It's taken quite a while to get to that point, after his tumultuous evening at the swap meet. He'd been teetering on the edge then, but he'd pulled back, and not just back but turned in on himself, holed up in his room at the Inn with a chair against the door until he started to feel stable again. He'd started with to-do lists next, simple tasks like obtaining the necessary means for survival, followed by the materials to carry out his usual routines—paper, pencil, needle, thread, make-shift weights, access to a radio and books. What money he'd been given at the Inn had been carefully allotted for these necessities, and what he couldn't afford, he had omitted from his schedule. It wasn't perfect—he'd written Baby Massage & Stimulating Story Time on his rota at twelve without thinking and had to stop and find a fresh pad of paper and start all over again—but the process of adapting his usual routines to a new context kept him busy, and that was, after all, the whole point. A few days on this schedule, going through the same motions again and again, and he'd finally started to settle.
And so today he is setting foot outside the Inn for what is quite possibly the first time since the party. It isn't actually a deviation from his routine—at six thirty on his rota, it says Five Laps Around the Inn, only he'd been doing said laps in the courtyards and halls to avoid contact with anyone unexpected. But today he feels like maybe the extra precaution is unnecessary. Today he feels almost safe.
Catching scent of a— is that a werewolf? A something decidedly inedible, in any case, comes as a pleasant surprise. Finally an easing, however brief, of the ceaseless pounding hunger in the back of his mind. He slows as he approaches, trying to pinpoint exactly who is giving off that scent, and his eyes land on her when he does.
"Hello." Don't mind him. Just your friendly neighborhood vampire out for a jog.
mog hill;
It's taken quite a while to get to that point, after his tumultuous evening at the swap meet. He'd been teetering on the edge then, but he'd pulled back, and not just back but turned in on himself, holed up in his room at the Inn with a chair against the door until he started to feel stable again. He'd started with to-do lists next, simple tasks like obtaining the necessary means for survival, followed by the materials to carry out his usual routines—paper, pencil, needle, thread, make-shift weights, access to a radio and books. What money he'd been given at the Inn had been carefully allotted for these necessities, and what he couldn't afford, he had omitted from his schedule. It wasn't perfect—he'd written Baby Massage & Stimulating Story Time on his rota at twelve without thinking and had to stop and find a fresh pad of paper and start all over again—but the process of adapting his usual routines to a new context kept him busy, and that was, after all, the whole point. A few days on this schedule, going through the same motions again and again, and he'd finally started to settle.
And so today he is setting foot outside the Inn for what is quite possibly the first time since the party. It isn't actually a deviation from his routine—at six thirty on his rota, it says Five Laps Around the Inn, only he'd been doing said laps in the courtyards and halls to avoid contact with anyone unexpected. But today he feels like maybe the extra precaution is unnecessary. Today he feels almost safe.
Catching scent of a— is that a werewolf? A something decidedly inedible, in any case, comes as a pleasant surprise. Finally an easing, however brief, of the ceaseless pounding hunger in the back of his mind. He slows as he approaches, trying to pinpoint exactly who is giving off that scent, and his eyes land on her when he does.
"Hello." Don't mind him. Just your friendly neighborhood vampire out for a jog.