"I'm sure your whole system is much too difficult for me to grasp," Dockett said with a playful wink of his eye. It was the truth, though. He put his hands in his leather jacket pockets, looking like a normal happy human, now that his skin was warm and throing with someone else's lood. His grey eyes also seemed sharper without the edge of hunger.

It would be a matter of time before they found him. Not like he would be achingly missed, though...The man had been one of the dirtiest drug dealers Dockett had ever tasted. So after he had very slowly finished his meal, he had quietly placed him in a back alley not far from the bar he was in now. If one could call it a bar...Seems this was where the Hell's Angel's came to drink, and where gang members discussed territorial tactics.

But Dockett needed this after his evil appetite, this closeness to the living, no matter how cruel they were. He watched them subtly and carefully, which was how he accomplished most things, and ordered a beer. The beer had been sitting there, utterly untouched, for an hour. The bar tender ignored him though, and was whispering secretively to a client at the other end of the bar. For being such a bad end of town, the place was unusually quiet. People were whispering.

Dockett suddenly felt the most acute sorrow, forming in his chest. He was all alone, as usual. And yet again, like he did every night, he dreamed of the day he would finally meet the sun. And the sun would meet him.

Some might say that death is in the air, this night... that death is in the air in this seedy little hole where the gangs come to debate.

They'd be right, because death is everywhere. However, they'd be even more right if they said that Death is walking through the doorway to the Empty Glass, because he is.

Tall. Pale. Thin. Like the skeleton of legend marginally fleshed over and made ready for...

well, not really for polite society. The clothing is too tight, too flashy, too daring. Soft, white leather-seeming pants. Knee-high white boots with thick soles, laced up with red. White tank-top shirt, skin-tight. Form-fitting white fishnet overtop. A red cord wrapped around his thin throat a few times. A heavy, long, suede-like white winter coat, lined with heavy white fur, sewn together with red thread. His hair is a mass of curls-- loose, white, unkempt curls that make him look, ironically, like something from a Greek marble mythology.

His eyes are heavily outlined in black eyeliner that gives way to red eyeshadow-- almost goth, certainly strange. The eyes themselves are white on white and oddly intense.

He is not human, this stranger.

He saunters into the Empty glass, smiling. The bartender gives him a vaguely disgruntled look, and one of the more regular (and daring) patrons gives him the finger. Others just give him strange looks, or ignore him on principle... he accepts it all like a prima donna accepting her roses. It's his due. He enjoys it.

Dockett watched. How could he not? The man who had just walked in looked like a rock star fallen from grace, but with all the smiles still heavilly in place. Dockett's clear grey eyes wandered over the bar, glancing over his shoulder at the drunk and mean clients who silently gave the newcomer some unwelcome gesture. Dockett raised a brow slightly at them, the scar on his eyebrow looking all the more noticeale. They weren't watching him though.

Dockett sighed softly and wondered vaguely why this man was so unwelcome, but then hunger replaced this thought as it leapt with surprising power over his senses. Oh and he could take any of them...any of them...A veritable buffet of the cruel and unfit, the underbelly of the good was sitting to his left and to his right...Being such a young vampire very often one meal a night wasn't enough, and his fingers were already so cold...One more drink, to heat them up?

Blowing a kiss at the one who had flipped him the finger, this stranger sits down at the bar, sprawling over the stool in a way that would make some envious... of the stool. His coat slide back from his shoulders, slipping low like the housecoat on a twenties actress.

He rests an elbow on the bar and smiles at the bartender.

"Be a dear, get me a bloody mary." The provocative tone is obviously meant to provoke.

The voice is something else entirely. It's strange, laying at right angles to reality, sounding somehow unnatural against the background of life.

Bam. A cord deep inside was struck, a clear ringing bass that seems to run from people's feet all the way to their heads. Chilling, yes, but more disturbing. A skilled and sinister player of the cello in Dockett's already contracting heart. And all because of eight little words out of the thin man's lips. Everyone else seemed less affected, except the bartender who looked more annoyed than uncomfortable. Uncomfortable? Was that the word? Dockett couldn't concentrate, but it seemed like he had seen this man every single night of his sweetly destructive vampire existance. Dockett stood up slowly from his own bar stool, leaving his drink for the dust, and approached the white-haired man.

Dockett himself wasn't wearing anything quite as rich or step-stopping as this man was. Dockett was a poor vampire, and didn't mind his dirty rags. At the moment he was wearing what he usually wore; An old weather-worn leather jacket, which seemed as if it was molded to his broad shoulders as he wore it so much, dirty denim pants, and a simple white t-shirt which was thinning in it's age. Dockett could easilly be one of the richest men in the city, but that simply didn't interest him. He walked over to the white stranger, his construction boots making small thuds on the floor, and he sat down on the stool next to him.

