The Universe's Mixer

Deacon still had no clue how (or why) he'd ended up in the City. But he was reassured, at least, by the fact that he had an apartment, and enough money to get by. He'd decided to spend the next few nights exploring, getting to know this city that was, for the time being at least, his home. Didn't mean he had to like it; he just had to get used to it.

He was missing Quinn and Mercury - Quinn was easy to make fun of, watching the two of them squabble even moreso - and had yet to find anyone he wanted to spend more than a couple of minutes around. He was grumpy, horny, and more importantly, hungry. There'd been some sort of synthetic blood in the store, but it wasn't the same as feeling a fluttering pulse against his lips, wasn't the same as the smell of fear, the pathetic struggling of a human held tight in his arms. While he didn't need to hunt, or feed, nonetheless the urge was there.

Lighting a cigarette off the end of the last, he strode down the street, pausing at an intersection long enough to toss his cigarette butt into a drain. There was a park up ahead, maybe he'd find something to entertain him there.

Deacon wasn’t a foolish man. He didn’t let his guard down around people he didn’t know, and he never drank blood unless he was holding a limp body or owned the bloodbank it was from.

So how exactly he’d ended up lying on what appeared to be a bed, in a strange room, was a complete mystery. Leaning up on his elbows, he looked around the room. Clean, crisp white bedcovers over crimson sheets, minimalist monochromatic furniture, and his clothes laid out over a chair. Yeah, this definitely looked like a place he would live.

But he’d be damned if he could remember ever being here before in his life. The last thing he remembered...standing in that temple, stench of dust and dried blood in his nose, the feel of Blade’s blood dripping down his face...and then nothing.

Maybe it hadn’t worked. Maybe something had happened, and he’d found his way here. Wherever here was. Sitting up, he slid out of bed, pulling on the pants that lay ready. Shirt on, sleeves cuffed to just below his elbows, and shoes. Now he felt ready to face whatever was out there.

He could tell the apartment was empty, at least. And as he walked around, he knew he lived here. Could smell it. Hell, he could tell just from the way everything was decorated. This place wasn’t too bad. Bit of a stepdown from the penthouse, but that he could live with. There was a cellphone sitting on a desk in the living room, but the contact list was empty. He tried Mercury’s cell...nothing. Quinn...nothing.

Looked like he was on his own. Shrugging on a black leather jacket - his, he remembered the scuff mark on the sleeve, the faint scratch next to the collar where Mercury had caught the leather instead of skin when she'd tried to scratch him in a rage - he slipped the phone into the inside pocket. He patted the coat down, trying to work out if he had cigarettes...nope. Well, at least that gave him a reason to venture outside. It looked like the sun had just set, and while he didn't recognise the skyline, he knew going out into the streets was the only way he was going to find anything out.