As he ate, drank, and otherwise tried to have a good time Dean was imagining how all of this was going to go. Once enough people had seen him, and interacted with him, he could try to get a cab. Better yet, he could have the bar staff call him a cab. A receipt too, he could stuff a receipt in his wallet with the cash...easier for the cops.

Cabby gets the address, head to the hotel. Maybe ask for some extra towels or something, try to get the staff to remember him a little bit. Head up to the room nice and late, mess it up, throw his things around, and then the blood of course. Get a bunch of stuff bloody.

Then...head to Louis's for the day? take off later that evening? Would that be enough?

He would arrive back in the States with nearly nothing, the clothes on his back, a little cash. He would have to jot down his phone numbers too...had to ditch the phone, maybe pick up a burner when he got back.

There were a lot of moving parts, he thought to himself as he sipped his drink and chowed down on some chips and salsa to the tune of some mellow country song designed for the Americano Spring Break crowd.

Your plan worked well, maybe too well. One of the women in the bar tried to chat you up. The staff called you a taxi when the time came and you returned to your hotel, alone or with company.

You spent the day at Luis's place, another night partying, and another day at Luis's.

The third night you spent at Luis's. Two ghouls arrived with large bags and were let inside.

"Do you have any questions before we start draining your blood?"

Dean told himself all sorts of things that night. He told himself that it was good for his "story", and he told himself that she was obviously just looking for a fun time, an adventure, one that he was all too happy to provide.

The fact that he was more or less immune to disease, and that having children was now impossible, both helped contribute to his curiosity. After all, could the dead really still do those sorts of things?

It turned out that yes, not only could they, but that they did not really get tired in the traditional sense. Something that his companion had commented on a few times.

But deep down, if he was honest with himself, he was lonely. Lonely in his condition, lonely in a foreign country, lonely for normal "human" interaction. The last week had been more like an incredibly stressful job interview, or a sports training camp. He had not had any time to himself, and no time to relax.

She seemed to have her own sort of stress that she was taking a vacation from in any case, although for obvious reasons, she couldn't stay the night. He was upfront with this from the beginning.

So it went, and when the time came to take his blood, Dean seemed a little surprised.

"How does this work? And what's in the bags? I figured I would just...cut myself or something." He asked the pair.

"We have to store the blood in something," the ghoul said. "And we have to keep it human temperature. It has to be 'alive' and uncoagulated when we place it in your room. We will tap you and provide meals so that you have enough blood in your system. This is a slow process. You then return to your hotel so that the staff sees that you are there. And we will then stage the place with your blood and your things so that you can disappear. You will then no longer have a citizenship. You will return as an illegal alien. No passport. No identity."

Dean had considered this over the past few days. When stopped by the police, he would have no drivers license, he would have no registered address, no insurance, no registration. If he were at least one of many illegal immigrants it might be one thing, but he was obviously American, which meant that there would be obvious reasons why he would be trying to avoid identification. Such as say, a missing persons database.

It was the next "phase" of the plan. End his old life, then build up a convincing facade to avoid investigation. He could not be the only Vampire in San Diego dealing with this sort of problem. Dean was confident that there were people that could help him get those kind of documents, but they would come at a cost. Much as the help he was getting down here would come at a cost, if only some good will or a future favor.  Is Asali had taught him anything, it was that there were no free meals in their world. Everything had a price, even if that price was loyalty.

"Sounds good. Let's get this over with then." he took a seat and offered his meaty bare arm to the pair of ghouls. Hopefully they were on the level. After all, a huge amount of blood was a precious thing to any ghoul.

And so it began. They opened one of the containers and Dean could see a lot of empty blood bags. And they started draining him of blood in the same way as it is done when donating blood. They were obviously correct. This would take a long time.

As time passed, snacks were brought to Dean and he was given strict instructions not to drain them completely. They didn't want any dead locals on their hands. And after he had fed, they continued taking his blood. And they then let him feed one more time.

As one of the ghouls swapped out bags, the other placed it in storage.


[OOC: It is up to you to decide if you drain them completely and thus take their lives.]

There was an uncomfortable urge, momentary and rare, that would sort of rear up now as he drank. Dean did not really have a word for this, and he had not even dared to bring it up to Asali yet. It was the urge to just keep going, as if with a few more long draws upon the hapless person before him, he could finally, finally be sated.

He knew in his heart that it wasn't true. He knew in his deepest self that no matter how much he drank, tonight or for a thousand years he would never reach that place. Not permanently. He would always be hungry, just a little bit, night after night, until he either died violently or...well, that was it right? That was his only way out.

There were a dozen reasons off the top of his head why he was not going to kill these people, and only one, stubborn, strange sort or reason to just go for it. But he resisted that little voice, and he held himself back. The ebb and flow of blood made him feel a little sick, and a little giddy, and once again surreal. Not nearly as surreal as the bat thing, but strange none the less.

