#theimmortalvampirelestat

Louis pushed back the brambles over the crypt he had made his untimely bed the morning prior. The smell of musty death clung to his tweed jacket and blood-stained gray shirtsleeves, though he didn’t notice it. He hated the smell of New Orleans cemeteries, a scent that reminded him of a past he had rathered to forget in his later years. His limbs replied sluggishly as he emerged, burdened by hunger and misuse. Louis walked with a wince as he made his way through the cemetery, pausing on the corner to assess himself in a car mirror. He frowned. He could still see the hints of his trials from the night before, a black eye, and numerous dark bruises: healing, but slower than he’d imagine could be possible. The wounds must have been deep, he concluded—well deeper than he wanted to admit. His mind was elsewhere as he began his walk back to where he was supposed to go tonight. So preoccupied was he that he did not notice the tall blonde gentleman in front of him that he managed to run headlong into. He looked up to apologize only to have a wave of panic and terror cross his body as he realized who it was.

"Oh...bonsoir, Monsieur."