Bite (In Which An Unfortunate Vampire Has An Unfortunate Time)

Yeah, it's probably about time to get clean. It wouldn't do for one such as you to spend your time covered in rotting blood and looking like some... well, frankly, looking like one of the zombies going around biting people. No, indeed not. You aren't going to ruin your reputation like that. You stroll into the kitchen, where you set down the weapons and supplies you'd brought back, before checking the kitchen sink. The water's still running. You're almost impressed by the survival of the city's infrastructure. Clearly, it's rather well-made to still be working after a week's worth of no upkeep.

You spend a bit of time looking for the bathroom. As you never use it, you're frankly unsure of exactly where it is. Eventually, you find it. You've almost forgotten that the toilet and the bath are in the same room, and just slightly put off by the fact. You slip the hand out of your pocket and put it next to the sink, before stripping out of your clothes. You place them in a pile next to the shower/bath, planning to wash them after you get out. You step inside the shower and turn on the faucet, letting the cold water rain down onto you. You grin as you watch the remains of several day's worth of fighting flow down your body and into the drain. A Janissary, a superhuman undead, and countless walking corpses. And all that's left of them is running down your back.

You, though? You stand strong. Uninjured. After your meal, you actually feel better than you did before fighting Ali bin Mihail. You feel powerful. It's a good feeling. Strangely unfamiliar for one such as you. It's been too long since you've seen a war.

The water is cold, but you don't really notice that. Your body is extremely insensate, and you barely even register most sensations. Heat, cold, pain, pleasure, it's all dull. Numb. You don't begin to feel cold until your skin actively begins to freeze, heat is unnoticeable until your body threatens to ignite. Pain only arises from the very most grievous of wounds or those created by your vampiric vulnerabilities. And pleasure? You haven't known pleasure other than that of drinking fresh blood in a long, long time.

Nevertheless, you are more than capable of feeling satisfaction. And satisfied you are as you step out of the shower, violently vibrating to free yourself of the moisture lingering on you. You take up your clothing then and begin washing it in the shower. Of course, as you of all people know well, blood stains.

Your own black blood (and that of other undead) is swiftly reduced in thickness and viscosity with introduction to water, but the red blood you got from that super-zombie doesn't wash out quite so easily. Thankfully, after centuries of dealing with the same problem, you've developed a solution that almost entirely solves the problem.

As a vampire, you hold a great deal of control over your own blood- it's how you're able to supernaturally heal wounded mortals, after all. In the same vein, you can (ironically enough,) clean bloodstains from clothes by simply adding more blood. In this case, slicing open your hand to drain your black blood onto the super-zombie's red. Your blood is diffused by the flowing water, and as it travels through the fibers of your clothes, it brings the stains left by it's crimson counterpart with it.

Blood: The greatest laundry detergent ever developed.

You chuckle to yourself in satisfaction as you lift your newly-cleaned clothing from the shower, turning off the water. Unfortunately, you don't actually have a fancy vampire trick for drying the clothes, so you simply hang them up where (if you recall correctly,) the humans usually leave their drying towels, and step outside, utterly naked.

It's not to say that you're shameless, it's merely that you know everyone is asleep, and you're not in the mood to find something to wrap yourself with- if someone comes downstairs, you'll just step back into the bathroom before they do! Until such a time as your clothes are sufficiently dry, you busy yourself cleaning the guns you've brought back and sorting their ammunition. As is the case with many military men you've spent time with in the past, you find cleaning weapons to be wonderfully relaxing, and you intentionally spend extra time doing so.

You find that several of the guns you collected are very obviously used and were being resold. You make a point of setting those apart from the others- it's conceivable they could be less reliable.

Ultimately, though, despite all your attempts at killing time, only about 45 minutes have passed before you realize you've cleaned the guns about as much as they'll be cleaned.

Well, you had to face it eventually, and there's not likely to be any better time than now. You turn to the cupboard where you'd stowed it and retrieve the musket that you'd taken off of Ali bin Mihail. Its barrel is utterly crushed, just as you left it.

You return to your little work-space at one of the tables and begin straightening out the barrel the best you can without actually putting anything inside it. You know full well that one of the consecrated silver bullets is still within it, and you dread even looking at the bastarding thing, much less having to touch it.

You steel yourself by thinking back on how many of them were actually inside your body when you fought the Janissary, and by considering the fact that if you survived that, you could damn well handle holding one of the things.

The moment you remember that this is a hospital, wherein you can find all sorts of gloves, you locate and put on several. That makes you feel much better about the entire enterprise.

