A scream,  a cry,  inhuman at most.

 He takes what he can get,  and gets what he can take.

        Jasper's always preferred a little more challenge.

 The last person he met in the darkness was the average twitcher,  a hammer clasped in one shaky, broken hand. Bloody eyes, matted  hair. A rotten smell, a gurgling growl. It charged him, though, however  harmless it must've seemed at first, and so, he had no choice but to  completely s l i c e it into pieces.

 It was his choice to play in the blood, though, and that only added  another coat to his shirt, his pants. But no, he doesn't stink like the  others. Jasper likes to think he smells pretty good. He's always  smelled good. The living girls could prove it, but... there are none.

                 Not now.                  Not anymore.

 He first hears the voice spoken low, as if whispers to self  are being given, notes to document an experience-- And  right hand begins to fiddle with the pullstring of his saw.

 The runner waits until the voice creeps closer, closer,  and pulls his mask down, waits patiently behind the corner...

                 And when he feels the need to cause a ruckus,                  his palm wraps around the cord... and he pulls.

  The Prince exits the foyer, descends the staircase, and decides to   make it easier for everyone by going around the floor of dancers,   their dresses and uniforms rather dashing and distracting as he   does. Sebastian stops at the far corner, turns to watch for a moment.

          He, himself, is dressed in the finest Starkhaven attire           crafted, mended especially for him to attend this event,           but still, he is no match, though close, for these Orlesian           nobles.

  There's a smile on his lips, hands clasped gently behind his back,   and as the Prince turns to exit and avert his gaze, his eyes fall   right onto--

                            Who is..... this.....?

  the party inside has been going for hours, and once he's decided   to finally wander from the questions of curious shemlen and make   his way outside, he sees her standing at the side of the staircase,   arms crossed and rested upon the balcony rail. she looks lost in   thought, but my, she looks rather beautiful under the stars.

           and her eyes,            oh, her eyes.

  tamlen sighs, pulls the door to a close silently behind him.   the elf steps, strides awkwardly with hands behind his back   until he reaches her. he clears his throat, glances up at the   stars, and averts his gaze back to his friend.