. "She's still Mother."

He drank his coffee quietly for another moment. "I would just have you put me in touch with Felix, and have him ask her for me, but I imagine that would be... rude... wouldn't it?" Setting down his now empty coffee cup, he sat up a little straighter and gave a slight shake of his head. "Oh bother. Never mind. It's not even important. It's only been a few weeks, and we've not really changed anything yet. Maybe all we need to do is change some of whats here and things will feel better. Do you suppose we should redecorate?"

"We could do to get rid of the blue decor," he said. "I'm considering color-coding the halls to make them easier to navigate. East wing in yellows and pastels, burgundy and orange for the south wing, purple for the west wing, maybe green and blue for the north. I could benefit from your opinion, of course. I don't want to be the only one making decisions for the entire temple. I could enlist a few residents to help us paint. I'm sure they'd be happy to have something to do..." Before Lawrence could get too far in his interior design plans, he snapped himself back to reality. "Gregory, you're plenty right to be worried. If w... if you have any more nightmares, and if you feel that we need to call her in... I will not think any less of you."

"Thank you brother, but, perhaps a coat of... hold on now... wait just one moment." Gregory tipped his head to the side and leaned forward. "You were about to say, /we/. Weren't you? Do you still have the nightmares as well?" His voice dropped to a hush at the last statement.

Lawrence became very quiet, very small. He stood, pushed in his chair, and leaned in close. "I would prefer to speak on this in private," he said. "Finish your coffee. Meet me in the courtyard." He gathered his flatware, deposited it all in the dish caddy by the door, and disappeared around the corner.

"But I've..." he was about to say he'd already finished his coffee, but Lawrence was already gone. Rising, he popped the last bite of his biscuit in his mouth, and took care of his breakfast wares as his brother had.

Some ten minutes of navigating the difficult hallways later found Lawrence standing alone in the courtyard. "Oh bullocks. This had best not be another of your tricks Lawrence." he said as he took a seat on a simple cement bench. "If I sit here half the day and he doesn't show... I may have to be quite cross."

Lawrence breezed into the comparatively small courtyard, clutching to him a pocket-sized moleskine. Even in the ten minutes that had passed, he looked as though his body were finally accepting that perhaps he should have been sleeping rather than 'hunting.' Taking a seat next to Gregory, and without a word, he flipped to an arbitrary page in the pamphlet-stitch journal. A list of rooms, a list of dates, tally marks. Some went back further than their return to London, but the marks were more numerous in the past few weeks.

They were worse yet in the past few days. The days when it had become evident that Lawrence was not sleeping.

"He haunts me," he said. "He always has, but... now it almost seems purposeful."