The sound of the Requiem changed with every passing night. Sometimes it was the steady, repetitive droning of club music and the chatter of oblivious mortals looking to have a good time. Other nights it was distant car horns carried the wind howling through alleyways where men and women turned out to the streets shiver before the elements.

For Cynthia Weiss, it sounded like rats squeaking in terror and metal tearing through flesh.

Once again the blade of a small, cheap pocket knife pierced the soft underbelly of the rodent, blood squeezed from the wound into an old jar with hairline cracks decorating the top. The tiny drained corpse was tossed in an abandoned box to her side with a wet thud.. She picked up her glass and drank down its contents. The taste was familiar to the nomad, even as it slowly turned bland as it remained separated from a living being. Made it more palatable as far as she was concerned.

The haunt reclined against the wall as she saw the job before her. Only part of the path leading to the old Garbage Pit was cleared and already she was being slowed down by unattended debris and refuse left behind from its previous caretaker. The task ahead of her was looking more time consuming than she had planned and it would not be several nights before she could actually get inside the pit proper.

She had considered getting help from the others that haunted the Necropolis. But Longstreet was deep in torpor and she had doubts Cross was particularly interested in helping the goth move trash around. Then there was Alice who had seemingly vanished. It worried her more than she would like to admit. She found the girl strangely likeable and honest compared to most of the Clan she had met in the past.

Cynthia glanced down at the shuddering cardboard box held closed by an old discarded phone book. All this work was not without some reward reward at least. A small swarm of rats had nested in there. She downed the rest of the jar and put on a old, rubber glove she found in the heap. It was not the greatest source of sustenance, but blood was blood and for now the Beast cared not where it came from.