((ooc: this post does end up in Demaitre, I promise!))

The harsh metallic thump of a docking ship caused Johann’s pen to slip, smearing the ink across the page ever so slightly, as if the page were completed in a hurry. Cursing silently, he neatly finished the page he was writing, waited for the ink to dry and closed the journal, slipping it behind a nearby crate. It wasn’t much of a story, he mused, but it had given him something to do when he’d had enough of rifling through cargo (and picking out a few choice items for himself, to make settling in a little easier) and kicking rats across the hold. Smiling to himself he slipped the pen pack into the side pocket of his rucksack, and strolled lazily over to the bay door.

There had always been some elements of his vampiric existence that Johann had found difficult to comprehend. One of them was the remarkably heightened senses- he had not breathed in over a century, yet he could smell things no living man would notice. At this moment in time he could smell brackish sea air, the same wretched stink he’d had to endure for the past God knows how many hours. There were other things, though… A distinctive smell, rich but rustic, which he presumed was the natural odour of Canada and… yes, the slightly ferrous, altogether unpleasant smell of human sweat nearby.

The bay door creaked open, heaved quite forcefully by a rugged, stout man who presumably had more reason to be here than Johann. He was slow, though- his movement languid, even for a mortal- and before he even had chance to adjust to the darkness of the hold Johann caught him by the throat and pulled him face to face, as close as he could stand, his predatory eyes fierce with malice.

“You’re filthy…” he hissed “And grotesque. But you’ll do.”
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Johann tossed the gory larynx onto the body of its former owner. He found the mess a little distasteful, and altogether impractical for what he had intended to do tonight, but the bloody ape would have certainly screamed otherwise. The claret mess on the floor gurgled slightly, and he gave it a sharp kick in the side for good measure. It’d shut up soon enough… it’d lost most of its blood, one way or another, and would soon die an agonising death. The chuckling vampire wiped his mouth and his hands clean on a dustsheet, and slipped out of the open door, off of the dock, and onto the unfamiliar streets.

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It didn’t take him long to find a cab, and he paid the driver more than twice what he had asked for. The money was of no use to him, and he was quite sated for tonight- this was as close as he ever got to a good mood. Stepping out onto the sidewalk of his new home, at least for the time being, Johann sighed. So this was Demaitre? On the surface, it didn’t seem like much- another carbon copy town plastered onto the face of the planet to support the ever-increasing primate population. Still, it wasn’t the architecture he’d come for. Hopefully, the nightlife here would make life (or whatever it may be called) a little more interesting. First thing was first, however- finding his bearings, and then finding a place to stay.

With a smirk he briefly contemplated what might happen when the crew found the mess he’d left for them in the cargo hold of that damned ship, but he didn’t dwell on it for long. With one last look back the way he’d come, he set off purposefully down the street, determined to get to know this place as soon as possible.

Johann, he mused, they may write books about you yet.

Itzcoalt was in a fine mood this evening. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but he assumed it had to have something to do with his excursion earlier this evening. Hours prior, he’d woken with a damnable thirst and fire in his veins. Dressing, he’d gone out and found himself a lovely little bookworm to toy with. The corpse with the mousy brown hair and thick glasses was probably still stretched out dreamily over her inexpensive couch before two glasses of wine. The thought made him feel a tad giddy, but the only sign of it on his face was a smooth, secretive smile. The Ishak member did not let anything more than this cross his face.

Exiting the cigarette shop, he fumbled about with the packet, before pulling the paper-bound poison out into freedom. The smell of it was almost painfully disgusting, but the Aztec didn’t care. Far from being addicted, he smoked as a way to unwind. There was only one thing that he was completely addicted to, and that was blood. Judging by the walls of the apartment he’d just vacated, he’d certainly gotten his minimum amount tonight. Nothing like finger painting, eh?

