>>Welcome

[Stefan Badenhorst]

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “So sorry.”

Badenhorst kissed the bobbing tip of a rose. Its tasselled flowers tickled his nose and he managed a preoccupied smile. A wasp’s astringent sting would sour the moment. None struck.

He stooped, his shadow darkening the ground- Surprising considering the evening’s downcast gloom. Was it six or seven? He hated watches. They accelerated your bleeding existence.

Like tapping digits, a flaky drizzle smacked his top hat. It possessed not the power to drench, unless you had been standing in the black since midday.

His clothes consequently dripped with faux sweat.

Feeding the grave his roses, he noted no other flowers tending to its gaunt maw. A sigh shook his back. Its niggling jag disturbed the rainwater, which like burrs, stuck to his suave dress coat. Did he mourn in vain then? Not that you should mourn the dead or the forgotten - the worms had gnawed away their suffering.

The gravestone received his next kiss and a breathy whisper: “Sorry.”

Really sorry.

He staggered to his feet, kicking intermittent pellets of earth. Its bothered musk camouflaged the smell of wet wood and fading meat.

Mimicking an emaciated tomb, his shovel - at least a borrowed one - jutted from the sodden grass. He breathed another “sorry” and started digging, the rasp and clunk of steel announcing morose intentions.

[+The Master]

It was early or getting late depending on your point of view and The Master had decided that tonight would be one of those rare nights where he ventured out on the hunt. He had a particular type of victim in mind young, female and a brunette one who would match the physical description of the slayer as closely as possible. He had thought that after several days of playing games with the young thing that it was about time that he sent out a serious message. It was what in his sick twisted mind he considered to be a friendly warning towards the other. He just hadn’t decided whether to simply bite tonight’s victim and drain their sweet blood, or go beyond the call of duty and deface their blood afterwards. Hmm he was thinking towards the latter make it a particular brutal death and alert the girl to exactly how cold, cunning and artistic he could be compared to the brutality of the majority of his kinship. Ah how he missed Angelus who was now but a shell of his former self now that he had regained his soul and had the audacity to team up with the slayer against him. Though he had been somewhat wilful and arrogant he had always respected the artistic eptitude he displayed within his killings.

Passing through a graveyard the favourite spot of The Slayer and others like her who deserved to die even more than the animals they hunted. His ears perked up as he heard with his enhanced vampiric sense of hearing another apologizing and if he was hearing correctly likely crying, or very close to tears whilst doing so. Well this night was certainly going to be interesting. Here he had already found prey and it hadn’t even been an hour since sunset just yet. Ooh how delicious. Finally reaching a point where the other was within his sights he watched him and his movements very carefully for several seconds. Raising his nose he realized with disgust that what he smelt off the other was the pungent smell of a werewolf. Well there went his early dinner plans, though at least he could be pleased about the fact that the other didn’t exactly match his criteria for his victim this evening at any rate. As the other kissed the tombstone the ancient vampire’s features twisted into something of a smirk. Weak and emotional this one was surely going to be an easy target though he doubted he would actually kill the other. He had found out the hard way that the blood of a werewolf left the sourest taste in your mouth.

Stepping out of the shadows so that he was viewable even by the pathetic mongrels a twisted grin had made its way into his bat like features. Moving closer and closer to the other his movements were slow and had an air of confidence about them only fitting in his eyes to a vampire as old and ultimately as powerful as himself. “There really is nothing more pathetic than seeing someone crying over the dead. You see that’s what so pathetic about you soul bearers you seem to be unable to comprehend that when someone dies. It’s time to forget about them and move on and a wolf too tut tut.” His words were spoken quite clearly and with a certain condescending tone to them that you would have thought that he was talking to a child rather than a fully grown man then again when you considered the age difference between the two. It would hardly be surprising, if he did think of the other as a child. Moving himself closer to the other and propping himself on to a tombstone in what the other would likely view as a rather disrespectful matter. Sitting and watching the other he was certainly intrigued as to how he would react to his surprising arrival. It had been too long since a young one had been so stupid as to actually challenge him and well he was up to beating respect into him if needed.