The pale, onyx haired, vampire boy has always been prepared to leave, to find interest elsewhere. The churning of his stomach is enough to always remind Cobain of his insatiable appetite. He wants what he cannot have. There is an invisible leash bound around his muzzle that kept him restrained from truly unleashing that bottomless appetite on Sacrosanct. Those eyes, hollow and starved, are simply found constant staring across at faces- so many of them- and weed out the ones whom would be so easy and so satisfying. But every time he wished to devour all of them, he could feel that muzzle tighten.

And who held the leash?

Cobain was no fallen angel. He had died, been reborn, but he was no phoenix.

If Cobain actually cared about Darcy, cared about Risque and what they thought of him, and had an emotional capacity larger than a peach, a peach that seemed to have only room for anger and hunger, he would revel in the way Darcy abhorred him, irritated him. He would love to know that he, little forever teenaged Cobain, a younger vampire, could cause Darcy to actually feel something towards him. It would bring him nothing short of sweet entertainment and sick sense of twisted satisfaction. But, as reality it, Cobain hardly cares hows Darcy feels either way, his desire is to only please his mistress, everyone else was just hindrances against him from succumbing to silence and to the fiery hell that awaited him in death.

Those eyes turn about him, Darcy ever so touchy about the subject of his strength and how, no matter how much he tries to hide it, he is as much under Risque's thumb as Tetradore and Cobain were. If the vampire mistress said jump, they would all throw themselves over the nearest tall building. Cobain knows what hides behind those lips, those glinting flames with a pointed tip, their only purpose to cut and slice flesh as easily as a burning knife. His eyes, in return, are hollow and miserable like a lonely man in the prime of his life, wasting away while he drinks himself to death in a bar as he ponders over what ifs and some days. His own body presses upon Cobain's but the young vampire hardly moves. He knows Darcy's game and he has long since tired of them. He longs for silence once more, but Cobain, he knows, will not receive it until the task at hand is completed. "And you don't forget yours," is all he says. If Darcy truly was allowed to kill Cobain he would have done so already. But Cobain would die by Risque's hand and Risque's hand alone, of this the vampire boy was certain.

Cobain follows closely behind Darcy, while he hated working with the vampire, he would much rather not spend the evening in Syn, the irritation he felt from the disgusting creatures that came there to commit atrocities was ten fold. He would rather not be leaving of Risque's orders, but he could hardly disobey his mistress, the need to please her, to fill every demand she gave was far to strong on the teenager. Besides, fresh blood was always so much better than what he got from behind the bar. From the vein.

It is quiet. Cobain is content that Darcy at least has ceased running his mouth for now. There was a good chance that the Hunters would know they were there before they even made it close, those damn senses. A roll of his red eyes is the only response that Cobain offers Darcy. The young vampire had been fighting Hunters for long enough due to the nature of Risque's tasks he typically had to complete. Cobain pausing only when he gets close to the building before him.

He moves closer and closer and still they have not emerged from with inside their shell. They were waiting, but for what, Cobain was not entirely sure. He pauses next to the building. He can almost sense the movements of Darcy behind him and it happens too fast for Cobain to do anything. The bullet launches from its barrel and near instantly shatters the glass in the top window. Those red eyes narrow as they remain watching almost...calmly, sinking into his own shadows of the building like the hunter he is, waiting for his prey. He can smell them, rushing around. He can smell it, their blood and in that moment-nothing else matters.

The first one out Cobain is quick to grab and bring to the side before the hunters can even truly spot him. This hunter, his reflexes were slow, maybe he was new, or maybe Cobain was just hungry. Neck is punctured in an instant and Cobain receives a taste of his blood, all he needed for his powers to work."Kill your friends, and don't let them kill you," he whispers to his voodoo creation. So taken aback are they at the hunter that now is swinging around attempting to kill them, one of their own. It affords to Cobain those precious seconds to sink into his own shadows in the space between the building as no doubt they would only push forward, perhaps right where Darcy sits. For surely, they would have no choice but to kill their friend as he took them out one by one, inspired by Cobain's own strength he had given him, desperate to obey his blood master. Cobain now smiles almost greedily, content to watch.