The dark haired boy had certainly never been scolded for leaving messes before. Well, perhaps the vampire with dark, inky colored locks arranged so neatly on his head had been scolded in his youth, but those times feel so long ago. The boy with lava bright red eyes can barely recall those times anymore.

Well, he can if he tries hard enough.

Back before those eyes were painted crimson and his skin turned so pale from lack of sunlight. His hair was still that dark charcoal color, but his eyes had been dark like chocolate and his skin sun kissed from playing outside under the midday sun. All the children of the household were required to do chores, and one of those chores were to ensure they picked up after themselves. And on a particular day, the charcoal haired Cobain, just a boy at this point in time had accidentally left a book on the table, Dracula, the latest craze in all of Romania. Cobain had been outside helping the other children of his family with their chores, the raven haired boy was cleaning out the chicken coop. He had been doing his chores, occasionally brushing a hand up towards his forehead to brush the sweat that accumulated near his obsidian hair. Chocolate eyes blink away the sunlight and sweat and dust that threatens his vision. Then those earthen eyes open and he sees his father coming towards him, steps pounding into the ground. As he gets closer those same dark eyes close in response to what young Cobain already knew what was coming. His body seems to go entirely numb as his father beats him into nearly a pulp, for simply leaving a book on the table. When he finishes, Cobain watches him with that chocolate gaze as he walks away, a scowl on his face. The ebony haired boy burns with such a hatred for the man he calls father, but who is not even related to him by blood or bond. The golden light of the afternoon trickles down as Cobain swears that he will destroy this man if ever given the chance.

The ebony haired young man (at least in appearance he is young), stares at the other vampire for a moment with his crimson gaze standing stark against his pale face. Truth, he could have taken the girl back to Syn, had just enough of her blood to let the voodoo power control her and keep her quiet. But then no doubt it would draw the attention of the other vampires there, and Cobain had never been impressed by the gathering of misfits that Risque acquired like some kind of undead army. He hates them as much as he hates himself. The blood from this prey would have stained the grounds of Syn and Cobain disliked having a messy home.

He watches the other vampire, he looks so much younger than him, but Cobain is old, perhaps as old as the other vampire. Cobain's spirit is older still, battered and broken. But then a wicked smile flashes on his face for the smallest of instances, before disappearing all together. His smiles never lasted long. He only knew pain and suffering. Disdain dances behind his eyes, though he looks at Damon no different than he would look at any other creature, mortal, immortal or otherwise. The vampire with those silky, black tresses as dark as obsidian stone then speaks. "I'm not concerned," he says. Cobain had evaded councils before, if they gave him trouble or worse yet, Risque any trouble, no doubt Cobain would be sent on his way to complete another task. Actually, the idea did not seem half bad.

The topic moves to Syn, or otherwise known as Cobain's hell. He hated being under Risque's thumb, well, perhaps hate was not a strong enough word for his feelings on the matter. They haven't yet created a word to sum up his feelings on the matter. "Oh, that is where you are wrong," he speaks in that rustic voice. "It is very much alive."