Blaize was scouting.
There were numerous people he had spoken to in regards to a business venture and though it was a risky one given the current climate, there were ways that it could be sold. A declaration of peace and goodwill, even if Blaize’s own intention was, ultimately, selfish. The mystic suffered from a hunger he was reluctant to ever satiate; the guilt that plagued him with every swallowed mouthful made the blood taste rancid, wrong. But the guilt was less if the blood was taken from a willing source.
So why not seek it? Buy it from willing donors in order to sell to vampires at a competitive price. Vampires were known, now. Due to the actions of a few they were receiving a bad reputation, and feeding was becoming harder. But feed they must. If humans were to approach willingly, if they were to give their blood to feed the vampires of the city, then the vampires would not have to buy from the black market. They would not have to take from the hospitals. They would not feed from unwilling victims on the streets; there would be less accidental death.
And perhaps, then, those who killed mercilessly, because they wanted to, those were the ones that could be found and punished, locked up, somehow, if vampires could be locked up. Surely, if they were all to work together, some kind of accord could be reached? Lofty hopes for a small business plan, but Blaize clung to it regardless.
First, he had to find somewhere to house the business; a shop front, somewhere respectable. Somewhere people would be willing to go. He’d wandered up through the city from the University, where the studio was, which would take him through the slums and out into Swansdale. He was in the midst of dismissing these streets and these vacant lots when a shout echoed across the street. A man, telling someone to stop. Blaize believed it was some other person’s altercation; he himself did not need to stop.
So he kept walking.
Two seconds later there was a fleshy thud and a searing agony as a bullet lodged itself into Blaize’s shoulder.
”…the****…” the blonde cursed vehemently, turning to face his attacker. He even lifted his hands in question. What the hell had he done to deserve a bullet?! Sweet **** all, and that was no lie.
”What is your pr—“ he started, but only earned another bullet, this time to his torso. Losing blood was not what he needed right now. The best thing he could do was to run toward his attacker, rather than away. Random energy was thrown at the soldier, who became overwhelmed by the barrage of thoughts that suddenly overran his mind. Blaize tackled the guy to the ground, holding him there with a knee to the chest.
Blaize didn’t want to kill him.
But, he doubted the soldier would see reason…
There were numerous people he had spoken to in regards to a business venture and though it was a risky one given the current climate, there were ways that it could be sold. A declaration of peace and goodwill, even if Blaize’s own intention was, ultimately, selfish. The mystic suffered from a hunger he was reluctant to ever satiate; the guilt that plagued him with every swallowed mouthful made the blood taste rancid, wrong. But the guilt was less if the blood was taken from a willing source.
So why not seek it? Buy it from willing donors in order to sell to vampires at a competitive price. Vampires were known, now. Due to the actions of a few they were receiving a bad reputation, and feeding was becoming harder. But feed they must. If humans were to approach willingly, if they were to give their blood to feed the vampires of the city, then the vampires would not have to buy from the black market. They would not have to take from the hospitals. They would not feed from unwilling victims on the streets; there would be less accidental death.
And perhaps, then, those who killed mercilessly, because they wanted to, those were the ones that could be found and punished, locked up, somehow, if vampires could be locked up. Surely, if they were all to work together, some kind of accord could be reached? Lofty hopes for a small business plan, but Blaize clung to it regardless.
First, he had to find somewhere to house the business; a shop front, somewhere respectable. Somewhere people would be willing to go. He’d wandered up through the city from the University, where the studio was, which would take him through the slums and out into Swansdale. He was in the midst of dismissing these streets and these vacant lots when a shout echoed across the street. A man, telling someone to stop. Blaize believed it was some other person’s altercation; he himself did not need to stop.
So he kept walking.
Two seconds later there was a fleshy thud and a searing agony as a bullet lodged itself into Blaize’s shoulder.
”…the****…” the blonde cursed vehemently, turning to face his attacker. He even lifted his hands in question. What the hell had he done to deserve a bullet?! Sweet **** all, and that was no lie.
”What is your pr—“ he started, but only earned another bullet, this time to his torso. Losing blood was not what he needed right now. The best thing he could do was to run toward his attacker, rather than away. Random energy was thrown at the soldier, who became overwhelmed by the barrage of thoughts that suddenly overran his mind. Blaize tackled the guy to the ground, holding him there with a knee to the chest.
Blaize didn’t want to kill him.
But, he doubted the soldier would see reason…
