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vampire_compton (vampire_compton) wrote in silverage,

Bill, not normally one for a bar like this, sat in a booth with a glass of untouched red wine in front of him and a worried expression plastered on his face. Sophie-Anne, as was her normal modus operandi, was breathing down his neck about getting new pledges of fealty to her queendom. She had control of his home - not that he was planning on returning anytime soon - and all his estate wrapped around her manicured nail. He felt powerless.

So after a meeting with two very unpleasant vampires from the Revolutionary era, Bill was brooding with anger and nerves, and he tried to keep his mind from it, but he was hungry. He had fed just the previous night, of course, but ever since he had been working for Sophie, and ever since this turn in the weather, he found his appetite increasing with each passing hour. It was all he could do to silently find someone who looked alone, and lead them outside without jumping them right in the bar.

He spotted a few people. The odd vagrant who made his way in, the ocassional waitress, yet one man caught his eye. He was unusual looking, to say the least. The facial hair alone was eye-catching, the way he carried himself stirring some memory of the war within Bill. He watched the man for a while. Certainly approaching him would be too obvious, so he tried to find some other, but he found himself glancing back time and time again. Frankly, he seemed out of place in his time - that wasn't unusual, of course, what with all these recent transplants, but he almost seemed to have jumped forward in time as opposed to backward. Though he didn't sense vampirism, that was too much to simply let pass by.

Bill abandoned his wine glass, and sidled up to the bar, as close to the man as seemed socially acceptable.

"I'll take a glass of Ballantine, please," he announced to the bartender, giving a quick glance to Logan.