The guardsman hides his surprise well as the woman takes his wrist after he turns back. He certainly hadn't expected that. However, he is gracious as the woman steps down the pile of rubble, and a hint of mischievousness flits about his two-toned eyes, those he appears slightly chastised by the woman's words about his calling her uccellino. "I had no desire to insult, mia donna. But is it not true that your visage is as lovely and delicate as a bird, and your voice as pure?"

His cheeks color slightly at having been far more forward than was comfortable for his formal mindset, Casamiro looks away, gazing out over the twilight-struck city. He should not speak so freely, regardless of how distracted his mind was. But she had suggested something. Changing clothing. He looked down at himself in his regalia of orange and blue and snuck a glance over at her, with her battle dress and multitude of guns. Yes, they would make quite the statement arriving in any small street cafe. How silly he had not thought of that. Staring at nothing in particular, he speaks quietly, though clearly. "A change of clothing would be welcome."

She allowed a small smile to creep onto her lips. Nodding her consent to his words - and vowing not to push the apparently uncomfortable subject further - the Irishwoman lands lightly on the only remaining smooth stone, brushing a bit of the loose, powdery grit from her pant's leg. Suddenly, an unnatural tone reverberated through the silence, furrowing the woman's red brow as she retrieved a small silver phone from a pocket.

Flipping it open, and mouthing an apology to the guardsman, she listened to the voicemail left by a voice that could only belong to one man. A slight scowl drifted over her face before turning into a sigh of resignation. Head hanging slightly, she pressed the 'end' button and snapped the phone close, stowing it back into its previous residence.

Gripping one gloved hand tightly, she exhaled slowly once more before dropping all semblance of anger and weariness. Looking back to her companion, she steps forward and offers him a modest smile. "Ah wish for dinner, sir. An ta bae 'onest, Ah don' wish ta bae alone." Oh God, she was so tired, and to be sent on another mission - one Father had strictly forbid her to go to, along with every other Iscariot - so soon only served to remind her how old she had become. Running a tattooed hand through her cropped blaze of hair, Meabh half-laughed. "Is et too much ta ask for yew ta join mae in my quar'ders?"

He noticed her slight change in demeanor as she listened to the message on her phone. She had heard something displeasing, and if his ears did not deceive him, the cause of her discomfort was no one other than the Holy Father himself. Interesting. Casamiro would have thought a man of such stature would have secretaries to do the bidding. Ah well, nevermind that.

He offered the woman a small but warm smile that swiftly melted into indecision as she asked him to join her in her quarters. He recovered quickly, coughed into the back of his hand and then nodded to her, swiftly deciding that her intentions were perfectly honorable and his day had simply been too long to think of it any other way. "It would be an honor, mia donna, to join you for dinner."

A thousand thoughts bantered about for her attention, but with the hard-won ease of someone accustomed to their ways, Meabh chained each one down and continued onward to the Iscariot compound proper. She hadn't looked back yet, too caught up in her thoughts, yet the back of her mind urged her to say at least something to this man. Slipping one hand into the black Kevlar strap crossing her back, the woman leans her head back and sighs.

"Ah apologize if Ah 'ave made yew uncom'forbal. Sometimes Ah do naught think things through." that was all she could really draw up that would perhaps make things a bit less...awkward. The Irishwoman continued on, hoping he would follow as well.

The guardsman followed to her right and just behind, attempting to give her the respect and space that it appeared she needed. Indeed, he was caught up in his own thoughts, a gaily colored ghost walking the streets of dust. This woman piqued his interest in a primal, almost visceral way. This wasn't to say he desired her, but he was a Swiss Guardsman and, as such, was rarely around anyone that garnered more than his slightest respect. To find someone who could think and talk on his level, and actually desired to do so...well that was quite a treat. It was unfortunate the situation they found themselves in was so very dark.

She spoke, and his mind raced back to present along with a puff of hot, dusty air through the street. Shielding his eyes with one white-gloved hand, he chuckles quietly. "You should not fear for my discomfort. I can assure you, most of it is self-induced. After all, I am a man that stands at silent guard all day and all night. To merely speak aloud can be discomfiting."

Meabh smiled at his response, hooking now both of her hands in the holster harness and stepping softly over the graves of so many. This is how it will always be.

------>Meabh's Quarters

[[Sorry for the short post, but I figured we could skip the rest of the walk, if that is alright with you.]]

------>Meabh's quarters

The Piazza di Spagna once more stood in its' former glory, all traces of rubble and destruction in the wake of the Knights assault having been cleared away. Though limited, the local build crews really were impressive when they wanted to be. Despite it only being the early afternoon, not many pedestrians had been passing by recently which allowed for a bit of privacy, something a certain member of the clergy wanted very badly. Heinkel Wolfe, devoted member of the Vatican's darkest agency, sat casually on the edge of the fountain, her long black cassock halfheartedly folded next to her revealing her sleeveless clerics below. Sitting there with a cigarette clenched in her teeth and a newspaper in her hands, she read quietly and crossed one leg over the other. The only sound that could be heard was the occasional chirp of a nearby bird and the constant bubbling of the fountain directly behind her. The headlines she seemed so interested in detailed a rather odd stream of murders in northern Italy. The bodies had been mutilated beyond recognition as if attacked by wild animals, but all signs pointed a human culprit. After all, there weren't many wild dogs that could sneak into an apartment complex through locked door. Heinkel sighed loudly, picking out the tell tale signs as usual. This was exactly their sort of thing and knowing Enrico she'd probably have to clean it up sooner or later. They had been so damn short handed lately it was a wonder she had even found the time to sneak away today.

