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Later that night, Silastrix opened her eyes. Gentle snoring from the hallway told her that Farrow was sleeping, though somewhat fitfully, as if he were having an unpleasant dream. She sat up on the couch and rubbed her eyes. The digital clock on the television's VCR said 2:26 A.M.
Lovely, thought Silastrix. She tried to listen to the snoring, to see if she could hear another sleeping person. It seemed it was still just her and Farrow. So much for 'I'll be back soon,' she thought grumpily. Where was Smythe? Silently, she slipped off of the couch and her bare feet touched the floor. Might as well check on Farrow while I'm up, she decided.
With soft, padding footsteps, she walked to Farrow's door. It was open only slightly, and she saw that while tossing and turning in his sleep, he'd kicked off his sheets and blankets. Silastrix frowned and walked inside. His shadow cast by the dim light in the room lengthened and stared at her. It was a good deal taller than she was, matching Farrow's height of 6'1. It lowered its head and stared at her eyes in curiosity, as if wondering why she was up so late. She glanced back to Farrow. He was quite pale and his expression was fearful. His shadow followed her gaze and looked to him almost in sympathy, hissing silently. She tip-toed to his bed and fixed his covers back up, trying to sing a calming lullaby as she did so. (Fairy Tale by Omnia)

Child of the clear, unclouded brow, she began,
and dreaming eyes of wonder
though time be fleet,
and I and thou, are half a life asunder,
thy loving smile would surely hail
the love-gift of a fairy tale.
thy loving smile would surely hail
the love-gift of a fairy tale.
His breathing began to even to a slow, restful pace, while the shadow listened to the lullaby, swaying lightly as if mesmerized by the lyrics.
I have not seen thy sunny face,
nor heard thine silver laughter.
No thought of me shall find a place
in thy young life's hereafter.
Enough that now, thou wilt not fail
to listen to my fairy tale.
Enough that now, thou wilt not fail
to listen to my fairy tale...

Farrow looked less disturbed and began to sleep a little more soundly as she trailed off the song from there. She regarded his watchful shadow with a nod, then turned and left his room.
She walked to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of milk. Slowly, she drank her beverage, wondering why she awoke at that hour. For some odd reason, her mind kept turning back to the elf she'd come to know in Malindor. Severo. The dragon hybrid smiled and recalled when they'd first met in the Dragon's Breath Tavern in the Merchant District. She'd only recently returned there from a long journey and stopped at the tavern to meet new people, as well as entertain the public with her tales and songs. After revealing to him who she was, telling her past as if it were the history of a different woman named Simus, he'd taken a liking to her. Of course, he saw through her tale, that it was actually her and not some character named Simus she was speaking of. Instead of judging her by her past actions, he offered her a place to stay for a while. Their relationship grew stronger as the weeks passed, until suddenly...
Silastrix shook her head. What's in the past is over. But still, there was a little bit more to it than that. However, she wasn't ready to speak of it to Smythe or Farrow, as she promised that she wouldn't tell anyone yet, that she would wait a little while. After all, there was a reason she was reluctant to leave Malindor.
The dragon hybrid gulped down the last of her milk and rinsed out the cup. She glanced out the window, expecting to see millions and millions of stars, as she would've seen in the other planes she called home. But all there was was smog and cloudy skies. At least the moon was out, a glittering crescent in the air.
The apartment door opened and Smythe waltzed in, humming a tune. (The Girl from Ipanema by Frank Sinatra) Silastrix resumed the stance of an angry wife, crossing her arms and pouting at her tardy friend. "And where were you all this time?"
Smythe grinned apologetically. "I've gotten all we need, didn't I?"
"Yes, you did... but I smell whiskey on your breath." She perked an eyebrow, awaiting his excuse.
He merely shrugged. "So I went out for a drink, too. But this living thing is only a recent event, and frankly, I've missed alcohol. Besides," he said, jabbing a finger at her and mimicking her tone in a good-natured, joking manner, "why are you up so late?"
Silastrix rolled her eyes at Smythe's silliness, though she couldn't hide her grin. "Don't know, don't ask. I just woke up a little while ago."
"Couldn't sleep without your woobie?" he remarked, keeping his joking tone.
"Excuse me?"
"Your woobie! Don't you remember it? When you were still sixteen, the guild went on a raid and you stole a stuffed animal. It was a wyvern, and you nicknamed it Woobie." He laughed. "Gods, you loved that thing to pieces."
