Preston Vyse's Story

[OOC: The day leading to recent events]

The air clutched in soothing waves, neutralising the sun’s early glare. For some reason Preston had become unusually sensitive to the globes bright touch, often just an hour absent shade meant his skin would glow, he sighed, It must be rubbing off on me.
He wasn’t in his accustomed attire today, a tight blue sports shirt and black shorts adorned his body along with trainers. The comfort these items provide irked Preston but he ignored urge to change; suits aren’t advisable during exercise. Warming up Preston push forward and breathing deeply in, then out. His brown eyes piercing ahead marked out the day’s route and a bead of sweat appeared at his hair line, as the building he’d emerged from disappeared behind him.
It was far too late to react when a wooden pole thrust out of a bush along the paths edge, Preston found himself face eating the soil in less than seconds. “The problem is, you have no intuition,” a grisly voice commented from behind the foliage, “You see the world as it is without change,” the voice continued revealing itself to belong to an aged man in black and grey combats; Preston squinted, cupping his mouth and nose. “But the world does change,” he said bending down on his knees as Preston spat rolling onto his back, “it’s a stream of colours, each colour a different possibility,” the man grumbled down at Preston, “And at night the colours become shades, you have to see these actions… Or they’ll seize you.”
The man regained his height and turned pacing away. Gyial! Preston removed a handkerchief from his front pocket and after sitting up he proceeded to blow his nose; he took a second and wiped his mouth. Blood. Fantastic. Rising to his feet he shakily stepped over the pole and moved to catch up with Gyial who had found a green clearing and was removing items from a black travel bag.
Reaching the man Preston began to speak, ”Could we focus less on the cloak and…” but he was cut off before he could finish with a glove to the stomach. A loud crack could be heard coming from where the glove impacted Preston and he crippled in agony to his knees crying out. At least two ribs had been cracked by Gyial’s assault, one had fractured puncturing skin but Gyial didn’t hesitate, he swung the other fist into Preston’s face and Preston was floored for second time in minutes.
“Whh..whh.”
“Why?” Gyial responded after Preston failed to produce the question, blood now flowing from Preston’s mouth. “You failed, that’s why.” The man removed his gloves and let them drop down; they hit the floor with a thump. Bricks. Lined with… “Where’s the pole Preston?” Gyial asked, “Left behind. Like your life.”

Preston walked back along the trail, his shirt and face smattered in blood and dirt. I don’t understand Gyial, Preston thought, disconcerted. Gyial had been like that since the word go; traps, tests, surprises and brutality were all common themes and Preston bitterly recalled his initial meeting, Lost my favourite tie to that villain. Vampire blood coursed through Preston and Gyial had done an expert job at forcing Preston’s rib back in at the expense of Preston’s pain threshold. Next time, Preston vowed, I’ll be ready, he thought shaking his head before a - Thunk – sound pierced through the back of his leg and Preston falter to a knee. Behind, far off, a voice faintly called out, “Just push it through and you’ll heal right up!” Gyial. The tip stuck through the side of Preston’s shin however Preston didn't have time to consider pain, the wound was already healing around the arrow.

Day’s peak had been reached by the time Preston had returned carrying a four pieces of arrow, Blasted arrow had to break three times. He wasn’t fatigued, the vamp blood saw to that and he’d have hours before it would wear out of his system. Shower. Upon entering his room Preston discarded his clothes into a bin liner in preparation to dispose of them, he didn’t need unwanted attention from his “patrons”.

Refreshed, dressed and fed Preston turned his attention to a table situated at the window side, its surface held a kettle, tubing and empty blood bags stacked neatly in a tray. Beneath the table was a small fridge with a clear door, a couple of full bags could be seen through. As he sat he removed a needle from the kettle and attached it to the tube, the other end of the tube was attached to a blood bag and Preston carefully hooked the needle in a vein running through his synovial joint. The drops of vampire blood will certainly give this batch a kick, Preston mused but it needed to be done, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to rest before sun down, syncopating him with his allies.
Two bags later Preston withdrew the needle, the remnants of the vampire blood healing his wound and readjusting his blood level. ”Sleep at last,” Preston breathed as he moved to his bed which flapped as he sat down. I should really… but Preston didn’t get to finish contemplating about the bin liner as sleep had taken him. He gently fell backwards, feet still firmly planted to the floor and just like that was asleep, abandoning the daylight.