Nothing is ever easy. What seems like a simple request to find someone a date always seems to snowball into something more complex than it probably needs to be. Such as in this case, it went from Alptraum finding Mortimer a date to Alptraum going on a date as well, only in his case with Rosalind Draco.

Since he wanted to spare Rose the horrors (and smell) of Mortimer's makeshift home Alptraum went and got him first. This was probably also a chance for Alptraum to make sure he bathed, didn't smell like a graveyard, and actually wore appropriate attire. And, of course, Mortimer couldn't bring his scythe either. True to form, Mortimer complained about being put upon while Alptraum inspected (and adjusted), his attire, then lead him from the old tower. On the way to get Rosalind, Alptraum explained that his date, a Khatta lady, does not know Rosalind Draco's position and that it needed to remain a secret. All Mortimer's date knows is her name is Rose and that she works in the castle, nothing more.

The next leg of the trip found the pair back inside Draco castle. Once there, Alptraum went up to suites that he shares with the woman and they prepared. This left Mortimer alone for a bit, but Alptraum cleverly left him in a room devoid of much furnishings (a rug and a couple chairs at the most) so that the Korv couldn't get himself or others into any trouble due to too much curiosity.

An hour later Alptraum and the Countess returned to collect Mortimer. Both are dressed nicely; clean clothing and well groomed. Alptraum sports a 'gentleman's coat over a clean shirt and his pants appear both clean and pressed. Rosalind is also dressed well in a deep red evening gown.

"See?" Alptraum tells Rosalind, "The Reaper can clean up . And even smell better than moldy cheese. "But I do have to wonder if the complaining was worth it. He actually lamented over being deprived of the grave dirt that he collected on himself over the years."

"Well, really good grave dirt is hard to find," Rose notes with a nod.

"I find it hard to believe there is good grave dirt," Alptraum remarks.

"Grave dirt from across Sylvania is not a thing to cast off lightly," Mortimer insists. "It's a badge of my travels, it's good luck!" He's dressed in somewhat antiquated suit, with an older style tie – it's one of the few suits the tailors could find in white. His tie is a pink. In his hand is a cane with a gargoyle perched on top, which he has named 'Squinty.'

"He seems dapper enough," the Countess comments, smiling to the Reaper. "He'd make a fine undertaker looking like that."

"He needs to look more cheerful, though," Alptraum notes, "This is a date, not a funeral."

"Undertakers are a few steps below and before a Reaper's duty," says the Reaper. He flicks the cane to face him, then nods to it. "Squint-y is no scythe, but he is better than nothing." The gargoyle head is, indeed, a bit on the squint-y side.

"I'm sure he's cheerful," Rose says. "Why, many of the chambermaids comment on the cackling laughter from old clock tower. Certainly a sign of good cheer!"

"I think it's because he's aiming for the people walking by," Alptraum mutters.

"It's not polite to mutter," Draco chides lightly, and takes Alptraum's arm. "Where are we to meet Mortimer's Mystery Maiden, my lord?"

Mortimer flicks his cane forward again and clacks it on the floor. "I was rolling bone-dice to see if it matched my guesses as to when they would die," he says.

"A place you should remember, oh huntress of the night," Alptraum intones, "A tower amongst the stars. Now if he will follow, I shall lead the way… " And with that, Alptraum leads Draco out of the room.

The Korv shuffles a bit uncomfortable. "I am unused to being this bright, let's avoid all daylight, candles, reflections, and smart individuals as we go. I think this lightness is giving me a rash," he complains, following after the two.

Chamber of Stars
What was once a simple and somewhat dreary tower room has been reworked into a romantic nook by a certain bat. A carefully constructed series of spiraling shelves circle the room along the walls. Equally spaced along the shelves are simple white candles, each burning with a gentle yellow flame to give the impression of a starlit sky. A single circular table is set out, with three chairs and a perch. A wheeled tray holds several covered dishes.

An older Khatta gentleman in a tuxedo that matches his own black and white markings stands near the serving tray, trying to look as if he wasn't just talking to the handsome Khatta woman near the table. The woman is wearing an older style Sylvanian gown which has somehow been tailored to actually be flattering. Her hair is dark and tucked into a bun, but despite the prim fashion her eyes shine with inner youth.