You obviously brought back the plunger Ali used for loading the weapon (being as it was a muzzle-loader. Obsolete for years.) Using it, you do your best to dislodge the slightly malformed silver bullet inside the barrel. After a few minutes of fruitless effort, your effort finally... bears fruit. You manage to change the bullet's position such that it slides silently and easily down the barrel and into your waiting- and very carefully gloved- hand. Still, just looking at the pure metal forces you to squint, and even through your gloves you feel your sins crawling under your skin.

Quickly, you stow the bullet inside the now-emptied pack you brought from the firearms store.

From there, you're free to much-more comfortably tinker with the musket's damaged barrel, and after only about an hour's worth of work (damned impressive, considering you're doing this all without tools!) you've gotten the weapon back into working condition. It's certainly not perfect, and you can't imagine it'd shoot perfectly straight, it will certainly shoot. You nod, proud of your accomplishment, before stowing the weapon back where you'd left it earlier. You plan on taking the pack with the damaged holy bullet inside it back to your room, where you can keep it out of everyone's sight. You're glad you have the use of them (for if you REALLY need it,) but you don't particularly want that opportunity to be open for anyone else.

You peek out the window to see that dawn is just threatening to break. You step back inside, close the curtains, and then head back to the bathroom to redress. Your clothes are still a bit damp, but they'll dry out after a while wearing them.

Today, you'll stay here and help the group improve this place and its defenses.

And when night falls?

You hunt.

[] Today you're going to help improve defenses, as well as-
- [] Update someone, or multiple someones, on the current state of affairs. Perhaps even make some "small talk."
-- [] Who?
- [] Determine where the group can ru- evacuate to in such a case as it becomes necessary.
- [] Get the group together and help them make food, then simply enjoy time. There isn't much else you can do during the daylight.
- [] Carefully investigate the fucking severed hand you just remembered you left in the sink.
-- [] Get help from someone here.
--- [] Who?

[] Your cursory plans for nightfall are
- [] Locate the representative of BITE or some other vampire. If such a vampire exists in your town, knowing where they are is likely quite important.
- [] Locate Baroness Isbeil and inform her of the current state of affairs.
- [] Investigate the local living dead and investigate the possible existence of other "super-zombies."
- [] Search the town for other mortal survivors
-- [] With the intention of finding civilians
-- [] With the intention of figuring out what the military has been doing all this time

You have to think about this for a moment. Clearly, the burning question on your mind is about the exact identity of that damned creature you killed last night, but your medical knowledge is largely limited to anatomy and disease. You're unfamiliar with any of the medical equipment at this facility simply because you were never the one who had to use it. Nevertheless, it's all still here, and you don't doubt you can hook it up to the generator if such a thing becomes neccessary. You'll ask around before you get to work on it. You know neither Marie nor Jackson are qualified, but you don't actually know what James and Alice studied in university, nor do you know what the two "anonymous" survivors specialize in. You dread interacting with them for fear of growing attached, but you reaffirm to yourself that you can easily just keep yourself at a professional distance.

For now, though, the lot of them are still asleep, and when they wake up you'll start by helping them board up the front door. You can enter and exit through the windows for the time being.

It's almost an hour after sunset that you first hear one of the others stirring. It's one of the two you don't know, but their awakening seems to cause Jackson to rise as well. The collective noise of the two results in the slow awakening of the entire group sleeping upstairs, with Alice being the last of them to rise, slowly getting out of bed. The first to actually come downstairs is Jackson, who waves at you, yawning.

"Morning, Zel. I take it you don't want coffee?"

"Unless you plan on stirring in some of your lifeblood, I'll pass. Nevertheless, thank you for the offer."

He chuckles. "No problem."

Heading into the kitchen, he pulls out a coffeepot, fills it with water, and sets it on a hot plate. Only then does he notice the pile of weapons and ammunition you've left on the table.

"Goddamn! You got a hell of a haul, Zelemir. Where'd you go for all this?"

"I'm unsure exactly. Just some gun store."

"Well, it'll do us nicely. As long as we don't get into any pitched fight, this should serve our purposes for probably months. Maybe longer if stuff starts cooling down outside."

You nod in agreement. "Nevertheless, I'll pick up more when I have free time. We never can be too careful, and who's to say when other survivors might happen by and ransack all of it?"

"Probably a good plan. Makes me feel like a dick, though. Like, what if somebody might have survived this whole shitshow if they'd picked up a gun in the place we'd just cleaned out?"

