Hayate Ishikawa (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} splitimpulse) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} nosuchplace,@ 2009-03-18 15:54:00 |
 |
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sunday: December 23, 2007
Who: Hayate [Narrative]
When: Early Morning
Where: Hayate's Cottage
What: Someone has a vendetta, and has poisoned Hayate . . .
The morning began like any other morning as he woke up from his slumber. He drank in the daylight from his window and cleaned up for the day, getting dressed in clothing suitable for the weather outside. He toned down his appearance today, looking normal with somewhat haggard hair. There were days when he did not feel like putting on a show, and today was one of those days.
When he made his way downstairs, he entered the kitchen and reached for his stored blood. He took care to warm it and poured some into a cup. The blood from storage never had quite the same taste as fresh blood, but sometimes it was all he had to drink. Chris was not around him twenty-four seven, even though he had personally considered her his blood donor — with or without parental permission. Luckily for him, her parents were nowhere around in order to bother with protest.
He drank slowly from the cup, but he noticed immediately something did not taste right. It was not until it breached the back of his tongue and he swallowed it, though. The flavor was off, unnatural; the liquid was watery instead of thick. Something was not right. Hayate put down the glass and leaned forward to smell the inside of the bottle. The scent, it was wrong as well. His blood was tainted, tampered. Accidental? The vampire whirled his head to look around, trying to smell the air of his kitchen, but it seemed normal. He had not been in his kitchen for a while, and no one else had been traveling through it. Vampiric senses tuned in and caught the scent — animal.
Realization settled like a thick knife in his esophagus. Poison. He had been poisoned. No, it was no accident; and he, too paranoid leading the life of a killer to assume this was not done on purpose. It could have very well been an accident, but he did not believe that. This was a vendetta, or vengeance.
Hayate staggered quickly out of the kitchen, knocking over the porcelain cup of blood. It splashed all over the floor in a mess of thin red, porcelain cracking, breaking upon impact. The poison had not set in, but his fear of what was happening did; as quickly as he could, he left his home, and hurried in the direction of the medical pavilion.
Who: Hayate [Narrative]
When: Early Morning
Where: Hayate's Cottage
What: Someone has a vendetta, and has poisoned Hayate . . .
The morning began like any other morning as he woke up from his slumber. He drank in the daylight from his window and cleaned up for the day, getting dressed in clothing suitable for the weather outside. He toned down his appearance today, looking normal with somewhat haggard hair. There were days when he did not feel like putting on a show, and today was one of those days.
When he made his way downstairs, he entered the kitchen and reached for his stored blood. He took care to warm it and poured some into a cup. The blood from storage never had quite the same taste as fresh blood, but sometimes it was all he had to drink. Chris was not around him twenty-four seven, even though he had personally considered her his blood donor — with or without parental permission. Luckily for him, her parents were nowhere around in order to bother with protest.
He drank slowly from the cup, but he noticed immediately something did not taste right. It was not until it breached the back of his tongue and he swallowed it, though. The flavor was off, unnatural; the liquid was watery instead of thick. Something was not right. Hayate put down the glass and leaned forward to smell the inside of the bottle. The scent, it was wrong as well. His blood was tainted, tampered. Accidental? The vampire whirled his head to look around, trying to smell the air of his kitchen, but it seemed normal. He had not been in his kitchen for a while, and no one else had been traveling through it. Vampiric senses tuned in and caught the scent — animal.
Realization settled like a thick knife in his esophagus. Poison. He had been poisoned. No, it was no accident; and he, too paranoid leading the life of a killer to assume this was not done on purpose. It could have very well been an accident, but he did not believe that. This was a vendetta, or vengeance.
Hayate staggered quickly out of the kitchen, knocking over the porcelain cup of blood. It splashed all over the floor in a mess of thin red, porcelain cracking, breaking upon impact. The poison had not set in, but his fear of what was happening did; as quickly as he could, he left his home, and hurried in the direction of the medical pavilion.