Dean was sauntering down the street, as happy as a fly around a pile of dung when he heard his Knight’s call. Part of him considered resisting, testing out the limits of his newfound freedom. There was nothing he wanted more than to hide somewhere in the city and watch the plague he’d spread take root. His black, black soul craved the satisfaction of such a thing. But somewhere inside of him, a place that he denied as fervently as a virgin lust, Dean knew that he could not abandon Donovan. Not under any circumstances. The man was….what?<br/><br/>Furrowing his brow even as he leaned into a spring, Dean contemplated the loyalty he felt toward Donovan, the years that they’d been together. Where did the feelings come from? Warmth toward the other man was one of the few emotions that Dean could feel, other than the usual – lust, anger, dark joy, etc. etc. Was it the Glory that bound the two together? That tether of supernatural energy? Perhaps. But Dean suspected it was more than that.<br/><br/>Dean arrived at the docks not too long after – maybe within five minutes, moving at nearly subsonic speeds (okay, not really) and was able to launch himself onto the small boat like a shadowy dart. He saw the person talking with Donovan but didn’t bother waiting. He slipped the knots tying the boat to the dock and shoved off. His powers did not lend themselves to strength or moving boats, but that didn’t matter much – the tide was in their favor.<br/><br/>Turning to Donovan, Dean called out casually, “Good time to be going. There’s one hell of a storm coming to this city. Also: who’s the cutie? She looks good enough to bite.” And Dean flashed his theatrically enhanced canines. He *had* mimicked a vampire recently, after all.<br/>