[Vampire Log] One of the Hunted
Who: Daedalus Yumeno gaveherwings , Eric Northman vampingitup , Raphael Sorel draculalite , Franz d'Epinay hisdiscretion , Amy Sorelmakeumypet & any other club staff who feels like jumping in?
When: Monday Evening, August 15th
Where: Fangtasia Bar
Summary: Promised protection from the club's owner, a vampire's past victim tries to locate his unidentified bloodsucker.
Warnings: Vampirism, nightlife, probably some swearing
Better instincts should have told him that this was a terrible idea, extending his trust, walking into a potential predator's trap. Which was really the only reason his reservations had broken down into letting someone at least know where he was headed for the evening. That had turned into allowing Franz to come along, because he was good at knowing lies in a heartbeat, and because he felt admittedly safer with a partner who cared for him, watching his back.
Still, Daedalus had been quietly haunted by not knowing who, these past few months. He'd been able to flush the February attack all but out of his mind until so much talk of Sanguinarians had once again come up on the newcomer network- and then he'd had recurring nightmares lately, being ravaged at the neck against a wall in some service stairwell (which Franz still might not have been entirely convinced wasn't a psychosexual fantasy!)
It was not. He remembered some things about that night in sharp clarity, and one of them was the aftershock, losing blood, and the hazy feeling that he might die, if not for his colleague Dr. Xavier's quick attentions. He wondered, often, who it was that had dared to steal units of donated blood from the hospitals stores- he'd never gotten a name or even a very long, definitive look at his attacker's face, before he'd been bitten. There were a few things that still stood out- his accent and his old boots, the way he'd sounded almost defensive of his own struggle to survive.
(""This world is a cold place, monsieur. I take what I need." )
A prickle ran up his spine, and he pulled his higher collar closed, grateful that Kurt Hummel's fashion sense had at least afforded him a bit of protection- the generous splashes of warm orange color to his clothes still struck him as far too loud, too gaudy, too much attention, though Kurt had assured him it would bring out the best in his eyes. His bangs were pushed up off his forehead, tousled loose with a bit of gel. The nursing staff had cooed over the "new look", adored it on shift last night (or so they told him) but Daedalus felt out of his element, and too exposed, and not keen on getting a 'makeover' again.
At least he was a little less recognizable, at first glance, as that slightly stuffy young doctor from Skye Medical. Which meant that if his stairwell vampire was one of Fangtasia's new clientele, he'd stand a chance to locate him first, if he kept his eyes peeled, and his mind alert and above the jitters.
He could swear it smelled of blood in here, around the entrance, waiting for Mr. Northman. It made him anxious, and a little sick to his stomach, staying near to d'Epinay's side. He was a little worried about the future, for himself and Franz. Franz had been cagey, brooding, not as enthusiastic for much of anything lately. Perhaps he was only tired. But perhaps this hunt for an attacker had set him on edge too- Albert, after all, had also been a victim.
When: Monday Evening, August 15th
Where: Fangtasia Bar
Summary: Promised protection from the club's owner, a vampire's past victim tries to locate his unidentified bloodsucker.
Warnings: Vampirism, nightlife, probably some swearing
Better instincts should have told him that this was a terrible idea, extending his trust, walking into a potential predator's trap. Which was really the only reason his reservations had broken down into letting someone at least know where he was headed for the evening. That had turned into allowing Franz to come along, because he was good at knowing lies in a heartbeat, and because he felt admittedly safer with a partner who cared for him, watching his back.
Still, Daedalus had been quietly haunted by not knowing who, these past few months. He'd been able to flush the February attack all but out of his mind until so much talk of Sanguinarians had once again come up on the newcomer network- and then he'd had recurring nightmares lately, being ravaged at the neck against a wall in some service stairwell (which Franz still might not have been entirely convinced wasn't a psychosexual fantasy!)
It was not. He remembered some things about that night in sharp clarity, and one of them was the aftershock, losing blood, and the hazy feeling that he might die, if not for his colleague Dr. Xavier's quick attentions. He wondered, often, who it was that had dared to steal units of donated blood from the hospitals stores- he'd never gotten a name or even a very long, definitive look at his attacker's face, before he'd been bitten. There were a few things that still stood out- his accent and his old boots, the way he'd sounded almost defensive of his own struggle to survive.
(""This world is a cold place, monsieur. I take what I need." )
A prickle ran up his spine, and he pulled his higher collar closed, grateful that Kurt Hummel's fashion sense had at least afforded him a bit of protection- the generous splashes of warm orange color to his clothes still struck him as far too loud, too gaudy, too much attention, though Kurt had assured him it would bring out the best in his eyes. His bangs were pushed up off his forehead, tousled loose with a bit of gel. The nursing staff had cooed over the "new look", adored it on shift last night (or so they told him) but Daedalus felt out of his element, and too exposed, and not keen on getting a 'makeover' again.
At least he was a little less recognizable, at first glance, as that slightly stuffy young doctor from Skye Medical. Which meant that if his stairwell vampire was one of Fangtasia's new clientele, he'd stand a chance to locate him first, if he kept his eyes peeled, and his mind alert and above the jitters.
He could swear it smelled of blood in here, around the entrance, waiting for Mr. Northman. It made him anxious, and a little sick to his stomach, staying near to d'Epinay's side. He was a little worried about the future, for himself and Franz. Franz had been cagey, brooding, not as enthusiastic for much of anything lately. Perhaps he was only tired. But perhaps this hunt for an attacker had set him on edge too- Albert, after all, had also been a victim.