Lord Colin Coward had little desire to leave England. Even if he did travel, it was always only for a season. Nothing more than a vacation. That meant, however, that he had to move about the country quite frequently, usually upon return from one of his vacations.
Old properties, both those belonging to the Coward line and others he'd acquired over the years, served as his various residences more often than not. He was always particularly fond of the estates willed to him by those who developed an attachment to him. Often, they were the elderly or infirm, those he could 'comfort' and 'help' with a bit of his blood. Never enough to leave in their systems should an untimely accident occur, though there had been one or two mistakes over the years.
Such things were bound to happen.
Now, though, he was finally back in London.
His name was an old one. An "ancestor" of his had even been Home Secretary during the reign of Victoria. The man had, unfortunately, lost his mind to a cult and been detained. While in prison awaiting trial, he had died.
Died, yes, though only to rise again, just as his master and sire had.
Lord Blackwood was fonder by far of travel. If Colin could recall correctly, his last letter had indicated he was spending some time in the Bahamas. They kept in touch frequently, more often than not with written letters. There were a few phone calls, but both preferred an older school method, if they didn't simply think it to one another. Over a great distance, though, that was often quite difficult.
Still, his name (which he was happy to use again) had put him into the House of Lords anew, assuming the hereditary barony of the Coward family. The false records of sons, daughters, marriages, family scandals, and other such matters were carefully maintained so he could take and discard the title as necessary. A further step in politics had made him Commissioner of Police of the Metropolis, a fitting way to return to London life.
Standing outside a coffee shop, watching the people mill about in the afternoon, he had to smile to himself. "Some things never really change. London is one of them."
Harvest Festival
The days of actually being a witch are centuries in the past, but Colin still enjoys the pageantry. He still performs the rituals, so the opportunity to buy incense, herbs, and stones is always welcome. Plus there were always one or two magical items he could use to replace what he had.
Besides, humans do wander into these sorts of things, so it's a wonderful hunting ground for the recruitment drive of Islington's. It wasn't until recently that he realized how much he had missed his nest, even without his sire present. He doesn't prey on his former kind, not unless they seem particularly willing, as he had been.
It looks good to drop a cheque into the donation box outside the memorial, so he does so, though he doesn't go in.
Instead, later in the night, he watches with particular interest as Redbright performs her ritual. The memories make him smile and drink a bit more of the cider he doesn't really care for. He most certainly knows better than to volunteer. After all, he played both Circles for too long and been a vampire for long enough to know just how much power blood contained.
Carnival
The sights and sounds and smells are almost as intoxicating as the number of humans massed together. They are like deer, grazing downwind from a predator lurking in the shadows. He samples all of the food and drink offered, though he remains a politician all the while -- put together, away from the more enthused of the revellers.
Still, he seems to be enjoying himself.
Party All Night
When the sun went down, the lord abandoned sipping wine in favour of hunting instead.
His appetite had been coaxed to nearly a frenzy during the day. Humans had been swirling about him, their hearts beating so loud he could almost taste the blood flowing through their veins. There would be a progeny or two made tonight, of course. He had no desire to disappoint Millicent, especially being so newly returned to the fold.
However, first, he had to satisfy himself.
He let it look like a garden variety scandal. The Commissioner in a back alley with a pretty girl. Her arm was around his neck, and he had one of his securely around her waist. To anyone who might pass by, it looked like a good time. But supernatural senses might well have picked up the unmistakable smell of blood.
Lord Colin Coward : Sherlock Holmes (2010) : vampire
Lord Colin Coward had little desire to leave England. Even if he did travel, it was always only for a season. Nothing more than a vacation. That meant, however, that he had to move about the country quite frequently, usually upon return from one of his vacations.
Old properties, both those belonging to the Coward line and others he'd acquired over the years, served as his various residences more often than not. He was always particularly fond of the estates willed to him by those who developed an attachment to him. Often, they were the elderly or infirm, those he could 'comfort' and 'help' with a bit of his blood. Never enough to leave in their systems should an untimely accident occur, though there had been one or two mistakes over the years.
Such things were bound to happen.
Now, though, he was finally back in London.
His name was an old one. An "ancestor" of his had even been Home Secretary during the reign of Victoria. The man had, unfortunately, lost his mind to a cult and been detained. While in prison awaiting trial, he had died.
Died, yes, though only to rise again, just as his master and sire had.
Lord Blackwood was fonder by far of travel. If Colin could recall correctly, his last letter had indicated he was spending some time in the Bahamas. They kept in touch frequently, more often than not with written letters. There were a few phone calls, but both preferred an older school method, if they didn't simply think it to one another. Over a great distance, though, that was often quite difficult.
Still, his name (which he was happy to use again) had put him into the House of Lords anew, assuming the hereditary barony of the Coward family. The false records of sons, daughters, marriages, family scandals, and other such matters were carefully maintained so he could take and discard the title as necessary. A further step in politics had made him Commissioner of Police of the Metropolis, a fitting way to return to London life.
Standing outside a coffee shop, watching the people mill about in the afternoon, he had to smile to himself. "Some things never really change. London is one of them."
Harvest Festival
The days of actually being a witch are centuries in the past, but Colin still enjoys the pageantry. He still performs the rituals, so the opportunity to buy incense, herbs, and stones is always welcome. Plus there were always one or two magical items he could use to replace what he had.
Besides, humans do wander into these sorts of things, so it's a wonderful hunting ground for the recruitment drive of Islington's. It wasn't until recently that he realized how much he had missed his nest, even without his sire present. He doesn't prey on his former kind, not unless they seem particularly willing, as he had been.
It looks good to drop a cheque into the donation box outside the memorial, so he does so, though he doesn't go in.
Instead, later in the night, he watches with particular interest as Redbright performs her ritual. The memories make him smile and drink a bit more of the cider he doesn't really care for. He most certainly knows better than to volunteer. After all, he played both Circles for too long and been a vampire for long enough to know just how much power blood contained.
Carnival
The sights and sounds and smells are almost as intoxicating as the number of humans massed together. They are like deer, grazing downwind from a predator lurking in the shadows. He samples all of the food and drink offered, though he remains a politician all the while -- put together, away from the more enthused of the revellers.
Still, he seems to be enjoying himself.
Party All Night
When the sun went down, the lord abandoned sipping wine in favour of hunting instead.
His appetite had been coaxed to nearly a frenzy during the day. Humans had been swirling about him, their hearts beating so loud he could almost taste the blood flowing through their veins. There would be a progeny or two made tonight, of course. He had no desire to disappoint Millicent, especially being so newly returned to the fold.
However, first, he had to satisfy himself.
He let it look like a garden variety scandal. The Commissioner in a back alley with a pretty girl. Her arm was around his neck, and he had one of his securely around her waist. To anyone who might pass by, it looked like a good time. But supernatural senses might well have picked up the unmistakable smell of blood.