<div class="floatleft">(http://static.manatalks.com/www/images/posts/sorin-markov-dark-ascension-black-planeswalkers.jpg)</div><div align="center"><strong>Name:</strong> Soren Altgeist III<br/><strong>Race/Position:</strong> Vampire Leader of the Outsiders<br/><strong>Location:</strong> Gantz -&gt; Home of H. Bronk (Deceased)<br/><strong>Time:</strong> Day 1, Evening<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong> Ahri Latour, Isaiah Asher<br/></div><br/><hr/><br/>A girl stood naked in the centre of the wide open Gantz ballroom. She was taller than average, blonde, at least twenty, and standing quite still. She was already bleeding, blood dripping down her neck, past her shoulder and down her arm, dripping slowly from the tip of her middle finger.<br/><br/>Soren stood about twelve paces away, his sword (http://www.swordsaxe.com/images/products/display/Twin_Blade_Ninja_Swords_Set_with_Sheath.jpg) gripped back-handed, its length along his forearm.<br/><br/>"Again," he said Soren. As he did, she picked up the gun that lay at her feet with alarming speed, and brought it up to fire. The noise of the gun going off was one thing, but when it had, the situation was no longer as it had begun. Soren, formerly standing in front of her, was now behind her, the gun in his left hand, and his sword pointing down to the floor, its tip collecting tiny drop of blood. The girl fell, a razor thin cut along the other side of her neck bleeding steadily, not quite deep enough to nick an important artery or vein, but deep enough to cut the skin.<br/><br/>Soren looked at the gun, a double-action revolver, its barrel in his hand. He flicked his blade to the side, the sheer speed of the action providing for its blade to be free of the blood at its edge. He slipped it back into its sheath, which ran under his chest-guard diagonally. The length of the blade allowed a short draw, making him quick to use it, usually quicker than a human could draw a weapon from a holster. In this case, the test was hardly fair, but Soren didn't care that much.<br/><br/>He'd stolen the girl from somewhere, he barely remembered where. She struck his fancy, and he took her on the spot. "Slower," he said, "not really trying are we? After last night, I'd expected a bit more hatred. Tired, perhaps? Might be the blood loss. I suppose I did go a bit easy on you."<br/><br/>He spoke more for himself than her, and she knew not to speak. It was not a moment before she was lying, cradled in his arms, as he tore into her neck with his fangs. They bit deep, and the blood began to floor in earnest. He bit again, and again, each new bite bringing forth more blood, and hastening her death. He drank deep, but gave up after about a minute, leaving her lifeless body as he stood.<br/><br/>"Come!" he said, hearing the door open. His chin and chest were covered in blood, but he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it away carefully.<br/><br/>"Dump that somewhere," he said, to the vampire directing the human slaves to remove the body, "and get my coat." He tossed the bloody kerchief on the body, and walked away, leaving them to their work.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Soren stood on the side-walk opposite the house where Mr. Bronk had lived. He didn't know if it was an Outsider who'd killed him. Honestly, he would rather it was not, since the more Royals that started to disregard the rules, the better. In any case, it was sufficient to attract his interest. Soren didn't care to protect the vampire secret, but he did care to find out if the Royals were experiencing dissension among the ranks. Deserters were better than new vampires the Outsiders turned, despite their numbers. Deserters could mean information, and Bronk's death hadn't sounded like just another hunt, but that would remain to be seen.<br/><br/>He could feel the humans inside the home, more than one, he thought. His attention was broken by the tell-tale crunch of the gritty pavement again the tires of the slowing car. A patrol car. The officer slowed, and the stopped by the curb, the window sliding down.<br/><br/>"You, need any help, sir?" said the officer. Soren could tell he was watching the house. They hadn't seen the others, he assumed, or they too were police. That the officer had seen him watching the house.<br/><br/>"Not at the moment," he said. He movement was swift, and smooth, and preternaturally fast. His arm went through the open window, his hand at the man's neck before he could so much as breathe. It was not much of a struggle, as the man's life was choked from him. Soren calmly reached in for the Officer's cap, and put it on his head, completing the picture of the sleeping cop. He couldn't risk interference from outside.<br/><br/>Soren rounded the car, and walked across the road, and around the side of house. Finding a window into the basement, he pulled the iron grate free, the fairly quiet scraping of of the bricks it was attached to was the only sound, as he set the grate aside, and slipped down into the basement of the home through the window. It was dark, but he didn't need the light.