Droplets of water beads on his forehead, neck and shoulders, casting Dareios' muscular form in a dazzling porcelain glow. It was a ruse, you see, a way for him to seem and feel normal. If he were human, perhaps he'd have a much warmer tone to skin as he sprinted, his feet taking long and easy strides across the cracked pavement, his pace easy but brisk in human terms. Of course Dareios could wiz through his neighborhood at virtually any pace he so wished, given the supernatural elements of his condition and age. But there was something methodical about jogging, about strapping on an tight-fitting pair of stretch pants from lululemon, lacing up his oh-so human-like Nikes, and running for an hour or two or three, depending on how bored or distracted he really was. It grounded him. It reminded him of where he came from. The sun sets. Dareios waits patiently for the orange haze to fade from behind the silhouettes of the skyscrapers and for the twinkling starts to appear in the hazy violet clouds overhead. He mists himself strategically with tap water - under his arm pits, on his forehead, at the base of his neck, to fit the part. Only then does he crack open his heavy front door and breathe in the smog-like night air of his beloved city. Sometimes he looses track of his pace, his gait growing far too long and feet moving far too quickly. Women walking home from the grocery store shriek and spin out of his way. It was a mental game for him to remember. Slow. Slow. Work waits for him back on his desk in his chambers, but Dareios isn't thinking about the numbers he has to crunch just yet. This is his personal time -- his few lonely hours where the past couldn't haunt him. His dreams were forbidden to pop up to the forefront of his mind. Just breathe like they do, he reminds himself, his chest suddenly rising and falling in quick succession. Dareios | Vampire | Vinyl |