More than a Drink. [Bastian]

[Quoth]

He woke to stillness. Total and complete stillness. It was surreal, like waking up in a movie just after some cataclysmic event that changed the very face of society. Like there was some type of indescribable energy lingering in the very air itself. Quoth couldn't help but think to himself that -something- was going to happen tonight.

Of course he had no idea what that something might be, so he went about starting his night normally. After a quick shower he stood before his shared closet, staring at the array of clothing on his side of the closet. He shook his head at himself, realizing that once again he would need a new wardrobe. Half of the things hanging in the closet were so badly shot up and blood stained that he couldn't for the life of him figure out why he even bothered having them washed. A slight smirk played on his lips as a moment later the answer hit him.

Tabitha. Of course he had, had her wash them. She hated it. That smirk twisted into a sickly sort of grin as he scooped up his cell phone and unlocked the device. His thumbs scrolled over the screen, picking out his thralls contact info and then typing out a quick message.

~Those clothes you washed. Totally unwearable, eh? I am leaving them with your things, see to it they are destroyed.~

No immediate reply was forth coming, which wasn't really a surprise, so he set the mobile down and returned to the closet. Quickly he set about removing the ruined clothing from the closet, tearing each article from their hangars and tossing them at the bed. It only took a few minutes, but he was left with a near empty wardrobe. His gaze quickly scanned over what was left. From their appearance, they were articles he had purchased in an attempt to to round out wardrobe, but had never actually gotten around to wearing.

Casual tee-shirts. Hoodies. Jeans. While most people would view these as practical, comfortable clothing... For Quoth they weren't good for much. Spending so much time hunting, prowling the sewer systems, and getting shot and cut at, those fabrics just offered no protection. He was about to give up, go back to pile of clothing on the bed, and try to find something semi-salvageable when he was once again aware of that odd sort of charge lingering in the air.

The killer, usually so quick to action, hesitated. He looked from the bed to his closet, all the while trying to identify that strange quality to the world around him. With a resigned sigh he turned his back on the bed, and began combing through what was left of his wardrobe.

He felt odd pulling a plain white t-shirt on. He couldn't remember the last time he had done so. Faded blue, loose fitting boot cut blue jeans and heavy pair of black construction boots joined the ensemble. He stood quietly in front of the web cam mirror display his wife had set up. Aside from finding the giant, ripped body being displayed back that he always thought of a stranger's, he couldn't help but feel like a normal person.

The killer reached back into the closet, plucking out a Seether hoodie, with the band's name displayed on it above a skeletal hand flipping the bird. Pulling it on and then brushing out his hair, he gathered up the clothes to be trashed and left the apartment. Walking the halls of Lascivious Legacy, that sense of charged possibilities only grew stronger. Everywhere he turned he was met with the quiet echo of his own foot steps. Even when he stopped by the room Becky and Tabitha shared, he met no one. The killer shrugged, he figured Becky was manning the wedding shop. Tabitha... well she was probably avoiding him, which was well enough. He dumped his bundle of clothing on the young woman's bed.


The weather had warmed up considerably... granted it was still hovering just above freezing, but he had expected to at least run into some people hanging around Cherrydale. Instead he was met by silence. Even the woods surrounding Lascivious Legacy appeared to be relatively quiet. Bypassing the city transit he eyed the man hole cover he usually used to enter the sewers, but he never moved to remove it. Somewhere deep down he knew this night wasn't meant to be trudging along under the city. Instead, he crossed the street to Grey's Saloon. Not that he planned to go in, but it was where he often kept his Honda Valkyrie hidden.


The night became a blur of back road country streets and wind in his hair. At first he thought the roaring rumble of the six cylinder engine he straddled was drowning out the silence of the night... but... soon enough he realized it was just replacing it. The stillness around, while intriguing at first, was quickly becoming oppressive. Only eerie in the sense that he could not shake it. Finally giving in, he turned the motor bike further into the city.

