A lot of planning must have gone in to this gala, he observed as he walked slowly from painting to painting in the newly opened art gallery. He had lived in the age when innovation and art became to thrive and flourish throughout the world. He had the opportunity to watch some of the world's most famous rise to fame and fortune and occasionally even work with them. His work never made it to the galleries though and he made sure to keep out of any spotlights. It wouldn't do to have to attend parties during the day when and have to decline every time.<br/><br/>This one was for one of the newer styles, or at least new for him. He had lived under a rock, relatively speaking, when it came to art in the past several years. He didn't quite understand this one, but he gave the artist credit where it was due for being able to give the splatters of paint a deeper meaning.<br/><br/>Lazarus knew he could do better though, and perhaps that was his problem. Speaking of problems, there was one now. His hunter, his because he was sure he was the only she was stalking. She wouldn't dare try to strike him down now, not in font of all these people. Perfect opportunity to start his game. He slipped through the crowd, blending in with them. Dressed rather casually for such an event in a white button up shirt, a dark vest (undone though) and dark pants, he was sure she would lose him for just a moment. Just a second was all he would need.<br/><br/>He emerged from the crowd just in front of her, to give himself a good look at his purser and to let her get a good look at her quarry. He was tall, with dark hair, but strikingly bright blue eyes set into a face framed with his dark and slightly curled hair. Taking only moment to commit her face to memory. There was no action she could take without looking like a murderer in this place; just as he had hoped. He stepped forward as he took a small white envelope from his vest pocket and put it into her pocket. "Happy Hunting," he whispered. As he disappeared back into the crowd. The note had been written rather hastily; he hadn't planned on writing it at first, if this one worked as well as he hoped, he planned to get a little more poetic with them.<br/><br/>It read, or so his memory could recall:<br/>"The Hunter becomes the hunted.<br/>A classic saying that describes us perfectly, don't you think?<br/>How about a game; For the thrill of the chase?<br/>I'll admit now, I grow tired of being chased,<br/>And I'm sure you grow tried of chasing me.<br/>At the diner, just down the street, the one with checkered awning,<br/>I'll leave your first clue."<br/><br/>He would have to use a back exit now, to make sure he wouldn't be followed. Lazarus had also hoped that his huntress wouldn't show up and he could take one of those artists into a darkened hallway and have a bit of a snack. It seemed as though that wasn't to be and he would have to wait a while before he got a chance. To the diner he went, to drop off the first of many clues, underneath the pepper shaker in one of the booth seats.