He didn't want to be dead, just like anyone else in his position. But, if he were to live, this was his only choice. Live and walk the night as something he hated, or die having done nothing; having died in shame.

He should have died in shame. For there should be nothing more wicked than a man feasting upon another man, in the opinion of his father. The vampire still wanted to believe at least some part of him was human.

He was living a lie.

Snow. Lots of snow. It was drifting down from the sky in fat flakes, accumulating into fluffy piles on the ground. Morcant kneeled amidst the snow on the ground. The snow might as well been made of plastic shavings, for he felt nothing as far as the temperature.

Go. Go, and bid thy family farewell. Go, Morcant. Leave, and you shall feel no regret, for you feel nothing. Shed no tears, because you're not able to.

Go. Rise, Morcant, and go.

He rose. The stars, grouped cleverly into constellations, stared at him with laughter in their eyes, laughing at him. Laughter like church bells.

His black brows drew together. His gray eyes looked cloudy and uncertain, hidden by stray locks of black, wavy hair.

Go.

All six feet of him was clothed in nonsensical clothing. A thin, silk black shirt and Goth pants with straps.

Then, there were the bandages, traveling all the way up his arms.

The moonlight filtered through the trees. He left footprints on the ground, walking through the snow with neither shoes nor socks.

He turned to go. To feed.

He was a blur of a vampire and his clothing, running through the park. Surely, there would be someone left somewhere.

All five feet two inches of him.

If there was someone left in the park, the little devil might have feasted on them already. Every last drop of their blood coursed in his veins, not a drop left in them, not a drop spilt on the ground or on their bodies. Every little ounce. Some might call him greedy. 'Waste not what ye taketh of,' or something to that accord. Wasn't that what that god fellow's book said?

The corpse was in his arms, doing the waltz in time with the tune of something firmiluar, probably Bach, being hummed from between thin lips in an easy, delicate tone.

Kilean is dressed oddly, like a clash of two eras. He can't quite give up those flowing, lacey shirts and long jackets of the nobel people of his own time, perhapes because in the time which he was alive his wretched family could not afford such finery. So it was, he was wearing one of those flowing, beautiful and very authentic shirts but it was tucked into something very different from breaches. Rather he was wearing something with many chains, baggy legs, something he is unaccustomed to but finding that he likes very much.

Devil eyes saw only after he felt the other soemwhere near. Devil's smile curled the thin lips into a vulgar twist.

"Loooose something?" He said it in the tone of a recently discovered cartoon cat called a Chesiar from a movie that was named Alice in something.... He's discovering a lot of little pleassures since awakening from his coffin. Such as crayons.

Morcant was quick to catch on to Kilean's mockery. His footsteps were no more. The vampire came to an abrupt halt, turning to face the voice. He mocked him. It was disgusting. He did not bear his pearly white fangs.

"Only if you assume I was looking for something," the words oozed from his lips fluidly, but hit the air and sounded like a hiss.

He drew nearer.

"Isn't dancing with the dead a little... cliche?"

Morcan'ts expression was blank. His arms hung at his side and he watched Kilean waltz with what would have been his prey, if he had been here earlier.

It was still snowing. The snow that hit Morcant's hair melted there.

Kilean made his dark expression into a pout, managing to, instead if looking pitiful and sad that the other had not played along, make his face look like a Jack 'o' lantern, evil and twisted and lit up by the man in his arm's so sweet blood.

Upon the next words he frowned.

"Oh is it? You'll have to excuse, I've been tied up (quite literarly) for the past two hundred and fifty years and hadn't noticed it became cliche." He let go of the body and it crumpled to the ground with a fluidity that said the bones were either all broken or weren't there at all and put his hands on his slim hips, fingers his by lace.

Kilean likes to play with his prey.

"Should've kept you tied up for longer," Morcant commented idly, a frown creasing his brows and pressing its way onto his lips. He glanced briefly down at the crumpled body. He'd watched it fall. Poor guy. It offended him. Killing like that wasn't neccesary.

