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Without Errol around uttering words in French no one truly cared to understand or translate, the suite had become uncomfortably quiet as if all life within it vanished. At first, the other's absence sent zealous chills through the vampire's body and he found his usually sullen mood improving, but as the seconds rolled into minutes and the minutes into hours—though it was quite possible the amount of time passed was nothing more than an exaggeration—he finds his mood taking another plummet, boredom setting in. The least Errol could have done was stay with him for a few more minutes. Had he not offered the other man a night full of love, lust, and romance? In the human's eyes, Samael should be seen as a saint, one of the devilish kind. He did not have to offer his body to the lush man or bother taking care of him once the alcohol content within his blood stream rose to dangerous levels; though really, he did not understand much about blood-alcohol ratios and judged Errol's condition solely on the strange sent emitted from his body.

Wine took Errol's logic hostage and left the primitive part of his being behind to run rampant. Memory loss was to be expected, but it still irked Samael to realize that every kiss, caress, and massage slipped the human's mind as if nothing had ever happened. No one, not even some pitiable French human, could forget the sensation of his cool lips or the feeling of shapes drawn upon skin with his fingertips without suffering the consequences. The man should be happy, completely ecstatic that the vampire gave him the time of day, especially since he did not care at all for the blond individual. His foul mood had nothing to do with Errol himself, but his own pride. The chant within his mind coaxed him into believing in such, though his frozen, unbeating heart begged to differ. However, the useless organ's opinion was unimportant; the muscle was dead, after all.

Samael stretched his arms above his head and leaned back to lay upon the couch in the living room, vivid eyes glued to the television screen before him. In order to remove Errol from his mind, he had thrown a DVD into the portable player plugged into the television so he could watch on a large screen rather than the small one the portable offered. Most of the movie already played out, but to him, those scenes could have been easily cut for the best is still to come. The musical-turned-movie became interesting only after the demon barber sang about murdering people because he had lost his wife, daughter, and all of his sanity. Humans were such foolish creatures, but an immortal could not possibly pay to find better entertainment. However... one character continued to grind his nerves...

"Would you stop singin' that stalker song of yours?!" The vampire barked at the television, shouting at actors who could not hear him. "I ********' know you're outside her window and you'll steal her. ENOUGH ALREADY. Might as well rape her now and be done with it, stupid. Tch... humans..." The young boy singing about a woman he loved reminded Samael too much of himself, well, if he were not nearly as attractive, wise, talented, and cool as he knew he was. The boy had much growing to do before he reached the level of a vampire. Perhaps their situations were more different than he previously believed. It was an idiotic thought anyway.

Hearing another voice float through the air, Samael quickly sat and leaned closer to the colorful box, a toothy grin spreading across his face. "Finally. 'S about time we get some more blood in here. Heh... Cool contraption, that chair. Go, man. Help the human population problem and cut that—" The sound of a telephone ringing interrupted his vigorous speech and tears his eyes away from the bloody necks—the sight nearly made his mouth water in anticipation though he knew he could never reach the humans within the television and that all of the theatrical things were fake anyway—and redirects them toward the cause of source of the noise. He would ignore it, unplug it if need be.

But it rang a second time.

And a third.

Giving up when his annoyance reached its peak, Samael slammed a foot against the floor and swiped the phone off of its hook, nearly knocking the receiver off of the table and onto the carpeted floor below. "This is a PRIVATE number, jackass. This better be important. 'M a busy man." As he speaks, 'Johanna Reprise' continues to play in the background. "Go on... talk. Amuse me. Go on; clock's tickin'. Or is this really one of those stupid little calls we really all could have avoided, hmm?"

