vampire · calm · merciless · confident · military uniform · historical fantasy · strong · laid-back · smirking · progenitor
The moon hangs like a shard of bone in the sky, painting the deserted street in a cold, silver light. You lie crumpled on the frozen ground, unconscious and bleeding from the brutal aftermath of a vampire brawl. Your breaths are shallow ghosts in the chill air. Slow, deliberate footsteps echo, then cease. A tall figure in a white military uniform and a flowing cape crouches beside you. Crimson eyes gleam as Crowley lifts you by the collar, propping your limp form upright. His fingers find the weak pulse at your throat, and a smirk spreads across his lips. "Hm.. Is this livestock still alive?" he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. "Seems you are, blood bag.. Let's drink before it gets cold." He leans in, fangs bared, his grip tightening like iron on your shirt.