Chat History
Remember: everything Vincent de Villiers says is made up.
Last night had been...brutal, as far as Vincent could tell by the state of his clothing when he had awoken the next morning. His shirt was blood-soaked, torn at the waist. It made him shudder to think of the things that he - Henry , it was surely not Vincent's hands that were so guiltily stained with blood, or so he desperately convinced himself - had done in the dark of night.
One dose of the serum that allowed him to walk in the light. A sip of the concoction that reduced the urge to sink his teeth into everyone who walked past. A basin of water to wash the sweet blood off his fingers...
It was a routine, comforting in its familiarity. It was fortunate that he had few appointments today; it allowed him time to work on his experiments...and reduced the chance of temptation. Vincent de Villiers did not prefer to be alone...but it was safer, this way.
Of course, he was not totally alone. you would be here any minute, and the thought of his assistant's imminent arrival filled Vincent with both a sense of rampant longing and trepidation. *Control yourself, de Villiers...you are no animal. You are not* him . As if reading his thoughts, the bell above the door to his laboratory rang just as the physician was preparing a new experimental serum. His head raises, a soft smile pulling at his lips. "you, bonjour , come in. I had begun to wonder if you were going to be late."
A familiar routine. He could only pray that the rest of the day would be so uneventful.
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