"What if you might have survived this shitshow if you'd just taken the extra gun? You can never be prepared. It is, as they say, a "dog-eat-dog world" outside. More literally, a human-eat-human world. And it would behoove all of you to start to understand that. For the record, do you know what those other two survivors here did before... all this?"

"Yeah, actually. Featherstone, the woman, she did, um... I actually can't think of the official name off the top of my head. All that Latin jargon. But she did cancer stuff. She'd check out your tumors and your weird skin conditions, she was our expert there. As for the guy, Starr, he was a head doc somewhere I didn't interact with him much. But as much as I have talked to him, he's come off as kinda an ass. No offense to the guy, he just takes himself really seriously. Like you, except without the "could crush you with his little finger" thing. He sure thinks he could though. Apparently back before shit hit the fan, he actually intentionally avoided interacting with you 'cause he knew he couldn't pretend he was in charge. Uh, that last part's just gossip, though. Never saw any evidence of it myself, just... you know, gossip."

You nod, not entirely certain what "gossip" means, but getting the rough idea. "I also brought back a few wooden planks and nails and the such. For the front door."

"How're you gonna get out for those nightly raids of yours?"

"The window. Or the roof."

Quite suddenly, the pot begins boiling. Kettle? You're not certain, but it's certainly making a loud and obnoxious noise. He strolls over and continues talking as he prepares the coffee proper. "Honestly, that's kinda a relief. I didn't mention it last time, but one of those things wandered right in here last night. Not last night, the one before that. When you were out. Staggered right in. I hit it with a chair a couple times, Alice helped me drag the body out. Feels like a miracle only one of them has made it in so far, y'know? Like, there isn't even a goddamn door."

"I saw the little barricade you made."

"Yep. That was all me. Couldn't shake the feeling something was coming up behind me. Being right there at the door where I could actually see 'em coming calmed my nerves."

"I'm familiar with the feeling. Care to help me nail up the planks?"

"Do you ever get tired, Zel? Je...eez. Gimme a minute to get a drink of coffee at least."

"If nothing else, I can sympathize with being thirsty."

"I'm drinking cacao nut juice. You drink human blood."

You snicker. "Nut juice..."

He merely shakes his head as he gets to pouring coffee for everyone, who is conveniently coming downstairs just as the smell of it begins to reach them. The group spends some time warming themselves up and you offer a gentle warning not to use the one particular bathroom- you'll explain in a minute.

Until then, you and Jackson get to work on the barricade. James tries to insist on helping, but from the looks of things he can barely stand and you not-so-subtly insist that he find some other way to busy himself before Jackson gets suspicious of his health.

Marie brings Jackson some snacks as the two of you work. He mutters something about a "feminist icon" and turns them down. With the impressive rate of work accomplished by a superhuman vampire and one particularly stubborn human, you've nailed up the lot of the boards you brought in just under 45 minutes- and that was with you doing your best to hide from the sunlight. After the two of you are done, you head back into the cafeteria, where Alice is arguing with one of the survivors, a bald man apparently called "Starr," about her "God-given right to badly cook food."

You care so little you don't even bother to say anything sarcastic before you clap your hands and get everyone's attention. Briefly, you explain your encounter with the red-blooded "super-zombie" and how you'd brought home one of its limbs- and you respectfully ask if anyone has any sort of expertise that could be useful. Marie is an anesthesiologist, Jackson just worked the front gate. James took business and law in "uni" and Alice apparently majored in the liberal arts.

Starr is actually a brain surgeon, as it turns out. Featherstone, though (a black woman who's facial features you've never even paid attention to before now), says she could potentially gather information from the tissue samples you've brought back. Making a point of being standoffish, you thank her for her help and go get the severed hand out of the bathroom sink.

"Oh, that's why you didn't want us going in the bathroom. I'd assumed you just clogged the shit out of the toilet if we're being honest. Working a plunger is hard, I get it."

You shrug at Alice's quip. "A 4/10 if I'm being generous."

As you and Featherstone head off to collect the equipment she needs, you're followed by middle fingers, akimbo.

Featherstone doesn't need much. A single microscope, of the sort one might use to examine the largest of things a microscope might be used for, a set of scalpels and other precision medical implements, and a few pills of acetaminophen. "Not for the hand," she says. "For me."

After a period of time that you frankly find obnoxious, she finally manages to get tissue samples from the hand under the microscope. You sit by anxiously, waiting for any updates. The creature has very clearly piqued your interest and you're not ashamed of being deeply curious about it. What makes- or rather, made this thing tick?

