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[color=#CD5C5C][sup][b]Surgeon | Elder Vampire | Covenless[/b][/sup][/COLOR][/center][hr][INDENT][sup]
[color=#CD5C5C][b]TIME:[/b] [i]Present Day – Late Afternoon[/i] | [b]LOCATION:[/b] [i]Washington Park - Founder's Day[/i] | [b]INTERACTION:[/b][@Lionhearted][@Hero][/COLOR][/sup][/INDENT]

There is an idea of a Desmond Gray; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real Desmond: only an entity, something illusory. And though he can hide his cold gaze, and you can shake his hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense each other’s lifestyles are probably comparable... he simply is not there. The day started off like any other, Desmond preferably worked the night shifts so he had time in the morning to sleep as to avoid the sunlight. Seven to seven was ideal and the fact that most accidents that sent the bloody and mutilated to the trauma center were always in the dead of night. His prey basically came to him on a silver platter with him having to do some work, but not as much as he would trying to find the perfect meal outside of it. 

Fortunately for Desmond he requested off the following day to attend the long awaited Founders Day in Washington square, the idea itself was silly to Desmond since he was approaching the third century mark in age. If anything the town should be relishing in his achievements and livelihood, regardless of what he thought, Desmond was looking forward to having a day off from his monotonous grind of working in the hospital. The minute hand was quickly approaching the end of his 12 hour shift while the sun was peaking up from the backdrop of the horizon. [color=#CD5C5C][i]”Just one quick meal before I go to bed.”[/i][/color] looking around to make sure no one was near, Desmond walked the halls with a hint of death leaking out from his pores. The darkness cascaded the walls and much like cold air, fell to the ground to create an uncomfortable chill to anyone who walked beside him. 

Going through his rotations he scanned all the patients who were on life support and specifically under [color=#CD5C5C][i]“do not resuscitate”[/i][/color] these were the easiest to get away with. His tongue clicked as his eyes narrowed and the names grew shorter and shorter, [color=#CD5C5C]“Let’s see, Abigail Sawyer…27, Caucasian, Suffered from a traumatic stroke. Shame, she was so young too.”[/color] Desmond exhaled and slapped his clipboard shut entering the room to see the young girl on life support. The ventilator and the gown took nothing away from the beauty that was stuck comatose. Her hair was a rich auburn color and her skin was a creamy peach color. If there was one thing that was a crime to her beauty it was the ailment stripping the color from her face. Desmond stepped closer to the girl admiring her beauty as if it were a sin for him to be in her presence. His cold finger carefully brushed aside a strip of hair that had obstructed her natural beauty. Her skin was warm, her artery beating furiously through her peach colored skin to keep her body alive. 

Romanticizing death and the intimacy between the killer and his victim was the epitome of what drove Desmond to kill instead of switching to animal blood. He had his humanity, but he had to feed the monster, that part of him would never leave. Desmond sat down on the edge of the bed moving his mouth closer to her neck as he pushed her head to the side to expose her neck. His fangs clicked and his eyes filled with black mist, death was looming….until, [color=gray]“Hey there Desmond, aren’t you supposed to be off now? You know the hospital doesn’t like handing out overtime when they need to. Besides that Founders day festival is going to be wild. You should probably rest up before you go.”[/color] The next surgeon on rotation said as he stood by the frame of the door. Desmond’s fists clenched in anger as the euphoric idea of ripping into his neck and draining him right there and then danced around in his mind. Instead, his fangs retracted and his sclera faded to white, showing only his eyes rolling to the back of his head. [color=#CD5C5C]“Yeah you’re right, I was just trying to talk to Abigail to see if she would wake up. She’s too young to be in here”[/color] Desmond said as he got up and proceeded to walk past his fellow resident. The surgeon stopped him before he left, [color=gray]“I know it’s hard. It’s okay to cry one out, you can’t let it get to you. We do everything we can, it’s all up to God after that. Good luck brother”[/color] his hand fell back to his side as he entered the room and began to read her sheet. 

