vlad_dracul: (peeks)
[personal profile] vlad_dracul
Once Dracula learned that the soil of this land would give him sleep, he set to work. He had no desire to become involved in the conflict between ROMAC and the rebels, particularly with such scant information. Fortunately, his actual needs were simple. He needed blood, easily supplied by the rats and vermin of the city. He also needed a place to sleep. Well, sleeping in a coffin, even one occupied, was something he had done before, when necessary.

He preferred a comfortable house or apartment, though. For that, he needed money. He had a small bit of gold in the lining of his jacket, a holdover from more dangerous times, but selling the gold would probably draw more attention than he wanted. Dracula needed a way to earn some honest money. He refused to stoop to crime, especially theft, which he despised. Fortunately, this city, even more than others, had a criminal underbelly willing to cater to those in need of new identities. After earning a small amount of money doing odd jobs, Dracula was able to get enough identification to get a job...at least in places that didn't check backgrounds too carefully.

Now, Dracula is gainfully employed as a bouncer at Wilmot's End. His job includes breaking up fights, preferably before they begin, and making sure minors don't sneak up onto the second floor. Dracula goes back and forth between the floors, making sure the clientele can see him clearly. Wilmot's End has a reputation for not tolerating trouble and Dracula has not hurt that reputation at all. He wears the uniform of black jeans and a black button up shirt well. It's an easy job and Dracula rather enjoys it, even if it is somewhat menial. Ah well. He's developing a solid reputation and gets along with most people.

Even on busy nights, Dracula tries to find time to talk with the clientele. The more they know him and the friendlier the relations are, the easier it is to get people to listen and cooperate. He's always willing to chat for a bit.
last_of_shadows: (Default)
[personal profile] last_of_shadows
He felt the Doomgiver die. He felt the sudden sundering of the connection to his fellow Shadowtroopers that had become a lifeline to him. The Jedi were closing - the raining swamps of Yavin had become a killing ground. Why couldn't he feel their hate? He had been trained, trained for years, to hate them - hate the rebels. But in the moment he, felt the Jedi fighting them, bringing down his fellows all around him.

Lightsaber-resistant armour or not, it didn't stop their blades forever. There where weaknesses, and they found them. They did it without hate, without rage. But with a terrible determination - and pity. It was more terrifying to him than anything he had ever experienced.

He fell back, clutching at his head, as if his fingers could reach through the cortosis helmet and stop what he was feeling. He reeled, rebounding off a pillar and falling to his knees, scrambling away. He held to his red lightsaber like grim death, utterly unsure what to do. Part of him, dimly, realized just how damaged his mind had become. But had no idea what to do.

The Jedi had reminded him of a past. Before the Force had been infused into him, before the Empire. When he had just walked under a warm sun and felt nothing but peace, and a yearning for adventure, to do greater things. Half his life warred with the other half, and he had no idea what would win.

In that moment, he hoped a Jedi's saber would find him soon. And end the confusion.

But instead there was...something. And then he realized he had awoken.

He sat up, suddenly, breathing heavily. This isn't Yavin. He could feel it, with the Force. It felt...wrong. He couldn't explain how. And he was in a park. A strange, alien world, that much was clear.

With a groan, he rolled onto his side, and then pushed himself to his knees. He checked, briefly, to ensure his Artusian crystal was still mounted into his chestplate. Much as he hated it, he needed the Force now. And he had no idea, none at all, what would happen if he lost it.

He searched for a comlink, the need to understand temporarily quieting the raging maelstrom in his mind. He needed the others. He needed someone.

Because in this strange land, he had no idea whatsoever what he was going to do. Was he SW-493? Or Gavin Thayne? Time would tell.

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