The city was no bigger then New York, no more dazzling then Los Angeles, nor more impressive then Miami, and no more historical then the great New Orleans, yet, the vampire Loki found something irresistibly fascinating here. It was like the city never ceased its movement; always there was a buzzing of something electric, magnetic. The ebb and flow of a constant feel of magic was here, coursing through the air and caressing his skin lightly. This city was full of power, and among this magic there was an ancient magic, several sources of it, somewhere. And it was Loki’s intentions to find it, to study it, to understand it.

But that was not his intention tonight. No. Now he was only going to walk the streets, learn the city before trying to learn it’s magic. To watch how the moonlight kisses these streets and the shadows linger in its allies. And to see what night time creatures crawl from their dark crevices to wander in this city of Bayfield.

Loki was simply dressed. He is many, many decades, even millenniums, old, yet as time changes, his speech, manner, nor dress fails to change with it. He keeps up with time and changes as time changes. He is wearing, tonight, a pair of regular slim fit blue jeans, hugging his strong legs. Light blue denim. His polo shirt is short sleeved and a deep green to accentuate lovely pale green eyes, the sweater he wears over it clings to his figure to show that he is both thin and built strongly and is low cute at the neck to allow the top of his polo shirt to be seen. The sweater is black, looks expensive. His hair is plaited down his back in a long, tight braid, pulled from his face to show his pale skin, a clean line of neck and jaw. He’s hansom, because he is a vampire. But he was nearly as hansom, if only more worn, as a human, but he can not recall that. His skin is nearly ghostly white, though he’s fed this evening and left the body covered and hidden so that he may properly lay the soul to rest closer to the morning. His fingers are long and pale, calloused on the insides, but it’s smooth. His nails look like glass.

In the dead of the night, a child moves from shadow to shadow. Her golden curls framed around her porcelain face. Baby blue eyes gazed upon everyone that passed through the night. She has been here in this city for no more than a few days and has already begun to assess the comings and goings of others through the night. There was something about this city that had drawn her here. She knew this the moment she stepped a small foot upon its soil.

Tonight she is wearing a lovely little dress made up of pink satin and lace. Pink and white Mary Jane shoes upon her small feet. And let’s not forget the pretty pink satin ribbons tied in her lovely golden curls. Her porcelain skin shines in the night. She’s not yet fed and is out on the prowl. A child out in the night. A child of the night. A child vampire. Hungry. For mortal blood. She searches.

After a while of walking through the shadows, she finds an empty bench to sit upon. Her body so small that her feet don’t even touch the ground once she’s sitting on the bench. Baby blue eyes search through the darkness before she makes herself entirely comfortable and ready to begin her ploy to draw her next meal to her. Such a coy little thing. A vicious huntress under the innocent look.

She begins to make soft sounds, like a child crying in the night. She cries softly. She’s obviously not really crying though. Merely working on drawing a poor unsuspecting victim to her so that she may feed tonight. This is what she does. This is what she is. A child of the night. Literally a child…

Loki had heard the soft cries from a street down. And as he drew closer to the sound to investigate, with no intention to attack since he's previously fed, who this child several blocks away might be and why she might be lost, his ancient power began to work. He sensed her and what she was, far before he should have, or maybe those are the wrong words. With his age, this gift, the honed senses, were uniqe to him, casual and normal to him. One of his age without such delicat sense will never grow strong enough. So maybe I should say, he sensed her far before a younger vampire, and perhapes a good many other creatures, would have.

A child in body. It brought no suprise. He had come across a good number of young. Some because they wished for a child to raise, some because they 'enjoyed a childs company' (this meant in the worst possible way).

He drew nearer still and circled her position from a block away from her, slowly spiraling inward towards her until he stood hidden in shadows completely to the most sensitive of eyes, in an ally across from where it was she sat. He would not barge forth clumsily, he would stand back and watch. He knew what it was she was doing. This was her hunt. And he would not interupt.

Her head came up as she sensed she was being watched. Being watched by someone who was not mortal. Eyes narrowed slightly as she worked on pin pointing where he was. "Show yourself..." she called out. Her Irish accent quite thick. Her hunt forgotten about for the time being.

He did not move, but remained where he had been, one shoulder pressed to the wall under his weight.

"Feed Yourself," he replied. There were plenty of mortals near, he could sense them, just as he could sense her. It was only a matter of bringing them to herself. He could do it, but so could she, he knew this.

She slid off the bench upon which she was sitting and took a step in the direction the voice had come from. "I have all night," she responded and continued to stare into the shadows.

He moved. And after only a moments time, the voice rang out from elsewhere. Could she place that accent like he had hers? So many there, German and Norweigen, Roman, Romanian, Russian. He'd been to so many places, left with a little bit of each. But the most heaviest, the most noticable, was the Norweigen.

