He’s been in town just a week and yet Bran feels strangely calm. Where once he was afraid to meet another supernatural creature he now relaxes with the knowledge that the walls keep him safe. But that doesn’t mean it’s easier for him. The population is smaller for starters, which makes finding clients harder. And he’s plagued by nightmares that have him screaming at all sorts of hours and his neighbours yelling at him to shut up.
No matter how hard he tries the visions won’t stop.Â
He’s wrapped in a thick jumper to keep himself warm; too strung out from days of no sleep. He’s grateful though that the apartment he has has a good shower. At least it makes looking the part of a prostitute easier.Â
But’s he’s not looking for his next pay check, that’s for tomorrow night. Instead he’s nursing a whiskey because Bran spent the morning trying to scrub the image of dead children form his brain. It’s not really working.
He presses the cool glass to head for a moment trying to find comfort behind his closed eyes but all he sees is red. Bran opens his eyes and downs the drink lifting the empty glass to signal for another.