log: dietre a. & daniel w.
Daniel was a creature of night, and by necessity he dwelled in quite small, restrictive quarters, but as he stood at the edge of the clearing, he thought this place very humble indeed. It smelled clean, and he knew there was a young man and a young dog in there (as the dog knew he was out here), yet still he hesitated to move inside, the way a large predator cat might hesitate to crawl into a very cramped cave in pursuit of prey. Instead, he moved along the perimeter for a few more bars, listening and thinking in the starlight. Daniel could rarely force himself to venture much beyond the center of town, where his residence lay, but this was not too far away from his nesting spot. When staying so long in a place he had a tendency to grow wary of leaving it and its immediate environs, even more so when those who fed him orbited nearby. He viewed the sky with distrust.
But he could not ignore the sound of the music, which drew him closer by degrees. Not all vampires were intrigued by music the way Daniel was; he was just an appreciator of the arts, and he had been so in life, too. Daniel, with his utter inability to either carry a tune himself or play any instrument with more than cursory skill, appreciated talent all the more for it. He knew this piece, technical, French, and it reminded him of his first departure from Europe in days long gone. It certainly suited his melancholy mood.
Daniel already knew that Dietre of the journals was one of these sensitive, artistic types. Sensitive artistic types did not do well around Daniel. He tended to chew through them as if they were delicate sweetmeats. Daniel was not a gentle creature, nor was he a particularly kind person. He was vindictive, defensive, and often cruel. He did not curb his words often, and only for his own reasons. But he liked his music. And if there were no musicians, he didn't get it. He tried to remember that.
At the miniscule door, he turned his palm and tapped twice with a white knuckle.