"You weren't half bad in there," Stein said through a bloody nose, plugged up by two bloody pieces of cloth. With a broom in hand, he collected broken glass and shattered dishes.

"You did pretty well yourself," Victor nodded under a bandaged forehead and a black eye, "for a fat old man." A once whole plate broke over Victor's head, but he swept up those pieces with his broom. The two worked in silence from then on, putting right what they had destroyed. With the job finished, they shared a drink on the steps which led to Victor's home. The bottle Oaf had tried to take now passed between the two men who had just traded blows.

"They'll get theirs," Stein sighed, breathing out harshly after a long drink of hard liquor. "We have. . . an extracurricular activity we host in an abandoned church."

"If you tell me this involves a circle and wigs I'll kill you," Victor groaned, while Stien handed him the bottle.

"No. Don't be a virgin pup," Steinhardt stood, keeping his back to the younger man. "If you want, there may be a place for you there. . . We might not like strangers here. . . But we respect strength," Steinhardt started to walk away, lighting another cigar.

Victor watched the proud man walk away, thick smoke leaving the trail of his passage. Victor took another swig, letting the burn of the alcohol clean the cut on his lip. Finally, he stood and lumbered up the stairs to his home.

"What the fuck is wrong with this place. . ." Victor sighed, looking out on the quiet city from the balcony that led to his door. He opened the door and entered his dark apartment with the bottle in his hand. The hard bed curved as he sat on its edge. The tired man hunched over, and hair fell over his eyes. He stared at the floor, into the past. Images of war and friends who no longer walked among the living ran through his mind; until he settled on a pair of orange eyes under chestnut hair. The memory was still fresh, and the pain still stung deeply. Victor finished the remainder of the bottle and let the empty vessel fall to the ground. He turned to lay atop the blankets in his clothes, keeping his blank stare fixed on the ceiling. His eyes began to close as his consciousness faded.

"What the fuck is wrong with me. . . ?" he asked the orange eyed girl and let himself fall asleep.