It is, he thinks, perhaps the most boring television program he has seen in at least- 60 years and really, that was saying something. Sleep had simply come to allude the irritable blonde of late, his mind unable to turn off, to rest, to find any peace even within the dark expense of his room or the comfort of his sheets. It had happened before, it would happen again- these endless nights of utterly no reprieve in which he spent the vast majority of his time watching the only thing that was on at 2am. Infomercials. It was astounding, truly, just how many products actually existed that all claimed to have non-stick surfaces. For half a moment the apathetic man almost considered actually examining his own fry pan by way of comparison, this single thought barely having taken hold within his mind before the television was hurriedly switched off. The first step to madness, he is sure, is actually contemplating infomercials. Eighty years of life and he was reduced to contemplating cookware he doesn't even use- the man an appalling cook that no amount of non-stick surfaces was actually going to help improve. One hand moved to run through his hair, those white gold streaks tumbling back into the equal gold of his amber hued gaze before he moved to stand with a sigh, reaching for his jacket in some half-hearted attempt to actually appear decent before stepping out of the apartment and into the hall, making sure to lock the door behind him.

The night air was surprisingly cool, refreshing and chilled against his skin, the man only now aware of how hot his apartment must have been, the loneliness of it so often making it appear cooler then it was and yet- he had long ago accepted his almost nomadic existence. A permanent residence was akin to a family or friends, things he simply could not afford to have or keep. They would only become liabilities. Tucking his hands once more into his pockets the young Hunter simply moves to wander down the street, showing little care or concern for any that might see him, the vast majority of supernatural within existence within this area having come to learn to stay well and truly away from this particularly man and if often irritable moods. He was stronger than most, often unswayed by whatever emotional plea they had to offer and as such had developed a reputation for being better ignored then engaged. In truth it suited him almost perfectly. For half a moment he allowed his thoughts to wander briefly to the party from some nights before, a veritable disaster of an event and yet what else could be hoped from a gathering of foul creatures that seemed capable only of a 'fuck or fight' mentality that held little to the imagination. Maybe he had earned himself a few casualties and yet perhaps they would think again before seeking to test his patience as they had. This infamous Ark Pack however, would have to be more closely monitored lest their Alpha gather too many followers.

Thoughts of that night inevitably saw his mind wander towards the raven-haired women whom had so seemed to carve for herself the smallest of niches within his mind- a niche he violently opposed and yet one he seemed incapable of filling otherwise. Her dress had been truly unequivocally perfect, very near tattooed upon his mind, such was his distraction at the thought the man was very near given to collide with a lamp post. Shoving the thoughts away as he simply continued on and down the street with lackadaisical ease- his walk clearly displaying his lack of purpose tonight. Eighty years of life and he was still wandering alone, had he been a humorous fellow he may have even laughed at the pathetic nature of it. He had craved solitude in his human years, a family so large forever pressing against his personal space and now...hmm....what he wouldn't give to have them back again. Even if for only a night.