Desmond in an angered hungered state decided to head home and get some rest for a few hours before making his entrance at the festival. Once home Desmond walked into his studio apartment that was almost too clean and sanitary; one might mistake it as a staged space. The interior was completely devoid of color and only consisted of monochromatic shades of black and white. Everything was in order and properly aligned, the existence of dirt or dust was bleak. There wasn’t much furniture either, a bed, a table to eat, and your regular in home appliances. The two things that stuck out that gave some virility to his humble abode was the art draped along his walls, an exquisite amount of detail was poured into these canvas, and little did his visitors know was that the portraits captured the last few moments of fleeting life his victims had. Beyond his easel and blank canvas there was a large bookcase that contained several books regarding human anatomy and the brain dating all the way back to the 18th century. Of course most of these were his mother’s works and then collected by him personally afterward. Lastly, there was a high definition camera that laid with the lens cap on, laying on the space between the shelf and the binding of books. 

Opening his refrigerator, there was nothing but water and bags of blood stolen from the hospitals blood bank. Having to resign to drinking cold blood from a bag instead was defeating, but he needed a quick snack to make up for the meal he had been denied. One mug was all that took up the cupboard space since coffee was the only commodity he drank outside of blood. Sucking the blood from the bag like a Capri sun, Desmond made his way to his bed before plopping himself down and shutting his eyes, sleep was the cousin of death and this is as close as he would get to that feeling. 


[color=#CD5C5C][i]A Few Hours Later[/i][/color]

Desmond awoke just as the sun was setting, the hues of orange and red still kissed the sky as he got changed out of his scrubs and into something with more [i]flair[/i], a grey v-neck long sleeved shirt accompanied with dark fitted blue jeans. His muscles gave shape to the shirt as it melded with the natural shape of his body. Making his way to the festival, it seemed that it was as lively as his dotting resident had spoken of. People watching was among Desmond’s favorite pastimes as he carefully examined his surrounding with the utmost scrutiny. Time passed and he saw the interactions of cliques already forming, that was until the reminiscent smell of iron teased at his nose. A blood curdling scream resonated throughout the festival quickly turning the lively ambiance sour, Desmond’s skin rose in goosebumps as his eyes began to slowly turn black. His next meal. Making his way to the center of the park he was entranced by what he saw next. 

A werewolf? In his 300 years of living, Desmond had never encountered the supernatural outside of Abel, his maker, and Mathias the elder who tried to so foolishly take him on. Although the nostalgic memory of Abel teaching him of the existence of these creatures and witches, played through his mind like an infomercial. Desmond never particularly harbored any ill will to these creatures nor did he care for their intentions, all he knew was that if they got in his way they would meet the same fate as anyone else. The trail of blood led to an older gentleman bridal carrying the girl who had her calf sunken into by said werewolf, and also accompanied by the presence of quite the illustrious woman. Two beauties in one day seemed to be quite the lottery for young Desmond, or old rather. Making his way towards the two while gaining speed from his avarice appetite, he was denied his chance to speak when another much younger girl joined the fray. Ignoring the gun shots and the chaos that ensued he was caught off guard once more when the sudden entrance of a grand priest demanded the attention of all the festival participants. His cryptic messaged didn’t sit well with Desmond at all, he had dealt with strong male figures and not once did he ever end on good terms with them, [color=#CD5C5C][i]”St. James Parish, 8:00 PM tomorrow? I’ll have to check that out.[/i][/color]

His attention diverted back to his free meal getting away, this was turning out to be more effort than what it was worth. Again he sped up to be a few feet behind the entourage of people ahead of him. The new addition seemed to be a prim and proper, posh young teen with golden hair as famous as Rapunzel and with beauty to match, but she was no contest for the older woman who seemed to be suffering from her own ailments. In one large swoop, Desmond managed to squeeze to the front of them halting their movement. [color=#CD5C5C]“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I can’t help but see that one of you is hurt severely and the other seems to be quite sick. Oh, how could I be so foolish, my name is [i]Cain[/i] and I’m a Trauma Surgeon at NSMC Salem Hospital. I’d be happy to take the girl off your hands and into the proper care”[/color] Desmond flashed a devilish smile at Ambrosia as their eyes met, his aura of domineering strength could be felt by most, if not all of the rag tag group. All he had to do now was wait.