"I had not meant to interupt."

He was now several allies over, to her left. It had taken him moments to move that distance where it took most minutes.

"Do not toy with me," she said with a deep frown. "Show yourself already. I have lost my desire to feed at that moment." The only accent out of the bunch of his that she was able to pinpoint exactly was the German. The others she had not heard before.

"A vampire does not loose it's interest for blood." He replied in that bitterly lovely voice. And there he is. It seems the shadows ink over him when he steps away from them, showing only half of his face, leaving the other entirly in darkness, letting half of his chest, his arm, shown and the rest to darkness. That lovely, pale green eye shines. He stood a foot and six inches taller then her, short for a man of these times.

"Ah but you misunderstand me," she says with a fake smile upon her pale lips. "I said nothing about losing my interest for blood. I said I lost my desire to hunt for the moment."

She watched as he showed only part of himself show. "Who are you?" she asks as her baby blue eyes don't leave him for a not even a moment. "And what do you want? Did you happen upon me by chance? Or are you stalking me? Wishing ill of me as so many others do when they see one of their own kind in a childs body?"

"Many would not wish ill on you, rather, they hunt your maker." Maker. Not Sire. When he'd been created, the word sire had not been used yet. It was a mortals name, given to a vampires father-part. "I do not stalk you, I do not misunderstand you, and I do not wish you ill."

He didn't misunderstand. It is simply that everything is compacted togather. To hunt, is to seek blood. If you do not hunt, you do not seek blood.

"Ah but you are incorrect," she stated firmly as she sat herself back upon the bench. "Even when I was with my Dark Father, many wished ill upon myself and not him. 'A vampyre such as she is a disgrace. Kill her now. A child has no business being a vampyre.' Those are the things I have heard for many a year." Notice that she said 'vampyre' and not vampire. Where she is from, it is said in the way she, herself, said it.

"Then that is a creature I have yet to study." He replied. "One is not to be made so young because it is more difficult. Of our kind, the majority are solitary creatures, we come and go among eachothers lives, but we do not remain. It is more difficult of one so small to survive alone."

Not impossible, just more difficult. He hasn't moved at all from his position, half in and partially out of the shadow. The moonlight looked lovely on his blond hair and pale flesh. But if the moonlight shone directly down on him to dust silver over his shoulders and face, then why were the shadows so dark over his body?

"They say that one such as myself is breaking the laws," she says as she lets her baby blue gaze drift away from him only enough to watch someone nearing. A mortal. Woman. Perfect.

Her attention is no longer fully upon the vampire still hiding partly in the shadows. The woman walking towards the bench is the childs focus now. She winks in the direction of the nameless vampire in the shadows before covering her little face with her hands. She sniffles softly and the woman walks closer to the bench.

"What is one so young doing out in the middle of the night?" the woman asks the child.

"I have lost my way," the little girl replies. Her Irish accent so very thick.

"Where are your parents?"

"I can not find them. We got separated." Cue the crying from the child.

The woman moves to sit beside the little girl on the bench. The child moves closer to the woman. "I can help you find them," the woman says softly to the child and moves to hug her.

"I would like that..." the child says and accepts the woman pulling her into a hug. The child vampire glances over the womans shoulder towards the shadows where the nameless vampire is still hiding. A wicked gleam in the childs eyes. "I would like that a lot..."

And then it happens. Before the woman is even aware of what is going on. The child sinks her fangs deep into the womans neck and feeds hungrily. The woman didn't even have a chance to react really before the child vampire drank her to the point of near death. She pulls her fangs out of the womans neck. "Looks like you were an even better help..." she says wickedly before returning her fangs to the woman to finish her off.

The child hops off the bench and leaves the womans body there on it and strides across the street. "Who are you?"

"It broke laws that did not exist in the first place," he replied. "They created those laws to make a democracy, to imitate human ways." He sounded neither approving or disapproving. But he also spoke as if he'd never, ever been human. Maybe he hadn't.

Loki had moved again, from the shadows, into the shadows, to a different place. He did not care to watch her eyes when she bit the woman but he had moved to watch the woman's eyes when she was bit. He felt no desire, no lust, no hate for this kill. Only acceptance. The child vampire needed it to live.

And when the other left the body in the street, and moves across to the ally he'd been in, he comes from the shadows entirly. He looks human, in blue jeans and a sweater, all save for his pale flesh. How pale those green eyes were. How glass-like his nails were and how very lusterous his blond braid was. He moved to lift the wrist of the woman, pulled her up, and was holding her in his arms like a baby, craddled against him.

"Do you not respect those who feed you life?" His voice rang out behinde the other, rather then from the ally. He folded the woman's arms over her stomach, turned her face to his chest so none would see her pale face, her lifeless, staring eyes.