When it was over, he stood slowly and was glad that the last stages of "phase one" were coming together. It felt like he had been away for a lot longer than just a few days.

"You can go back to the hotel now," one of the ghouls' said. "Make sure they see you when you get there. Then wait in your room for us. And we'll set things up. Any questions?"

Dean checked his phone for the time. "I don't think so, you'll do your thing and I'll take off through the window." he said as he stared at the massive quantity of blood. "I know you guys probably don't have a choice, but, I appreciate the help. Do you guys eventually...you know, get promoted or anything?" he asked, but was otherwise ready to go.

"This is a pretty good life," one of the ghouls said. "We're stronger, faster, live longer, and we only have to drink blood monthly. Sure, we're under their control, but we're always under someone's control."

Dean chuckled "Yeah... aren't we all.", then got ready to go.

Everyone started somewhere, and everyone answered to somebody. He remembered back to that meeting with the Baron. Even the demons of hell answer to their boss. They too had jobs to do, deadlines to meet.

Dean tried to get in the right headspace for what he was about to do. Imagined the scenario he had been concocting.

Robbery at knife point, three of them, forced their way through the latch. He resists, they stab him, empty the wallet, rifle his bags, then load him into a car never to be seen again.

Simple enough.

Dean returned to the hotel.

There was a knock on the door and when Dean opened, it wasn't the people he had been waiting for. It was the woman from a few nights ago. She was beaten and her clothing torn. And it was clear that she had been crying.

Dean had been all set, and pretty much staring at the clock and checking the window for the last twenty minutes. He was eager to get "home", even if that home was just back bunking with Asali.

So when the knock came, he was excited, but his expression fell when he saw who it was. "Whoah...come on it, come in, what happened?" he asked. Miranda had only known him for a few hours really, but she had come to him? What could have happened to drive her towards some American that she had recently hooked up with?

He peeked out the door after her and checked both ways before he shut it.

"I went out with some guy," she started with tears in her voice. "Like I did with you a few days ago, but he was nothing like you. He beat me up. When I tried to leave, he beat me more, and my clothes were torn in the struggle. In the end, I finally was able to escape. He too stays at this hotel and you were the only one I could think of to go for help."

Dean was incensed.

The small part of his mind that wondered if it might be a trap, if Miranda might be some sort of bait, was quieted by the other parts that told him that he should go down there right now and beat this guy bloody.

The odd thing was, although he did not think much about it at the time, but it was mostly a sort of Hollywood image in his head that drove this inspiration. Bad guys beat up people who were weaker and smaller than them, bad guys took advantage of others, and then hurt them when they resisted. Good guys beat up bad guys. It was true in just about every sort of media he had ever been exposed to.

But his family had never really taught him any of that. They would have just...called the cops. They were the professionals after all, right? That was their job. They had all the tools, training, and number. But then again this was Tiajuana. They were probably busy as it was.

Oh Dean was going down there, that was happening. It would only be later that he might think on why he had done so.

"Where is he? What room?" Dean asked and puffed up like he some how needed to make himself even larger than he already was. Truth was Dean had never been in a real fight in his life, just a few school yard scuffles, and he had already been murdered once.

She told Dean the man's room number.

Dean turned and lumbered towards where he believed the room to be, glancing at the numbers on the cheap hollow core doors as he went.

When he found the room, he knocked on it loudly three times with his fist. His heart, perfused with blood as it was, was hammering almost reflexively.

Another American opened the door. "What?" he asked angrily.

Dean took in the scene, the man, his knuckles, the state of his hotel room and his body language. He was looking for the truth in Miranda's story.

"Are you the asshole that just beat up Miranda!?" Dean demanded. He felt his fists clench and his stance come forward. Despite being a full blown Vampire, he still felt and heard some nervousness behind his threat.

He was still so new to all of this.

The room and the man clearly showed that this was the place and the man. She had pointed you in the right direction. But instead of answering your question, he started closing the door.

Dean had seen enough, and the fact that the gut was running some how made it seem even worse.

He jammed one beefy arm between the door and the frame as the man tried to close it in an effort to grab him.

Dean's action prevented the door from closing, but the man avoided being grabbed, and closed the door hard on Dean's arm. The man on the other side is now trying to hold the door to prevent Dean from getting to him.


[You lose 1hp for getting your arm slammed by the door.

What do you do?]

Dean summarily put his shoulder to the door in order to force his way inside.

This time the other guy didn't stand a chance and the door was forced open.

Dean attempted to grab the man once again, the frustration clear in his face from having the door slammed on his arm.
This message was last edited by the player at 23:52, Wed 11 Mar 2020.