[Friday evening, after hours]
Living in a place that positively breathes magic, eats it for breakfast, lives off the stuff, it comes as a surprise when you can still be. Surprised. By it. But tonight, not even two days from second advent, or so his little day planner tells him, Lorne gets a surprise of the rarest, most puzzling kind. Opening one of his office windows to let in some fresh, chilly December air, a little something white as snow catches his eye. There's still one single rose in bloom.

Nexus winters - or what little Lorne's seen of it, so far - are mild, sure, but this is stretching it. It's got to be magic. Curiosity piqued, he reaches out to touch, to cup the bloom and bring it closer to catch a whiff of its scent. Magic or not, it's as real as can be, and he can't help but brush his fingers over the soft petals closest to the stem.

But even the most beautiful things can bite, if you're not careful.

"Ow."

Out of reflex, he brings his finger to his lips to soothe the slight burn and suck off the blood, and suddenly he can't help but chuckle. He should know better, but he never learns.

He could say the same about himself in a whole slew of different contexts, and while that line of thought doesn't stop him laughing, it does change his demeanor. Every last little chortle, he quiets down, the wry joy draining out of him.

He never learns. He thought too much of people, of Humans. He always thought they wouldn't be worse monsters than his demonic patrons, and what did it get him? A trashed bar, patrons killed in cold blood and without regret simply because of what they looked like, of what they were. He got enough.

He got a roller coaster ticket, went for a ride and wound up in the Nexus, and he started hoping again; hoping that the people here would be different. In a place where only a few people judge you from first glance, can you expect to be treated the way you want to be? The way you deserve?

He isn't so sure anymore. He always thought it was crystal clear, that he was on the same wavelength as most everyone. Even if he wasn't, he could always relate somehow, even if it took some creative licensing and a whole lot of imagination. But since a week or so back, he isn't so sure anymore.

Fetching a band aid from his top drawer - SpongeBob SquarePants - he patches himself up. He's very much with the not bloodying down his fine, fine pieces of clothing, thank you very much, not to mention there are vampires employed at the school, and leaving behind smudges would be so impolite.

Strange lines of thought often take you even stranger places, and in spite of his most recent mental chain event, he can't help but wonder... It's such a small little think tank, it doesn't even amount to more than the merest little whisper in the back of his head.

Would things be different for him, if he were human? Would people still look at him the same way? Would he be the same guy?

Shaking his head, he goes back to the window to close it, glancing at the white rose with a small smile. "Goodnight, sweetheart," he murmurs softly. "Now, don't let the weather get you down, you never know what tomorrow'll bring. You hang in there."

Inside the office, Lorne starts humming a few bars of Ramblin' Rose. Outside, the lone little white rose glints ever so subtly in the dark.