Dawn.

It breaks through the window pale curtains and flows onto his tattered body like a healing blanket. There is a silence of anticipation within the beauty that he calls a dwelling. How foreign he looks in such a beautiful domain. A pale towel wrapped low around his way, pale skin covered in scars and burns from battle of own. His hair is mussed, blood clotting it and matting it to his forehead. Upon his fit chest more blood, crusted against minimal chest hairs and causing his scarred face to look even more savage than it already had. Those eyes of his, those piercing icy eyes stand out greatly against his dirty face. A site for sore eyes he was, standing there in the pearly bathroom casually looking into the mirror. His house a luxurious one, created for a rich prissy family with eight kids and dinners every night. Not a loner such as he, who rarely ever sleeps, and never dares to dream. His nights are normally spent outside, sleeping in places he shouldn't be sleeping. Like a hit and run, he comes and goes from this establishment.

If you ask his neighbors, they'll tell you no one lives here in the haunted house on the hill.

It's too bright for him in here, fingers drawing upward to rub the ache from his eyes. How much his head hurts cannot be described, the voices calm for they are satiated in their thirst. Their remnants remain however, in the form of a chronic migraine. Fingers leave his eyes to rub gently upon his temples, a small massage that aides in the pain. Only for a moment. He breathes, the stillness in his muscled body almost dead like. Upon his neck are faint scratches, hidden from his beard. They burn slightly, the vampires in the park getting a small piece of him in the fight. They must have been newly changed, unable to control their thirst and acting out. Their bloodlust had blinded them, but then again, he could relate to that heavily.

Out of habit he allows his aching shoulders to roll, idly stroking his beard. She would be here soon. The purple eyed girl. His mind trails to her image, the ridiculous amount of changes that occurred in such a short time enough to baffle him. First time they met was in the ring in a gory filled battle that sadly, he had lost. The second time in the park, during one of his episodes where instead of killing her and attempted to fuel the fires inside her cradled her, using her as an anchor towards sanity. And when he had left her there, after the bloodbath that ensued and her absurd amount of kitten play, he felt the faint need to follow her. The invite had been laid out and before he could change his mind she had accepted and darted out into the last few shadows of the night.

Solidarity was his thing, roaming the world with nothing more than the company of his demons. It wasn't so bad, when you're a crazed viking from the days of old obsessed with nothing more than blood and power the solo life is the best life. It is not her company he seeks though. It is something else, a strange obsession that has come over him like a blood haze. Even for the brief moments that she had been away he had been... irritable. Call it what you want but we won't speak on it today.

The viking shakes off the thoughts, moving away from his mirrored nightmare that is his bloodied face to the clear glass doors that lead to the shower. He opens them, turning the knob to hot and watching the waters stream from all five of the shower heads above him. Automatically, lights dim to a comfortable relaxing and warm yellow as the steam fills up room. It is like a 6th sense to know of another predator in your domain and he feels her near before his other senses have time to catch up. Naturally, like the predator he is, he tenses with the invasion but he pushes away his instincts. He moves away from the shower, making his way to the front door. Casually he pulls the russet wooden door open, it shines in the morning light. Crystalline irises shine at the fresh site of her, "you're just in time."

Iórkæll dværg