#bbhpstarters

Elizabeth had wandered around aimlessly for hours before deciding it was better to figure the town out for herself, rather than rely on her maker Jacqueline, who happened to be nowhere to be seen. So, she took it upon herself to leave her new home at the Foundry Lofts once night fell and try to get a feel of the place by exploring, or rather deciphering where everything was and what this town truly held beneath it's exterior, although she could expect a bore. She had managed to wander only so far though, down a dimly lit street that displayed an array of shops, with only some illuminated with life due to the hour, but that was the downside of being a Vampire, she supposed.

Wandering into one of the buildings which seemed to have a certain amount of life in it, and as expected, it was a bar; how truly predictable. With a roll of her eyes that had been coming from the second she set foot outside, Elizabeth moved her way over to the bar with the obvious attitude that she would hate everything within this place and not dare give it a chance, stubborn was perhaps an understatement when it came to the former Countess.

The gentleman behind the bar had managed to slap a glass of a brown looking liquid before her when she had asked for 'anything at all', but something she could only decipher as rum, if not for the smell. Her face held disgust for it was certainly not blood, the only thing she had became accustomed to drinking and such beverages only led to the losing of one's dignity from past experiences and it was not something she cared to dapple in. However she was stirred from such thought when she felt the nearing presence of someone, and the horror of conversation was upon her. Small talk was something she loathed, for it was tedious.

"I am assuming the company is as dull as the atmosphere." Elizabeth remarked, with a huff, revealing her hostile nature which time had created. Despite it being the twenty-first century she would still hold the arrogance and vanity of the former Countess she was all those years ago. "Stuffing my own mouth with garlic might be more bearable than this town..." And there was the stubbornness again, and the idea of making any friends out the window completely.

The roads around the forest living seemed almost endless as Alva’s little luxury cabin disappeared in his rear view. Not to mention pitch black at night. But he didn’t mind; he’d spent 162 years locked in that hellish darkness. After so long of getting used to something that was impossible to resist, it's only to start feeling at ease. Sort of like an offshoot of Stockholm’s syndrome. So much so, he even began beating the steering wheel in a musical rhythm instead of focusing vigilantly on the winding road. The radio playlist was infectious tonight. But he must’ve drove for a little while in a circle, because he was driving past similar glowing lights as earlier. Peering closer, Alva realized he wasn’t back in the forest living, it was headlights. Then someone rushed out of the bushes waving wildly for him to stop, so he slowed his vehicle. Don’t women always tell their children never pick up hitchhikers? Whether they do or they don’t, Alva almost welcomed the challenge of a pretty woman stopping, only for her boyfriend to come at him with a pipe. It would certainly satisfy this thirst slowly gathering in his throat, that’s for sure. Indirectly, this risk persuaded him to press the brakes. If not the case, there’s nothing wrong about a little bit of hospitality. He would need friends and favors if his ‘comfort and destroy’ plan was ever going to work. Alva rolled his window rolled all the way down, and stuck half his torso out as he gave the stranger and their vehicle a once over. “Car trouble, huh? I can give you a hand.” Genuine, not offbeat, and not overly concerned: three ways you successfully stop yourself from seeming like a predator.

America just felt unclean. Maybe it was because he lived in a place called The Cell Block and since had discovered what that name meant, to maybe it was because everything just seemed flimsy and downright shitty in quality here. In España--at least, where Javier had lived--things were rich in heritage, every port and every dock plank had some legend or family story. Here, houses were abandoned and shops had broken windows and nothing for sale. Of course, not too far off was the coast, but this American coast was dreary, humid, and nothing like the sunny beaches he was used to. 

It fit though. Javier wasn't at a place in his life where he wanted sunshine and white beaches. This place was just enough of a reminder of what he'd been missing. What he'd been exiled from, really. 

Javier took another drag of his cigarette and bounced his shoulders to resettled his hoodie. Hoodie--that was some slang he'd learned pretty early on. He continued down the street, cigarette dancing between his lips as he surveyed the passing shoppers. This part of town was nice and that meant  that people here had money. And most people in Bin-del-brim were completely unsuspected of being robbed in these parts of town. Especially by a guy that looked like a clean-cut rich kid. His clothes were nice--all designer names--and his unnecessary sunglasses were the kind that were expensive enough to be worn unnecessarily. 

He hardly looked like a guy that was scouting out targets. 

"I cannot believe you are doing this," Joaquin whispered to River. Even though he was dead and no one would hear him, he still found it necessary to whisper. River got out of her car and pulled out a shovel and crowbar from the trunk. "Like this is the first time that I have done this," she scoffed. "I have done this several times before." Joaquin followed her through the cemetery, searching for a certain grave. "Do you think this will work?" he asked. River shrugged as she examined the each tombstone. "It should. It worked with all those other cases and right now it would be nice to talk to someone who could have answers."

The two friends wandered through the vast cemetery for nearly an hour. "You probably should have looked up where this girl's grave is before you came here," Joaquin told her, standing up after looking at another gravestone. "I found it!" River exclaimed. Joaquin joined her and found himself staring at a simple tombstone. "Jillian Davis. One of the first people murdered. Perhaps she will have some answers," River said as she began to dig up the grave. "And if she doesn't have answers?" River grunted as she dug the shovel into the cold, hard ground. "We go to another grave belonging to another victim."

Joaquin sat on top of another grave nearby. "So, who was this girl?" There had been so many mysterious murders he had lost track. "College girl, twenty years old. Died November 29th when her 2004 Dodge Ram truck crashed. She was found pinned against a tree and died on impact," River answered. With her eidetic memory, she could remember anything and everything she laid her eyes on.

After hours of digging up the grave, she finally hit the wood of the coffin. She pried the coffin open and held her breath for a moment. Lying inside the wooden box was a pretty, young woman, taken from this life too soon. River furrowed her eyebrows in concentration and placed her hands on the girl's chest, neck and stomach. River's eyes turned black as she willed the college girl to come back to life. After a few minutes, Jillian Davis coughed and gasped for air. "Where am I?" the girl asked. River glanced up at Joaquin who leaned over the grave. "Welcome back to the land of the living," River said. A branch snapped. Someone was coming. "Stay down," she told Jillian. River climbed out of the grave and held up her gun, which she carried for protection. Of course, she was also in a graveyard, so if need be, she could raise an entire army of the dead to fight for her. "Who is there?"