There seems to be something intricately different, different about the way I see life.

Perhaps it's just me, but sometimes it feels as if time can age you depending on how you see your life.

I might be wrong, but after spending my time with a vampire well over some age I presume to be three-hundred, that he acts not much different than a man entering his thirties with the wisdom of a man in his sixties. Very much free, but quite reserved in the way he paces himself through the things he observes.

It's funny, I think the more I observe him, the more I wonder how he might match up to someone in today's age. If there's vampires his age and if he's seen them all, sort of fed up with his pool of options and ventured off elsewhere. I'm not saying I-

I guess, I am, that'd be stupid to say I'm not interested in an older man. I mean, typically, I'm not, but how do you place an age on someone older than your great grandparents that have already passed away?

Still, sometimes he seems lonely and I feel that way too.

Like I'm walking with stilts over the ocean, afraid that if I dip my feet in, I might just try to touch the bottom. And the bottom is a long way down.

He thumbed over the last of page, staring down at the journal quietly, wondering if she would have still thought that now. Something in his heart told him otherwise, and his eyes flicked up to the window as he collected up her stuff slowly. "Well, I suppose opinions change with emotions, as that is the nature of a thought. It isn't always stagnant, and irreformable." It was quite malleable in fact.

Scraping the journal from the desk with the laptop into a duffle bag. He slowly emptied the contents of her drawers into the large suitcase, knowing that this was the last remnant of her existence in the tiny expanse of the loft. The last existence before she would disappear without a trace, never to be heard of or seen again.

Tipping the glass to his lips, his golden eyes darted from one end of the room to the other. He could hear the glasses clinking across the room as the ice settled into his own cup where his lips pressed tightly around the thin lip of his glass and liquid poured in between the part of his mouth.

"Smooth," Gerald added as he slid in beside him, running a hand over the resin-poured wood countertop until his watch loosely clanked and settled on the surface.

"It is," the golden-eyed man answered, turning his sharp gaze back onto the Lycan beside him. It didn't take much to register the friendly face despite the sour disposition that regularly settled over his mouth, setting his jaw stiff and making him look like he was in some foul-ass mood. No, that was just his regular expression. Shifting the glass at an angle, the ice settled into the corner of the round bottom, clinking softly until he jostled it into a new corner, swishing it around. "I only wish it had the same taste when I was human," he breathed.

"You were never human, Augustus," Gerald grumbled.

"And I never had brown hair and gold eyes," he snorted back in response, "but I figured a change in appearance was in order."

"Oh, I'm sure. Though, if your hair was a little more midnight, you might take on the uncanny appearance of a Tepes."

Something about that didn't set right with him. He knew the history, knew the awful semantics of the continued war within the family and how it turned the rest of the Supernatural society inside-out, but he just couldn't settle with the ideal of being intertangled with it all. "You'd think they'd have retired into the afterlife by now," Augustus answered as he took a long sip of the whiskey from his glass.

"You'd think," Gerald agreed. "But they haven't. The old queen is still alive and kicking, keeping us all in line and I've heard rumors that her bastard of an older brother is lurking in the shadows somewhere nearby. No one wants to go looking for him, but after his last stunt on some of the fresher-type, it's a little bit harder to remain aloof about the search for him since he's now made himself public enemy number one."

"When is someone not on the higher powers shit list?" August grinned into his glass, nearly flashing his fangs as he watched the bartender pass them by.

"Good point."

The two sat quietly at the bar, but the silence didn't last long before Augustus was depositing the cash tip under the cup, shoving himself off the stool and onto the floor. For a man of his stature, he was of more average height, but nothing about the way he carried himself seemed ordinary. He was straight-backed, narrow-eyed, and had eyes that could pierce through the soul no matter how he transformed them. Of course, changing ones appearance was a lost art, but he wasn't exactly any of the fresh blood roaming about. No, he was far older than that. Old enough that you could almost say, he was one of the first generation... Not that he cared what anyone called it. As far as he was concerned, he was a myth, a long-dead ancestor and he liked to keep it that way.

"Gerald," Augustus barked.

"Don't call on me like that," Gerald grumped, coming up behind him. "I'm not your lap dog."

"No, but you fetch good like one when I'm in need."

A wry smile spread over Gerald's plump lips and he smiled for a little moment longer before the tired look hit his eyes. "What do you need?"

"Time." Augustus sighed. "And a little more than usual. Keep Rebecca off my back for a while," he told him. "I'm visiting an old friend who's on his way out of life and I'd like to give him a little peace and quiet."

"Of course," Gerald sniffed, turning his head up as he gazed down at Augustus with those dark brown eyes of his. "I know how you get," he smiled. "A good buddy from the last millennia isn't the same as a little lover's fling." He patted Augustus' shoulder despite the man stiffening up under hand and passed him by. "Can't say I can keep her from sniffing too hard, but I know how to distract a woman on the prowl for a time or two."

"You better," Augustus growled. "I won't have her meddle in my affairs again. I'm tired of her antics."

"Maybe don't turn them if you plan to let them be an ex." Gerald waved before waving off to him.

As Gerald stepped out the heavy door of the Tavern, the door slapped shut with a loud groan and Augustus stood there, lip nearly curling into a snarl, before rubbing his hand down the length of his thin, sharp nose. "If only," he groaned.

-Clockwork Excerpt