Post by Demetrius Caldwell on May 19, 2008 12:42:55 GMT -5
It had been little over a week since the Lycans and the Vampires had clashed. Though he knew this momentary peace would not last, Demetrius was the one who started this war, well both him and Rayne. They had not agreed on one thing and it led to over two thousand years worth of Underground war that Humans were too stupid to notice. Of course he was not counting the Ventrue's, though he doubted they were exactly human either, their blood didnt taste very Human like that was for sure.
He looked out of the open window from his room, he expected to be left alone, nobody would dare disturb him while he was in his Private Quarters. The moon was full, though every Lycan could control their change and they didnt always change on the full moon, Lycans change when they want, not because of the moonlight, true, they used to. But they could control it now, they could appreciate the beauty of the silver orb and appreciate the power they could feel radiating from it.
Demetrius put a hand over his chest and let out a long groan, he had heartburn, he knew he shouldnt have eaten so much at Dinner earlier. Rubbing the spot over his heart violently to try to stem the clenched feeling within his chest, his finger nails caught on his silk shirt, Demetrius' finger nails were extreamly sharp, even by Lycan standards and he was forever ripping his clothes because of them. "Again?" He groaned, this was the third shirt he had ripped this week and he was starting to notice a decrease in his clothes, particularly shirts. "This is becoming beyond a joke."
Instead of unbuttoning the shirt, he ripped it off. He may as well, it was useless anyway. Just another one of Demetrius' shirts to use as gags or torture equipment when they caught stupid Vampires. As he flung it to the ground, his many battle scars were seen across his back and up his arms. The worst was was down his back, one of the Vampires had used a pitchfork and left four nasty gashes. Though they had healed now, they were still the most apparant scar on his body. There was a little bullet wound where he was shot over three centurys ago, it was strange how these scars did not fade on Demetrius over a time. He had managed to cut himself with his finger nail, so sitting on the bed he relaxed and let the Lycan inside him do its work as the cut stopped bleeding and closed itself. Regeneration was always handy.
He picked up another shirt, not quite as good as the one he was wearing, in fact that one had been his favourite in which he could not replace for a good long while, he paused as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs and slowly edging to his door. A swift, hurred knock came in contact with the oak as though the Lycan on the other side did not want to disturb Demetrius. Not many Lycans were brave enough.
He looked out of the open window from his room, he expected to be left alone, nobody would dare disturb him while he was in his Private Quarters. The moon was full, though every Lycan could control their change and they didnt always change on the full moon, Lycans change when they want, not because of the moonlight, true, they used to. But they could control it now, they could appreciate the beauty of the silver orb and appreciate the power they could feel radiating from it.
Demetrius put a hand over his chest and let out a long groan, he had heartburn, he knew he shouldnt have eaten so much at Dinner earlier. Rubbing the spot over his heart violently to try to stem the clenched feeling within his chest, his finger nails caught on his silk shirt, Demetrius' finger nails were extreamly sharp, even by Lycan standards and he was forever ripping his clothes because of them. "Again?" He groaned, this was the third shirt he had ripped this week and he was starting to notice a decrease in his clothes, particularly shirts. "This is becoming beyond a joke."
Instead of unbuttoning the shirt, he ripped it off. He may as well, it was useless anyway. Just another one of Demetrius' shirts to use as gags or torture equipment when they caught stupid Vampires. As he flung it to the ground, his many battle scars were seen across his back and up his arms. The worst was was down his back, one of the Vampires had used a pitchfork and left four nasty gashes. Though they had healed now, they were still the most apparant scar on his body. There was a little bullet wound where he was shot over three centurys ago, it was strange how these scars did not fade on Demetrius over a time. He had managed to cut himself with his finger nail, so sitting on the bed he relaxed and let the Lycan inside him do its work as the cut stopped bleeding and closed itself. Regeneration was always handy.
He picked up another shirt, not quite as good as the one he was wearing, in fact that one had been his favourite in which he could not replace for a good long while, he paused as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs and slowly edging to his door. A swift, hurred knock came in contact with the oak as though the Lycan on the other side did not want to disturb Demetrius. Not many Lycans were brave enough.
