Walk through the wrong place for long enough and it is just a countdown to the wrong time. It was an art, luring without the use of his majestic appeal and with aggression in mind instead of puzzling attraction.

One thing you could always count on, though, was hatred. People hated each other, and given enough alcohol and time they'd try and show it.

He had done it right this time, he thought, as he acted being in a place he didn't belong nursing a drink for long enough to attract a hateful eye. Thus, he paid his tab and retired.

The alley was clear, he had detoured there intentionally. When he turned, he saw him there - his hateful onlooker. He had beat-down written all over the way he walked.

Anasztaz sank his feet and prepared, in a relaxed stance but ready to snap. As the blow came he was ready to dodge it and throw himself against his attacker in a grasp; climbing his back deftly and wrapping him with his legs and arms.

Grapple

While he wasn't particularly bulky, he was sufficiently agile and strong. The man shook and writhed, trying to release himself from the grasp, but it wouldn't happen. Not till he felt the bite, anyhow.

He was then belly-up against the concrete, looking at the blurry moon, and the strange lite man was standing over him shuffling through the content of his wallet.

"I am keeping this one." Anasztaz said, waving a campus card. "You'll know when and where to come, and then we'll meet again."

"And again, and again, and again..." he added as he walked off from where he came, a bit tipsy from the alcohol in the blood of his victim, but considerably happier.