Was it odd she found this music so comforting? Frankly, everything about this was odd. She had been dead for longer than this region had had a government, and she had come her to drain half of the blood content from a particularly troublesome man who seemed to be collecting a fee simply for not hurting people further. And here she was, a twitching cadaver set on vigilantism, pausing in said errand to admire the band in this dive bar.

There probably was something stranger going on in San Francisco this evening, but it might be hard for others to find. She had a talent for finding the strange, however. Perhaps it was because she could never be away from it.

But she'd spent a great deal of energy entertaining herself with the instrument she'd seen some foreigner or other playing in Hong Kong, and still toyed with her own copy with some frequency. The larger model this man in the bar seemed to be having a great time with fascinated her as well. It seemed the piano still reigned supreme at such functions, but the fingers directly sliding across strings seemed somehow more visceral, more real to her. It was not unlike the difference between fighting with weapons, or fighting with bare hands. She could see that the strings were as the bare flesh of one's opponent, open to be manipulated directly without the interdiction of steel, and she quite enjoyed such a metaphor.

Ah, but she was losing sight of tonight's real purpose, wasn't she? Drawing her mind fully away from the band, she saw that her quarry was slipping out the back for some reason after merely a few hours and a handful of drinks. So, the odd, pale, invisible woman rose and made her way to follow him.

Did the whiskey in his blood taste, perhaps, rather like an accompaniment to the still audible music in the distance?