Troublesome

There was no need for Dracul to go far to get his fix.

The academy stocked blood like grains of rice, due to the number of vampires that attended the school.

Therefore, with just a quick compulsion of some random in the hall to go fetch, he had blood delivered to his door, however after only a few swigs, he realized a disgusting problem.

The blood was mixed with chemicals and entirely animal.

Therefore, Drac found himself once again in Principal Weems office, drinking directly from the source of his agitation.

After satisfying his thirst, he gave a casual lick to her neck in order to heal the holes, and proceeded to question the specifics of the situation with the blood.

As it turns out, the school outsourced the acquisition of blood to a company specialized in providing blood to vampires specifically. It is said to be tastier, healthier, and reduces the risk of a feeding frenzy occurring, should the vampire miss a meal.

However, that is simply what was said.

Based on what he tasted, the blood did have more zest and thickness than the organic, however he also analyzed the blood attempting to dilute his own blood, as if it could coat the enzymes in the blood and dull the potency of the vampire blood flowing through their bodies. Essentially suppressing the bloodline.

Drac could not help but marvel at the fact that even when he was not trying, he was still able to have all answers fall at his feet.

It would appear that his speculation was correct.

There is an outside party attempting to weaken the outcasts of the school in various matters.

The only question was, what is their purpose?

That is what will decide whether they survive or are eradicated down to the very roots.

In order to look into the matter thoroughly, Drac knew he would have to leave the school and that was not currently an option. Not when he had an ant throwing gargoyles at the temptress, and especially not when the spirits were warning of something far more dangerous than a statue throwing insect.

"Then, it is decided."

With an overly dramatic sigh that carried the weight of one who knew they would have to bear many annoyances in the future, Vlad Dracul called out to one specific person, tied to one specific link.

[Come, quietly].

Instantly, he felt the once fragile, wispy link strengthen to the point that if it were a physical line, it would take on the traits of an unbreakable chain.

*Sigh*. He sat back in Weems chair as she stood to the side. The years of dealing with certain subordinates coming to the forefront of his mind. There were very few things more stressful to the dark Prince than managing overly enthusiastic servants. Only he knew how hard he had it when dealing with individuals who took his every word like a divine order. He could not joke, be sarcastic, or even lament his lonely perfection without them nearly drawing blood attempting to fix "it".

He pushed his foot against the desk, sending himself and the chair sliding backwards toward the wall as he threw his head back and closed his eyes. "Ah, so long incredibly sexy smile of mine. So long casual conversations. So long joking about killing others. And hello dignity, respect, and dominance."

In the past he did not really mind that much. He rarely had anything to joke about and when he did it was usually incredibly morbid, however with the merging of his memories, there were a great many things he found comical.

He turned to the glassy eyed Weems, "Perhaps they have changed as I have." He looked at her hopefully. "I was asleep, but they were awake. Isn't that the entire reason I have not called on them all, only the one that I have no doubts whatsoever towards?" The hope in his eyes grew as he stared into the unfocused eyes of Weems. "It's a possibility Larissa, do not tell me it isn't." He stood, chest out, prepared mentally to welcome his most loyal servant, and devout follower. "Yes, perhaps they have grown."

*Snap*

With the snap of his fingers, Weems' eyes regained their focus as she took in her surroundings. Then, as if she were not just lost to the world, she grabbed her chair, sat at her desk, and continued to do whatever inconsequential things occupy her time when she was not being an incredibly good listener.

Dracul, back in his room, began to pace the ground. Joking aside, there was a possibility that his follower had turned. If that was the case, he knew he could not fight multiple forces head-on and while his shadow walking might allow him an avenue of tactical retreat from those whose senses his mist cannot deceive, the problem was that he had already announced himself to be in pursuit of the young Wednesday Addams.

He stopped his pacing.

He had options.

Several.

However, if it came to a confrontation with superior forces, none of those options would allow him to still play the role of the mysterious stranger who flirts with her on occasion, while throwing her off balance. He would have to show her something different. Something he was not yet prepared to show. At least until they moved past the stage of interest peaked and into the acknowledge ally area. At least then he could slaughter dozens and she would not bat an eye, because she knew he was on her side.

Options, options, choices, choices. It would seem since awakening, he had become quite impulsive. It would appear he had let his newfound interest and freedom from bloodshed dull his admittedly already numbed strategic and tactical planning. His father would have him dismembered for boxing himself in in such a way.

"No matter." Drac said out loud, his arms spread wide. "If anything stands between me and what I want, I will burn it out of existence."