"Mortimer, may I present Nyneve Radovah. A charming and elegant woman I have known for some time. Beautiful, wise, and always a delight to be around," Alptraum introduces the Korv. "Nyneve, this is Mortimer. Forgive me, but I do not know his last name. A Korv friend of mine who desires nothing more than to bask in your beauty." The Eee then pats Rosalind's arm gently as he adds, "And at last, this is Rose, the woman I have spoken so much about. I would wax upon her beauty more, but I fear I would embarrass her."

"A pleasure to meet you, Madame Radovah," Rosalind says, giving a nod of her head to the Khatta.

Nyneve smiles back, and it's apparent the two women have sized one another up in that brief moment. "Alptraum, you did not mention that Mortimer would be a gentleman," she notes, and then curtsies to the Korv.

"Oh thank the grave, darkness," Mortimer says as he enters. "I thought I'd bu-" He pauses, perking when he gets a look inside, and seems to let the subject drop straightaway when he sees the woman. After following the bats over, he listens to the introduction and nods a bit. He gives Alptraum a somewhat panicked look when Nyneve suggests he might be a gentleman, then quickly bows in return, wings out, and says, "Ma'am. I'm no gentleman, just a Reaper, just a Reaper."

"Ah, an Important Person then, none the less," the gypsy woman says, and offers her hand to the Korv. "I am as common as dirt, one might say. It is an honor to meet someone of your stature… outside of a professional milieu."

Alptraum resists kicking Mortimer's leg. "I thought you didn't want to be thought of as a reaper tonight, you blood eyed goon," he thinks. And in fact to keep from kicking Mortimer, he steps away from Rosalind … but only so that he can go to the table and pull out her chair."

Rose takes her seat and gives Alptraum a little smirk. Maybe she can read his mind.

"You are neither common, nor as ordinary as dirt," Alptraum remarks with a smile as he slides Rosalind and her chair in. "You are quite one of a kind, I must say, Nyneve."

"Oh dirt is never common, m'lady Nyneve – it can grow life and harbor death. Men fight and die over dirt; it marks the ages and feeds futures, and devours ends," the Reaper explains to the feline. With the tip of his cane, he hooks a chair, then pulls it out for ghis date. It reminds Alptraum a great deal of what he'd usually do with his scythe.

"A philosopher as well," Nyneve says warmly, as she takes her seat next to the perch.

"Just practical," says the Reaper before he takes a seat. "Seeing death helps you consider life. In graves are the memory of mortals and the tracks of eternity."

"Something of a poet too," Rosalind comments.

Alptraum goes to his own seat across from Rosalind. He pulls out his own chair, then slides into it in one fluid motion. He then eases his chair forward and folds his hands in his lap.

"Nothing like that! That was an accident," the bird claims.

The tuxedo wearing Khatta clears his throat discretely, and removes a bottle of wine from its basket on the serving tray. "Would milords and ladies care for some wine?" he asks.

"I … " Mortimer eyes the wine for a long moment, hand fidgeting with his cane as he looks torn, then he very slowly and deliberately turns and asks Nynave, "Would … you … like some wine?"

"I am curious to know what wine tastes like in a castle," Nyneve admits with a tilt of her head and a twitch of her whiskers. "And it will go well with the dish I had prepared. An old family recipe, with a slight… twist."

"Mustier," Mortimer suggests in regards to the taste of the wine.

"Please, good sir," Alptraum answers along with a short nod of his head. "Love?" he asks Rosalind. "You deserve far more than mere wine, of course … but I am not sure what else is currently available."

"I find all wines are improved by company," Rosalind says.

Barnabas first pours a small amount for Alptraum and Mortimer, to make sure it meets with their approval.

Mortimer eyes the wine with one pink eye, then, shrugging a little, puts it to his beak and sips.

Alptraum lightly clasps the glass between two claws, swirls it gently, then inhales its scent just before taking a small taste.

