Who: Lord Hal and Alex (Tangentially) What: One Hal goes to sleep. Another Hal wakes up. When: Morning of the 1st Where: His bedroom then the streets leading into Lawrence Rating: High for murder death kill. Status: Complete, Narritive.
They'd gone to sleep in some manner of contentment. Just comfortable for probably the first time in a long time. There had been dinner, some dancing and things had grown from there, leaving Hal to wonder if maybe this was the chance he'd been waiting for. The chance for something real that he could keep. Because maybe the witches could actually help him. Maybe in this world, with the amount of power between them all. Maybe he could keep control. It was a nice thought to sleep upon, with his arm wrapped around the ghost he so deeply cared about. But the whims of the seal didn't care about Hal, or about the life he was so desperately trying to maintain for himself.
A moment. A choice. His future, Alex' past. They'd come out of a dream. And a choice had been made. Let his own blood be used or run. Flee from the fight and find another ghost and another werewolf gullible enough to fight for the world. Find another vampire and buy himself some time. And Hal while he never ran from a fight, made a choice. The werewolf died quickly. He was an exceptional hunter of course, no sense dragging it out. And the ghost. Well eventually Alex faded and was forgotten about. The Devil's plan to tie them in a dream never came to be because there was nothing Hal Yorke wanted that he didn't have. He was the oldest of the vampires left, powerful. Content.
And so it was this man that woke from sleep. A sneer of disgust on his face as he noted the ghost he shared a bed with. Pretty little thing, pity she had a mouth like a sailor. He'd have torn out her tounge if he'd been able. But Cutler had gotten there first. Killed her to try and save him from himself, and it had worked in a way. Or started to at least. But Annie was gone. And Leo and Pearl had danced off to their final rest and now, maybe he could finally be free. He'd just have to kill the werewolf. But Hal, who knew so much of the world had figure something out. He had woken up far from Barry, far from anywhere he might have expected to be. There was no scent of the sea in the air, there was a musty sort of feel to the place. This was too warm to be anywhere in England. But that didn't matter. None of it did really. His hand trailed along her skin wondering just what he could do to destroy a ghost in spectacular fashion. He'd have fun planning it, god, did she still love him. That never got less funny. But it could also be a problem down the line, So if he couldn't kill the Scottish girl then he'd just kill everyone else instead. Friends, family, kind elderly widows on the bus she'd talked to once. Oh yes, she'd suffer before she turned to nothingness. But for now he had more pressing concerns. Slipping from the bed Hal dressed quickly and left the room, more confused than he was happy with and hungry...god, so hungry.
He must have regained power, the weakling, the mewling idiot that had slipped and slipped and finally fell letting him take over. Well, that was easy enough dealt with. He'd drown him in blood and death and screaming. He'd gone no more than 50 feet from the house when he saw her, a girl, long blonde hair, blue eyes, american accent, midwest maybe. It narrowed things down a bit. Pity he was in no mood to talk to her, there would be time later for seduction, there would be time for recruiting.
With the girl, he just fed the need. Draining her dry, dropping her to the floor as one would drop a wrapper from food. All she was of course. Another day she might have been given the oppertunity of a lifetime. Or sated the other manner of hunger Lord Henry Yorke was famed for.
But now that that was done he could figure the rest out. Why was he in Midwest America? Why was that blasted ghost in his bed and why could he not remember. He'd find more people, turn some, use the others. He'd build again here. He was the Oldest of them now of course with Mr Snow's death at the hands of yet another ghost. He was the oldest of the Old Ones and he was untouchable.
A smile crossed blood stained lips and a song found its way to him as he walked toward the city itself. It would do for his purposes.
"There may be trouble ahead, But while there's music and moonlight and love and romance. Let's face the music and dance"