Samael impatiently tapped his fingers upon the earpiece and slouched in his seat, only now realizing that his time alone with Sweeney Todd was star-crossed from the beginning and fate must have played a role in this new annoyance. Either that or karma, though the vampire could honestly say he did not believe in something as idiotic as 'karma.' If one were to treat someone poorly, he or she would experience the same some time in the future? It sounded like some twisted fortune cookie; finding lucky numbers hidden within the word was almost expected. A little boy disappears from the television screen when the nearly immortal man presses the 'stop' button upon the portable DVD player. If the call were from anyone else, a simple, "SCREW YOU" and a hang-up would suffice, but seeing as how Errol had become his roommate, albeit temporary, he had a sort of duty to look after him, especially after filling him up with alcohol and practically throwing him out in his anger. Well, ******** you..." Unlike other humans or vampires, the Frenchman deserved a special upgrade of a certain foul word. Surely the hang-up would follow, but he would offer Errol a few minutes of his time first. "What the hell did you get yourself into now, idiot? Some morning ******** not go the way you planned so you needed to call your keeper? Well you know what? 'M not your baby-sitter. Go off and find someone else to piss off, would you?"

Despite his words, Samael found it difficult to swallow. A human, without alcohol, was weak; he had faced the awful truth too many times in the past to state otherwise. Errol had consumed a dangerous amount; now that he received this particular phone call, he knew it to be true. The blond man had somehow managed to wiggle his way into the vampire's unbeating heart, allowing it to feign a life it would never again experience. Every touch, every word the other male spoke affected him deeply and though he would never admit it to himself, much less Errol, he had come to feel for the human. Feel hatred, that is. And possibly... something else. No, the thought was foolish.

The vampire slammed the phone back upon its holder, hanging up the call, and marched toward the front door of his suite, but not before grabbing a pair of sunglasses. The shades provided protection from the sun in the daylight and a hiding place from fans in the evening. Life as a vampire guitarist was not an easy one, but he had adapted to it in the little ways he could. Coming to the rescue was especially difficult, for his kind loathed the human species and would rather kill than rescue. Most of his undead brethren felt this way anyway.

If karma did exist—again, it was not as if Samael believed in it—then it would make sense for Errol to look far worse than he sounded on the phone. Closing his eyes, the guitarist could picture a mangled body, violated and pale. Drunk individuals had a strange way of acting and hung over ones had a difficult time making sense of the world around them. It seemed likely that Moon would have stumbled upon shady characters or wounded himself from walking into a wall or something (he actually would not put the latter past the Frenchman). The thought kicked Samael's gait into that of a vampire, a pace he did not often travel in because it was important to blend in with mortals given his occupation, the moment he reached the hallway outside of his living quarters. The man did sound as if he were sobbing. Hurt. Afraid. Ill? It did not matter. He would fetch the boy and comfort him. "Tch..." No, he would fetch Errol and slap him across the face.

Taking the elevator to the first floor lobby, Samael exited the hotel without so much as a wave or glance to the bellboy, concierge, or whoever else worked in the building. And then, it hit him. How would he find the human without directions? Grumbling, he turns on his cell phone and sniffs the air. He would rely on his senses and if that failed, he would give Errol a call. Though, he doubted he would need to contact the other male. After all, how far could he be?

The café was full of hungry customers and while several were blonde, none seemed to be French aside from the few who obviously feigned accents in order to attract potential lovers, planning to base relationships upon lies. Typical human relations. Children ran around the park, playing in sandboxes and attempting to swing up and over the bar of the swing set. Apparently the stupidity of mortals began at an early age. Bathroom stalls remained unoccupied (most of the ones he checked anyway), movie theaters lacking, and stores out of stock. No matter where the vampire looked, he could not find the little French man he had come to despise. Worry manifested within the pit of his stomach and heart, growing with each failed attempt to find the man.

Samael slowed his pace and rubbed at a temple, giving his skin a gentle massage. Just where would a hung over man go? A bar? It did not seem likely, not in Errol's state. A sex shop? Again, that seemed like a place a lush man would visit before his buzz had ended. He sniffed the air and sighed. The city filled itself with too many unneeded smells. Past the body odor, car exhaust, burning barbequed dinners, and fast food chains, he could not detect the scent of his roommate. Errol could not suddenly disappear, but as time pressed on, he began to find the possibility more likely. That always left the sewers. He shook his head to clear the thought from his mind. The man was dumb, he would give him that, but he was not lacking enough of his brain cells to fall into a drain.