When he had finally sat down he leaned forward on the ar in order to catch the man's eye. "Excuse me? I know this seems a nuissance but...Have I met you before?" Ah yes, Dockett the vampire, always searching for a familiar face. A familiar heart.

The white eyes move away from the annoyed bartender, down to Dockett's face. His eyebrows lift and the smile that always hovers in his expression shows itself again.

"Actually..." he says, giving the vampire an amused look, "You have."

Dockett's eyerows puckered lightly in confusion for a moment. He had expected a different response...He nodded slowly and straightened up in his stool, attempting to rememer exactly when he had last scene this man...It seemed to be on the tip of his tongue, like his still leaping hunger. He said nothing for a time. Dockett felt comfortale in silences and never felt the need to fill them up with useless words and small talk.

"Again, I apologize, I don't really rememer when we last met. What is your name?" He asked this with an extremely polite tone, his voice was friendly and non-threatening in nature and was easilly heard.

The stranger brushes his fingers over Dockett's cheek-- lightly, possessively-- and they are cold. None of a mortal's warmth.

"Death," he replies, "But people have many names for me."

Dockett stood up with surprising speed, and had anyone een paying attention to the talking pair, the mortal eyes would seen a simple blur and then Dockett standing. Fortunately enough for dear Doc, no one was paying attention to them. A hand went instinctively up to his cheek where he had een coldly touched y inhuman fingers. Inexplicale anger swelled in him...He refused to think Death was probably one of the most familiar things in his existance. Reasoning and hunger drove this anger down, though, and soon he was simply standing there and reathing deeply with tightly closed lips. Was there any dout that this man wasn't death? No...His senses were numbed around Him, it seemed, or perhaps they were hitting a note much too high for even vampiric ears.

He said nothing.

Death stands as well, moving with slow grace in contrast to Dockett's startled speed. He pulls the coat up around his shoulders languorously and takes a step closer to the vampire, his voice low.

"You don't have much to fear from me, vampire," he whispers, the words like frost blooming on the dead leaves in fall.

Dockett locked his clear grey eyes on Azrael's snow storm gaze. He stood tall, his reathing returning to it's natural rythms, though the intensity in his eyes was anything but natural.

"I don't fear you. I loathe you." Dockett whispered viciously back, quite unorthodox from his usual benign and sweet disposition.

Death straightens, as if offended-- though the smile belies the gesture.

"Loathe me?" he asks, a certain innocence in his voice. And now, his words carry-- loud enough to be heard by anyone who wants to listen.

"Why would you loathe me?"

"Who doesn't loathe you?" Dockett returned, but it wasn't vicious or lined with his usual passion, it was gentle and searching. His eyes flickered between Az's before he pushed past him, rudely bumping him on the way. All of Dockett's problems seemed to have crashed and made a mountain with an unattainale peak, and it all seemed wrapped up in this strangely alluring white stranger. Dockett turned around and opened his mouth, his lips almost forming words which were, in theory at least, 'stay away from me'. But the words never actually formed from his pretty lips, they simply hung there, alone and undevelopped. He was immortal after all...Death wouldn't find him until he had decided that on his own...For a moment, Dockett thought he owned Death.

Death moves up to Dockett again, ignoring the concealed stares they are beginning to attract.

A hand strokes through the vampire's hair, just lightly, just on the outside edge.

"Many people, Dockett. Many."

If he sees the aborted words, he doesn't acknowledge them.

Vague memories of heated lood and selfish pleasure washed slowly and soothingly over Dockett's angry mind. Taking a victim to death was simply unbelievably addictive. He could see the last draught's pleasure in Death's eyes and felt the fingers touch his hair. Many people...He knew only too well. Because he had been the one to bring them to Death. Dockett's cold pale hand raised and pushed Death's hand aside.

"I don't need you. I don't like you," Dockett remained where he stood though, probably waiting for some sort of reaction...Maye Death would embrace him? Was that what he wanted?

"You need me more than anyone else." The hand trails down from the vampire's hair, strokes his shoulder.

"Let's go outside. This... isn't a good place to talk."

Dockett stopped a look of disgust from crossing his face as the first words were spoken. He utterly hated that he would say that...He hated it more than anything. He ducked out of Death's soft stroking manner and simply turned and stepped out of the bar, leaving his drink still alone on the bar top. As he walked out a fresh breeze ruffled his deep chocolate brown hair, a street lamp was placed in front of the entrance, and as the light spilled over him Dockett denied to instinct for shadow. His skin and nails and hair were all lustrous and completely unnatural, and his eyes captured the light in a feline gleam. He didn't care. Not right now. He stopped and turned around to face Death. Oh, irony.

And death is, indeed, right behind him, smiling softly now.

"Angst, much?" he says, the words in contrast to his earlier seductive/irksome tones.

