Oliver Burton

That mist that settles and descends upon the city like a veil over the city was a welcomed distraction, just in time too. But with his pale massive figure it seemed to camouflage his far from subtle form. He had never seen fog so dense and come on so sudden during a decidedly pleasant day.

He could hear the timid voice of the nameless woman who he had taken to protecting. Is he dead? He could hear her voice but it felt like he was distant, as though he were underwater. Was that a prickle of relief within her voice, amidst that fear? Her voice nothing more than a whisper but it echoes within his mind. Apparently, the force of the warlock hitting the concrete wall had made something vital snap. The man didn't get up again. But the warlock was still alive, he was sure of it. Hearing that strong heartbeat and the rise and fall of his chest. He looked at her and then back again toward the limp body, drawing forward to it, every step was deliberate and knowing all too well what he was about to do. Oliver hovered over the warlock using that sound as a deliberate weapon to rupture his brain, that rumbling sound within his chest singling out that vital area. For a second there is nothing, not a breath, just silence with a little silver blood dripping from his nose. He had wanted to rip his head clean from his body, his body trembled with the need to shred him apart with his claws and teeth in a brutal fashion he would never want the sweet woman to see. The bone white bear ignored her plea to leave until the job was done, until this man was finally departed from this earth. A snort of disgust and satisfaction that the deed was done, it sounded awfully close to a sneeze and a snort which escaped him, before turning back toward the petite vampire. She was like a proverbial toothpick in comparison to that massive size of his body.

Those nutmeg hued eyes fell upon her, noticing her arms clutched tightly around that briefcase, it had seemed so important before.. But it was all such a distant memory now. Her desperation seemed evident and yet he could hardly seem to recall what was so important about those papers. He moves purposely toward her, the very massive paws click against that damp concrete. The air seemed thick with that mist, and perhaps if he were more lucid he would have been more confused by it. Yet he was grateful for its presence none the less. Regardless, Oliver seemed to view Chizue with an interest, the man and beast muddled into a befuddled mess in his skull. There were once definitive lines and now there was none. The line of man and beast was sufficiently crossed.

The one he had fought for now stood before him. He nodded his head as if agreeing with her, before his muzzle nudges toward her chest, drawing in her scent. He had fought and won, for her. It seemed like a haze, it all felt like a haze. Was he to eat her? Was he to do something? That animalistic mind seemed confused. His detached gaze peering at her like he could figure it out, figure something out. A grumble escapes him, shaking his pristine coat in an abrupt motion as though he were riding himself of a buzzing insect. He brushed against the petite woman, rubbing his scent along her pale skin. Once a full circle had been complete, he nudged that mangled briefcase that smelled something familiar, smelt like him and yet not like him. At least not who he was now. He nudged it slightly again, harder this time with his big wet nose, a rumbling sound vibrated deep within his chest.

The mist felt cooling and calming within his lungs. Perhaps even reassuring. He began to move around her again, nudging her forward to that body of the warlock. Wanting her to see what he had done, curious if that would chase away those strange emotions she was emanating. It made her smell odd. But she already smelled strange before that, she smelled of death, of mist and other scents he could not place. Why did she smell like death? She didn't look dead, feel dead. That warlock was certainly dead, his magic dissipating into the ley lines beneath the city as though preserving it somehow, at least a piece of him. His sensitivity to these things felt it, practically witnessed it before his very eyes.

Oh, what would he do with her now? He seemed lost, his mind hardly functioning beyond the bear in that moment. He couldn't quite place why he felt urgency within the air, why he smelled like peoples fear and why it was so very quiet now. He peered at the woman with an expectancy as if she has answers and he wasn't sure why.

Then he realized just how hungry he felt.

Little did he know he was wasting precious time that they could be using escaping. They should be fleeing the scene of the crime, they should be taking cover somewhere, anywhere. At least until the bear receded and the man remained. He could hear the sounds of distant siren's approaching and yet he hardly seemed to care. How long until the police got here? How long before hunters sent a silver bullet to pierce his large thick skull?