The Diary Room. (Closed)

[Andre D'dary]

In a room above The Last Days tavern a dim light is burning and the window is open a crack, despite the lashing rain outside. If one were to venture outside on a night like this, and just happened to be carrying a stepladder for some obscure reason, and felt like climbing to see into ths window...they would be presented with what, to the casual observer, would look similar to the aftermath of an urban war.

Pieces of parchment and various books litter every surface in sight, as well as covering the floor almost completely. The bed is not so much a bed as a mattress with grand ideals and insane ambitions. It must also be noted that instead of curtains, this window is blocked out by heavy shutters of solid wood with not so much as a thin crack in them.

In one corner of this somewhat untidy room, is a desk and the light source. This corner also contains a hunched figure that goes by the name of Andre.

Andre looks up and stretches. He casts a glance at the clock and sighs deeply. After scribbling a last few words into the book in front of him, he puts his pen down and closes it emphatically.

He slides his chair back and lifts himelf out of it, accompanied by the cracking of his knees, denoting the sheer length of time he has spent sitting there. He yawns and stretches again. A few more stretches, and a couple more choruses of crakcing, later and he makes his way over to the window and shutters it. There is a hypothetical muffled thud as our hypothetical spy hits the concrete outside.

With a brief snort, Andre throws a coat over his shoulders, pushes his feet into his boots and makes his way down into the tavern. He is greeted witht he usual assortment of human and undead scum that frequents this place. He makes a mental note to save up some coin and move out of his room into slightly better lodgings.

He pushes the door open and strides out into the rain of the City. Taking a deep breath he stalks off into the night to feed, his coat billowing out behind him in the breeze.

[Andre D'dary]

Trudging through the City streets through the wind and the rain Andre is forced to think. He has been wandering half the night and still no sign of much prey.

"Just another night," he muses "Same as always. Nothing, and then you turn the corner and...ah."

Right in front of him were a group of humans. Actually, group isn't quite the right word. Mob would suit them better. The word 'mob' conjures up images of pitch forks, scythes and flaming torches. After a brief look around, Andre noticed that there were pitch forks, scythes and flaming torches.

Andre froze. So did the mob.

For a few precious seconds, the two sides just stood, open mouthed, and stared at the other. Time seemed to tick by at a snail's pace. And then with a cry, the mob started forward with the inexorable pace of a glacier. The inexorable pace that seems to scream "I might not be moving fast, but if I catch up to you, you're screwed".

Andre turned and ran. And he ran. And for good measure, he ran some more.

Dodging down some alleys and side streets he flew back into his rooms like a whirlwind, gathered up his few belongings quickly, threw a few coins at the barkeep and ran out of the door as though a lynch mob was on his tail. The irony of this was lost on the good patrons of the tavern.

He had no idea where he was going to run to. But that wasn't the problem. He could work that one out later. Right now his main problem was what he was running from and he knew exactly what that was. It was sharp, pointy and made of wood.

He ran.

[Andre D'dary]

Andre skids his way around a corner and legs it down yet another alleyway, lugging his suitcase behind him.

Stopping for an unneccessary breather, he is undead, Andre ponders his current situation ruefully. After some more pondering, he takes a seet on his suitcase to do some serious thinking about how he was going to get himself out of this mess. What he needed right now was a sidekick. Someone he could blame for being stupid.

With a vacant expression on his face, Andre reaches into his suitcase and pulls out a sock. He places his hand into this sock, and starts to use it like a puppet. After a few seconds thought, he calls his new friend David.

Eyeing David suspiciously, as though he might betray him at any moment Andre proceeds to blame everything on him, and to generally have a go at him. The poor guy. Only just called into existence and already being opressed. David bites Andre's nose.

Muttering obscenities under is breath, Andre ties a rock around David's neck and throws him off of the nearest bridge into a small pond.

From his waterery abode, held down by the rock tied to his wrist, Andre decides that maybe he didn't really think through the destruction of David too well.

[Andre D'dary]

Sitting on the bottom of the pond, Andre is forced to think about some of the more important questions in life. Such as how he forgot that David was actually his own hand. Right now, that was a very important question, especially as a frog was attempting to get intimate with his foot. That was a pressing concern. He reaches down and brushes it off with his spare hand.

Utilising his teeth and his other hand, Andre unties the rock from his wrist and, leaving the accursed sock on the pond bed, floats to the surface.

Wading back to the road, his clothes drenched with stagnant pond water, Andre spies his suitcase still standing on the bridge rail. A stroke of luck indeed. Running up the path towards the bridge he wonders what to change into, and where he should do the changing. He decided that his frog costume would be a bad idea as it wasn't exactly inconspicuous, and settled on a less extreme combo.

Taking his suitcase by the handle, Andre wandered back off into the night in search of lodgings and a towel.

[Andre D'dary]

As he walked, Andre pondered his lot in unlife. So yes, he is married to a gorgeous little vampiress and he loves his family. He has a fair ammount of coin in the bank, and his arsenal is none too shabby either. But oddly enough, right now none of that is comforting. What would be comforting would be some dry clothes, a comb, a deep bath and possibly a nice little human on the side.

Suddenly Andre remembered what it was that he had originally come out for. He still hadn't fed.

Stowing his suitcase in a handily placed bush, he ran around the road madly in an effort to dry off some. Bizarrely enough, his antics had a duel effect. At first, he began to dry off. Later on, he began to attract a small crowd. A small crowd of humans, no less. Throwing a quick glance around him, he leapt at one of the nearest humans and tore out his throat. Dropping the corpse for later, he moved onto his next victim.

"It is amazing how one's breeding and composure deserts one in the face of food..." he muses to himself, sucking the crimson blood from one slender finger.

Looking around the street he is in, surrounded by corpses, he spies a glassblowers down the road.

"Oh, how fortuitous!" he exclaims, "My night is definitely looking up"

Working quickly, he recovers his suitcase from the bush and procedes to break into the glassblowers and remove several containers from their shelves with devilish speed, before returning to the street that has become a slaughterhouse.

Holding the ragged wound in one man's throat to one of the bottles, he collects the scarlet nectar, whistling a pleasant little ditty to himself.

He moves around the other bodies in a similar fashion, until he is content that he has collected as much as he is going to get.

Stowing the bottles of blood about his person, he meanders off into the night a considerably happier vampire, and still whistling that pleasant little tune.