Week Two: Thursday
Who: Drystan and Abigail Where: Theatre du Macabre When: Thursday, Late
It had been a successful night, but that was often the case. Drystan didn't give his time to ventures that didn't turn out profitable. Either it was the luck of his draw or just the fact that he had several centuries on his side to help discern what would be a success and what wouldn't be... He was far shaper than his laziness often let on. Or maybe that was part of it, he was successful in spite of his laziness. Who knew... that kind of self-analysis was certainly not something Drystan took much part in.
Instead, he spent his valuable time corrupting the innocent and wallowing in sin. It was Thursday afterall. Tomorrow would be rolling around in money and gorging on blood.
This Thursday however was not just an ordinary Thursday it was that holiday that humans seemed so prone to spend far too much time and money indulging in.... St. Valentine's day it was. Love. Wasn't it disgustingly well... just disgusting. That particular emotion had no place in Drystan's life. Well no place personally. If anyone wanted to love him.... he was more than willing to use that to his advantage. But when it came to mutual avowals of love on Valentines day... he was far more keen on focusing on the Martyrs that had given their name to the day. Blood of holy men always made his day.
The performance put on by his cast of supernatural actors had been specifically driven to fit the holiday. Star crossed lovers, torn apart, quite literally by their families. Symbolism at it's most literal best. If that were truly a possible thing. The current director had put together a story that contained the sort of love that could only be fulfilled in death. Which was exactly the kind of happy ending that Drystan enjoyed. A Romeo and Juliet type story that had fulfilled every horrific fantasy that William Shakespeare could have possibly intended and a great deal more no doubt. What set this theater apart from all the previous steps into the macabre world... was simply the fact that his actors didn't suffer from the limitations of most humans. The blood shed was all too often real, no need for stage effects. Pain, lust and anguish that people felt on a normal basis was always blown up to epic proportions on his stage. A connection that often appealed to people despite their better judgments.
Such as it was tonight, the lovers meeting their end in a wash of blood that pricked Drystan's nose from where he sat in his personal balcony. For a romance which was rarely to his tastes... it had been done well. Never say that Drystan didn't know how to cater to his customers. But he couldn't say that he'd been watching the entire thing. No, a red dress had caught his eye. He had purchased it after all. The human was curious, endearingly curious. Though likely it would only lead her to trouble. But that was a lesson best learned the hard way.
As the curtain fell and the applause began, Drystan made his way from balcony, leaving strict instructions for the guard at the door to go and collect his guest and bring her to his... office. A red rose that matched the color of her dress was plucked from an arrangement decorating his balcony and passed off. Yes, that was to be given as well. If he had her pegged as he thought he did... she wouldn't be able to stop herself from taking that next step. How well could he read people after all these years.
Clad in an all black ensemble Drystan took the path through the corridors that led from the ground floor of the stage to a level just below. Not so far down as to touch the establishment below but far from the prying eyes of theater goer's. He had a touch for the dramatic, it was well known. Lights along the way were lit with a more natural form of light, gas flames. A touch of the old too, he didn't think that would surprise his little guest when she arrived.