Poor woman hadn’t stood a chance. Itzcoalt had seen her around before, which equated to the fact that he’d stalked her several times waiting to see what the kitten did next. Most nights, she bought some dinner and went home, curled in front of the television or a huge book. Truthfully, he’d almost given up that she’d do anything even slightly interesting by the fifth day of watching her. Then, something unexpected but oh so amusing has occurred. He’d followed her, bored, until she’d come to the last place he’d ever expected her to go: a BDSM club. He’ d laughed out loud, that rich voice like the cacao beans that would go on to become chocolate. After that, he’d just followed her in. He was the top, of course, and she hadn’t been able to resist him. She’d even suggested they go back to his house to talk a bit.

There hadn’t been much talking. Itzcoatl was the ultimate top, and as such, he didn’t believe in safe words. The most the little kitten had been able to mutter was a small shrill sound that would have turned into a scream had he not taken that opportunity to rip out her heart.

Oh gods, that moment had been wondrous. It had taken him back to the sacrifices he’d seen as a boy, and the thrill of the battlefield as he’d became a man. He’d drunk all the life’s blood he could get from the sacred – if not a tad torn – organ before leaving. All the careful watching, the boredom, it had all been worth it in the end.

Now he walked down the street, puffing merrily on the poison that was a cigarette. There was something unnatural about his walk; something too primal for this modern age. It had the fluid grace of a big cat, but the subtle intimidation of something that had no name. His hair was loose today, flowing over his shoulders and curling slightly at the end like materialized shadow. All in all, he looked like someone dangerous; someone you’d hate to meet in a dark alley, but someone that had sex appeal to spare. Whether this was all intentional or not was hard to say. If it was, Itzcoalt was damned good at hiding it. If it wasn’t… Well, that’s almost worse, isn’t it?

Forward he walked, clad in black pants that clung to him like a second skin and a bright red shirt. The general message he put out? “You want trouble? I’m it.”


((OOC: Hope you don't mind that I joined with my less than action-filled post.))

Johann marched with determination down the street, keeping a silent and intensely amusing tally of how many drunks and vagrants he’d managed to send sprawling with a well placed ‘accidental’ shoulder barge tonight. He never stopped to answer their irate retorts… never looked back, even… but with a little luck one of them would try something eventually, and he loved nothing more than an excuse to gutpunch a local.

He let his mind wander idly as he stormed down the sidewalk. This move, he considered, could have been better planned. I haven’t a clue where I’m headed, I know noone here, and there could only be a few hours of night left. I could be doing this…
There was a clattering thump as another more-than-tipsy beggar hit the ground, cursing under his breath.
…back home. Still, the air’s nice, and the people seem remarkably docile. It’s not the worst place in the…
A change in the atmosphere made Johann’s skin crawl. Something wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. A subtle shift had occurred, and it left him feeling quite threatened, his heightened instinct for self-preservation screaming at him to duck and cover, but he was not so easily cowed. He carried on regardless, but his uneasiness wouldn’t lift, and he had no idea why. Unless, of course…

Oooh… scheiss.

He heard the crunch of bone on bone just a moment before he felt it. He span on his heel quite involuntarily and stumbled backward, his entire body tensing in a predatory spasm that left him coiled so tight he may just snap. Eying the lithe, tan creature in front of him tentatively, he smiled in a most disturbing and animalistic fashion, the mutilated side of his face not quite catching up with the good side, and observed in silent reverence. The creature that stood in front of him was quite physically magnificent. It reminded him more than a little of a graceful, but altogether brutal wild cat, and Johann was fascinated. This was certainly no gin-swilling tramp, as the spreading ache in his shoulder would testify. It was no newly blooded whelp, either. Unless he was most unfortunately mistaken, Johann had just caught the attention of his first- and potentially last, he fretted- Demaitre vampire. Still, he was just obnoxious enough to test the water with this one- if he had a vicious streak, the physical contact itself would probably be enough to secure Johann’s ticket to Hell. No harm in having a little fun on the way there, eh?

“Want to watch where you’re going, hm?” he snarled, still grinning maliciously.

Lets see what manner of beast these Demaitre vampires really are.


((OOC: No, of course I don’t mind! I’m chuffed to have a reply!))