Ishmael was, not unexpectedly, on his way to Monty tonight. He didn't plan to stay in London long - not with a new vampire up at the caverns (he wouldn't want to miss any drama there, if it unfolded) - so he had been walking swiftly down the darkened alleyways, used enough to the route not to need to pay much attention. His footsteps were so quiet he was almost gliding, his thoughts too far away to tune into the lumbering sound of footsteps coming his way. There was the pervading smell of blood, but Ishmael was mostly convinced that was an imagined taste, just because he was getting thirsty.
Until he collided with someone, the physical force of it almost negligible next to the scent of blood as it swelled and crashed over him in a torrent. It was enough to make him salivate.
He reined himself in enough to momentarily shake off the sensation, enough for his blown pupils to return to normal, raking over the man and seeing him, properly. He was tall and broad-shouldered and burly, but what really made him a tasty snack were the glistening cuts across his chest - and the broken nose gushing like a bloody chocolate fountain.
Ishmael caught him by the arm, a move that might have merely come as a reflex from the collision to steady himself, if his nature didn't make him far more solid than he looked, and if his grip had not been an iron vice. "It's... no problem," Ishmael declared with a serene smile, pausing to close his eyes and draw in a deep breath, almost as if he were unsteady on his feet. The long inhale had not helped that, of course: rather, it had brought the smell of blood rushing into his lungs again. And this, of course, made him less inclined than ever to let the man go. "What happened to you?" He asked, his tone light, floating somewhere near friendliness.
Until he collided with someone, the physical force of it almost negligible next to the scent of blood as it swelled and crashed over him in a torrent. It was enough to make him salivate.
He reined himself in enough to momentarily shake off the sensation, enough for his blown pupils to return to normal, raking over the man and seeing him, properly. He was tall and broad-shouldered and burly, but what really made him a tasty snack were the glistening cuts across his chest - and the broken nose gushing like a bloody chocolate fountain.
Ishmael caught him by the arm, a move that might have merely come as a reflex from the collision to steady himself, if his nature didn't make him far more solid than he looked, and if his grip had not been an iron vice. "It's... no problem," Ishmael declared with a serene smile, pausing to close his eyes and draw in a deep breath, almost as if he were unsteady on his feet. The long inhale had not helped that, of course: rather, it had brought the smell of blood rushing into his lungs again. And this, of course, made him less inclined than ever to let the man go. "What happened to you?" He asked, his tone light, floating somewhere near friendliness.
