bigapplesauce | Working man [Open to multiple]

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Peter Vincent." Something about the name tugs at his memory, but in the moment he can't quite place it. He doesn't recognize the guy, so he dismisses it for now. "First time I've seen you here. What are you, the new welcoming committee?"

"I'm the new bouncer, at least," Dracula agrees, mildly. "I haven't seen you before, either, but you seem quite at home, here."

There aren't many mirrors in Wilmot's End, but there are surfaces capable of reflecting enough to show an image. Dracula is careful, usually, of these surfaces and how he stands in front of them. However, a passing waitress happens to be carrying a silver serving platter that is shiny from a recent cleaning. As she strolls by, Peter and Dracula should both be reflected, if hazily, but only Peter appears.

That figures. Peter figured he was something like that when he came over and started horning in instead of the bartender coming to tend to him. He rolls his eyes, but something catches his attention. It's just visible for a fleeting second, gone quick enough to make Peter question whether he saw it at all, but his instincts go on alert. His gaze flicks after the departing waitress, but it's too late, he can no longer see his own reflection.

It was probably nothing.

It might have been his imagination.

"Been here a couple times," he says cautiously. "If they've sent you to kick me out, I have money this time."

"Not at all," Dracula assures him. "Please stay and enjoy your drinks. I merely find it helpful to know the clientele and to have them know me."

He places a hand briefly on Peter's shoulder, his skin cooler than that most people.

Peter tenses under the hand, giving away his unease with how he shifts away from even the brief touch. Who is this creep to make him afraid when he came here to drink and forget ~~Lucy~~ his problems, anyway? "Going to tell me what you are, then?" he asks, suddenly bold.

Dracula's smile turns cold. Whatever else he may be, and he's admitting nothing to this stranger, he was born and remains human.

"I'm a human, same as you seem to be," Dracula answers, with deceptive calm. He moves away, just a few inches, but his manner is much less friendly than before.

It could be Peter just insulted another human over something he imagined. It could be this guy was acting friendly because he really is just friendly.

It could be Peter prefers anger right now.

"Can't be too sure with some of the freaks that come through here," he says, zeroing in on the nerve he seems to have hit regardless of the possibility that he was right and he should be afraid.

"Some might consider you a freak," Dracula pointed out reasonably. "Such things are subjective."

"Only in bed," laughs Peter, turning back to the bar. He actually feels a bit proud of himself for coming up with something better than the old 'fuck you' fallback.

Dracula simply gives a polite smile, understanding the innuendo, but feeling any response is beneath him. The important thing is the man seems to have forgotten whatever had made him suspicious.

"Are you a native of this city?"

The time for small talk may have been over, but Dracula feels a need to know. This world doesn't seem to produce it's own vampires, so far as Dracula can tell, but something set the man off. Dracula has to decide just how dangerous this man might be.

Forgotten, no. The truth of the matter is that Peter's just in a mood to drive anyone away, and that he's used enough to living down the hall from a vampire to know that the bloodsuckers accepted into the rebels' midst either abstain from outright murder or tend to be crafty enough to make themselves look like they do.

"Would I be in this bar if I was?" he asks impatiently. "Look, I'm just here for a drink, not to make friends with the help."

"We welcome everyone here," Dracula points out, his voice gaining an edge, but become rather soft...a sign of anger. "Do you consider yourself above making friends with the 'help?'"

That isn't an attitude he appreciates. Dracula doesn't consider himself a supporter of democracy, but he's wise enough to have learned not to base a person's worth on notions of class and money. He's known quite a few royal idiots, in his time.

"Grow a pair of tits and maybe we'll talk," decides Peter, getting acidic in return. He looks to the bartender, who pretends not to see him. If the bouncer is talking to him this long, goes the reasoning, Peter's not likely to stay. "Can I get some fucking service?" calls the trouble customer in question.

Dracula catches the bartender's eye and nods, a bit ruefully.

"That's beyond me. I hope you know to be a gentleman to any lady who does come near you."

"Oh, for fuck's sake." No promises, clearly. Peter snaps his fingers impatiently at the bartender finally coming over. "Midori sour."

To the bouncer, he adds, "Are you still here?"

"I am. You'll find that I'll never be very far away," Dracula promises, smirking a bit.

Peter groans. "Yeah, you're a real big man. I don't need you riding my arse, alright?"

"That remains to be seen. Let's hope you are more peaceful, than you are charming."

Peter just flips the man off and turns to the drink that's just arrived. He is beyond done with this conversation.

Dracula gives a small smile and moves on, relatively confident the man will behave, though he won't go unwatched.

Working man [Open to multiple]

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