08-31-2018, 11:00 PM
[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
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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?'
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?'