and by the sword you die

"He was much changed, sure, but he still possessed a soul... many of them do, these men and women you hunt. Some more lost than others... but-"

Sean sighed, biting his lip and crouching beside the head. Once such a sight would have set his stomach to turning but now it brought only sadness. A trembling hand reached out to try and close the skals eyes.

"His struggle is at an end, now. Perhaps it is some mercy, the Lord will take him in his arms and mend all hurts..."

Blue eyes looked up at the hunter, and the compassion seemed further extended to Geoffrey himself... almost pitying. "It is hard work that you do, my friend. I do not envy your burden, nor the toll it must take on your own soul to end the lives of your fellow men."

The hunter had to bite back a bitter retort at Hampton's plaintive display. It was not an unfamiliar sight -- plenty of people reacted poorly to the death of a leech they'd once known, even if the person had become a monster after turning. And in Geoffrey's experience they inevitably became monsters, given enough time. For every person grateful to have been saved by his sword, there had been an almost equal number who resented him for his efforts.

Like Hampton, they didn't understand. Just because a beast wore a familiar face didn't change its nature. And the nature of those things was inherently evil, no matter how good they were at pretending otherwise. Fooling humans was part of their charm, their power. They lured in their prey with a pleasant exterior -- Ekons did, anyway. Skals like the one he just dispatched were all but feral compared to their Ekon ilk. Geoffrey couldn't understand why Hampton would mourn the loss of one, even if he'd known the man in life, but he wasn't one to mock someone's mourning.

It was nasty work and he knew it.

He did, however, scoff at the offered absolution. Generally one was required to express remorse to receive it, or to at least acknowledge their actions as sinful. Geoffrey had done neither, nor did he plan to make a confession of guilt any time soon. "My soul? The Lord will judge me for a dozen other transgressions before this one, if he even sees it as such. That," he nodded his head in the direction of the severed one, "is a far cry from being my fellow man. It's an animal at best and an abomination at worst. Either way, better off dead."

He lets Zane's optimism linger without comment, only offering a derisive snort in response. Geoffrey knows he could keep pushing, keep insisting there are betters way to live an immortal life that don't involve so much cyclical disappointment and death -- but he also knows it'd be wasted breath. There is a solution to the Zane problem, but the hunter isn't going to act on it now, and so they'll remain at this impasse until one of them finally wises up. It's just a matter of who cracks first.

His eyes slide closed in the dying light. The scent of blood still hangs heavy in the air. It's not from Geoffrey's preferred source but the pervasive smell of it still makes his gums itch. It's temporarily overpowered by the tang of Zane's lit joint, though it's not enough to mask the carnage completely.

Geoffrey cracks an eye open at the other man's questioning, a more obvious half-smile now tugging at the side of his mouth that isn't snagged by scar tissue. "They were putting worse things in cough medicine when I was growing up," he says, like it's some kind of defense against the accusation of being uncool. Both eyes open now, he can't help but watch the pale column of Zane's throat when he inhales and exhales, the faint flexing of his muscles and corresponding pulse of blood vessels. His teeth ache, and he tears his gaze away. "But I haven't smoked in a long time. It used to be my excuse to take a goddamn break -- not like I'm hurting for time, now. Cigarettes got too expensive, anyway."

Just another human habit he's allowed to fall by the wayside over the decades. Maybe Zane just hasn't gotten to that point yet, or maybe the routine -- the act -- of it all isn't something he's willing to give up. Vampires today are different than they were when Geoffrey turned, but then so is mortal society. Everything is bigger and louder and more, and in the last few years he's had to deal with more leeches stalking night clubs than rat infested alleys. They're bolder, more self-confident, and he wants to blame it on media, but the truth is that people just aren't as afraid of monsters anymore. And the monsters aren't what they once were.

Christ, he really is getting old.

"Your projects scare me a little." Could be a film -- Geoffrey takes interest in those, at least -- but it could also be just about anything else. Zane and his whims are sometimes unpredictable. "If it involves more of a body count than what I've already seen today, I'll pass."

Consider this my kiss of Judas.