"Sadistic, mm. Something tells me you're not worth my time. You're not what I'm looking for."

Morcant turned. If he left, would Kilean have the sense to leave him be?

"He would have if some stupid mortal like this," and he gave the crumpled body a good shove with his toe so that it rolled over onto it's back, "hadn't let me out. Disbelieving gits."

His eyes narrowed in a cat-like curious fashion when the other started to turn. Sadist he was. Most definatly. It's what got him tied up in the first place.

Kilean doesn't have any sense. His sense are limited to physical senses and the sense of curiousity. He's driven by the need to cause problems, however, so naturally, he followed.

Morcant continued for a couple steps, then turned around and frowned deeply.

"Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?"

Leave it to his human side to quote Rush Hour.

"If I recall right you were speaking perfectly good english." British accent seemed to just mock that sentance. "I'm not what your looking for."

With that same devil may care, or not, grin he stepped closer until, if he were breathing, his breath could have tickled the other's chest. "But what, I might ask, if you are exactly what I was looking for."

Not that he'd actually been looking for anything or anyone in the first place.

Kilean took a couple steps forward, Morcant took a couple steps back. Your turn to make the next step in the dance, Kilean.

"Then, I should say, you've wasted your time."

Hiss. He barely revealed his long, sharp fangs.

Kilean likes to dance. Haven’t you noticed? So he did, of course, take the next few steps to be only a breath away from the other once more.

“I’ve got an awfully long time to waste, haven’t I?”

May as well waste it doing something unuseful and particularly spiteful right? He doesn’t have any real sense remember? So the fangs don’t bother him.

"Have you?" The words weren't threatening, but they certainly weren't ones of amusement. He wasn't hissing. His lips concealed his fangs now.

Morcant took a step to the right, then took several steps back.

"Why don't you do something constructive with it."

It wasn't a question. It was more of a suggestion, really.

Or, more truthfully, it was a nicer way of saying, 'Fuck off'.

Kilean took a step to the right, then several steps foward, and then after a long moment of that devilish grin, he took another step forward, pressing the short line of his eighteenth century body aginst Morcant's.

"I'm just a child," and for a moment, when that devil's grin slipped from his face and a pout replaced it, for just a few seconds, he did look like an innocent child. Then it was gone and his brown eyes darkened. "Children aren't constructive." Up on his toes and leaning into the other did little to bring his lips to the other's ear but he whispered anyways. "They're destructive."

Devil's laugh.

"Who are you trying to fool?" The question escaped the vampire's lips laced with venomous hostility.

Morcant took another step backward before pushing Kilean's small figure away.

"More than two hundred years is a long, long time to remain a child, don't you think?"

He took several steps backward.

"If, that is... you ever do think about anything."

Threatening glare.

He might have said that he didn't need to fool a Morcant. He was already a fool. But he was shoved backwards before the snide comment left his reddened lips.

The shove resulted in Kilean taking a step back to keep from stumbling and then moving quickly to be against the other vampire again, this time wrapping his arms around the other almost sweetly.

Two hundred years is no time at all to a vampire. Especially considering two hundered is only the number of years he was trapped and asleep. He's only been awake for a little more then one hundred.

"Havn't you ever heard of neverland?" His tone wasn't mocking at all, really. He's discovered Alice and the Wonderland, Peter Pan, and coloring books. What next.

"Hasn't everyone?" It was said as if he thought Kilean was stupid.

Well... did he really have to even say it?

"You're too old for children's tales."

Disgrace. Fool. Those words were on the tip of his tongue.

"Haven't you heard of keeping your hands to yourself?"

He writhed and wriggled, pushing Kilean away once more.

Kilean thought about that for a moment, and then he wondered if everyone really had heard of the story about flying children and neverland. He didn't answer the question.

"Actually I think I'm the perfect age to keep remembering stories." He grinned. "I'm like a lost boy." The thought amused him. He was, however, a child that would never grow up.

Pushed away and asked a question and he simply answers "No" and he's pressed back against the other again, this time his finger nails digging through the clothes to latch onto the body.