[ closed starter for @sanguisvitae ]
Gathering his hair in the back, Adrian begins to tie his hair and a weft of silvery hair together using his black ribbon as he gazed into a scratched up mirror he had to lean over to use over the sink. On its white surface sets a straight razor with droplets of water beaded on its blade and Soft yellow light illuminates the tiny bathroom with scant space between the washing basin, toilet, and sink. With the door open, gold-orange rays from the late afternoon sun emerge out between the blinds of slightly drawn open windows filters in even more light. Outside, he can hear the anxious voices of people on the streets warning the average citizen to stay indoors and light their incense containing clove, cinnamon, cedar, and white thorn oils to repel the beasts of the scourge.
Thought normally the Vileblood would go out later, with the full moon just a scant couple of days away and the moon rising sooner, both beasts and hunters naturally emerged sooner. Though less than idea, going out with the sun still in the sky ensures a lower risk of running into multiple hunters working together. Beasts, however, just didn’t compare to that threat, especially since he didn’t need their blood. With his sister still missing, he dared not risk fighting pairs of hunters, let alone entire packs of them.
Face still damp from shaving, the hunter clips his gun holster to his belt, which becomes conveniently hidden by his elegant lace black frock coat. The sheath for his gun-rapier, however, cannot be so easily hidden. He gives himself one last look over in the mirror, shuffling backwards so he doesn’t need to hunch. Red gloved fingers trace his high cheekbones, chiseled but pleasantly so, then his strong jaw. A deep flush on his cheeks, upper neck, and cleft chin still lingers from his recent shave. While humming an old tune from his parents’ homeland, Adrian blows out the candle, then walks into the main area of the apartment he shares with his sister to close the curtains.
As the scent of smoke and melted beeswax wafts through the housing, the Vileblood makes one last check of his blood vials before opening the rickety doors. Once open into the amber early evening, he shields his eyes before they adjust to the bright remaining light. His hand snakes behind the door to flick the lock on the door into place. As he steps onto the cobblestone street, it shuts gently behind him, locked until he comes back later with the key. Thought miscreants and beasts could certainly break in, they wouldn’t find much of value aside from his well-hidden stash of money stolen from his dead victims.
With delicate but quick and long footsteps, he begins to head down the way to the muddy Forbidden Woods, figuring the bulk of the hunters would initially stay in Central Yharnam until later that night. Silently, he slinks past people on the street who stop to stare at his odd, flamboyant, and antiquated clothing. Smart enough to not break into a full grin as to expose his sharp and prominent upper canines, he simply smirks as he marches with all the grace and pride expected of a Vileblood of yesteryear. Not that these people know, save those brutish Church Hunters and Executioners that no doubt would find violent offense at his presence.
Once he actually winds his way to Forbidden Woods through the simultaneously too small and far too sprawling city, the sky turns reds and purples, while abyssal blue in the furthest eastern portion of the sky. In the distance, beasts howl and bray, and guns fire in response. Gunpowder, brought by cold winds still bringing the winter despite it being near summertime, pricks his sensitive nostrils. With the moon drawing closer and fuller, his hearing and sense of smell became sharper, while he swore that colors began to dull.
As shapes far too tall to be normal human beings, mostly likely hunters, moved down the main trodden path in the thick woods, Adrian ducks into the tree line despite he barely had a mental compass and map of the area formed in his mind. Following them further and further into the forest until the canopy formed by the thick foliage provides sufficient darkness, he decides the best way to wait for a singular hunter is to climb up one of the older, broader trunk trees. His hands grip a lower hanging branch and pulls himself up to the main fork of the tree, tall enough to be a good several feet above his head but not close enough to the ground as to be easily spotted, not with the dark. Or badly injure him if he falls, for that matter.
Staying incredibly still in the dimming light, the impure and violent hunter lays in wait, watching for his next unsuspecting prey. After all, beasts and man usually do not fall from the trees.
The air is thick with the scent of earth, of beast, of lush and well-hydrated flora, and of moon-scented hunters.