"Alright. Immediately, I see big differences between this thing and the samples I've taken from the more generic undead. The most obvious is the color of the blood, but that's not all. This thing's tissues are breaking down in a fundamentally different way than the normal zombies. That is to say, it's not breaking down at all. When did you say this thing died?"

"A few hours before sunset last night."

"So maybe five hours ago. And yet its flesh isn't rotting at all. Squeeze the actual arm, feel the texture of it. Necrosis is incredibly minimal under the surface. Obviously, the skin is falling apart, but the tissues underneath it are incredibly intact. I even see stress injuries and clotted blood, which I assume is from when you killed the thing. The regular zombies are rotting, inside and out. They manage to hold themselves together, but they manage that in spite of the fact that their bodies are in advanced stages of necrosis. This thing isn't decomposing at all, with the exception of its skin. What did its eyes look like?"

"Hazy, bloodshot. Its pupils were disturbingly focused, but otherwise incredibly similar to the other corpses."

"That's also really strange, obviously. It sounds like the eyes were also starting to decompose like its skin was- and yet its brain must've been mostly intact. I wish you could have brought me that."

"I'd have needed a dustpan and broom. The thing wouldn't stop regenerating until I destroyed the brain."

"Weird. If it was so capable of regenerating, then how could its skin have possibly started to rot and fall off like this? What do you know about the science of how you vampires heal?"

"Asofar as anyone's been able to tell, its magic. No one's even been able to prove that we're not creating mass out of thin air when we regrow limbs."

"That... obviously makes this tougher to figure out. From a scientific perspective, of course. Do me a favor, would you?"

"What's that?"

"I need a tissue sample from you. Real small, so it'll fit on the slides. Can you do that?"

By the time she finishes her sentence, you hand her back her scalpel and the thin slice of flesh you just cut out of yourself. So thin that the wound is more-or-less gone by the time you're done creating it.

She seems surprised for a few moments at the speed with which you fulfilled her suggestion, but it doesn't take her long to begin examining the slice under her microscope.

"It's actually nearly identical save for the differing blood color. Flesh that's very clearly dead, and yet isn't actually undergoing any form of decomposition. It looks like if you just poured some warm blood in it that it'd come back to life."

"Careful. If you did, it just might."

She finds it in her to snicker. "You're really got to face the possibility that this thing was some sort of fucked up vampire. The way I see it, that's how the evidence points."

"I suspected that, but that seems unlikely as well. For a great number of reasons."

"Still, it's theory #1. If you can figure a better one, let me know. But sorry to say, I'm not able to tell you much more. If I have time, I'll keep studying this thing and keep you updated."

"I appreciate it. And for the record, I... apologize for being so cold to you. After watching Mark die, I developed a bit of an apprehension for... getting to know you fragile, fleshy little humans in person. I'm hard to hurt, even harder to kill. You mortals are damn near my only weakness."

She chuckles. "You treating me like I don't exist, just 'cause you're scared? Motherfucker."

---

The day moves slowly. You update everyone on the facts as they stand and give James and Alice a few specifics the others aren't privvy to. You even take part in rationing out the guns to everyone, ensuring that no one is left totally unarmed and helpless. As it turns out, only Jackson and Marie are unfamiliar with firearms, and the both of them got a bit of experience before you showed up, so everyone is comfortable with their ability at close range at least. Convenient.

Finally, the sun sets. It's barely below the horizon by the time you leap out of a second-story window, landing like a cat (or so you like to imagine) and heading out into the night. You were rather conflicted as to whether to look for vampires or humans, but you finally decided that the mortals were significantly more temporary and decided to focus your searching on them. Your search had only gone on for a few short minutes when you felt the shockwave, and heard the noise a moment later.

A fucking building had exploded. Several kilometers away, thankfully in the opposite direction of your home base, a massive pillar of flame swiftly diffuses into the air, followed swiftly by a plume of rubble and smoke, blasting out in all directions. You watch several derelict buildings that survived the initial blast crumble in the following moments, their support structures drastically weakened by the conflagration.

And in the blinding light of the blast, you see someone else. Someone on street level, their shadow stretched ten meters long by the detonation. Even as all the zombies begin mindlessly turning toward the flames and marching in that direction, the figure who caught your eye sprints away from it. The most curious part is how fast he's sprinting. He travels several meters through the air for each time his feet touch the ground. Just watching him it's easy to see his speed is obviously high in the triple-digits. You can't exactly make out from where you are if he's a vampire, a "super-zombie," or something else, but he definitely isn't a normal human. (He isn't carrying a musket, either, so Janissary's probably out.)

