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William
The old man shook his head, laughing. He stood up and grabbed a staff next to his desk, helping him to hobble off to a bookshelf. "You're young, boy. Anyone who comes in here is likely quite young. Do you understand Latin? That look on your face would tell me you aren't proficient. That's too bad, but it doesn't change anything." He grabbed a large, leather bound volume from a shelf and then hobbled back. The book landed on the desk with a loud thud, and dust filled the air, causing William to cough.

"Well, this should help you if you can read it." He eased himself into his chair, looked ahead, and folded his hands in front of his face in contemplation. "Jester is awake again. It's been a while since he showed his face in these parts. Interesting omen, interesting omen indeed. Well, William, good luck."

The light dimmed, and when it came back the old man was gone and the only think left on the desk in front of William was the book. He opened it and realized what the old man was talking about; he couldn't read a word. The wind blew from one of the corridors and he took that route, finding it lead to the water. He climbed out, next to the basilica.

Sebastian
He came to a hard surface, and was finally out of the liquid. His body felt weak as he stumbled forward. Finally he found a staircase and he started to descend it. When he reached the bottom he heard the sound of hoarse, heavy breathing. Then there was the sound of something gurgling, but the sound was deafening. Sebastian's eyes started to roll up from the throbbing in his head, snatched back when he felt something living wrap around his waist.

He was yanked violently forward, skidding through dirt as he tried to struggle, and then it stopped. He heard more gurgling, but it was even louder. The appendage threw Sebastian, and he felt the sting of water against his flesh. The gurgling occurred again underwater, but soon he passed out from the throbbing and sting of the water's surface.

When he woke up he was floating in the water near Venice. It was night and no one was around. He made his way to the city and climbed up, to find the Jester there. "I guess I picked wrong," he said. His clothing was all white, and he had no wand. "I suppose we need to make up and be friends, yes? There is a ball you must go to tomorrow night. Go buy yourself a mask and some clothing." The Jester's mask moved into a smile, and the Jester handed Sebastien 500 Euro.

Claire
A man walked into the room, "Excuse me, is this Miss Norman?"

One officer responded, "And who is asking?"

The intruder presented a badge, and the other two men backed down sheepishly, "Sorry, sir. We weren't expecting someone with the military to get involved in this issue.."

The intruder, a tall white man with black slicked back hair, nodded, "That is fine. We found something of military importance recently. Please leave us alone now." The new man did not smile. He had no intonation. He simply spoke.

As the two men left, the taller man sat down in front of Claire. "I am with a group that is not known to most, but rest assured this Jester is on our list of people we wish to find dead. It interests us deeply that you met him. This pendant of yours interests as well. We believe it is a gland to a creature long dead, not really a piece of glass on a string. We believe by applying an ointment to that pendant of yours, it will poison the being." He placed a bottle on the table with black liquid in it. "It's your decision. If nothing else, we would like you to cooperate with us in this investigation."

Ruslan
Tests: an inconsequential portion of existance showing what one has learned. An ancient tool used for assessment purposes. Tests came in a variety of forms: the real life application and the theoretical academic application. Which would that day hold for him in truth and in theory?

It was raining that day, as he fetched a water taxi around the island, full of encounters from his common life. This time, though, as he prepared himself for the ball that night, they all seemed hollow.

A friend of his nudged him after class, also a Russian, "Hey there, you seem more than usual gloomy?" He spoke in their common language, laughing a little. He was a good enough student, but hardly took anything serious. "There's suppose to be a party at some chick's place. Put down the books and come with me to it." He grinned and winked as they boarded the taxi.

Sebastian
Upon closer inspection, Sebastian realized what it was he was covered in: blood. The Jester, mildly bemused, tilted his head. "Do you see anyone else with the hair you have? It's a strange symbol that I thought I'd caught on to, but apparently I had missed it in you." The Jester started walking away, "You are not your parent's child, but the child of one far greater than they. That's all that matters. Accept this fact and go to your destiny." The Jester continued to walk off.

Tenma
In the dark places the mind is lost. The mind wanders about, a victim in the labyrinth, and where it shall find its niche is uncertain, but perhaps no niche is to be had. Those who find no niche are lost forevery. Have you no niche? The voice was strange, seemingly both male and female, two voices speaking in unison.

The basement area was entirely dark. There was a dripping likely from a leak, but she couldn't see anything once the door shut. The darkness was stifling. It became cold and the space felt so small. Perhaps...I could make you my niche in this crazy little world, and you could find your niche in me? Two parasites benefiting each other. But enough of that. What brings you to this little niche of darkness, a touch of reality in a falsely light world?

Sebastian (based on the die roll)
The smoke filled the room quickly, despite the efforts to keep the fire small. The wet clothing smoldered, instead of simply burning, and soon there was a knock on the door. "Excuse me, sir, but are you okay? We could smell the smoke, and we are just making sure that you are all right." There were more knocks. "Excuse me, sir? Are you in there, sir?" Someone was fumbling with the lock.

Sebastian let out a string of choice words under his breath as he washed water over his smoldering clothes. He put out the attempted fire and barked at whoever was at the door.
"Yeah, I'm fine! Leave me alone!"
Sebastian then went out of the bathroom and opened a window. He went back to the bathroom and grabbed the now-soaked clothing and threw them outside. He then went back to the bathroom and put the fire alarm back together, which immediately began going off. Sebastian hit the button that made it go quiet and unlocked the door. He opened it slightly and poked his head out.
"Everything's fine. There's no fire. I'm trying to air out my room. Goodbye."
Sebastian closed the door and locked it. He began scratching his head, swearing at himself. He always had the worst luck.

