If you wanted to find Aidan, there was two options; he'd be sulking around Mortimer's house like the typical stereotype, depressed Vampire or he'd be wandering the streets in a drunken stumble. After being nearly killed by Hunters you'd think he'd be more careful when going out in public.

But this is Aidan. No one ever said he was the sharpest tool in the shed. Even he'd admit it, but there was just that point after living for so many years that death seemed like winning the lottery. If he wasn't depressed and wallowing in self-pity at home, he'd take it out on the streets with him. Every bar he walked into. Every club, every gas station, he'd fantasize about the building exploding. Maybe one of those Hunters would catch him from behind and he'd get his head cut off? It was a gamble, and Aidan didn't care.

Even hunting and feeding had lost its appeal. He was a broken piece of some worn out picture of years past. Mortimer could put some of the pieces back, but without Crishlyn, Aidan just didn't care to fix himself anymore. There would be pieces missing that only she could put together for him.

Before leaving Mort's place, Aidan had filled his silver flask with cheap vodka and Sprite (the flask itself wasn't real silver, so holding it wasn't going to burn his skin). He puts on his sunglasses, and lazily wears his worn out blue jeans with a white buttoned dress shirt. On top of this he wears his black leather jacket. He not only looks the pathetic, middle age drunk, but he also plays the part well. Aidan doesn't even comb his hair, or do anything with his five o'clock shadow. The only effort he does make is when leaving. He hurries out like some rebellious teenager before Mort could stop him. It was the weekend and Aidan was not going to spend it on the couch. Nor was he going to listen to another lecture from that old man. Aidan walks quickly out into the night, lighting up a cigarette as he makes the long walk into the city. He does look back a few times at the dark house, always looking to make sure he wasn't going to be caught.

He should have been looking out for other dangers. And as he rounds the corner, he smirks and feels victorious. "Dumbass."

By the time he reaches the busy nightlife, he's nearly done drinking from his flask. He looks like a complete douche with his sunglasses on in the middle of the night, stumbling and looking at the women like some pervert as they pass him by. He can sense their heartbeats, pulsating like bass from a rock concert. His sense of smell is heightened. From perfume, to alcohol and hormones; he smells it all, and Aidan's skin crawls when he realizes it has been a long time since he last fed. The weekend was usually his time for hunting and while he hadn't planned on doing much other than drinking, he was living life on the fly tonight.

He picks out a very active club called The Playground. Inside, loud techno and industrial music plays in company with lasers and smoke machines. Everyone was already drunk beyond belief or high off their drug of choice. Aidan himself, shortly before entering, pops a Morphine pill with the last of what was left in his flask before putting it inside a pocket inside his jacket. The Playground is made of two levels; the basement, which was where the dance floor was and the upper levels for sitting, the bar and to watch everyone below dance. There were restrooms on both levels and V.I.P rooms for the elite. In fact, there was many rooms Aidan didn't even know about as this place seemed to be an active Vampire club. He looks down at the endless sea of bodies moving in sync with the loud beats before he heads to the bar. He'd hunt, after he had more booze in him. "Three shots of Fireball!" He yells to the bartender, making the number 3 with his fingers, standing impatiently as the Morphine started to take effect. He zones out when the three shot glasses are in front of him. The bartender, a young girl with bright pink and green hair, pours the whisky with quick skill, filling each glass to the rim and never spilling a drop. He grabs one shot at the eact moment she's done filling it and goes to drink it.

That's when a very dumb man bumps into Aidan's back. Half his drink spills onto his chest and the glass bumps into his teeth. The man turns around, looking for a fight and boldly tells Aidan to watch what he was doing. Aidan is oddly calm, biting his bottom lip and shaking off what was spilled on his hand and chest. "Buddy! Are you fucking deaf?!" A woman tries to get the guy to move along, but he ignores her. She says his name, Alex. He was filled with liquid courage and begging for a fight. Taking off his sunglasses and folding them, putting them to rest on the front of his shirt, Aidan turns slightly and lets his elbow rest on the counter. Then, he stares at the kid directly in his eyes. The bartender was standing there, waiting and ready to call one of the bouncers in need be. Aidan sighs, looking him up and down and then grabbing shot #2. "I think you should listen to that fat little cunt on your shoulder and walk away, Alex. "

Right after he speaks, he quickly downs his shot and puts it upside down on the bar. Then, still resting on his elbow, he folds his fingers together and waits to see what was going to happen.