Things hadn't quite turned out as Eoin had planned. He'd originally thought it would be easy to simply go back out into the country and carry on living as he was accustomed to, sleeping in derelict barns or disused sheds, maybe even finding a few of his fellow vampires and having a proper place to lie down. Not that he necessarily needed it, since his nature prevented him from ever really having to sleep comfortably. He only needed to get somewhere before sun up, and then leave the rest up to fact that he tended to virtually shut down once he'd found somewhere dark enough to lie (or sit) down in.
But it seemed that, for now, he'd have to make due with whatever rudimentary provisions he could find for himself. Or at least, he had to if he wanted to find anyone he knew. So far this week he'd gone to three different locations where there used to be other vampires - a manor house in Sherwood, an old summer camp a few miles from Aberarth, all of which had been co-opted and warded against Muggles at some point, and all of which were inhabited by at least one person he knew. But he seemed to be out of luck. The manor house now had posh-looking wizards living in it and the camp had been largely burnt to the ground.
Because of that, Eoin had spent the better part of the past few days wandering around the countryside looking for any signs of people he knew. That is, except for one night when he'd stayed in London, if only to eat. Though he was perfectly capable of hunting in the country, it was less of a hassle to find someone alone in London. This time it seemed like he'd found a drunken foreigner, at least, that's what the contents of the man's wallet told him (all his identification seemed to be in French). Of course, why he kept the wallet was a mystery - the Aurors weren't going to come after him and now that he had a wand he could thankfully clean out the bite, so there wasn't much point in making sure he was unidentifiable.
Maybe he'd just taken it on a whim. After all, he didn't have much right now and was spending his waking hours going on uniformly pointless ventures, so maybe taking a Muggle wallet somehow fit into his current circumstances. Maybe it meant he was becoming more attached to the city, and now he was collecting rubbish like all the other people who lived on the streets. That was depressing to think about. And he returned here every night. The idea of becoming a Londoner made him sick to his stomach.
He rationalized all of this by telling himself that he came back to the city every night because there were more places to hide before the sun came up. He'd have to scout out wherever he planned on staying, and with the summer fast approaching he had less and less time to work with. It didn't help that Muggles seemed to have a ludicrous obsession with tearing things down and building new things, so very few of his former hiding places were still around. It was frustrating, but staying in this bloody, stinking city was one of his best options.
And as options go, his hiding place in London was not as terrible as it could have been. It was largely dark, no one bothered him, and no one had yet stolen the disgusting duvet he'd found on his first night in the streets (it never hurt to cover oneself). It was outside a restaurant, but no one had yet bothered him. Until tonight, of course. He awoke to the wind on his face and someone apologizing. A wizard. It had to be, unless he'd dreamed casting that Disillusionment charm. Still lying on his side, he carefully pulled his wand out of his trousers (one of the better ways of hiding it from thieves, so long as he remembered not to sit up immediately) and sat up slowly. "Ah...what're you sorry for, lad?" he asked.