Of all the half-dozen billion people in the world, it's rather surprising just how difficult it is to find one or two that fit into your specific mold. Are they funny enough, do they understand your perspectives? And how important, is it to you, that they care about your past, where you're from, and what made you who you are? Finding other individuals who might play on your team... or at least have the ability to be a starting batter, proved far more difficult than creating a starting lineup on a professional sports team. At least then, there were rules and guidelines for picking new players. But in reality? There were very few people who fit the mold of whatever it was I wanted to spend my time around. What is it... It's said that saints, sinners, the in between. We all pray to the same God. Why was it so hard to find individuals I didn't want to banish to the ends of the earth?

Damon's quip brought my attention back from the nerve-gauging giggles of the bartenders. He was wondering if I had speed on my side. Did I? Against a vampire, it was more necessary that I have wit than speed. Speed would get me close to them, but wit would help me get around them. With an invisible touch of my tongue between my teeth I tried to swallow the ideas of harming Damon for now. Perhaps it might be amusing to see who was bested in a fight, but for now? The vampire would stay dubbed a vampire instead of a dirty leech that I often tried to convince myself that vampires were.

"You? Afraid of sharp objects?" I shook my head once, downing the rest of my drink before replacing the glass against my lips with a smirk. "For someone with such a silly fear, you bring up an excellent point!" The suggestion that our game need not be tame was perfect; I was quite pleased he had all but read my mind. He stands, obviously to retrieve our intended game but it looks as if he has had a light bulb turn on right above his head. He pulls the entirety of the darts from the board, rolling them in his hands like they were trivial in our festivities. With the delight of a child on Christmas, he yanks the board from the wall and siddles on over to a lonely man at the bar. I don't hear his words, but with the sparkle in his eyes and bounce in his step, I can only presume that they are somehow relating to the idea I had cultivated, but not spoken out loud.

"What, are you a peacock fluffing up your tail at me with some little tricks?"

I laughed as the man stood up, lifting the dartboard above his head. It was amusing to see Damon's work in action, but even more amusing to see the man bounding around like an over-weight blob, trying hard to maneuver himself around the empty bar but often bouncing off of a corner of a table, or a bar stool here and there. It was all I could do to keep from laughing; I finished my drink and smiled with an accompanying nod to the bartenders for another. Instead of waiting, I took the darts he had intended for me and watched the guy bounding around for a moment or two.

"I wonder when he will notice that the tables are inanimate. This is like watching a bad video game."

I touched the tip of a dart gently, and with an aim that metal had taught me, sunk the tip into the middle of the human dart board in action. It was very satisfying, and easy to replicate. With all my darts centered on the board still locomotive around the establishment, I turned to Damon and brushed my hands together as if cleaning off dust.

"Might I suggest we play pin the tail on the donkey next?"