The pale hellboy had spent so much of his childhood hiding, afraid of his father who beat him, of the village boys who tormented the lanky, pale boy any chance they got. Back before those eyes glowed that haunted maroon color full of hunger. Back when Cobain was entirely helpless, like a pathetic child. Cobain hated thinking back to those day.

Just like he hated most things.

That was the one positive for the jet blacked haired vampire working for Risque, he had little chance to sit and dwell on his former life. The midnight haired hellboy was constantly running errands for his pale mistress. And when you were only permitted to travel at night, it made things a little more difficult. It wasn't on the blood prince's list of things to do to go bursting into flames. The lean and wiry teen with hair dark as onyx may despise his existence, but it was an existence none the less and so he would succumb to its torture rather than burn up in the flames that no doubt awaited him in the after life. After everything he has done since being turned, the tang of metallic blood on his tongue, brought from the veins of nameless victims, of his family members, of those he has been instructed to kill, Cobain's soul most likely will never be salvaged, so torn and broken, it lays in pieces at the floor, the devil waiting patiently to scoop it up and drag the boy downwards into his awaiting hands.

Cobain is a travesty. A malformed crude mockery of a personality. He is so content to sit back and watch the world suffer, dismissive of it even. It is a little unfair how handsome he is. Cobain looks just like his father, no, not the one who raised him, but his real father, the one who had stolen his mother's heart with feverish touches and lingering glances and stolen kisses. Cobain's father, the poor artist who spoke with beautiful words of poetry, and moved with a grace unseen of in the farmer's of the village. He was beautiful, his poetry was breath taking, and his art was awe inspiring. It was impossible not for the women to fall for him. Those lingering touches it would seem lingered for too long as it resulted in Cobain's birth. His mother had kept it hidden, but as Cobain grew older, he did not seem the same as his other siblings, he moved with the same quiet grace and while all his siblings had their father's signature pale greenish, blue eyes, Cobain's were as dark as the deepest of caverns. Most of his siblings were thicker boned, like sturdy lions, and Cobain grew lanky and wiry like a panther, never becoming as strong as his brothers, but Cobain's father, his mother's husband had been able to overlook this, until Cobain's true father came to him, asking for his mother's hand in marriage, to run away with him, that they would take Cobain too. That he may be a poor artist, but he would make her and their son the happiest family there could ever be.

The dark haired vampire was certainly entirely unconcerned about cleaning up his messes, especially when it came to simple meals, only used to satisfy his unquenchable thirst. There were certainly many things that made this world cruel and unforgiving and while Cobain may be one of those, he certainly was not the only one. The ebony haired vampire was so accustomed to being a transient being that he never even stopped to consider what his messes could do towards the local vampire population. For most of the time, Cobain was gone before he ever really saw any consequences of his actions, onto the next task that Risque would set before her ebony haired pet.

He was not aware, or rather the vampire with those dark ebony locks wasn't caring enough to realize that someone was following his scent, someone who had taken the time to properly cover up Cobain's kill. So he certainly does not expect a voice to travel to the dark haired vampire's direction. He stops cold, turning around to face the other vampire, hatred showing in that dead gaze, hatred for everything. He slides his hood off his dark hair. "I don't clean," he says flatly in response, face expressionless as he looks to the other vampire. "I'm a vampire, not a maid," he adds with narrowed eyes. The pale boy eyes the other vampire. It wasn't often he encountered another one of his kind that didn't end up with Cobain killing them on Risque's orders, but as the raven haired vampire looks to the other he knows this is not one on his mistress's kill list and thus Cobain does nothing. Despite what may be thought, he was no mindless killer, killing on orders and for food alone. "There are worse things that dark hunters." Suddenly he eyes the vampire, wondering if perhapsâ€""Do you know Syn?"