welcome to the dark side, we've got cookies

Bastien was finding not needing to sleep anymore was truly one of the best things about his new form. He could fill his time with purely art, writing, thinking, making, creating-- whether he was doing this to occupy his mind from other things was something he did not care to consider, but he was sure to fill all of his new time with plenty of activity. When this night fell, he was painting. Great swirls of colour on a dark backdrop, moody and invoking his journey in this place, a flash of brilliance amongst the darkness of the imaginations of the townspeople. The knock at the door came as a surprise. He did not often get nighttime visitors (as much as he would have loved them) and was immediately suspicious. Warily he went to the door, cracked it open. There was still paint on his face and fingers, a clear hand-smudge down his shirt. He liked to think this would make him look like a true artist, not a child who got too deep into the paintbox. The woman before him looked stern. He didn't recognise her, but he did smile a little at her outfit (his kinky thoughts were still very much active). "Ah...hello, Signora. To what do I owe this pleasure?" Bastien Start by admitting from cradle to tomb Isn't that long a stay Life is a cabaret, old chum It's only a cabaret, old chum