He pressed a hand against his chest and sighed. That guy... He's never actually run off and disappeared like this. Don't tell me another vamp got him. No.. I don't... sense anything... The vampire began to chew upon the inner side of his right cheek. Why do I care? What do I care? He's just some dumb human. Though he would do his all to fool himself, the fact remains that Errol is dear to him. If he were to ever analyze his thoughts and feelings, everything would become clear, but being a stubborn narcissistic individual prevents him from doing much. From now and forever more, he will hate the man for giving him unneeded trouble. He would forget about him and erase his face from all memory. But I gotta find him first. I mean... so I can tell him off...

By the time that the smell of the Frenchman finally reaches his nose, Samael had begun to drag his feet, having grown tired while banking on the idea that if he pretended to walk like a human, he would eventually wander into Errol territory. Surprisingly, his peculiar logic turns up promising results. The smell of alcohol-tainted blood reaches his nose and the scent is not strong enough for the blond man to be bleeding at all. But he is close, the nocturnal man can sense it.

If I'm right, he should be right... With his next step, he moves in front of the alleyway he believes Errol to be in and stares down the length of it. "Yo, Errol!"

Crimson eyes settled upon the falling man upon the ground, narrowing upon taking in the sight of a wallet, the Frenchman's condition, and the bit of vomit (he really did not want to know) upon the ground. "Tch.." Slowly, his attention shifted toward the man who seemed to be the root of the problem. Sliding his hands into his pockets, he strode forward, creating a connection between he and this new prey through his gaze. Human stupidity once again showed itself in the form of the thief. If he were smart at all, the mortal would have robbed Errol of his clothing with the intention of selling the fabric, though the vampire could not fathom who would be interested in a style not typical in the United States.

Samael slid his hands into his pockets and shorted his paces. If others did not recognize him from his band, especially in this poor light, his image may have seemed to be a delinquent of some sort, a punkish Gothic wannabe. Leather clung to his legs, stretched over his calves, hips, and groin. Instead of wearing his usual fishnet, he had opted to dress himself in a large jacket, something he had kept unfastened to reveal his bare chest. A few accessories hung from his neck, all but one of them chain necklaces; the last was a collar he never removed. Errol and Samael were definitely polar opposites when it came to fashion. Complimenting his dangerous apparel, the vampire carried an aura about him that stated he would not be trifled with, all topped off with an infamous smirk upon his lips.

He slows to a stop in front of the man and tilts his head back to look up at him. The human was slightly taller and in comparison, heavier built than himself, all typical traits of a mugger. This one had chosen the wrong, weak opponent to attempt to steal from. Anyone else and Samael would not care. But this is Errol. Errol the Frenchman. Errol the annoyance. Errol, his Errol, and the only one who could mess with his Errol was the guitarist of Crimson Rain.

"Good show, man..." Samael's words began quiet, laced with a soft chuckle as if he had found the entire situation terribly amusing. "The poor a** never saw it comin'. Oh, but that makes sense. You're too chicken to take on someone who can actually fight back. Right, right." He closed his eyes and tilted his head to the side as if looking over his shoulder, his smirk spreading further across his face in a mocking sort of way. "Now if it were me, I'd go about it a different way. See, man, you've got it all wrong. You wanna know what your slipup was?"

Samael suddenly grabbed the dark figure by his shirt and easily raised him into the air, as high as his arm could extend, and then returned his attention toward the crook, his expression deadly. "You didn't ********' think it through and lost to that b*****d's man. His keeper." In his anger, the vampire tended to speak and act more than listen; he could very well declare his nonexistent feelings for the blond Frenchman here and now and not realize it. "Now give me a reason why I shouldn't snap your neck and spine in four, spill out all your blood onto the street, and leave your carcass to rot and be picked at my sewer rats, hmm?" He pulled the man closer, pressing their noses together. The tip of his tongue traveled the length of one of his fangs, showing off his nice pair of canines to the embodiment of stupidity and the sole focus of his displeasure. "Or I could just drain you here and now, huh? And buddy, guess what? Even if you survive, you won't ********' remember a damn thing. "Cause you see?" He purred. "I'm magic." The words sounded better in his head, but Samael was not about to complain.

