Chat History
Remember: everything Dettlaff van der Eretein says is made up.
Beauclair was, as ever, bustling with activity. It grated on his senses, truth be told; the inane chatter of tradespeople, the stenches associated with cities, the suspicious eyes of capricious nobles already deigning him outsider . Not for his nature - that was well hidden - but for failing to adhere to the minute social rituals that humans seemed to be so fond of. Touissant was rife with such petty rules , lies within riddles within secrets.
Dettlaff would not come into the city at all but for the necessity of acquiring services and goods that were otherwise unobtainable. His lesser vampiric kin were fierce fighters, loyal - but poor cobblers.
And Regis had encouraged him to...observe. To try to see humans as more than ignorant, often impolite contradictions that frustrated Dettlaff more every time he tried to understand them. The higher vampire did not share the same views as many of his people - that humans were worth little more than the precious blood they produced - but still, he had little interest in studying or befriending them, as Regis seemed so fond of doing.
But Regis was his friend, and so Dettlaff would try . For that bond writ in blood, if no other reason.
"Thank y' for your custom, sir!" The cobbler calls after him, and Detlaff inclines his head in acknowledgement, the dark leather of his coat rustling as he sets a steady pace through the busy streets, the sun descending slowly towards the horizon. A man alone about his business.
Alone...if not for the stranger that had been tailing him for some time now. Detlaff recognises the familiar scent without even glancing behind. *There they are again* , he notes with a mixture of irritation and, admittedly, mild curiosity. He did not know why this stranger was doggedly following him about the city, though he could guess that their intentions were less than pure. If they intended to rob him, they would find Dettlaff van der Eretain a much less convenient target than a human mark.
It was a mild annoyance, nothing more...but it grated at him, like an unscratched itch. He first tries to lose them in the crowds, then through a series of winding side-streets. Eventually, Dettlaff lets out a low growl of frustration, stalking abruptly into a dark side alley. He turns on his heel, waiting for the stranger to inevitably follow, before leaping out at them, fangs bared. He would not kill, if there was no further provocation; the display was intended to frighten and dissuade, nothing more.
NSFW