[I finally figured out a character for this thread! XD I'll keep you company!]
Over one hundred years later, and Kujin still had never lost his love for music.
His sister always got annoyed when he expressed his desire to learn an instrument, berating him for showing so much interest in "silly mortal stuff". She said he should be over that already; there were far more important things to waste time on, and he had an eternity to learn if he really wanted to. But right now, he shouldn't be focusing on silly stuff like that, but on more important issues, and according to her, he had a lot of issues to work through. Gods, but she sounded like a shrink, and he'd never been to one of those. Always lecturing, always asking him what was wrong...she found it appalling that he hardly drank blood. Found it appalling that he found it appalling, though he also liked to think that some of that was due to sisterly concern. He let himself go, and he got weak...and he didn't like to let himself go too far, anyway, or...things happened.
Things that would take an eternity for him to forgive.
But right now, his sister was miles and miles away, and he was free to do what he wanted. If he wanted to mull over instruments and flirt with the idea of "wasting time" learning one, then he would, and she wasn't here to complain or lecture him into submission. Unfortunately for him, she was the stronger of them both...and he was still bitter about it. Not bitter about her strength, but the reasons...bitter about what she'd done to him.
He shook his head, clearing his thoughts, and centered his focus back onto the smooth, shiny surfaces before him, admiring the craftsmanship of a lute here, a guitar there. He reached out absently to touch the strings of one, plucking at it lightly with a fingertip and admiring the clear sound it made. Stringed instruments were his favorite; he loved the sounds the others made, but he had never liked how they handled. Guitars were his favorite; he had played one before. In life, real life, he and a small group of friends had formed their own band, but they'd never gotten well known. If was more for fun than anything.
That had all been before the war. Feh. Some war. It had been called a war, but it had been more of a genocide against his people. Wars took prisoners. That had not.
He hadn't died in the outbreak, but sometimes he wished he had. It would have been better than the starvation, better than the "rescue". He would have rather died than been "saved".
Giving a soft side, suddenly losing his appetite for instruments as the old memories tugged at his mind, he let his hand trail off the polished surface and turned to walk out of the shop. No, if he ever learned another instrument, it would be something different. Heh...maybe a harp. Those seemed popular in this age.
Nah.
He shoved his hands in his pockets as soon as he stepped outside, bright morning sun dilating his cold gray eyes and glinting off his alabaster skin. He was pale, but not sickly so; it looked natural on him, and life and warmth flowed beneath the surface there. That was because he had fed not long ago; there had been a fight, and he had intervened, helping both the victims and himself. Truth be told, he didn't know who was really in the wrong, but he hadn't cared; he had ended the fight, he had replenished himself, and no one had been killed. They had been spooked, all of them. But they all lived, and he slipped away. It wasn't like him to feed in the open like that, but he had been hungry enough that his wits had left him. He had needed to drink.
It would last him a few days. Truth be told, he needed to eat every day like anyone else, but that was his problem...he made it last.
And that was why he was so thin, his clothes baggy on him. He didn't wear the usual attire most folks around here did, but something of a much different cut and style. Black breeches and combat boots, belts hanging down carelessly from the pants and swinging about his legs. A fishnet shirt clung to his upper body, long and reaching down to his wrists, and over that a simple black jacket, and above even that was a black choker. Such clothes couldn't be found here, no, but his sister had always made their clothes for them, and carried on that habit here. She hated the clothing selection they had here just as much as she'd hated "trendy" clothes back where they'd come from. Thrift shops and sewing machines had been their thing; he could make simple clothes for himself, too. She'd taught him a little.
Sure, it made him stand out...but really no more than anyone else. He'd seen some people wear clothes far more freakish than his own, and he'd seen people with animal ears and tails. He felt he fit right in, overall.
He gave a small yawn and ran a hand through his spiked black hair, feeling a little hot under the glare of the sun but no more than that--well, unless you also counted a bit disoriented as his eyes struggled to adjust to the change in light. He drank blood, but that was about as far as the similarities between he and vampires went. He wasn't a vampire. Not one of those Hollywood types, at least. Thank Gods for that. Truth be told, he didn't really know what he was...
Though he knew he was just as soulless...
Kujin grimaced at the thought, feeling his heart jump. He tried to keep that thought out of his mind as much as possible...
It was funny. He hadn't really been afraid of death in life, but now...he was afraid. Always afraid of the concept. Before, he had had faith that if he died, it wouldn't be the end. But ever since becoming what he had...he had to keep living. He just had to. He didn't want to--
A sudden grunt escaped his lips as he bumped right on into something relatively solid with his shoulder. Solid and yet soft. Fleshy and warm. Stopping abruptly and blinking up--or, more like squinting--he saw that the source of the collision was a woman. A rather pretty woman.
Kujin grimaced again, apologetically. "Ah, sorry about that..." he muttered. Well, that was what happened when he walked with his nose pointed to the ground, studying the pavement instead of the world in front of him. Not that he could have helped it; he preferred that to walking around with his face all twitchy, which was how he felt when it was especially sunny out. He could deal with the sun, but it just took a lot longer than it should have for his eyes to adjust.
