Crayola got up from the park bench, sitting for what felt like days but had merely been hours. Sighing, she fixed her hair into a puffy bun, raising her glasses over her eyes before placing her hands inside her pockets and heading off at a brisk pace.
Opening up her jacket, she let the cool night air of the city blow across her waist, streaming over her neck as a cool breath. She started to relax, figuring she'd have to wander around for awhile before she got home. 'Not like some sort of beacon is gonna fall from the sky.'
No sooner had she thought so when a figure fell down inches from her footsteps, crimson blood and soft tissue splashing onto the front of her black jeans and boots. Blinking, she raised her gaze upwards to a flowing white linen curtain, wondering what the hell just happened. "There's something you don't see everyday..."
Dean wondered around the apratment,licking blood off his gloved fingers he moved over to the kitchen, scaring a cat off the kitchen counter. He heard someone scream and he looked out the window below. A smile appeared as he looked at a old woman, staring at the girl he just killed.
He ran his fingers into his blonde hair, and walked quietly away from the window, knowing there will be sirens soon.
Crayola squatted down next to the body, tilting her head in curiosity as she put on thin black leather gloves from within her pockets. Looking around innocently, she poked the lady in the cheek. "You alright...? Did ya commit suicide or did the fall kill you...? No answer...?"
Knowing she was being idiotic and a little insensitive, Crayola gained a serious compusure, turning the lady over, making a sympathetic look at her completely shattered face, bones jutting out at awkward angles. Turning her onto the side, she stopped at seeing a bite mark on her neck.
'What have we here? A vampire who broke the rules...?' Placing her fingers into the two holes, she muttered. "Either that or someone took the time to stab her in the neck, measure a certain distance, then...nah, it twas a vampire!"
Whipping out a green and black cellphone, she started to make a hasty retreat from the scene but not before reporting the 'incident'. Once done, she brooded on how she would get home, the option she was considering...jacking the dead woman's car to get back to Cree's mansion...
Dean decided that the apartment was no good, plus the dead man in the closet would start to smell, and he liked a clean apartment. He walked out the front door, and walked down the cruddy hallway. A little girl sat infront of a door playing dolls. Dean stopped and nelt down.
"Hello." he smiled, and the little girl didnt say anything. He notice the doll's eyeball was falling out. "Your doll is broken."
"My mom said I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." the girl said.
"Well thats a good thing she taught you." he said. "Here.." he took the doll, and with his teeth he managed to fix the eyeball. "All fixed." the girl smiled.
He flashed a grin back, showing his fangs.
Then dissapeared down the stairs.
Slamming the door open at the bottom, he heard sirens. Great. He smirked and walked calmly down the sidewalk, seeing the dead woman hunched over.
Thats funny... she was on her back before, he thought to himself.
"It appears I have company." he smiled, licking his lips and taking his leather gloves off his hands.
Crayola swung around the corner into a barely lit parking lot, save for two dimming lights shining down from thin silver poles. She placed a gloved finger to her lips in wonder. "You seemed to be a healthy lady..."
Starting to walk inbetween cars, she trailed a gloved finger along a row of windows. "Your car wouldn't be too grungy...not too expensive but bordering over cheap. Well washed possibly...but not likely. THIS is your car!" finished Crayola dramatically, pointing to a white Toyota badly in need of a wash.
Peering in through a window, she smirked. "Yeah, and the little pictures of you and your...boyfriend? Yeah, those hanging around inside the car didn't hint to that either," Testing the handle for an alarm, at not hearing anything go off, she started to pick at the lock all the while silently praying in her head.
'God forgive me for robbin a dead woman but I have to get back to the manor.' A click was heard, Crayola's lock picking attempt a success. Pocketing the lockpick, she started to open the door, only stopping at feeling a shiver brush across her neck.
She stopped, lowering one hand very slowly to her side. With her other, she gently removed her reading glasses, pocketing them away as she turned out into the parking lot, hazel eyes narrowed. "Me thinks I'm not alone..."
((OOC: KK here it goes.))
Name: Westlie Young.
Age: 100 (Looks about 20).
Gender: Male.
Race: Vampire.
Apperience: He is about 6ft tall with long straight blonde hair and blue as blue eyes. He is wearing black jeans with a black t-shirt and a long black leather jacket to his knees. He also has big black boots and black leather fingertipless gloves.
Weapons: He has two desert eagals in leg holsters with laser sights and modafied with silver bullets. He also has two silver 9 inch blades which come out of mechanisums on his wrists for close combat.
Personality: He is quiet and keeps to himself and is bearly there at all. He is quite talkitive once you brake into him. He is a Lycan hater to the bones. He in his own way is quite mysterious.
History: Westlie grew up in the city so he knows his way around like the back of his hand and knows all the short cuts. His parents were killed by Lycans and he is out for more than revenge. He has a sister but she went missing and his Vamp senses cannot detect her, that is his main mission.
Westlie came out of a dark ally just as a down pour started and turned into the dark crowded streets. His blonde shoulder length hair following behind and his hands in his pockets.
((hope this is ok guys))