nolongerhollow: (manic)
Who: Dracula and Donald
What: Donald runs across Dracula in mid hunt, only to discover that San Francisco has grown a cultist problem.
Where: San Francisco, near Pier 39
When: 11:30 pm, late October 2014
Warnings: Violence, creepy stuff, shenanigans

Dracula was getting thirsty. Normally, he could go almost a month without feeding, but he couldn't do that and stay around humans. After a while, the thirst would start to take over his thoughts, to the point where he couldn't hold a conversation without fixating on the other person's pulse and scent. Eventually he would get so desperate that he would stop being picky about what prey he took--and drinking shallowly from a partner would become impossible. That was unacceptable. So when the first pricklings of thirst hit the back of his throat, he deliberately took a night off from his businesses and parties and went on the hunt.

San Francisco was never short on appropriate prey. The crime rate was extreme, pushed up further by the proximity of Oakland, and violent crimes were particularly prevalent in this area. There was always some sonofabitch out there of the right type, plying his bloody, vicious, scream-inducing trade among local innocents. He was optimistic as he flew above the docklands, ears open for the right signals, eyes sweeping the streets below him. "Dinner, dinner. Where is my dinner?" he muttered under his breath as he glided over the rooftops.

An anguished shriek outside one of the hotels caught his attention and he glanced over. A woman in a pale suit was running from someone as best she could in heels. He brightened. "Ah! There you are, my dinner!" He headed that direction. The woman, desperate, turned into an alleyway with an open door to the back of a restaurant. He heard her calling for help--but the guy taking out the garbage took one look at the rather large figure chasing her and immediately ducked inside, slamming the door behind him. Trapping her.

He got a basic impression of her attacker: big, bulky, nondescript dark clothes, hood pulled up to obscure his face. Something shiny in his hand as he advanced on her. Knife? No--a syringe. For some reason the choice of weapon made his skin crawl a little. He growled and angled into a dive.

Unfortunately he was a bit overenthusiastic, and slammed into the man with enough force to send them both flying into a rank of trash cans. The resulting crash and clatter was loud enough to wake half the neighborhood.

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Count Vladislaus Dracula

November 2014

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