(no subject)
He tried hard not to be, but at the end of each day and beginning of the next, Julio Esteban Richter was a paranoid pessimist. Something was going to go wrong and it always going to go horribly wrong for him.
Somehow he always managed to get a good night's sleep though so it wasn't all bad. Maybe it was all the hard work he'd been putting into Barty's hut or maybe it was the fact that he was usually depressed, but he could pretty much sleep peacefully through anything.
Despite this, he woke up that particular Tuesday morning with an odd stiffness in his neck and a deep-seated feeling of dread. A dread that only grew when he rubbed near his throat, wincing almost immeadiately and all but panicing when he saw some blood on the palm of his hand.
"Hijo de la chingada," he whimpered loudly in an incredibly wuss-like manner.
Rictor got out of bed, feeling a lot more weary than he would have liked especially when trapped in a room with a vampire. And, of course, the vampire had the bed near the door! Why, why, why was his life always like this?
Somehow he always managed to get a good night's sleep though so it wasn't all bad. Maybe it was all the hard work he'd been putting into Barty's hut or maybe it was the fact that he was usually depressed, but he could pretty much sleep peacefully through anything.
Despite this, he woke up that particular Tuesday morning with an odd stiffness in his neck and a deep-seated feeling of dread. A dread that only grew when he rubbed near his throat, wincing almost immeadiately and all but panicing when he saw some blood on the palm of his hand.
"Hijo de la chingada," he whimpered loudly in an incredibly wuss-like manner.
Rictor got out of bed, feeling a lot more weary than he would have liked especially when trapped in a room with a vampire. And, of course, the vampire had the bed near the door! Why, why, why was his life always like this?