look me in the eye and tell me i'm pretty

@Poppy

It was painfully obvious that the man was not himself.

Believe it or not, he was usually a decent, law-abiding citizen. Though he had his... 'mishaps' in the past, it wasn't as if he sought them out himself. He generally had a smile on his face and a kick in his step, and more often than not he was seeking friends rather than enemies. Well-kept, well-known, and (mostly) well-mannered, he was a man of self control that was hard-pressed to be lost.

Perhaps that was why, when he did snap, he snapped right in half.

For once in his life, his hair was not in perfect condition. Rather, the crimson strands were terribly ruffled, knotted and messy and definitely something he would have normally fixed. His dress shirt was crooked and stained with something currently unidentifiable, and his jeans were ripped at the... well, everywhere. He was missing half a sleeve and most of the piercings that usually bedazzled his ears, and he didn't seem to notice that the lenses in his sunglasses were busted out completely. However, the most startling difference was not in his clothing at all, but in his face.

He was pale, as usual, but it was different this time; his skin was not the color of tedious protection, but that of a dead man walking. Dark bruise-like circles surrounded his eyes, eyes that shone starkly crimson against the shadowed skin. He was intense, unblinking, completely fixated on anything that crossed his line of sight. Every muscle in his body was rigged to pounce, and the blood-streaked smirk on his face showed that he liked it this way. Though obviously the same person, this man was nigh unidentifiable compared to the grinning face stamped across the music industry.

No, he wasn't himself at all.

But he sure was hungry.

He had heard the banging from a mile away, literally, and it took him under a minute to arrive at its source. An open, grassy field was his destination, and near its center was an apparently quite fearless (read: idiotic) being. The vampire's hands were stuffed in his pockets and his posture was casual as he eyed his new prey, but the look in his eyes suggested anything but. Inside, his instinct was screaming at him in what felt like eight different languages. It told him to hunt, and it told him to spare; it told him that this being was strong, but it whispered that they were weak, weak, weak. There's something terrible here, it cried, but you can take it on. He chose to listen to the latter voice.
He scanned the person over once, twice, taking everything in.

"Why, hello," he began, and he was smiling some sick, twisted little grin that stretched ever-so-slightly too far. His fangs protruded just barely from his smile, swathed in red, and he swallowed. Blood; delicious... delectable blood. He could smell it from where he stood, just over two meters way, and he could hear the heartbeat and feel the excitement and taste the tension and see his next victim, warm and living and ready to be devoured. It was intoxicating.

"Would you like to play a game...?" he asked, and his grin stretched a little bit wider.

[OOC: So I (Pen) didn't try too hard to hide who he is to you guys, as it's not much of a secret. Pop and I plotted this, so. xD I'd still like for Cal to remain anonymous IC though, and any other *potential* postings of mine will be in sekret rest-assured.

EDIT: Just realized the anonymous thing didn't show up anyway? o.o]

(( @Poppy you posted in march /dies))

Calan's smirk grew with the words of his prey. Funny. Such hilarity. He didn't mean the commentary.

It was funny, Calan thought, that the man wasn't afraid.

They were usually rather afraid.

"If I had a penny for every time I've heard that," he began, his face both placid and unhinged, "well, then I'd probably have a better comeback." It was the bloodlust. It clouded his thoughts, made him haphazard, dangerous. He wasn't thinking clearly — at this point, though, he didn't need to. Calan's body was rigid and sprung at once, and he moved with the kind of swagger a man only had if he was out of fucks to give. He'd already fed, multiple times, but something about this local bloodbath screamed at him to continue. It wouldn't let him calm his mind. It wouldn't let him stop.

It was only an instant, but Calan measured the distance between he and his prey. He factored in the speed he'd need, the terrain, the probable danger of the man who wasn't scared. His thoughts raced at a speed only applicable to pure instinct, rather than tangible thought. A blink, nearly slow motion, and he suddenly pushed off the ground, supernatural speed behind him as he made a lunge for his prey.

((enter into battle rp. I am ready.))