<em>Thirty minutes? </em>Thirty minutes was *<strong>perfect</strong>!* They were right near where Dean wanted to visit anyway. A quick sprint, aided by the shadows that propelled him along as a streaking pace, took him to the wide building and past its unaware guards in a matter of a minute. He was inside and among the people not long after. When he saw the young woman swaddled in robes, body covered with a foot of thick woolen covers, Dean smiled a cherubic smile. Unlike the other rooms in this place – better than steel cells with small slats for the movement of waste and food at the base of the doors – this one was lavish, with silk curtains over the barred windows and ornate wooden furnishings.<br/><br/>It was the room of a prisoner princess.<br/><br/>He approached, no longer making effort to keep silent. When she saw him, eyes gummy and sleep-starved, her mouth opened in an O of fright. “Are you death, come to take me away?” she asked, voice cracking.<br/><br/>Dean paused, canted his head to the side and considered. “I can, if you’d like,” and then slid forward again, pressing both hands against her mouth, collecting a little line of spittle that had pooled on the girl’s dimpled chin. He rubbed both of his hands together then, like he was trying to wash the girl’s saliva into his skin.<br/><br/>“I’d like that,” the girl rasped, eyes closing. “I want to visit my parents again.”<br/><br/>Dean considered the girl’s request, how it wasn’t in his nature to give anyone anything. But his knight had given him quite an allowance and the girl’s gift to him was worth significantly more than a little snicker-snack. So, feeling generous, he did it. Knife into the brain. Instant death.<br/><br/>Never say that Dean does not have a generous soul.<br/><br/>Walking out of the building, Dean let his hands flicker out, caressing the two guards. They didn’t notice the touch, or the lines of black that flowed from the caress. Moving down the darkened road, Dean found several soldiers huddled about, talking over recent events. Dean moved close and lunged among them, singing a tune off-key, letting his hands caress faces and limbs.<br/><br/>“Sod off!” one of the soldiers said, kicking Dean in the ribs and shoving him down the street. Obligingly, Dean tripped forward and stumbled back up the way he’d come, toward the docks. Once he was out of sight of the guards, he went erect again and checked his hands. All gone. Ah, well. He’d probably done enough damage. Behind him, the two men standing outside of the plague sanitarium coughed.<br/><br/>Turns out that Shadows, being dead, are immune to almost all manner of diseases and plagues. That ability, unfortunately, does not negate the toxins that they deliberately pick up. Add that to Dean’s mildly enhanced abilities and how far he was from his Knight and….<br/><br/>Well, needless to say, the Vizier would have a lot more on his plate in the morning. If those soldiers spread it to the rest, the shit was going to get real bad, real quick. The thought made Dean titter and wish he had more of the stuff to spread around. So pleased was the man that he wasn’t really paying much attention as he walked boldly down the street, headed toward the docks – easy prey for someone looking for him. Not that Dean was ever easy prey, mind you.<br/><br/>10 minutes left.<br/>