It's no Mephisto or Shadow Grape, but then neither is it some mere table wine. It's at least on a par with what one would find in a well-to-do restaurant – and something Nyneve wouldn't be suspicious about.

"Delightful," Alptraum tells the waiter, "It will do nicely. Strong, yet with many subtle undertones. A wine that describes my lovely lady so well."

Rose reaches over to rest her hand on Alptraum's at the compliment, as Barnabas fills their glasses.

"It's pretty good, easily as good as the better establishments who have gifted me for my services," Mortimer reviews after another sip. "It's only passing for the ladies, who are much better than we."

Mortimer and Nyneve's glasses are then filled, and the gypsy takes an appreciative sip. "The best I've ever had, I must say," the Khatta says, with a slight purr.

"Well, nothing could every truly be good enough for them, for how do you truly serve perfection?" Alptraum quips. His fingers shift slightly at Rosalind's touch, then his thumb rocks a bit to rub ever so slightly along the edge of her hand.

Returning the bottle to its bucket first, Barnabas begins uncovering bowls and plates on the service tray, releasing quite a few aromas. For the two vampires there is spiced blood with an assortment of meats, breads and vegetables for dipping (along with elegant looking spittoons). Mortimer finds a bowl set before him, and the cart is rolled closer so the tureen atop it can be easily reached.

"Ahh, perfection is such a high and unreachable standard, my friend bat. Untouchable, beyond people such as I. We exist to tend the brief and imperfect. But, I prefer the imperfect – it is much more interesting and comfortable. Better than perfect," says the Korv, who seems to be lost in studying the people mirrored in the ripples of his wine, and of his glass.

"I hope you like dis, Mortimer," Nyneve says. "It is a family recipe – goulash. But since I knew you were a Korv, I added some extra ingredients. I suppose now it could be called… ghoulash," the Khatta jokes. In the tureen are several bobbing Rughrat eyeballs, lightly boiled.

Mortimer's eyes shift from his wine glass to look at, well, other eyes. Edible eyes. "I do love a good pair of eyes, or more, in a soup or in anything else," he tells the woman. He flicks his gaze to her face, and adds, "You have most pretty eyes, yourself. But, not for eating."

"Ah, yes, I believe the appropriate phrase is to 'drink in' a woman's eyes," Nyneve says, and takes up the ladle to fill Mortimer's bowl.

"And people complain about vampiric Eeee?" Alptraum has to wonder when he catches sight of the bobbing eyeballs. Perhaps to distract himself Alptraum uses his free hand and selects a rather long fork and uses it to spear one of the morsels. After dipping it lightly, though, he offers it to Rosalind. "Or be captured by them," Alptraum comments, "Such as I was when I first looked into Rose' eyes."

"I have heard of a Korv who once could see a man's last vision by drinking the eyes of the deceased," Mortimer offers in trivia as his bowl is filled.

After daintily plucking the offered morsel with her teeth, Rose chews and discretely spits out the meat once the flavor is gone. "My, whatever did he see?" she asks the Reaper.

"So many things, it was said," continues Mortimer. "He saw the end of youth, of middle age, and of the old. He saw the fall of houses and the death of blackguards. Mostly, he saw his girth expand tremendously." The Korv cackles at his own joke, then promptly forks an eyeball and pops it in his beak.

"What else can I say to such a tale than … aie," Alptraum quips.

"I shall have to remember that one for my daughters," Nyneve says with a chuckle.

Mortimer nods. "Children love my jokes," he insists.

The meal is filling, and nobody seems to have any serious issues with each another's eating habits. When everyone is finished, Barnabus clears the table and there is a brief flurry of activity as two small love-seats are brought in and the service cart is exchanged for one holding a collection of brandies and dessert liqueurs, along with tea-cakes and a steaming kettle.

"What, no hookah?" Nyneve comments with a laugh, unused to such opulence.

The Korv cackles a bit. "Oh don't I know, I never dine like this. Truth is, I'm just as ordinary," he assures Nynave. This, " he gestures at himself, "is all for you."

