Hunt [Open]:

[Geist (DELETED 6525)]

After Marcel's first, unsatisfactory (but hitherto magical) meal -- the escaped cat from apartment 6B (Marcel lives in, as you may have guessed, if you've been paying attention, apartment 5B, crushed between the thin walls of moaning 4B and meowing 6B) -- he is ready for his second.

His first meal has somewhat relieved the convulsions in his aching gut, but has not quite staunched the insatiable, proverbial need-to-feed.

Marcel, driven by the need for relief, accompanied by his shame, his empty stomach, and a black ski mask he's clutching in his left hand, steps out into the dull slap of the night and tries to summon enough crazed ferocity or blank stupidity to push himself into the hunt.

Unfortunately, his ability to actively muster either is nil, and he bobs down the stairs, instead, stricken with mounting anxiety and quiet desperation.

[Zodiac]

The hunt was a glorious thing. Well, at least some have told her that much. Personally in her view, a 'hunt' was a competition of sorts. The prey had just as much chance to win as the hunter did, but that was not the case in the night feeding games her kind played on these streets. If by some chance the prey won, they would never survive long enough to brag of it. Sour grapes with attitude she would call it. The little mystic kept a lot of her opinions to herself nowadays. Most of her kind simply did not wish to hear them anymore.

In truth, it didn't really upset her at all.

In the rare moments she was forced to hunt. To enjoy a meal au natural and such, patience was the winning element. She was like a shopper in a very large produce section. Inspecting quality, choices, comparing values, the deal of the day vs the newest arrivals. In truth, all of that was simply who was being careless. Mastering the hunt was a matter of common sense, which explains why so many of her kind were always being caught in the act of feeding. She found her 'prey' and followed calmly, waiting for the right moment before she flowed up upon them from behind, gracefully drew only what she needed and then spun away. Leaving the 'prey' to run off into the night none the wiser. She kept walking. Licking the hints of her meal from her lips. Her great hunt was done for this night, barring any injuries or calls to use her very blood to accomplish something out of the ordinary. Her mind shifted to more pleasant pursuits as her feet began to take her in the direction of the malls.

As she walks along, she spies a curious looking soul making his way down some stairs in front of the building he emerges from. She stops and cocks her head for a moment as she watched. Somehow, the entire scene reminded her of a child who had just been dared (or even 'double dog dared') into doing something he obviously did not want to do. He started off with grim determination as he began to descend, but by the time he had almost reached the street she would swear he was ready to explode in the grip of some kind of panic attack. She leaned against the lamp post and watched closer now. With a look she could tell he was one of 'her crowd' but his actions suggesting hew was either very young, was totally clueless about how things would be now for him, or was dragging so much emotional baggage with him still from life. Sadly she shook her head as she took it all in. Could a vampire actually explode from a panic attack? She had seen her share of strange things since being turned herself, so such a thing would be more of a OH! moment rather than a real surprise.

[Geist (DELETED 6525)]

He's convinced he's in the market for cats. Big cats, small cats, fat cats, thin cats. Cats, cats, cats. The first meal he had was a cat, so the second being a cat makes sense to him. He's sheltered by how safe the cat had been. All he had to do was tell one, little lie to, "**** off. I'm trying to concentrate," cover up his heinous, despicable murder.

He's convinced he's going to completely ignore the throbbing hearts of the people around him. People are not food, he tells himself, and he almost believes it.

By the time Marcel Geist hits the street, he's putting a cigarette -- one of the few things, he's discovered, that does not make him puke -- between his lips and trying to light it. The first attempt is a failure. The second attempt gives more success, catching the edges of the tobacco and the white paper. The third attempt gives him fruit. Smoke billows around his jaw.

He continues clutching his black ski mask in one beat-up hand. Between you and I, I think that walking around with a black ski mask clutched between your busted knuckles is, to say the very least, rather incriminating.

As he tosses the black ski mask into the bushes, the other hand fumbles, but does not drop, the cigarette.

He's shaking, but he isn't sure if it's apprehension or the temperature.

Marcel Geist is being watched.

"I'm what?" he mutters to the air.

Being watched.

"Who's watching me?"

Some goth girl across the street.

Marcel, alert, stops watching the sidewalk to lift his head and blindly look around.

To the left, Marcel. No. Your other left.

He stops walking and stares dumbly in the direction of the girl who's watching him. His cigarette keeps burning.

[Zodiac]

Now he was staring at her.

Normally stares didn't really disturb her at all. It came with the trade to be so outlandishly noticeable that people could not help but take notice of you and wonder why. Be is the darkness of the goth types or the confusion of colors from her Romany roots. She had to stand out.

Except when she didn't want to. She had froze like a statue when she noticed the unusual man charging out and down for what ever quest he apparently has set himself upon, only to run out of gas near the bottom of the stairway, yet there he was looking directly at her. Her general opinion jumped a notch or two. Despite the quirky body language and such, the man was somewhat perceptive to pick her out so easily in the darkness. That suggested intelligence or blind skill. Either one a cut above the norms she had found in this place.

His cigarette continued to burn away, despite the fact he was not enjoying it. Was she so disturbing of a sight? Upon closer inspection she realized she had seen this one before, but where? Ah, now she remembered. That little dive she took a rest in one evening. Everyone smoking up a storm. Yes, he was there. Along with the younger man and the old gentleman whose inner light was slowly blinking out. Four shots! Another item she recalled. This man drank four shots and played a game of self torment of 'how long can I hold them down and pretend they don't bother me' or something equally masochistic in nature.

Maybe he was not so intelligent, but truly perceptive at least.

The mystic gently turned about to reveal herself totally now and stood smiling at the man. She placed her palms together and inclined her head to the man as was her habit of greeting, then touched her temples and gestured back at him before reaching her thoughts out and whispering softly to his mind.

"Hello there,"

She kept smiling and left her hands in plain sight as she started to walk across the street to join him. Slow and calm. He looked still primed to explode and she certainly didn't want to add to his anxieties in any way. Once across she stopped just out of his reach and looked up at him-still smiling.

"Are you alright? You look like you could explode at any second right now." she kept her mindspeak soft and consistent.