She turned and sneered at the nameless vampire. Her eyes narrowed into glaring slits. "No," she stated point blankly. "My Father taught me to be what I am. To be how I am. I respect nothing concerning mortals and their weakness. I am far above them. They are merely dinner." Cocky little brat, isn't she? Spoiled rotten is more like it.

"You are a disgrace." It was a flat comment. He turned his back to her and began to walk, carrying the woman. He did not walk with the grace and elegance of a vampire but rather like a newly made, before they learn their grace. He walked with a rolling gait, like a sailor. Like a warrior. Not like a vampire that he so obviously was.

"In the begining," he refered to his youth as a vampire 'the begining' because his maker was the oldest that he knew of, and if he still lived, he would be nearly nine thousand years old. "We recongnized what humans were. They are desructive and they are lovely. They are not merely food. Without them, you would slowly become insane, your mind displaced and your veins shrivled. Your skin would turn ugly and dull and you would be less then they. Without humans, eventually, you may die."

He was leaving the area now, moving away from her, towards where he'd come. He would put this woman to rest with the man he had fed from.

Her eyes narrowed further. "Hold your tongue fool," she spat. "I am what my Father made me to be. I am what my Father taught me to be." Obviously she is not aware of just how old this vampire is. Watching him walking, she automatically assumes that he is newly made. "Do not walk away from me!" she called after him like the spoiled child she really is.

"My Father has already taught me that we do not need to feed on humans alone," she argued. "There are other things that we can feed from just as well. I do not need humans to survive."

You're being followed by one very spoiled little vampire child.

"Your father is correct. But rats and dogs and pigs do not feed as well, do not satisfy as humans do." He turned partially when she shouted at him not to walk away from her. He turned, completly, to face her. His pale eye narrowed and his lips curled to a slight smile that could be a sneer. "You are an inbred brat who should not have been made. Nor should your maker have been made."

Inbred, he'd called her. An insult. It meant nothing more. He turned his back to her once more.

"If you wish to continue to speak to me, you will follow me. I heed to no youngling. I heed to no spoiled child." By child, he didn't mean her body. He meant her youth.

Oh goodness. "Hold your tongue fool!" she shouted at him as he turned away from her again. In the blink of an eye she was no longer behind him but in front of him. "Do not speak to me in such a way! Do not speak of my Father in such a way either!" She is still not aware that he is so very much older than herself. "Take it back!"

older isn't really the term I would apply to him. Ancient seems right.

"Move out of my path, ignorant child." And, oh my. He didn't stop walking. He continued as if if she didn't move, he would walk right through her, or he would plow straight over her. He said nothing else. He simply walked on, looking over her head and not acknowlegeing her pressance.

If he were not at least older then her, why would he call her 'youngling' and 'child' so often?

She's growing quite angry at this one. Quite angry indeed. It really hasn't connected in her mind about why he's calling her 'youngling' and 'child' so often. Especially not being called 'child' for she is used to being called 'child' by so many that she has come across.

"Ignorant? Ignorant?!" she ranted. "I am far from ignorant!" she shouted as she moved backwards with every step he took forwards. "I can not say the same for you!"

He continued to walk, unphased that she had not moved, unphased that she backed up, remaining in his path without being stepped on or shoved over. He craddled the woman's chilled body against his own, it looked awkward, should have been, the woman was taller then he. But it wasn't awkward at all.

"Hold your tongue. You try my patience, brat." Did he just... O.o call her a brat? Yes, yes he did. He stopped, bent at the waist so that they were nearly eye level. "And that is not good." And he stood and continued to walk.

"You hold your tongue!" she snapped back at him. Her baby blue eyes sparked fury in them as he called her a brat. "Ignorant fool!"


(Gah! It's short!)

"Get away from me pesky child. Is this what my kind today have become?" He questioned no one in particular, and he showed the first hint of annoyance and anger in his voice. It seemed to spark and crackle in the air suddenly. "This is what my elegant, treassured allies bloodlines have created!? Ignorance and Idiocy!"

"And if I don't?" she spat defiantly. She was, of course, refering to him telling her to get away from him. "Who are you?!"

"Then I will burn you with this woman's body," he threatened, though he would never truely do such a thing. There is a difference between murder and feeding. He's only murdered once in his life-span, before he was turned. He didn't think 'who are you' meant his name. "I am a creature who was turned before our kind had a name. I am a creature who took the name Upir before the human word Vampire was ever dedicated to our kind. I am the one that's crept through darkness, studied our kind, their kind," he guestured to the woman in his arms. "I am the one you are causing my annoyance. Now, close your lips and sease to make your babbling sounds." That's who he is, after all. Is he just a little angry?

