[h3][u][b]Mistakes were Made[/b][/u][/h3]

Location: Holly’s Apartment  

Time: 3.07am

[hr]
Matthew's current victim tasted disgusting, which was the final proof that it was not human, or at least not human anymore. If he had wanted any further proof, which he did not.

Strictly speaking, the blood tasted like.... well, like blood: the sharp salt-and-iron tang, the gravy-like consistency of it that was thin yet sticky, the way the scent hung heavy in the air. But there was an intangible foulness to it that he did not quite have the vocabulary for, akin to the way many people recognised a wrong merely by the gnawing sense of [i]wrongness[/i]. It was the wrongness of devouring a fellow demon, of seeing a tiger feast upon another tiger. Having had a great many years of experience with the taste of blood, he further knew that this creature fed upon humans too, and had indeed done so very recently; it was in the hints of sweetness upon its breath as it gasped its last, in the particular, equally intangible richness of what he was swallowing. Blood was blood no matter what being it came from, and blood was life.

The vampire held his prey tight in their grotesque embrace and drank deeply, spitefully, and resolutely ignoring the heavenly fragrance that sang at him from the crimson stains on the floor. 

A subjective eternity - or a couple minutes - later, Matthew let the corpse slide off his knives; the wet sound of his blades coming free and the hard thud of the body hitting the ground making a single ugly snatch of noise. He found the wounded woman and her friend next door, both passed out on the living room floor; he had overheard the man talking - his handphone was on the floor, screen lit up with the still-ongoing call - and his panicked exclamations over his friend. More importantly, he'd also sensed a flaring-up of power, and now that he was paying attention properly he could feel it, he could smell it, power humming in the veins of both humans helpless before him, though the woman still had the more striking presence by far. Perhaps it had been what had attracted the dead monster to her, just as it had Matthew.

He shrugged off the thoughts and acted.

He cleaned his knives; carefully, without making skin contact with the silver blade. Slide Contempt back into its sheath, tuck it away within his coat. Silver knife on the counter, within reach, judt in case, and because when 'help' arrived they would expect to find a knife, on account of the wounds on the corpse.

Wash hands. And mouth. Can't do anything about the stains on his shirt. Dark green turtleneck; it wasn't all that obvious, at least. He knew his own injuries were superficial and already healing. Tug his coat sleeve over his wrist, cover the frostbite that would be hard to explain.

Check on the unconscious people again. Their pulses feel - and sound - steady, and she didn't look at all like she was bleeding out despite the quantity of drying blood. So much blood soaked that makeshift bandage, he was sure even the humans could smell it, thick and heavy with salt and life. He didn't dare undo the bandage anyway.

Check the corpse for identification, for any clue of what or who it was, anything else of note.

He didn't pick up the phone call. Let them come; mundane police would be at a loss to explain the whole scene. People in the know would help cover it all up, and Matthew was confident of his ability to either not seem to be a threat, or failing that, make his escape. People in the know would definitely get involved, and he wanted to meet them. He had had enough of wandering aimless about Loom.

Pulling out his own phone, he went over to the nearest window and looked out, trying to get a glimpse of a street sign. "Hello, William." He didn't usually call the boy by his actual name, and he wondered if dear little Willikins had picked up on it. "I'm going to need you to come out here and back me up however, because...."