[] You rush toward the site of the blast, trying to investigate its cause and the existence of any possible survivors- if anyone did live through being somewhere near that, they most likely won't last long considering the enormous approaching zombie horde.
[] You swiftly follow the escaping figure.
- [] Attempt to catch him
- [] Trail him to where he's heading
[] Get home as swiftly as possible. The group will no doubt be very confused as to what's going on, and if there's some sort of fight happening (or coming,) you don't want to leave them alone.
[] Write-in...

Explosions are high-profile and obvious. Vampires are more... elusive. Ignoring the smoldering remains of the building behind you, you rush after the escaping figure, but at the same time take great pains to keep your profile low. You move swiftly and silently, positioning yourself in such a way as that you never put yourself between that figure and the moon. The last thing you need is to silhouette yourself.

But ultimately, the fact is, you've been in this game a long time. You know how to be quiet, you know how to be stealthy, and you know how not to be noticed. You still give it your best effort, being more careful than is strictly necessary. You do your absolute best to stay quiet and undetected.

And you fail miserably. You've only tracked the figure for a few kilometers before he apparently picks up on the sound of your following him and pivots on his heels, his eyes staring for a moment straight into yours. They're blood red. He's a vampire and isn't trying to hide it. You stop in your tracks, nearly stumbling as you do so.

He picks up the slack and turns around, closing the distance between the two of you in a matter of moments. You don't attempt to move closer to or further away from him until he's stopped, keeping about a meter in between the two of you.

You can't help but be put off by his appearance. The clothes he's wearing are gaudy, brightly-colored and with patterns that are frankly just ugly. He looks like he's wearing an awful shag carpet around. Furthermore, he's about your height, but much thinner, so lean and lanky that it looks deeply unnatural. He stands in a way that simply radiates self-importance, and he has a smug grin on his face as he stubbornly refuses to be the first to introduce himself. Needless to say, you've never met him before in your life.

"So who exactly are y-"

"Now wait a second motherfucker, I'll be the one askin' the questions here! Don't forget that YOU! were the one who was followin' ME! Like a fuckin' stalker, can you believe it?"

You scowl with a combination of discomfort, anger, and surprise. He made sure you started talking just so he'd have an opportunity to interrupt you. You've hardly ever met someone so obnoxious before in your life.

"I was only following you because-"

"NAH! Nuh-uh-uh! I ain't asked you any questions yeeeeet! You're supposed to answer my fuckin' questions and stay fuckin' quiet through 'em! I! am simply trying to determine exactly WHO! you are and precisely WHY! you were following me away from that ho-ho-horrible explosion!"

"I was actually just about to-"

"Qqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqqquiiiiiet!" His voice rolls in an infuriating trill, and you immediately decide that if you are interrupted one more bloody time, there will be serious consequences.

"No, you impudent whelp, YOU be fucking quiet! I understand that you want answers, but they are answers that I will provide on my time when I BLOODY FUCKING WISH IT and until such a time, YOU will remain quiet, respectful, and as close as you can get to sucking my dick as to not challenge your glass-fragile sense of masculinity, is that understood?"

Throughout your entire furious outburst, he doesn't interrupt you, but he doesn't seem particularly intimidated either. He simply sits back, listening to you fume, the grin on his face only slightly smaller. As soon as you ask your final question, his entire body shifts as he gives you a ridiculous, exaggerated salute.

"I fully understand, for fuckin' sure! They told me you'd be a handful, so I apologize for not taking you quite seriously enough, Count Zzzzzzzzelemir, Siiiir!"

With that, both of his boots hit the ground, his entire body going stiff in a mocking parody of actual military conduct. This little worm knows exactly how to push your buttons, and your brain is barely working well enough to register that fact. You probably haven't been treated this way by anyone in centuries, and certainly not anyone who's still alive.

"Who. Are. You."

"I guess I can answer that one without much trouble, hey? The name's Lan. They call me "Funny Lan" back where I come from. "The Funnyman," some of 'em say. I always laugh at those guys, "ah-hah-hah," I say, "you're bein' so goofy." Fact of the matter is, I ain't tryn' to goof off, it's just kinda what I do, y'know? One time, I said, I said- "Hey, Is-"

"Quiet. You say one more bloody word out of turn and I swear to every god that's ever forsaken me that I will tear open your chest and bite. out. your. heart."