"Are we not silly enough without the addition of the tentacled cauldron of doom?" Alptraum jokes as he helps Rosalind settle down into one of the love seats and then sits beside her and gently rests his right hand upon her left.

The Khatta actually ruffles the feathers on Mortimer's head as she takes a place on other love seat.

Mortimer doesn't fix his feathers at all, following to join the feline woman over at the love seat. "You know, all I really asked for from Alptraum was a nice meal from a kind woman. He's really outdone himself, and I'm afraid the the boon he has asked for is torment. It's really quite tragic," he tells Nynave.

"Such is the story of my life. And no, that isn't quite what you asked for. You also had many rules which made it extremely difficult to fulfill," Alptraum remarks, though teasingly.

"Well, rules are necessary! We Reapers just don't get along with some sorts," insists the bird.

"Only because you choose to make it difficult," Alptraum claims.

"Says the man who does request and asks for a reward of pain," counters Mortimer.

"Are they always like this?" Nyneve asks Rose, as she accepts a glass of brandy from Barnabas.

"I wouldn't know," Rose claims.

"I had little choice. Some things are necessary," Alptraum answers as he soon also accepts a glass. "Critical to many."

"Oh, so you vork together for the Countess on critical things?" Nyneve asks with a feline grin.

"Specific things," Alptraum says vaguely.

Mortimer sips his own wine, and seems to, perhaps wisely, stay silent for once.

"Even I am not privy to all of Alptraum's work," Rose admits with a sigh.

The Khatta strokes the back of Mort's neck, perhaps to help him swallow his wine. "Different part of the Castle I suppose?" she asks leadingly.

Rose waves a hand. "I work more in a diplomatic capacity. Protocol and such," she claims. "Alptraum and Mortimer seem to be more… hands on."

"You have to know that the Countess has many concerns, of course. I couldn't claim things we work on as being any more important than any of the others. They just require specific talents. Many others could not do them … for it would be like having Hexen help with your job," Alptraum notes to Nyneve. "I fear it isn't nearly anything so exciting as it sounds, alas. And as Rose notes, we're good for hands on situations; we both have experience in the land."

"Oh, I know the type well," Nyneve laughs. "Most men I meet seem to be the 'hands on' type."

Mortimer's eyes half-lid at the stroking, and he seems to almost drop his glass before quickly recovering it with his other wing-hand. "Ah? Oh, I don't know – Alptraum is what we in the Reaper business call a 'hero.' You know – meddlesome," he explains.

"I prefer the term nosy," Alptraum adds.

"He has certainly seemed to nose and meddle his way into a good position though," Nyneve points out. "I am just a dancer. My good positions do not provide me with fancy dinners though. Well… not all the time… "

"The job has not been without cost," Alptraum comments and then takes a sip from his glass. "Moments like this are more the exception than the rule."

"I am lucky to have this time with him tonight," Rose says, leaning against Alptraum. "He is so often busy. As am I, admittedly."

"I hear that, that's why I take every chance to enjoy life before it is gone," agrees the Reaper.

"I would think you had found ways to enjoy it even after it is gone," Nyneve says, combing through Mort's feathers with her claws. "You must run into many interesting spirits, after all."

"And enjoy in a way that preferably doesn't cost you anything," Alptraum teases Mortimer. The sigh that follows is tinted with disappointment as he nods to Rosalind's words. "We never have as much time as we would like, but I try to find comfort in knowing we do have time together when the world permits."

"Some debate if the spirits we see are the enduring dead or just their echo. For Reapers, it doesn't matter much, because they need to be put to rest either way. But, it's interesting to think about. Me, I don't risk it." The bird leans back a little, putting his glass aside. "But, gloom is a Reaper's friend. Don't mind my words; there's a lot that's beautiful too." He glances at Nynave, and smiles a little.

"The best things in life are free, as they say," Nyneve claims. "My room at the inn is nice, but not free, avralie. But Alptraum is going to pay for it, because he is a generous boy who appreciates dancers."

"Then I have had many of the best things – this is a wisdom Alptraum has yet to see," agrees Mortimer.