A deep sigh was let out into the foggy air as Tenma regained her senses. This had been an...interesting encounter to say the least. As she rose to her feat she looked once again at the time. It was time to head to the train station for her concert that night. As she dusted herself off she kept a keen eye on any and all directions. Between the occurances and the bums she was slightly on edge.

Traveling back towards the livable city Tenma's mind whirled with questions. Why had that pain been so distinct? Why did it hurt her so much? Pain was a world all of its own. One that she had been a resident of for the past years of abuse. After living there so long one became used to it, almost immune to the sensation. However, her body was wracked with pain by this eerie being dwelling inside her very being. A disturbing concept all its own.

Next was the question of the odd tendril that constantly warped in and out of her skin. It caused such pain, a sensation that had long been deadened years ago. It was...inhuman at best. Though to use the term 'alien' may not do it justice. Her jacket now hid the wounds in her shirt, but they were there, making this seem all too real. This marking seemed to have some magical qualities, if they dare be called that. She was left with no wound of the flesh, but her blood had been spilled against her skin. It also seemed to communicate with her. Maybe. Was it the tendril that had spoken to her at the basilica? Or was it the gypsy that had appeared in the last event to befall the day so far?

As the train rattled down the tracks Tenma stared out the window. The water below was a magnificent scene. Her mind had trailed from the black that grew in her to the gypsy woman. She was young, which, of course, gave the impression that she might not be as knowledged in these occurrings. Yet, she was there. That was enough to put her at center stage in Tenma's mind. She acted like she could help, told her that this thing inside of her was a monster only looking for a host in which to grow. Like leech, only clinging to its host until it is of no more use. A disturbing concept, that is, if you are the host.

Bustling, yelling, and overall chaos. The dressing rooms for the wind ensemble. Her mirror was bare in comparison to others. Pictures of wives, husbands, and other loved ones plastered those of the family types. For others, bouquets of roses, lilles, and carnations littered the tables surface. As for Tenma, nothing. The mirror reflected back nothing she wanted to see. Tenma never had been one to care about appearances, but she never thought highly of her own. A frown was pressed, defined on her features. Her black hair fell constantly infront of her eyes and her lips were almost as pale as her skin. Nothing stunning. Her body was frail in appearance, framed currently by black dress pants and a black corset style top. This was the uniform for the women. Most of the girls looked gorgeous, while others looked genuinely uncomfortable. It was almost curtain time.

Tenma!
Yes Mister Tromba?
Have you seen Lillian? She was supposed to be here...she is supposed to entertain the audience during intermissions.
Why ask me? I would be the last to know.
I need something. There are some highly reknowned critics here and I have to keep them appeased at all costs. They are known for walking out on performances.
That is a problem now isn't it.
Yes, it is. You work at a music studio don't you?
Y-yes, but that has no relevance to our situation.
You also record your own music, yes?
Where are you going with this?
You will be our intermission entertainment. True, it will be a lot of work, but I know you can do it. You are the best after all.

At that Mr. Tromba walked off, leaving Tenma in horror and disbelief, her mouth agape. She had never performed without other people. True, she had her solo every now and then, but she had always had the band to meld in with. With her heart in her chest Tenma ran off to gather her music and prepare the precussion section. As she set up the mallets and tuned the timpani a shudder rushed through her. Fear? Nerves? Butterflies? There was no telling with this child and her new found bought of stage fright.

The band played loud and forceful, their tone ringing through the auditorium. That had been minutes ago. Tenma sat on the black leather bench of the grand piano. Her heart was racing and she was sure that, when she did try to sing, not a sound would come out. A final look to Mr. Tromba standing behind the curtain and her fingers began to slowly dance. The song drifted slowly, pleasing to the ears of the critics. A song that had been written in the little recording studio that cold winter evening after hours was now being played to some of the greatest music lovers in the country. In the end three little words hung in the air. Breathe No More

Beads of sweat hung on the brows of many men that night. The stage seemed particularly hot that evening. However, no one had felt the heat like Tenma. She sat in her chair, head burried in her hands, trembling from the experience. Sympathetic looks were thrown her way, some acted as if they were going to approach her, but that was never the case. She decided it was time to change before her bruises were revealed by sweating off her make-up. As she slipped on her street clothes a knock rang on the door.

Who is it?
I-it's James
Is there something I can do for you?
I-I just wanted to say...you did a really good job out there. Your voice was...nice.
Nice...?
Yeah! Nice...hehe.
I figured as much.
Wha-
Leave me alone. I have had enough tonight and I want to get home.
O-okay. Then I guess I will see you tomorrow.
Guess so.
Good night...

At that poor James left. Tenma had enough toying around for one night, she didn't need someone who treated her like she wasn't even there trying to start something. Not now, not ever -- This was her policy. If someone treated her poorly five years ago then they would do the same later on. People don't change.

Tenma waited at the train station muttering under her breath. She was clearly angered by James. He was such a fool. Boarding the train Tenma looked around enough to notice she was the only one aboard. Oh well, it was late. It was almost midnight. Another night spent baking under the buning light of the stage and the gaze of the spectators.