For talldarkcreepy

[born_inblood]

“Dexter Morgan.” A pause and then he rolled his eyes, looking down at the two heavy-duty trash bags still on his boat. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” With a groan of frustration, he ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. "Fuck." He grabbed one of the bags -- a leg, by the size and weight of it -- and threw it overboard. And

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[talldarkcreepy]

It was harder for all monsters in the modern age. Even in Druitt's time it had become difficult. Fewer people were afraid of things that lurked in the dark and fewer still were willing to brush off questionable deaths to unspeakable things loitering in the shadows. People still believed in monsters, just that all monsters were merely demented people. Druitt knew better.

Druitt also happened to be a monster. One who liked to stick around to see the aftermath of his work. That dark part of him, that parasite that feasted on his highs and lows loved to see it unfold. It loved the chaos and the thrill of being so close to that very chaos. John had to be careful, though. It was much easier to spin a web of lies in Victorian England. Here and now, there was DNA and more accurate record-keeping. Still, it didn't keep him from lying to the police. He told the first officer there that he knew her, that she was a cousin of his. That, at least, would warrant him staying longer, talking with the cops, learning what they found out.

[born_inblood]

Some monsters just liked to live in the shadows. He saw what happened once when people discovered his secrets. Some secrets just needed to stay secrets, and they needed to stay where secrets belonged. Sometimes, he would love to be like the rest of them, but he couldn't. He needed to keep up the facade, which meant hiding his hobby completely

[talldarkcreepy]

One thing John was good at -- other than murder -- was affecting emotion he didn't actually feel. Effectively enough that he deceived law enforcement officials and those nearest and dearest to him at the time. Being singled out in the crowd didn't startle him. He wasn't the most nondescript of people. However, he had a part to play. Druitt lifted a hand to his face -- mostly to hide the smirk forming -- and made a choked noise. He was, after all, a bereaved family member of this poor, unfortunate soul. John cleared his throat as if to collect himself (though it was more for Dexter's attention) and cast a pleading look at those nearest.

"Please," he murmured in a voice filled with quiet outrage. the simple word was clearly accented. "A little respect."

[born_inblood]

Affecting emotion he didn't actually feel. Something the two had in common. Dexter wasn't an expert yet, though. He still had a lot to learn about mimicking certain aspects of his human counterparts. That much was clear by the look on his sister's face. He'd done something wrong. He missed something that he shouldn't have. His brows drew together and he looked genuinely confused. Debra very openly gestured to the taller man behind him, who he'd used as his model. Dexter turned to look up at him, taking in the grief-stricken face of the creepy man. 'Wow. Not much better than eye-level with his shoulder. I hadn't really noticed before.Dexter actually had to struggle to keep his discomfort from shining through. It was no longer because the guy creeped Dexter out, but because grief just confused him. It was the one thing he couldn't mimic, and it was the one thing that he didn't bother trying to make it seem like he understood. He knew that he would get it wrong. Grief just confused him. It made him uncomfortable. It was just something