Her baby blue eyes widened as he threatened to burn her with the mortal woman's body. She took a few steps back and away from him. "You wouldn't..." She took a few more steps back and away from him as she listened to him speaking still. Her already wide eyes widened even more as it finally sank into her little mind that this vampire was much older than her. She dipped her head down slightly. "Forgive me..." she said softly. "I did not know..."

“Would you have treated me much different had you known, young one? Is this how you treat those of your age, those that are younger?” He stopped walking when her blue eyes had grown wide, he stopped when she stepped back away from her. “Are you predjudice, child?” Predjudice against age is what he meant in this case. He looked down of he for a few moments and then his hard green gaze softened just a little. “I would not burn you.” And he began to walk again, cradling the woman.

"I am what I have been created to be," she said in a soft voice. Childish tones once more returning to flow from her pale lips. Her Irish accent never once faltering through it all. "My Father respected no one except those that paid him. I have learned to be the same." She waited until he had walked past her before she turned to follow him at a slower pace.

“Then your maker has taught you wrong.” It was a simple reply, and he paused in step, waiting until she was beside him, rather then behind him. “Your maker has made you typical,” and at a thoughtful pause, he decided he should explain what the meant exactly. “The typical bed-time story creature. A blood-thirsty hunter with no regaurd of human life and no respect for others.”

He turned. “You did not like it when I treated you like you were lowly did you?”

She frowned deeply. It was such an unbecoming look for the child. So not pretty in the least. "He was my Father," she said softly. "I loved him..." Until he disappeared without so much as a good-bye. She was not aware that he had no choice in the matter.

She was surprised when he slowed so that she was moving along beside him instead of behind him. She did not just merely walk. She glided in a sense. Such graceful movement for a child.

“He was your maker.” Not your father. Vampires do not have fathers, nor mothers. Just brothers, sisters, and makers. “Loved. Has he left you?” His own maker had left, as had all other vampires he had ever come across. Some makers left immediately, some in months, some in years, but eventually, he noticed, they all left. Eventually they all became solitary creatures again. He had not been kidding when he’d said that their kind were solitary.

He frowned a little. "You did not like it when I treated you lowly, did you?" He asked again. "Neither do the low." Meaning, your low to me, and you didn't like it. How do you think someone low to you would feel?

Her baby blue eyes narrowed slightly as she tilted her head downwards towards the ground a little. She thought of him as her Father then, and still, to this day, thinks of him as her Father. Nothing will ever change that in her mind either.

"I know not what happened to him," she answered softly. "He wouldn't have just left me like that though. He just wouldn't have..." And indeed he wouldn't have. Poor fool met his death because of one of his whore's.

She still did not answer his last question. Yes. She heard it. Just as she heard it the first time. She just did not answer it though.

He let a soft sound slip his lips, that may have been a sigh but it was so terribly inhuman that it could not even be associated with the term or description applied to the human sigh.

The dead weight in his arms grew colder by the moment and he seemed not to notice as he continued, suddenly moving uphill towards another, lesser street and then towards the outter limits of the city.

"It was the same with my master. Many years we parted and reunited in company. And then, after a few hundred years, he simply ceased to return. After another decade, he cease to exist to me any longer."

She shook her head slightly. “No,” she said softly. “We did not part company,” she objected slightly. “He had gone out to do some errands and never returned home. He wouldn’t have done that. After he didn’t return, I went searching through the house for him thinking that perhaps he was just else where in the house. He was running a sort of business out of our huge home. He wouldn’t have just left that...”

"He could have. My master would not have done such either. But he did." He continued still to the furthest reach of the city and then a little further to where there was the Lorax river, running rough and hard, flowing from the city. Here, there was a tree, one which he'd spent weeks hollowing and digging below. But from the outside, you could not tell.

A number of yards from the twisted tree was another pale body, a man, wearing only his pants. The bite was not on the neck but rather one at the crook of his arm, the other at the opposit wrist. He took the child's woman over and lay her beside him.

"Go gather that bundle for me, love." He pointed at a small bail of straw and dry grass as he neatly aranged there limbs.

“One of his ‘workers’ disappeared shortly after he did,” she tells him as she continues to follow him. She paused and watched curiously as he took the woman she’d killed and lay it next to the other body that was there.

She went and did as he’d asked without so much as a sound. “Do you have a name?” she finally asked as she brought the straw and grass that he’d pointed at over to him.

"I've had a great many names," he replied. He was raising a slight platform over the ground and the bodies lay on it. If she knows her studies at all, she'll recognize this was the way Vikings cremated fellow warriors. He was treating the human's as equal, even if he was a superior creature.

"My most recent, Loki." The Norse god of trickery. He took the bundle from her and spread it over and around the body.

She never studied the ways of the Vikings. So no, she doesn’t recognize what he is doing. She watches him with curiosity as he spreads the straw and grass over the bodies. His name became stored in her memory the moment it passed from his lips. She watches...