The cold afternoon air rippled across the world as the sun’s glare shimmered through the passing clouds, looking for cracks in their defences in order to shine brightly once again, spreading it’s misty glow over the plains of Italy once again however, the fight today had not been won, the clouds dragged across the sky as well as the cold chilly wind made most seek refuge within their housing, seeking shelter from the torrential downpour of cold winds and grit, for those that heralded the newspaper in Rome, they would open the page and turn it in blissful ignorance, skimming over the atrocities that the words publicised and only glance for a second at the captions before finding their own interests, those that were bother to read in their fleeting interests would find that the mutilated bodies of citizens rather unsettling before proceeding to turn the page however, not everyone in Italy needed the newspaper to see the news etched upon the corpses of the bodies that have been transitioned into the process of becoming abominations, within Rome was the funeral parlour, located in the darker corners of towns, in the shadows of the cathedral it’s self, hiding it’s naughty secret under it’s tenacious light, the corpses of the dead had been passed into the funeral parlour but not as simply as funeral rights, but something much more behind the works.

“master!, we need to construct smaller coffins, there’s too many missing pieces to fully realize him,” one of the apprentices was taking measurements of the desecrated remains of one of the men that lay on the undertakers table, located in the back room of the entrance. This latest atrocity committed under unknown circumstances had been sent directly to Edward Graves the owner of the undertaker parlour in question, his apprentice was taking every inch of measurement into consideration, his shabby black clothing and workmen overalls were tinted with the crimson blood that couldn’t help but sluggishly creep upon him as even with the utmost care his body came into contact with the remains. Standing above the body on the opposite side of the table to the boy at work was Edward Graves, studying the inflicted as well as ravaged corpse, it’s wounds were not made by any human that he could recall. Graves was a tall man, especially compared to the boy and his blonde hair spiked upwards like that of a lions mane, his blue eyes shimmered like sapphires as they darted up the stiff corpse, no hint of sadness or revolution lay within them however, for this was almost a regular occurrence in his line or work, not just an undertaker either, the eyes darted over the grey tinge of flesh and the bite marks upon the throat, although there was blood left on the corpse it was definitely found wanting in quantity.

‘Well, well it seems we have quite the adventures one this time, it’s undoubtedly a vampire’s work to make this ghoul, but an odd one at that, this shouldn’t prove to be too much of a problem.’ closing his eyes and smiling to himself, he turned towards his apprentice and said to him, “come now, I think your work is done, order the quote for the necessary arrangements, it’s not what I had in mind for the perfect body but the preparations can be complete after the coffin is made, it certainly will be.. Interesting to make that corpse to look pleasing once again, wouldn‘t you agree?” Graves had an influx of these odd customers recently and his conclusion could only lead up to one thing, not all of these were catholic so not all of them would get their burial in his parlour, but the Iscariot knew this and had decided to make the arrangements so that bodies would lead to him, this could only logically mean that he was to do research upon them and find the source of the problem and what they were dealing with.

Discarding with his bloody stained overalls, he dawn his shirt as well as his overcoat, walking towards the parlour entrance, looking around at the coffins on display with open mouths, ready to engulf those that had departed from this world. Graves would only assume that one of the Iscariots would enter his parlour at some point in the day to find out about these bodies, seeking information against their opponent so they could prepare themselves as they saw fit, but Graves had become rather bored these last couple of periods, the Iscariot had been too tranquil ever since the ’incident’ Graves leant over his desk, writing a few notes to himself, all the while his gaze lifted to the door with anticipation, his appetite was growing more and more, “this should prove to be enjoyable, do not disappoint me, vampire.”

When she had finally had her fill of peace and quiet, Heinkel hauled herself to her feet and shrugged into her long cassock. Wadding her newspaper into a ball and disposing of it in a nearby wastebasket, she paused only to put on her signature sunglasses before taking her leave of the bubbling fountain. Technically speaking, Maxwell hadn't actually assigned her to investigate the northern Italy incident yet but there was a very special funeral parlor nearby which received the vast majority of any "unusual" remains Iscariot needed dealt with quietly. As lazy as she could be at times, not even Heinkel could walk away from such a close and possibly crucial lead. It couldn't hurt to drop by for a few minutes on her way back to headquarters and see what the undertakers knew. Even if she didn't wind up being assigned to this job she could hand over a few tidbits here and there to the poor sap who did. Hands thrust in her pockets and another cigarette in her mouth, she navigated the side streets of Rome almost automatically. She knew the city quite well and within a few minutes had made her way to the funeral parlor. Turning the door knob, she swept through the doorway and inside with an almost unnatural grace. Her first sight upon entering was a man leaning over the front counter scribbling out notes of some kind. A small smirk of recognition crossed her lips before her stoic expression returned in full force.

"Guten tag Graves. How's business?" she asked with an obviously loaded question. Graves was a sharp guy, chances were he already knew what she was here for.