Normally when Henry found himself in a stakeout adjacent situation, it was in the hopes of avoiding the exact thing he was keeping an eye out for. They happened more often than you'd think, honestly, and whether you were hiding from werewolves or vampires, the tactic was equally applicable. Find a corner tucked out of the way, a peephole and maybe a blanket, and lie perfectly still until you can be absolutely certain the danger has passed. Like a fly on a wall, or a deer in headlights, save maybe the part of the simile where the deer gets run over.

Vampires you wanted to keep an eye on so you knew where they were going to pounce from. Werewolves were similar, except that they typically didn't bother with hiding and were much more investigative in their approach. In those situations, it typically paid to be the better hider.

But Devils like him?

You basically needed a different playbook for each one. And none of those really helped him right now anyways, since he was actually trying to get noticed this time. Unfortunately, somehow he was managing to fail at that, too, since Death Jr. had yet to show at the location they'd been expecting him at.

I'm not going crazy... he was definitely somewhere around here when we left. Over there you can just about make out the busted-up lamppost he pulled the camera off of.

They'd been camped out near the belfry of the church for nearly half an hour now. Enrico, currently sporting his more monstrous form as a deterrent for other vamps that might be roaming the area, hunched over the edge of the balcony to keep watch of the streets below alongside him. Weather had cleared up ever so slightly, so while most of the cityscape below was still a foggy morass, there were a few pockets of dry air still dotted around.

Henry yawned as his eyes searched the crossings and alleys yet another time. Even unfocused and half-glazed over as his vision was while he did so, it was abundantly obvious that there were no signs of life around for kilometers, intelligent or otherwise.

"Are you sure he's going to show at this rate? From what it looks like, he might have decided to skip town and head somewhere else."

Enrico made a dismissive noise that wasn't quite a growl, but a close enough approximation. "Patience," he intoned in that almost serpentine accent caused by his warped physiology. "This man isn't one to make his presence unknown. Or even his lack of presence. If he'd decided to leave, then there would be an equally obnoxious announcement of that, as well."

"Really? So what does that make this bout of silence, then?"

"The calm before the storm."

There was confidence in that assessment, and for the moment it wasn't like he wanted to switch to Plan B just yet, either. Mainly because he'd had yet to think of one, but so long as they were here waiting, at least he'd have time to correct that. Henry settled in for the long haul, mentally preparing himself for what might be a very long night.

Given enough time. Maybe. Deep down, he was hoping that this operation would end up simpler than he imagined. The logistics of every different loose thread in his life right now were knotting themselves into a rat king in his brain, and he was desperately hoping at least one of those threads would tie off on its own.

"Guess we'll find out when we see it, then," Henry surmised with another yawn. Taking inventory of their supplies, he grabbed a bar of something that was mostly preservatives and started gnawing on it.

"How's the transformation holding up? Need another top-up from the bag yet?"

"In another ten minutes or so, maybe. For the moment I am alright."

He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Just for posterity's sake, he checked the cooler bag they'd brought along for the trip from Little Henwood. It wasn't overly large, merely big enough to fit an ice pack and a resealable bag of blood, with a tap poked into one corner for easy access. Like a poor man's juice pouch, he thought to himself amusedly. This one he'd quantify as 'lightly snacked on' right about now.

Though, the mental image did bring a few questions to mind, which he might as well ask while there was nothing to do but wait.

"So, uh… out of curiosity, what's it like?"

"Hmm?" Enrico turned in place languidly to address him. "Could you be more specific in what exactly you're referring to?"

"Well, being a vampire in general, I guess," Henry clarified. "It was always a bit of a sore subject to bring up with Grace, but you seem to be more… open about the whole thing. Wanted to know what your take on the whole thing was."

The vampire let out a slow, resonant noise of contemplation as he pondered. At least, that's what Henry assumed it to be. It was a bit difficult to know for sure.

"How do I put this…?" he murmured. "It's like… like I've been forced into a second family."

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Henry quirked an eyebrow. "That sounds... like a net negative?"

"On the contrary. What I mean by it is that there are very few social connections in life that go deeper than just passing familiarity. The ones that can't so easily be broken, like family, are closest to what my experience with this… change has been for me. One day we all started off as simple survivors, the next we found ourselves switched to the other team. How most of us dealt with that change is… eye opening, to say the least. But there's been enough of us who held on to what was important for me to not completely give up hope."

An interesting perspective. One that was likely pretty unique on the subject of vampires. It made Henry curious to pick his brain further with a few carefully laid questions.

"Doesn't that basically just describe Ghost of Tolkien?" he asked.

"I doubt that phenomenon to be so intimately… defining as I find this has been for me, but I will readily admit that I am not an expert on the subject. To be honest, I don't think any of us really are the type cut out for a world of magic."

"Really? How do you figure?"

"Those of us in the Reformationists noticed a pattern. Not one of us has ever possessed talent for Domains, even before the second Witching Hour transformed us. It seems like it was almost some sort of prerequisite. Now, granted, our sample size is abysmally low, but on occasion we do have the opportunity to… 'acquire'… an outside opinion. So far nothing has indicated that our initial assumption was wrong."

