Sterling hated being…miserable. But he had made his bed, more so set it on fire, and now he had to lay in it. His sire had berated him over the phone in the same breath as he booked him a room at this hotel. It was nice. Very nice. Nicer than his now charred apartment anyway. He’d finally gotten a shower and some clean clothes though he still felt as though the stench of smoke lingered deep in his flesh no matter how hard he scrubbed in the shower. His hunger, ever present, was down on a low simmer. He’d barely quenched it with the imitation bottled blood he’d picked up along the way, at the very least his sire had said some fresh bags were en-route.
Until then? He was miserable.
Moody even, chin resting in the palm of his hand as he stares aimlessly out the window thankful once again for the daylight ring on his finger to allow him to enjoy views such as this. It let him feel like he could pretend, pretend he was miserable for another reason. Something terribly human.
What did humans get miserable about these days anyway?
The gentle clink of a glass on the counter top before him draws Sterling back to the present and he glances down at it with confusion. Had he ordered this? He’d been nursing the same soda-water for the past hour with very little joy to be found the flatter it went and now…? He half-turns on the seat to look over the approaching man and finds himself almost more confused than before. Someone thought he was interesting?
His hand moves to the glass, gently gripping it as he tears his gaze away from him to look down at it “I’m…flattered…?”
Absently, he turns the glass this way and that and chews his lower lip “I’m…I’m sorry I don’t…drink,” he lifts the glass anyway in an awkward salute “Sober for…a long…long time now.”
He places it back down with care and draws his semi-flat soda water back in closer with a sigh that he barely cuts off in time to look back towards him “I mean, not to say I don’t…uh don’t also find you a man of…fine taste.”
Maybe unique was a better word. “Did you want to have a seat or…?”
Hunter was used to a number of different reactions when he tried this little trick. This, however? He’d never really experienced anything like it. It wasn’t so much the no-drinking as much as what seemed to be a complete absence of confidence from the other. How very peculiar. “Ah, that mistake is on me then.” A beat. “If you like ginger, the bar can prepare a virgin Moscow Mule. I’ve heard good things.” He doubted he’d really get a bite, but it was worth a shot at the very least.
There was something terribly drab and downright depressing in how the other man was presenting himself right now. It reminded him of grieving family members and victims of assault on the cases he worked. The entire point of this little excursion was to get work off his mind. Even so, Hunter couldn’t deny that there was some sort of allure in keeping his company. It was almost like one of those difficult, novelty puzzles. It could take years to crack, but there’s still fun in trying to decipher it all the same.
“Although, now that you mention it, I think I will take a seat.” If you don’t mind would have been the polite way to end that sentence, but it seemed he was past that now. After having sat down, he reached out his hand. “I’m Hunter. A man of supposed fine taste. And you?”
He really needed to learn as much as he could so he could satisfy this insipid curiosity..
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