May only those who would burn, behand, or brand a pickpocket the only kind to peddle mushrooms around the night market? There is no point in asking, for the conclusion has been reached. Without good cause, Mayerling refuses to use violence. Nor does he wish to rely on intimidation, particularly when he cannot seem to lie.

Trench truly is a small town. Anywhere Mayerling goes, someone pegs him as a recent arrival. Such a close eye everyone has on their piece of the pie. As befits a vampire, Mayerling shrugs. "So what if I am?" he asks, letting out a sliver of vampire arrogance. Night and its market doesn't scare him.