"That's… an interesting theory…"

His mind briefly flashed back to the vampires that had been affected by the Magic 8-Ball. An exception that proved the rule, perhaps? Considering all the hoops they'd had to jump through in order to cast the most basic of fireballs, it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that vampires and Domains were never made to mix from the outset. An interesting detail, but mostly a done deal in his mind. There was one last thing that he wanted to ask about.

"This is probably a bit insensitive, but… what made you decide to… not follow the most obvious path after the day things changed?"

Another rumbling noise of contemplation. "It's not an unfair question to ask. Matter of fact, I've asked it myself on a number of occasions. But, what I think it probably boils down to is the illusion of control."

Henry frowned in confusion. Illusion of control?

"Sorry, I… I don't take your meaning on that one," he apologized.

"Surely, as a Devil you've felt something similar? Vampires have a well-defined road laid out for them from the start. The equation is simple: Blood is power. If you want power, then naturally, you must take blood. More than that which you have. In a world where the worst on offer can kill you with a halfhearted backhand, can you really say you wouldn't give into that instinct to take without permission or fear of consequence, at least at first? I certainly didn't. Being perfectly honest, the only one I think who hasn't was Mistress Henwood. And we're all better for it."

Ah. He'd basically flipped the entire idea of vampire hierarchies on its head. Did that mean he was trying to take power for himself by leaving it on the table? Considering that ninety-nine out of every hundred vamps seemed to be trailing about at the whims of some overlord or another, it made a certain degree of sense. But... wouldn't that put them all in a bind long-term?

"This is where the illusion of control lies," Enrico declared. "In the vain notion that just a bit more power can fix all our life's problems. Sure, it can certainly solve some issues, but more will inevitably take the place of those specifically because you chose that path. Suddenly, to solve those, you once again need more power to exert control. And that happens again. And again. By the end of it all, you've gorged yourself on countless innocents for marginal personal gain. All for that ephemeral feeling of being in control. But you aren't, you never were and you never will be."

Henry pondered his words very carefully. It was a compelling surface-level argument with subtle, underlying layers that nagged at patterns he recognized. Maybe that's why Enrico had been questioning his cluelessness on the subject before. It was something he'd never considered putting to words.

Now, though… now his thoughts wandered back to experiences where it applied to him, indirectly. Guillaume stood out as a prime example. He'd had control of a gang, or some small-time criminal organization before London went under. When it did, and the Gentleman's Club formed shortly after, they'd seized control by forcing hapless bystanders into their dirty work scavenging for scraps. But that control hadn't been enough for Guillaume, and once he'd become a Devil that cycle had only gotten worse. First the Harpy, then the organization he'd joined originally as a partner only to become its dictator, until by the end of it all he'd been convinced that the best path forward was to overwrite the minds of literally everyone.

He could have done it, too, was the scary part. Was that really an illusion? Was that thing which he had inadvertently chased to the ends of the earth really nothing more than a paper tiger? Did that mean the only moral decision was, supposedly, to give up all control?

Questions upon questions. And none of his answers sounded quite right.

"For a vampire, you're quite the philosopher," he concluded.

"And you're quite the company… for a Devil."

Henry snorted. "Glad I impress your high standards."

He looked out over the city once again. When it was quiet like this, it really was peaceful, in a way.

"...I do believe I'll take you up on that offer for a transfusion, now." said Enrico. "Holding this form is starting to feel a little strained-"

His words were drowned out by a cacophony of noise. From somewhere down below, out of Henry's line of sight, there was something that sounded like a mix between a localized earthquake and a thrash metal festival. An excessively convoluted mess of distorted notes swelled up from the base of the church, loud enough to rival his own revolver in terms of potential long-term hearing damage.

Midsentence, Enrico reeled back and decided to change tack. Rather than top up, he instead began dismissing the transformation, shrinking back down to roughly human proportions with the usual bone-popping noises drowned out by the borderline insane riffs coming from below. Henry tossed his cloak and goggles up to him from where he'd discarded them earlier, not wanting to shred the material in the process of shifting to the larger stature.

At least he'd had the decency to not go fully commando.

Henry packed up the last of the supplies while Enrico donned his anonymous outfit. From relative stillness came a blur of activity. Neither of them wanted to miss out after the wait they'd put in to find the man. All that was left to do now was get out there and greet the fellow Devil, and pray they could convince him to take a little detour for their sake.

Guess I'll be improvising… again…

There was at least one silver lining. One thing that simply wouldn't be physically possible was for Death Jr. to be somehow more antagonistic than Guillaume had been during their dealings. So… there was that to look forward to.

I might need to get better standards, Henry realized.

Enrico appeared alongside him in his full wastelander garb, and they made their way back down the stairs into the church below. The electric guitar outside continued to wail on into the night, heedless of whatever creatures might be listening in.

Knowing Death Jr., the noise served a double purpose. Both his own amusement, as well as to attract an audience that would amuse him further.

…Does that only count as one reason, then?

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