Chapter Text
No, no, no. It's all wrong.
A low, irritated grumble left Alastor's throat, as he finished tearing out that of his victim with a vicious twist of his head. Letting the once blond-haired, upper-class, elite man slump as his soul no doubt fled from his body, Alastor wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and then spat out the extra blood in his mouth, only to wipe his mouth again on his hand. Angry at the remaining dissatisfaction, he spat again. Wiping his hand clean on his victim's shirt, his eyes narrowed.
This victim had come easily enough, of course - most of them did. All they needed to see, was a pretty man who was willing to indulge them in their hypocritical, disgusting, baser desires. It wasn't the sex that he detested them for, exactly. It was the fact that they came so eagerly along for what they thought was a quick bit of fun in the dark with him, and yet somehow couldn't stop themselves from doing such things as carelessly spilling their wine on him in public. Or, looking at him as being lesser, when it came to any other situation in life. Simply dwelling on this drove Alastor's rage - his anger that the blood he had taken from the pathetic man laying at his feet helped make each swing of his axe that much easier... but it wasn't just that. It was everything. Everything, since he'd been turned by that blasted vampire, who had caught him off guard and nearly caused him to become the victim of a murder that night. And would have, had he not managed to wake up again later. The jury was still out on how he'd managed that, but he had his theories.
Twenty-seven or more axe swings later, Alastor finally allowed himself to exhale. Standing up, he glared down at the mess before his feet, internally cursing when he noticed the stains on his brand new shoes. A grimace curled the corner of his mouth, before he went back to work. Thoroughly cleaning his axe and setting it aside, Alastor took considerably less care dragging pieces of what was once a wealthy businessman, over to the water. His 'swamp-dwelling friends' would surely appreciate these leftovers, as sparse as they may be. He'd gone a bit overboard again - his newer strength was hard to contain, in that way.
Each and every scrap of evidence either left for the gators, or consumed by the flame, Alastor began to strip his bloody clothes off as well. Tossing them into the same fire that was consuming the last bits of his sin for the night, he consoled himself for his loss by remembering that he'd managed quite a bit of money tonight - what wasn't bloodstained in the man's pockets would do well enough to replace what he'd lost tonight.
Although there could have been more, the way he kept blabbering on about how well-off he was...
Alastor thought to himself as he scrubbed his skin clean, his eyes no longer the angry, crimson red that they had been before as his hunger was consuming him before. Even as they shifted back to their natural, rich, chocolate brown, the emotion of rage still remained. Swirling in their depths, but not quite overtaking them, as he stared off into space.
What was it? He wondered, idly tapping his fingers on the side of the wooden washtub that he'd dragged out here to this old cabin, just for the purpose of cleansing himself when his nightly work was done. Why wasn't it right? Why is it never right? He drew a deep breath in, slowly letting it out as he began to scrub himself again. This time, a bit more harshly than necessary. Which, somehow, seemed to help calm his increasingly agitated mind.
It cannot be because he was a man. Alastor reasoned mentally, idly picking something from his teeth with his tongue as he dipped the cloth he'd been using into the now scarlet water he sat in. I have already tried to remedy that; no, her blood did not work either. Nor did hers, or hers, or..hers. Mentally, he ticked off all the people who had fallen victim to his need to satiate his newly acquired needs. One, he was keeping in check fairly well, he thought. The other.. he was not. And, unfortunately, so far..no one he'd picked had truly scratched either of his new itches. If anything, the continued dissatisfaction he felt was only making it even harder to deal with. He needed it, needed both things, now, it seemed; for control. It was all for control, of himself. And he was nothing, if not impeccably in control of himself. Or..so he thought of it. In reality? He'd been growing even more cruel with his kills than ever - even more violent than before. And he hadn't even noticed.
Try as he might, Alastor couldn't figure out what he was missing. No matter what he did, it wasn't enough. And that was unacceptable. Determined to clear his mind, he submerged himself in the bloody water he was sat in, sitting for long enough that his lungs began to burn with the need for air, before he finally resurfaced. Coughing a few times, he rubbed his chest, and then smoothed back his now drenched hair. Opening his eyes, he sat for a moment longer, and then braced himself on the sides of the tub. Pushing himself up, he stood there for a moment, allowing the water droplets to trail down his body and fall, one by one, back into the tub from where they'd originated. A few still sparkled in the light of the fire in his fireplace as he stepped out, making his way over to the towel he'd brought, and the spare clothes he always had on hand for these times.
Basking in the light of his fire, Alastor took his time drying off. Wiping each bit of himself clean one last time, before he began to redress. Fresh, clean clothing covering each part of himself that the rest of the world really wasn't worthy of seeing anyhow, his mind felt reset enough to begin planning once more. Even as he took care of emptying the wooden tub he'd bathed in, and putting the fire in the fireplace out for the night, he had a new spark of determination that lit inside him.
Had he been able to track down the miserable bastard who'd done this to him, he'd have had his answers already. As that was something he'd yet to, ironically, consider, he was left wondering if perhaps there was something else wrong with his choice of food. People were one thing. Animals, were another. It was crossing his mind, that he needed to do, was mix their blood.
Little did he know, as he left his secluded cabin for the night...his new resolve - his new idea - was about to be flipped on his head. He'd know what he needed. And it wasn't something so tainted as a mixture of human and animal blood, that would finally sate at least one of his needs at last.
No. It was something...else.
Something..pure.