Stu was mad. Not that was easy to tell since he wore a perpetual scowl. But he was madder than his usual disagreeable self. He'd already gone through two packs of smokes and was nearly half way through his third. And he hadn't even been in this neon, electric explosion they call a city for a full day yet.

It was bad enough it took him a week to find Belial after being summoned from his familiar haunts into the cesspool infested with round ears called RhyDin. But to add insult to injury, he had been sent on a wild goose chase to find a wild goose...or gander rather, in a bigger cesspool full of them trying to get lost in some frail fantasy of glam and glitter. Pathetic.

He made his way down the stretch of concrete and asphalt they called 'The Strip' toward an 'older property' called Bally's. It's bleached white and royal blue tower with an arched neon motorized walkway tunnel was an abomination to the aesthetic senses. Stu's scowl set harder. He stepped onto the moving walkway and tossed the still smoking butt aside, immediately pulling a new smoke from the pack.

The match came alive with an angry hiss and the cherry glowed a bright red as the smoke was lit. A blue veil of smoke rose from the side of his mouth as he stepped into a mecca of marble and gold. Immediately, the plinking, clinking, whistling, mooing, braying, moaning, groaning, screams and shouts of machine and man assailed him. Lights flashed and blinked throughout the casino floor. And the stale smell of booze, smoke, sweat, money and sex just hung heavily in the air.

After an hour and half of bare breasts and bad, albeit flashy illusions, the show let out, spilling its audience back into the flashing and plinking sea of games and machine. Stu had another smoke lit up before he casually stepped onto the casino floor. The Lady was not at the show. Much to his chagrin. But She had been there. Her scent lingered. It was sweet and subtle under the thick layers of humanity and unnoticed by the dulled senses of humans, but unmistakable. Silvers swept over the smoke-filled expanse. Come out, come out where ever you are, he beckoned silently.

A hand brushed a featherlight touch casually along his folded arm, drawing back his attention to his immediate surroundings. He had killed for smaller infractions upon his person than that, but this was neither the time nor the place. Silvers found the coy smile and the inviting glance the pretty thing cast over her bare shoulder at him. This was neither was the time nor the place for that either. The irony was not missed on the Trueblood.

The very air was charged with the smell of sex and buzzed with the sound of money. The guys flashed gold chains and rattled chips in their hands in an odd mating ritual to attract the dames that were painted up in a glittering splendor and dolled up in outfits that fit tighter than skin. They jockeyed around tables checked in rows of black and red and green, littered with cards and dice and wheels. They strutted about like gangly versions of peacocks around the gamers.

The gamers were the ones that sat in front of machine and man, staring unblinking at the game, whether it was a screen, the deal of cards, the turn of the dice, or the bounce of a little white ball on the wheel. Some smoked like a chimney stack while others knocked back a drink after each pull or deal. Some caressed the stacks of chips in front of them. Others anxiously tapped a finger or two against the table, or cards, or the buttons on the machine. But none of them ever looked away from the game.

Then there were the pit bosses. The watchers. They were easy to pick out?they all looked like gorillas dressed in black suits and black collarless shirts. Their shoes were spit shined and they all wore a piece in their ear. They walked around the tables, watching customers and dealers alike, tight-lipped and wearing no expression. Instead they communicated with subtle gestures, a nod here, a sidelong glance there. Silvers looked past all of them and through the blue veil of smoke and found the eyes in the sky, that watched the watchers, dealers and mooing cattle alike. What might be the closest thing to a smile for the Trueblood formed on the lips holding the smoke.

I'm going to reek of cheap beer and dead cattle for weeks. That was the foremost thought as Stu walked down the service corridor, dressed in the same long white coat the warehouse crew were wearing. A wool cap was pulled low, covering his shorn silver hair and the tips of his ears, adding insult to injury. Lady Belial is going to owe me for this assignment, the Trueblood groused to himself as he reached the walk-in cooler.

The sigil impressed into the sheet metal jamb looked like a scratch, something that would have been dismissed as evidence of nothing more than someone's carelessness with a heavy palette. However the sigil was a marker, locating a portal, one that Stu was intent on finding. A frigid blast of air hit him as soon as the insulated metal doors were opened, his breath becoming instantly visible. She is going to owe me big, he determined as he stepped into the freezer and closed the insulated door behind him. Silvers looked around the metallic shelves and the insulated walls of the cooler, stacked with boxes and crates of food and wanna-be food. It amazed the Trueblood how the round ears would eat anything if they were told it was food. Stu rubbed his gloved hands together to warm them as he continued to look within the walk-in freezer, the cold making his usually irritable self all the moreso.