Eventually he found himself at a red light that he could actually be bothered to stop for. He recognized the district as Redwood... but the fair grounds... He hadn't been there since he was a kid. The Killer laughed over the guttural rumble of his bike. Nostalgia. All this strange energy over a need to connect back with the world over a sense of nostalgia. The light turned green, and he hang a right to park his motorcycle at the Riverwood market before setting off on foot towards the Silverlight Fairgrounds.

[Bastian (DELETED 5260)]

Bastian wasn't much for the solitary life, and yet, here he was, alone. It had been only weeks since he ran off from his family (oh the freedom of being 18), and he managed to wind up hundreds of miles away, sharing a fire in an old oil barrel with a quiet homeless man. He liked the quiet company, but was severely judgmental of the other man's appearance. He wore ragged clothes, too big for him, stuffed with newspapers in between the layers to keep warm. Why then, did he not strive to make his life better?
Bastian, on the other hand, had a pocket full of crumpled-up cash, ready to spend on a motel or anything he desired. He often slept in motels, but decided the weather was too good this night to bother paying for a night's stay. He was saving up. For what? He wasn't quite sure... but he knew his life was about to change, drastically.
Without a word, he turned to leave the alley. The homeless man simply said, "Take care." Bastian nodded. He appreciated the fact that he didn't pry. He was 18 for god's sake. He was an adult! He could take care of himself... Look at how successful he was so far!
Bastian hesitated, feeling the wad of cash in his pocket, and withdrew a $10 bill to hand to the man. To his surprise, the stranger refused.
"Come on, you need it more than I do right now."
"I only take from those who's lives are on track."
Bastian was startled at the comeback. His life was on track. He felt offended, but somehow... filled with gratitude that he kept his money. Bastian grumbled a little bit and left the alley.
He walked out of the alley, illuminated by the moon and street lamp above. His hair was shoe polish black with bright highlights, styled up and out like a lion's mane. His appearance was extremely rebellious, all black, long-sleeved jacket and pants covered in buckles and zippers. His well-maintained nails were painted black to match, and he donned a collar around his neck with a dangling silver star, similar to the one tattooed on his lower right stomach. He loved stars. Stars were a sign of illumination in the dark, wishes come true, and destiny. He cherished the stars, holding on to the childish fantasy in life in hopes that one day, his wishes would come true.
But what wishes? For change? For independence? He already had those, but he craved more out of life. Something... dark. He longed for admiration, for a connection with others through truth and success.
Which reminded him of the crumpled posters in his pocket.
He made his way for the fairgrounds, hearing a concert in the background, but he had to post his quota before indulging in earthly pleasures. It was his goal. To reign truth in the city. This is what brought him here.
Vampires were real.
He took the miniature staple out of his left pocket and unfolded the poster.

http://vampiresinhr.wix.com/theyrereal

He admired his work for a minute. He loved computers, web sites, hacking. Anything to do with transferring data was his true environment. He took the poster and stapled it up, but he felt something in the air as he stepped away to look at it. Something... ominous, and dreadful.
He had only two posters to go. Let's get this done and have some fun, he thought. I have to finish this.
He made his way towards the local parking lot, posting one more flier on a burnt-down shop with boarded up-windows and broken glass all around. People would want to look at the spectacle, he thought. There was no better place to grab attention.
As he turned the corner, he saw him from the corner of his eye a man dismounting a motorcycle. He was tall, extremely tall, and had a menacing aura that sent shivers up Bastian's spine. He wanted to withdraw, but was lured by the dread emanating from this unknown creature.
Maybe just a little closer, he thought...
He dropped the stapler in awe and sneaked towards the man, taking advantage of the shadows. He took care to hide his hands and his face in his jacket collar, for his skin was fair and bright in the moonlight.
Maybe just one more loot for the night... I can taste it. He inspected every pocket, readying his hands to slip in and out.
As soon as he was within a few meters, he dashed with all he could might and lunged his hands in and out, slick like a fish. He bumped the man with his shoulder, hoping to stagger him.
"Sorry!"
He looked down and burst into the fastest run he could, making for the fair grounds. He could enjoy the concert while taking shelter in the crowds, he thought. This was a magnificent night, but why did he feel so... terrorized?