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This particular evening after his varied field of work, as Vlad's quick feet swept across the cobbled floor on the path to their clock tower, his handsome face was marred by a vicious frown. Everywhere. He was confronted by the reminder of it everywhere. As he ran into - abruptly halted and turned from - barriers of booths, City People and Book Children, the lines only deepened. He impatiently swerved through the throng and spitefully nabbed an apple from a nearby cart on his way. Damned that he couldn't escape it.

The Night of Stories. He repeated in his head, mocking the childish echo of a Book Child or two marvelling over the festivities. Truth be told, it wasn't so much the festival as it was the birdbrain at home, who would indeed childishly echo 'The Night of Stories!!!' in her own special, annoying way. Last year's Night of Stories had gone well. Seeing as they were quite new and kept to themselves - a status quo he had rather liked - she barely knew anyone and it was easy to scare her off. "If you haven't noticed," he had said, clipped, "there is fire and a lot of people you don't know. And with your hair and your stupidity someone either going to steal from you, push you around, and/or you'll trip on your own hair and dress, fall into the fire, and end up as fried pigeon. Happy?" She'd retreated quietly into her corner, for a very pleasant number of days. Good. If only they could continue that this year. Maybe even make it into tradition - ha. Now that she'd gotten...well...about as indepedent she could manage without being maimed, he knew exactly what he was in for on his return.

As it was, he could barely hear the soothing ticks of the clock tower's seconds - or anything other than a throng of people, for that matter. Even the sky was crowded with jumbled typefaces and smoke. Unbearable. Unthinkable. Un - well, huh. Honestly, what am I worried about? His smirk returned, he barged by a collection of City People - what was there to dread if he was obviously going to make Estra incredibly unhappy by definitively not going? Alright Vlad, that's not a problem at all. He finished his convoluted path home, fluffed his feathered collar up, eyed the door of the Clock Tower, and crept in quickly up the stairs to their nest.

He examined and straightened a plume around his neck. "No."

Vlad was so cheered of his impending smackdown that he could still stand to smile (sinisterly and nastily, at least) throughout her joyful cooing. "I know what night it is," he said in a most delightful manner. "And I say, no."

He continued, similarly swinging his hands about, mimicking/mocking her earnest movements, largely to get into the swing of his announcement. "You don't remember anything about last year's because we didn't go. Because I said no. Ergo," he leaned against the stone wall, and tapped the edge of the window. "NO."

"No." He pronounced most carefully, relishing every moment of the single syllable.

"Oh, those are already three very good reasons not to go." He said, an eyebrow quirked, "and mix those with clumsy and useless you, you are most certainly going to fall into a fire and become fried pigeon. So - no."

"That's what they all say before they fall into a fire," He snapped, getting somewhat annoyed that they were stuck on a silly point of 'conversation', ignoring that he'd brought it up himself. "Whatever it is -" the crow raised his voice as the noise and music swelled outside, "no. We are not going."

"NO." He glared, the light from the lanterns reflecting in his dark eyes. "That is the end of the conversation."

Vlad found that both the festivities' and Estra's horrible noises could not be drowned out by the clicks of the tower's clockwork - they were as unceasing as the minutes going by. A sharp, vehement sigh; he retrieved his earplugs, equipped them and proclaimed "Good-night" with finality. His shoulders relaxed, and he thankfully drifted off to sleep.