Her eyes widened with realization. "Oh, yeah! Good old woobie!" She giggled at the memory.
"You know, I still kept that thing through all these years when you rejected it," Smythe told her, putting his hands in his pockets, his fedora slightly lopsided. "You can have it back if you want it."
Silastrix made a face, shaking her head. "No, I couldn't possibly... I'm way too old for my woobie..." But her eyes still glittered with longing despite her bashful excuses. He rolled his eyes, seeing right through her facade, and went to his room. He returned to her, having fetched the timeworn Woobie, and thrust it into her hands. "Don't deny the woobie!" he joked to her. "You might hurt his feelings."
"What feelings? It's a stuffed animal!" She held it by its tail and looked it over as if she were embarrassed to have owned it. But once Smythe left the room, she immediately squealed with joy and rolled around on the couch with it in her arms, absurdly like a cat wrestling a cherished toy mouse. "Woobie woobie woobie! Mama missed you, yes she did," she cooed under her breath so Smythe wouldn't hear. But unfortunately for her, he was right around the corner, watching the scene with an amused expression and trying his very hardest to stifle his laughter. It's kind of funny to watch a dangerous ex-criminal fall to pieces for their woobie, he mused to himself. Especially when it's Silastrix, the notorious Pitch Dragon of the Guild of the Black Rose.
Silastrix felt a beam of sunlight warming her as she rolled over in her sleep. Was it morning already? She opened a green eye and closed it again, giving a draconic yawn. Definitely morning. Knowing Smythe, if she let him be, he'd likely sleep in until noon. But where was Farrow? He normally woke up as early as dawn to meditate and pray. Both men were still sleeping at 8:07 in the morning. She rose from the couch and stretched, her claws extending and retracting slightly as she did so. Time to get up and start the day, no matter what chaos they'd somehow get themselves into. With Smythe around, chaos was inevitable. But that's what was fun about hanging around him.
She picked out a long black jacket that stopped just above her knees and a simple white t-shirt and denim jeans, paired with combat boots. She remembered constantly being told that she had no fashion sense whatsoever, but she didn't mind, as long as she liked what she wore. And certainly as long as it wasn't a dress.
She began with pestering the ex-undead bandit to get up and shower, ignoring his pleas for five more minutes. Then she gently shook Farrow awake. He did not look well. His normally tan skin was a little paler, and there were dark circles under his bloodshot eyes now. Silastrix felt a little guilty to wake him up when he needed rest, but they needed to get ready and get on the move before it was too late.
Minutes later, both men were clean, up, and dressed. Today, Farrow was in a blue long-sleeve shirt with a black vest, and black dress pants. Smythe tossed on his fedora, a white button-up shirt and khaki pants, and a trench coat over on top of everything. Breakfast was eggs, bacon, and granola bars, though eaten quite hastily.
"Okay. So here's the plan," Smythe started, wiping a bit of egg off of his face with a napkin. "We catch a boat from Long Island to Africa. We'll get a couple of camels or horses or whatever they have there, and ride to wherever Coil's mask is."
Silastrix appraised Smythe with an upraised eyebrow. "There are so many holes in that plan that I can't even begin to tell you all of the ways in which it could go wrong. Like for an example: it's really not wise to just wander the desert aimlessly. The thing covers ten percent of Africa, and ten percent is quite a lot of land. Dehydration could kill us all. And we don't know if the mask is buried in the sand, or in someone's house, or even in..." she gestured helplessly, "gods, maybe even in King Tut's tomb."
Farrow nodded in agreement. "She's right. Do we know how we'll begin searching? A mask in a desert is like a needle in the world's largest and sandiest haystack."
Smythe shook his head. "You guys think I didn't think of all of this? I do have a plan. And I did go out and prepare for this kind of journey. And King Tut's tomb, Silastrix? Really?"
"It was an example," was her reply. "And what's this plan?"
"Simple. Farrow, what's your knowledge of shadows?"
He rubbed his five o'clock bearded chin thoughtfully. "From my own, I know quite a bit. It can steal other people's life energy, it feeds off of strong emotions, and it's weak to positive energy. Why do you ask?"
"Isn't it true that shadows can sense the presence of other souls nearby?"
He thought a moment, and smiled. "Actually, yes. And each soul has a unique signature. That's quite ingenious."
Smythe gave a self-satisfied smirk. "Naturally."
"Then what are we waiting for?" Silastrix said with a grin. "Let's go!"