[ The vampire's unconcerned comment has Spock's eyes narrowing even as he becomes immediately more aware of the squelch of blood beneath his boot and the cooling tackiness of the spatters staining his clothes. No part of the bar escaped unscathed. Smears mark out the swift violence of the battle on the walls and two of the tables lie in splinters, casualties. The stink of the dead blood is everywhere, sinking into the wood floor, flooding Spock's nose; the stagnant stench will leave an unmistakable sign that vampires were killed here. There is no cleaning it from the boards. The nest has been soured. Sharp satisfaction twists in Spock's chest. ]
It was intended to be. [ The lack of answer rankles, but repeating his question would be pointless. ] What do you want?
no subject
It was intended to be. [ The lack of answer rankles, but repeating his question would be pointless. ] What do you want?