Sidor remembered the last time he had been in one of the parks of Sacramento. On some level, it still faintly disappointed him that there would never be ice clutching to the dead branches of the trees. Just the rotten stink of the last of the autumn leaves rotting away, and the drizzling rain. It dripped from the brim of the fedora that he habitually wore to mask his Curse.
The patrols for the evening were over, but he felt it necessary to watch over the parks sometimes. It was perhaps, because he felt more responsible for the actions of members of his own Clan. He was aware how the Nosferatu tended to feed. There were rarely extended seductions in clubs. No, that was for Kindred who would not always radiate a sensation of wrongness. Regardless of the visibility of their Curse, there would always be that faint, insistant touch of the Beast on them.
Before his hidden eyes, a few people hurried back and forth, their collars turned up against the weather.
The Deputy watched them, and felt their fear. They did not know what was lurking in the darkness.
Mostly, it was just him tonight, so far. It was peaceful. If there was one thing that Sidor was sure of, it was that at any point where he thought that it was a quiet evening, something unpleasant immediately happened to him.
God hates you.
Beneath the shadows, he smiled. It was true, on every level. But he had accepted that his nature was anathema to the purity of the Almighty's Divine Plan. It was strange how things changed.
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