A Question Of Hospitality.

Hospitality is important. In the old times, people understood. Now, sometimes they have to be reminded.

Late evening. Suburbs of urbanian jungle, shadowy area, a building with neon letters and some roughly painted sign, almost invisible in darkness.

Inside it's a sleazy bar, dark and shabby. Fat unshaved bartender, pool table, ancient TV, dirt and stains everywhere. Heavy cloud of smoke, louder than possible music.

Most of the visitors are tough-looking massive men, dressed in black and such, more because this universal colour doesn't require cleaning than out of fashion. Few women present look capable of crushing your head if they sat on it by chance. Mind, not by chance of sex, rather a chance they didn't notice.

A man vomiting under one table, another one kicking the pinball machine, and screams from the toilet almost unheard cause of the tasteless trash music coming from the huge speakers.

Door opens, and a man enters. A gentleman, dressed in black, but exquisite kind of it. Raven hair, green laughing eyes, handsome face with expression of will on it. Defenitely a brave one to enter such place, so he takes naturally that the usual hum of voices ceases until every last person in the bar stares at him. He unfastens silver rose - for a moment every pair of eyes lights with understanding when they see the rose - and takes off his long cloak. Lazily looks at the blackboard full of lousy handwriting in chalk and spelling mistakes.

- Beer and sausages, - he says and sits down at the free table, but deliberately choosing position to have wall behind and face the crowd. The crowd frawns and closes in. The man puts his feet on the nearby chair and yawns in a pretty arrogant way.

Finally a huge byker, seemingly made by the apprentice sculptor out of granite, moves to the table and leans on it heavily.

- You're brave or stupid to come here, Toreador ! Or haven't you seen the sign ?

The man raises a brow.

- You don't look like beer, and I ordered cooked sausages.

It takes a couple of moments for the rockman to realise what was said.

- You're dead, Toreador ! - he roars and grabs ... tries to grab the man. Instead he finds his fingers caught in the painful lock that makes him listen to the stranger's words.

- Well, well, - the man gives a disaprooving look. - Now get out of my sight until I'm still kind.

The byker is thrown back, and the stranger smiles widely. Byker on the floor suddenly stares at his face.

- You're not one of us ! - he shouts.

- Apparently not, - the man replies.

- Imposter ! He's a mortal ! - the byker announces when the crowd looks at him in silent question.

- This I doubt, - murmurs the stranger, but no-one hears.

The byker jumps up. He roars madly, and shows his long fangs in what he consideres most scary fashion.

- Did I miss something ? - asks the stranger more himself than anyone, since the crowd rushes at him.

Suddenly there is a broadsword in his hand, with some beautiful silver pattern on the blade. It swings, it dances, it brings death.

A few moments later the gang backs away and the stranger is alone among the dismembered bodies.

- I wonder what happened to hospitality ?

- Burn him ! - someone cries and fire leaps from their hands. The stranger looks a bit surprised, but raises a hand in the scaly silver glove and all fire stops in front of him. When the smoke clears, a careful watcher can see a fading round pattern similiar to that on the stranger sword and remindig a kind of labyrinth they post in papers.

- Now I'm angry, - the stranger says and walks forward.

The bar visitors mix in panic. Some try to fight, some to flee, but all end up dead. The stranger looks around and points his sword at the bartender - the last and sole survivor.

- Tell me one thing and I'll let you live.

The scared man gulps loudly and nods.

- Is it Earth ?

- Wha ... - the bartender starts but stops as the sword moves to his neck. - Yes, sir. Earth.

- So I thought, - the stranger frawns. - And what are you guys then ?

- We're ... err ... vampires, - says bartender stupidly. He's used to be the hunter. The stronger one. Now he's scared for his life.

- Hmm, what do you think ? - mutters the stranger and turns to leave.

As he reaches the door, the bartender gathers enough courage to speak.

- And who are you, sir ?

The man stops for a moment and then shakes his shoulders as if to say why not.

- Corwin of Amber. And tell your kind to stay away from me.

He puts his long cloak on, and silver rose glitters in the light of the moon.

Hospitality is a nice tradition, is it not ?