[table][tr][td][div style="width: 70px; height:70px; background-image:url(https://i.imgbox.com/W8N8gUDb.png); background-size: cover; background-position: top;"][/td][td][div style="width: 100px; text-align: center; font-family: arial; font-size: 7pt; color: #ff0000; line-height: 100%; padding-top: 6px; padding-left: 6px; opacity: 0.75; text-transform: lowercase;"]my brother's friends explain to me, with breathless words and bloody knees; it's a black eyed trust, respect the pain.

Contrary to what Kade had believed, it had taken some time for the smell of blood to attract a vampire. Alexander steps into the room just as Marissa is convincing the hunter to leave, an eyebrow raised, not exactly happy to see the mess the woman had made. They didn't have to clean any of it up, but it would grind their gears to know that a house in San Creado, no matter how broken down and dirty it already was, would now always have the smell of death and gore. They could think of no one in San Creado who would be inclined to pick all of this up, unless Kade herself did something with her victims when they weren't used.

They come to stand beside Marissa, more comfortable with her than the demon hunter, attention going from the bodies on the floor to their company. "I'll pass on the demon, and the human, too. I don't like eating off the floor. I'm sure it's been longer than five seconds." They say, hands on their hips. They look back to the supposed meal Kade had offered them, nose scrunching slightly. "I'm not sure the rest of the vampires would like this, either. They're kind of picky."

Alexander heads out of the house themselves, for once wanting to get away from the smell of blood. The demon gave off a scent like ash and brimstone, something that told the vampire to stay well away. They wait for Marissa and Kade to catch up before they're moving again, absentmindedly tugging at their hair. "Well, you've put me in the mood for some kind of snack. Let's head to the minimart."

[size=10pt]Zach has no sense of smell, so the blood hadn't attracted him - neither had the screams for mercy. It's hard to hear such things when one of your ears is missing. In fact, he isn't quite sure what had prompted him to drift over here. Call it a sixth sense, zombie instinct, whatever, there had been something in him that steered him in this direction. He regrets following it. Though the feat is impossible, he feels the distinct urge to vomit. The sheer look of horror he wears is sure ironic. If he could see his face, he'd have a fit. "Are you guys just gonna ignore the fact that she just killed someone?" Asks the serial killer, voice quivering.

He opens his mouth to say something else, but then it occurs to him that this must be normal. They're not phased at all by the bodies strewn about the floor, not the blood spattering the walls or Kade's hands. This is just an average Tuesday night to them. "...what did she do to deserve that?" He had heard some talk about demons on the way in, but he had been too distracted by the carnage on the floor to pay much attention. As the group moves along, he stumbles after them, deciding he has no choice but to follow. He's an accomplice now. This is yet another charge he's racked up. God, he already has a life sentence.

Then again, it isn't like there are any cops around. Zachariah hasn't seen one police station in the entire time he's been here. Not to mention it would be pretty difficult to arrest him when he didn't have any hands to cuff. He's sure that the rest of the lot have their own method to avoiding any kind of corporal punishment, given that half of them aren't even human. Alexander's remark has him scoffing and folding his arms across his chest. He really can't wrap his head around it. How can any of them act like this is just a casual, everyday occurrence?

[table][tr][td][div style="width: 70px; height:70px; background-image:url(https://i.imgbox.com/4XVwGFUK.png); background-size: cover; background-position: top;"][/td][td][div style="width: 100px; text-align: center; font-family: arial; font-size: 7pt; color: #8A8A8A; line-height: 100%; padding-top: 5px; padding-left: 10px; opacity: 0.75; text-transform: lowercase"]Secrets on Broadway to the freeway, you're a keeper of crimes; Fear no conviction, grapes of wrath can only sweeten your wine

Blood no longer acted as a honey trap quite as well as it used to. Throughout the ages, as defenses were hiked against the activities of the otherworldly, growing in complexity and capability while people learned, Rialto couldn't speak for all of them but many vampires had grown just a little bit smarter to compensate. A lot of blood became a shining red flag for a markedly sticky situation, given whosever it was and why, and even without a mortal countdown hanging over their heads, most people didn't like the sound of hysterical laughter.

Not to mention that this time the swathe of blood had a tinge decidedly not human mixed in. He'd had his fair share of experience with not human, as he would, and also hunters. Mortals that lured in the supernatural like reeling in fish.

Mouth shut, Rialto pressed his tongue into the back of his fangs as he gingerly clambered off the roof of the neighbouring house - where he'd been perched, of course. To watch from a safe distance. There was still very much to say about the whole, self-righteous 'putting them out of their misery' killing; the 'it's all for the greater good' killing; however, if there was one thing a nasty little bloodsucker didn't have the leverage to do, it was to be the one to say it. His mouth only twisted, the hazily judgemental expression on his face hard to read. Well, kind of.

For Rialto, the process had been the opposite. His own haze of smelly, rampant glory years preceded the gambolling into creative expression, and that much had probably served him well - the 'new beginnings' concept acted as more of a good incentive than an actually good plan, but some people managed to pull it off. You know. To stop and smell the roses. 

'A reality check,' Rialto said disparagingly to Mari's statement once his grubby flip flops touched earth, gaining level with them and raising a hand to his temple. 'In my town. So, could you tell me how exactly she is not trying to be a serial killer?'

His eyes fell over the blacksmith as she returned, features becoming blasé momentarily before they lapsed into, as Rialto called it, Helpless Pitiful Vampire at the mention of the minimart. Big shiny eyes out as he gave them all a faux-casual, utterly hopeful look, steepling his fingers. 'Oh no, I'm craving soda but there's no change on me. Is there anyone at all who's a generous, giving soul?'