As more time passed in near zero temperatures, the Trueblood decided the wool cap was a good idea, albeit grudgingly. He walked and inspected near the whole interior of the large freezer by this time and a mental inventory of all the food stock in this food locker was frozen into his memory. Huge. She is going to owe me h....

The private grumbling stopped and silvers narrowed as he walked toward the wall mounted compressor that continued to blow frigid air into the insulated cooler. How many times has he walked by that and not noticed. An icy blast of air from the compressor slapped him as if in reply, as he stood in front of the small area in the back of the freezer kept clear (for maintenance access to the compressor, of course). A faint wisp of white seeped from the metal seams of the cooler wall panel, outlining the portal.

Stu gave a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure no one was coming into the mini frozen hell, then traced the sigil in the air. The metal panel faded into a rising cloud of hissing white steam. When it cleared, all that remained was a set of concrete stairs leading down and disappearing into an inky blackness. Where ever it led, it was better than becoming a walking popsicle by the Trueblood's measure.

The Trueblood walked miles of the winding tunnels and channels that wove like unseen tributaries under the exaggerated fantasies of concrete, steel and neon. He followed the faint and fading clues of the Lady's passing that seemed to tease and whisper, offering a measure of sweet color to the tunnels that stretched out in the monochromatic hue of flat light and filled with the drone of the buzzing fluorescent fixtures and the trickle of water. The trail had taken the Trueblood winding east and west, but steadily in a northern direction by his calculations. There were no indications of where one property ended and one began, save an unremarkable line of yellow and red that ran across the floor occasionally and up the walls.

Stu had finally given into the stagnant air and stifling heat in the tunnels and peeled off the last vestiges of the heavy clothing he had borrowed from the warehouse workers several turns back. Save for the wool cap. The sweat stained cap smelling of butchered meat and stale ale, he folded and tucked into a pocket. Evidence of his indignity, and a souvenir for Belial.

A hiss of the struck match broke the mundane drone and echoed the hiss of the spent smoke he spat out into the nearby channel. The red cherry glowered as the Trueblood lit a new smoke. The novelty of this network of tunnels was wearing quickly, as were the clues of the Lady's passing. He had spent the last few hours chasing a ghost through these tunnels. A few hours more in a growing too many in this so-called city infested with roundears that was sorely taxing his patience.

He rounded another corner, irritably gnawing on the end of his smoke. What the hell was the Lady doing passing through this hell-hole" Stu gave it no further thought. The possible answers would have to wait. The thumping bass resonated in his chest before the shrill pop and disco melodies reached his hearing. As the Trueblood neared the unremarkable door at the end of the corridor, he could hear the bustle and smell the sweat of the performers racing around back stage.

"Alright folks! How about another round of applause for the talented Miss Tina!" A wave of applause and the accompanying hoots and whistles assaulted the Trueblood as he stepped out of the props closet the tunnel opened into the back of. Hushed murmurings and stage directions underscored the seemingly chaotic scurrying of people and props back and forth as the Master of Ceremonies continued to engage the audience

Stu inched his way along the back wall as two stage hands rolled by with a low table for the next set. "Do you mind" I'm on in two." Stu turned at the high-pitched voice that suddenly came from the door that opened behind him, barely staying his hands at his side. Silver brows barely flinched when he didn't see a woman standing behind him as he had expected. "Move it, will ya"!" Small hand slapped his thigh as to move the Trueblood aside as the voice piped up with growing irritation. He stepped aside and caught the silhouette of the small stocky performer who brushed past him grousing about new stage hands.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen! Here at Little Legends, we have a special treat for you tonight!" The MC's voice cut through the murmuring din back stage. "She is the Darling of Disney, the Pop Diva, the Sensational Titan of Teen?" Stu ducked into the darker shadows and made his way to the ladder leading to the catwalk as the MC continued to build up his introduction.

The audience erupted with cat calls and whistles as the MC announced the name of the performer just as the Trueblood found his perch above the stage. The diminutive performer that had pushed him aside jaunted out into the spotlight to claim the accolades. If anyone had been on the catwalk with Stu at that moment, they would have sworn a grin ghosted on the Trueblood's countenance, a claim he would have categorically denied.

Notwithstanding the possibility that the Trueblood dour expression might have eased, the perpetual scowl was firmly in place as the dwarfish diva started her set of mindless caterwauling these roundears called "music?.