"It is more that the best things in life are paid for by someone else," Alptraum remarks and laughs lightly. "Except for one; having one person in your life you can tell anything to and they listen without judging. Having someone in your life who is just there when you need them, a shoulder for when your legs falter and someone share in moments of laughter. Some may swear by the road as a way of life … but if it is empty, it isn't much of a life."

"Mmmm, I can get behind that sentiment," Rose says, and nips Alptraum's ear.

Mortimer shakes his head. "It's not empty; it's full of bugs. They're just poor conversation. Perhaps that's why I like to take what's offered to me, it's better company, even if no one is speaking," he says.

"A life on the road can be rich and rewarding too," Nyneve points out. "If you bring your friends and family along with you!"

"And remember to dance!" the Khatta adds.

"I spent over a year on the road alone," Alptraum comments as he swirls his glass. "Those bugs you speak of, well … after a bit even they seem to mean more than you do when all you have is yourself to talk to and remind yourself of all your faults. It is … better to see your life through another's eyes; they judge you far better than you ever can yourself."

"I don't know, I think pretty highly of myself," the bird admits, nodding slowly. "I am an excellent all-around person."

"You're home now though," Rose reminds Alptraum.

"Ah, a confident man," Nyneve says, and gives Mort an around-the-shoulders hug. "It is good to know yourself and like what you see. And if you do not like it – change it!"

"Hmm, I've always been a Reaper. I wouldn't know what else to be," admits the Korv.

"And see? I think you're a feathered frustration," Alptraum remarks to Mortimer and even spares a grin, "And we all know that I am right." Rosalind … well, she gets an affectionate nuzzle of her cheek.

Leaning towards Nynave, Mortimer mock-whispers, "I just go along with him, so he does the work. It makes him feel in charge."

"I have been a dancer since I could walk," Nyneve says. "As have my daughters. It is a family tradition, although I do not know if my granddaughters will follow it."

Nyneve pats Mortimer's shoulder and nods in understanding.

"It's also because you're a mooch," Alptraum adds to Mortimer's explanation, though it is coupled with a grin.

"Mooch, or clever accomplisher of goals? Who is to say," replies Mortimer. "I do my work."

"A successful mooch is worthy of respect," Nyneve notes. "It takes charm and cleverness, after all."

"A woman who understands me. I may love her," announces Mortimer, who pats Nynave's hand on his shoulder.

Alptraum almost says something to that, but then wisely decides to drop it. So … he nibbles on Rosalind's shoulder and neck instead.

"Well, it is getting late," Nyneve notes. "The inn locks its doors before midnight, even. It has been a pleasure meeting you, Rose – you certainly reflect your name."

"It was a pleasure for me as well, Nyneve," Rose replies. "I only hope my meeting with Alptraum's parents will be so comfortable."

"She even takes pity on Alptraum, her heart must be made of gold," agrees Mortimer, who then cackles.

"A flower would be so lucky as to be as beautiful as her," Alptraum claims, "Thank you for coming, Nyneve. It was an enjoyable evening."

"Tcha! I do not take pity on people, Mortimer," Nyneve claims, and holds her elbow out to the Korv. "Now, you be a gentleman and escort me to the inn, will you not? Perhaps I will dance for you if you are nice."

"I will be as nice as I know how, which may or may not be enough. But if a ghost should come, or a bandit, then I will be mean for you," says the Reaper. He hooks his wing with the gypsy's, and then bows to Alptraum and Rosalind. "Thank you for all you've done, both of you. Have a good evening, and a good death if you die before I see you again."

"I intend to," Rose promises.

"I intend to live a long time, if for nothing else than to drive the rest of you crazy," Alptraum claims as he also rises. "I'll walk you home," he offers Rosalind and extends his hand.

Rose gets up and takes the offered hand. "A bit of death spices life, I think."

"They I bid you good night," says the Reaper. "Come, Nynave, I will tell you more eyeball stories that you can share with your daughters. I have a few about hands and feet, as well."

"As long as neither of us are the ones dying," Alptraum quips, "I would be far less fun if I were dead. Though maybe a little death or two wouldn't be so bad… "