He shrugs. "I know I couldn't take ya, old man, so I'll shut my trap. I always know when to shut up, that's the damn truth, you believe me."

The only thing that stops you from losing your temper is the fact that you know he wants you to, and that nothing in the world would make him more satisfied than your unbridled rage.

"Good. Now, I have several questions, and you will answer them simply and promptly."

"Got it, Count Zzzelemir, SIR!"

"Why are you here? In this town? Clearly you're a vampire, I was unaware of any vampires living here before this whole plague claimed the land."

"There wasn't nobody to be aware of! 'Course, we were aware of you. But me? I'm just here 'cause I was checking up on an old friend of mine."

He gestures in the direction of the raging fire behind you.

"What old friend?"

"Technically speakin', more of a business partner. Part of BITE, just like me. I know Izzy told ya about us already."

"Izzy?"

"Yeah, Izzy. You know her, crazy Scottish lady? Tall? Dark? Handsome? Borderline fetishistic love of violence?"

"Yes, I am fully aware. It's the... nickname that gives me pause."

"Hey, everything's casual with BITE! No need for any of that "Count" crap except with the Master."

"And who's the "Master?"

"Someone who's authority matters more than yours, "Count." In other words, I ain't s'post'a tell."

"Fine. Tell me what happened back there."

You, too, gesture towards the plume of smoke behind you.

"I know Izzy told ya about all them crazy Turkish guys attackin' us. Well, I heard tell just before sunset that one of my guys, my guys, would you believe it? was gettin' attacked by one of those Turks. Well, I head out soon as I can, and before I head in to back 'im up, I just kinda watch from outdoors. 'Fore long, that whole boom boom shit that you saw went down, and I turned tail to go report it! I mean, you know as well as I do a blast like that isn't killing a vampire, but a Janissary is another story. So I'm basically headin' back to let somebody know to let the Master know that it's, y'know, mission accomplished."

"How large is this group of yours."

"Not allowed to give you numbers, but I can say with pretty great confidence that a damn large part of all the vampires in America are in our corner."

"And what is your corner?"

He grins wider, showing off rows of razor-sharp teeth. His mouth looks like a dammed shark's rather than a vampire's. "Survival, my almighty Count. We're under attack from all fuckin' sides. We're being attacked by Hellsing and the Janissaries, the world's gettin' better and better at killin' us, and our food source is lookin' like it's gonna be deader than Ska within a matter of months or years. The good immortal folks at BITE are tryin' to get a hold on our share in the world. This whole plague thing is a nice fancy cull. It cuts down the humans better than anything us vampires could do less than a goddamned genocide. We wanna rise up. We wanna make sure we fuckin' win!"

He licks his lips. "Me? I'm just in it for the free food, honestly. And to meet cool famous vampires like you, the oh-so-exalted Cooooount, Zzelemirrrrrr! Can ya sign my fangs?"

You growl. "Ask me again after they've grown out, boy."

He actually grins at that, snickering. "That one cuts deep! 6 out of 10 at lllleast! You're improving, old man, no doubt about that!"

"Shut. Up."

He chuckles, before motioning over his lips and closing them in a gesture you don't recognize. Must be colloquial.

"Now where can I speak with an actual representative of this "BITE?"

He looks to either side of him, before... pretending that he can't open his lips. He shrugs, mumbling through his closed mouth. This is starting to get really fucking aggravating, and you're finding it difficult to keep from getting physical. "TALK!"

He finally opens his lips. "OK, OK, sorryyyy! It was just that ya told me to shut up earlier, and I was just tryin' to be, ya know, cooperative and all that! Like you said earlier!"

"Just... tell me... where on Earth... I can speak with a member of BITE who isn't a literal goddamned child."

He gasps in mock offense. "How ddddddare you! You imply that I am merely a child, my greatest, the highest of all Counts? Why, I cannot believe it! I'll have you know I have been a legal adult in this fine, FINE country for well over a decade now!"

A decade? Dear God, he really is a child. But he is going to talk.

[] Convince him to talk by keeping your temper in check, cooperating with his worthless games, and keeping the brat placated.
[] Make your threats a bit more... concrete. If just threatening him won't convince him to help you, perhaps thrashing him will.
[] He'll be plenty willing to talk when he's a severed head with a pair of lungs hanging from
[] Fuck him, actually. You don't want what he has to know. Tear him to shreds and put a stake through his heart before he has a chance to object. BITE be damned.
[] You're done. Done, done, done, done, done. As done as you've ever been. Just fucking leave.
- [] And go where?
[] Write in...