Re: Roadside tent: Daniel W & Damian W
Where the thrum of Damian's heart in his chest was but one in a chorus to the man walking stupidly in the open night, the man walking stupidly in the open night was all Damian heard. Loud and purposeful, the footsteps traveled across gravel, grass, and earth, and the younger man could nearly feel the deliberation of the action as it resounded through the earth beneath his feet and shook up through him in so many vibrations through meat. The spade he had been using was silently set aside and, with stealth, betrayed only by the tattle of his heart, he exited the indentation he had made in the dry dirt.—This visitor may have entered the scene as if he was the sole principle player, but Damian moved amid the blackness as if he was nothing but background.
He had not bothered with anything beyond the usual for interference with night vision or detection in the dark. His heat would be scattered by any technological sensors, signals thrown off of his form as if it was comprised of nothing but empty air. But, a dog could smell him. A vampire. Just as his heartbeat ran its own purposeful gait.—Still, he was not attempting to sneak upon the intruder. He only watched him, from slightly afar.—He observed the man, in nondescript, but disheveled civilian clothing (and no shoes), pale as a specter and with some exceedance of average human grace, approach the entrance of the roadside tent with obvious intent.
This, Damian saw clearly, was an act of passion, not planning. But why? From the throat of night, he spoke to this man. "What are you doing?" The younger man's own voice was low, slurred syrupy around teeth in idiolect, but clear. His stance, from feet away, was not defensive. Nor was it offensive. He simply stood, his arms perfectly at his side. His bag was hooked over one shoulder, which bore the weight without a dip of exertion. And his eyes above the black swath over his face were wide, but without fear.