Judas had more time for reflection than most. He could have summoned one of his storms to block out the sun and move about during the day, were he at closer to full power. Unfortunately, to further his illusion, he had not fed since arriving, and though he had told Faith otherwise, he did not feed on animals. In the state he was currently in, his power would not be enough to summon even a drizzle, which meant that he had a great deal of time during the day to do nothing but sit in his cabin and think. Thinking was not what he wanted to do right now. Right now he wanted nothing more than to forget all this ridiculous caring nonsense and remind these people why his names were so feared throughout the ages.
He had ceased going to his office. As hungry as he was, one of these times he would say yes when the guests asked him to bite them. He wasn’t sure why he cared. It wasn’t out of concern for the guests. Perhaps Faith had risen above the status of cattle, and perhaps Jaz was on the same path, but most of these people were still mere motes of dust buzzing about his face. He could not understand why it mattered to him if a few of these guests died to slake his thirst. It wasn’t the hunters or do-gooders, either. None of them had the power to end him, and he doubted any of them possessed the knowledge to truly subdue him. The worst they could do was kill him, and he would regenerate from that soon enough.
He didn’t feel like being in his cabin tonight. Hanging out with a teenager was not in the cards, not that he and his cabinmate had been overly social with each other to begin with. So instead he stepped out into the night and allowed his body to dissolve into a cloud of bats. Where exactly he was heading, he wasn’t sure, but sometimes anywhere was better than where you were. He flew for a bit, half tempted to retreat into the mountains, but he was not quite that cliché. Instead, he touched down in the park, reforming as he did. He’d abandoned the varied styles he wore as “Matt”, replacing them with the black leather pants, black shirt, and voluminous black coat that he had decided would be his style after murdering those thieves and crash-landing their plane in the Louisiana swampland. He kept the beat-up, black and white chucks, though. He sort of liked those. Due to the lack of food, his skin was ivory, and his eyes had taken on a red glow he was unable to banish. It was a disturbingly inhuman look, and not one he preferred, but what could he do?
He meandered about a bit until he noticed a familiar face on a bench. The hunter. One eyebrow arched as he considered whether to approach, but really, what else was he doing right now? It wasn’t as if he cared much about what the hunter thought of him, and it could provide an amusing distraction from the guilt that was gnawing at him. So he approached, smirking wide enough to flash his fangs, and took up a seat on the other side of the bench. “Penny for your thoughts?” By his tone, it was clear he understood the irony of Iscariot asking that and was amused by it.