Dockett's jaw muscles tightened as he gritted his teeth behind closed lips. It wasn't his way, but Dockett felt such a push on him that he should simply grab Death's neck and squeeze. In fact, he took one small rushed step forward, but gained control and went no further.

"Why don't you just take me now, then?" Dockett spoke in a resigned and tired voice. He bowed his head downwards and his right hand rubbed his forehead in perfect immitation of a mortal's headache. However if the prolem was a headache, things would be much simpler. "I don't care."

"I'm not here to take you," death says, amusement in his voice.

'You walk with me every night, Dockett... I thought I might as well come say hello in person."

Dockett let out a dry and sober laugh, raising his head and looking Death in the eye. His grey eyes worked their way down the length of Death's body, shaking his head slowly, his arms now crossed over his chest. "You are..." he egan in soft whispering tones, though his voice grew slightly as he eventually continued, "...A pathetic excuse for a God."

"Oh?" Death arches his eyebrows.

"And you've met many gods, have you?" the tone is just this side of condescending, still amused.

"Oh shut up," Dockett responded, treating Death as he would any other irritating mortal. His hunger leapt again, ut with Death so close...so very close...It all seemed quite pointless. Besides, if he told death he hated him, and then sent him a juicy murderer, how would that look? He was paler than usual, his vampiric blood running cooler than human blood.

He turned his back on Death and began walking away slowly, as if a being from the cosmic forces of every wrinkle of the outer universe hadn't called him angsty.

And then there's death, walking beside him, having caught up without ever running.

"Hungry?" he asks. The tone says, I know you are.

Dockett sighed exhasperatedly, glancing over at the tall thin striding figure next to him. A moment of total weakness consumed him and all he wanted to do fall in to the arms of a warm mortal, and he wanted death to be close too. His pace quickened a bit in his newly acquired sense of urgency, and he glanced over his shoulder for asolutely no reason.

"Don't you have some mortal to screw over?"

"No," death replies, simply.

Dockett rolled his eyes heavenward as he continued his quick pace, unconsciously hoping to loose Death ut knowing that it would need more than a quick pace. "Fine. Yes. I'm hungry... Now go away," Dockett finally admitted with irritation, his words turning in to a pleading tone by the end.

"But you don't want to feed..." Death muses, matching the vampire's pace with relative ease.

He seems to be ignoring the 'go away' bit.

A soft groan was heard through Dockett's lips...Obviously the mere mention of feeding was enough to make him invision it. To want it. He shook his head as if trying to shake away dust or dreams. He was weakening, both by the presence walking alongside him, and by the fantasy of an unnatural closeness with an unnatural kiss.

"Yes...I do..."

Death slides in front of Dockett, keeping his place by walking backwards. He spreads his arms wide and grins, smoothly.

"Then do."

Dockett slows down and eventually stops dead, clutching his leather coat together though he hasn't felt the cold in over a century. He looked at Death as if he was a madman.

"You can't be serious..."

"Can't I?" he says, dropping his arms but not his grin. It pulls into a more secretive sort of smile, though-- more close-lipped. The seduction of death.

"You feed to..." he pauses, as though to draw out the irony. "To live. Is that so wrong?"

Dockett looked as if he had been suddenly, and viciously, slapped across the face. It was a sweet and endearing expression, in it's innocence though to Dockett it felt like quite the opposite. His grey eyes looked over Death quietly, just severe pain and regret in his eyes.

"Yes, it is wrong."

"And you were a vegetarian in life?" Death continues, his expression not mocking, but searching.

He slows his pace, just a bit, moving closer to Dockett.

Dockett doesn't step away from Death's adavances, nor does he seem to resent them. He was drifting in a whole different world of pain, now, and his eyes were downcast in thought. He hadn't really taken in what Death had said...but it seemed that with his hunger, and Death's being so near, his shame weighed heavilly, and his soul felt crippled.

"I love you." He said softly, referring to Death himself. Yes Dockett had always loved it, and loved it with such sweet grace as well! But after he was quenched and his blood filled mind was swirling, only the regret of living remained.

Death stops, allowing the little space between he and the vampire to close.

The finger that strokes Dockett's jaw line is as cold as the vampire himself.

"I know."

Dockett didn't mind the touch, and didn't push it away. He did, however, avoid eye contact as a point and looked down at the ground. Blood was rimming his eyes..A vampire's tears. They seemed to be a species just full of blood...Purely full of blood. He wiped them away quietly before looking back up at Death.

"So what now?" He asked with a small and light shrug of his shoulders. He didn't expect anything for an answer.

"What now?"

He smiles and drops his hand.

"Don't feel so bad for being what you are, Dockett."

Dockett visibly shivered. His hunger was making his skin and body colder, he needed warm blood in him now...

"Too late," He said, walking past him, though this time not rudely, his pace was slow, and obvious sign he wanted Death to walk with him. He needed something vicious...a really nasty little soul...