The grip upon the man's shirt loosened. "So now..." The vampire lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "It would be wise to run. Either I kill you now or I take care of you later. I've got your scent. Oh, and if you dare lay a hand on him ever again, I'll do much worse than shove your body into a meat grinder." Sweeney Todd still on his mind, the final threat seemed more than appropriate.

"Good! You were smart to run. Better lock your doors and windows; you never know just what might be lurking in the shadows. Ha! Before you know it, your throat'll be slit and—Boyfriend? Him?! Like hell! I'd never go for someone so—" Stupid. Pathetic. Human. Annoying. Tan. Warm. Sexy. It was amazing how one strange title shouted in a human's horror could send so many conflicting thoughts and emotions through Samael's body and mind. Nothing seemed to suit the Frenchman's description enough for the vampire to hiss aloud to formulate a strong finish to his final statement to the mugger; some were not even insults but foolish words about appearance that the vampire would never believe. Well, he would never admit to believing, anyway.

Chewing on the inner side of one of his cheeks nearly hard enough to draw his own blood, he turned toward Errol, taking in the man's condition now that he could see him. Usually tan skin had become a bit paler, unhealthy looking. Filth from the alleyway dirtied his fancy clothing and if he were to roll over, Samael was sure he would discover mud within that blond, wavy mane of his. Stepping closer, he could detect a heartbeat, a sign that relaxed his own tightening chest. A heartbeat and signs of breathing, something he also picked up, signaled vitality and meant that the captivating human had not yet taken a ride to the land of the dead, falling further into oblivion than Sam had when he had passed. No, he still lived. Of course he was alive. Since when had the vampire begun to quickly jump to terrible conclusions without reason?

Samael rested a hand upon Errol's face, lightly caressing one cheek and then the other with the pad of his thumb. The slightest mistake could very well shatter the human he had come to care so much about. He cared for him through hatred, nothing more so the feeling was entirely negative. Yes. "You're... a ********' idiot, calling a vampire in to help you. And it looks like you redecorated the place while you were at it." His nose wrinkled; that vomit was definitely a turnoff, especially to those with an evolved sense of smell. "Lots of colors. All that wine had to go somewhere, huh?"

Sighing softly, the guitarist wrapped his arms around Errol and pulled him close to his chest, taking him into a protective embrace before lifting the man into his strong arms and holding him like a groom would carry his bride. Once satisfied with his grasp on the human, he held him closer, glaring at his surroundings as if to declare to other invisible, nonexistent muggers or crooks that if they so much as looked at the unconscious man the wrong way, they would have to answer to him. "When we get back, you're doin' nothin' but sleepin'. Looks like you couldn't take what I gave you after all. Too bad. And here I thought you were a man who could deal with a bit of ********. But that was last night, right? Now's different. Today you're hookin' up with assholes on the street. By the way, pimps don't like it when they aren't paid." The words were cruel, even for Samael and after he spoke them, he regretted it, but his pride would not allow him to take them back. Everything was already said and done. "...Keep sleepin'. Just make sure to wake up later. I mean it. If you die here on me now, I'll ******** kill you."

He glanced at the wallet on the ground and snorted softly. To him, the object was nothing more than another nuisance, but to Errol, it could have meant the world (what did the vampire know about the Frenchman anyway?). Before leaving the alleyway, he tilted the object meant to hold money and cards with his foot and kicked it into the air. Using his sense of perception, when it reached the level of his face he dropped his jaw and quickly snapped his teeth down upon the wallet, catching it with ease. After resting upon the ground and suffering at the hands of the delinquent, Samael knew it could not be very clean, but unlike many humans, he did not have spermatophobia, mysophobia, or verminophobia so worry never crossed his mind. After all, his kind could not become ill. "Eff gho."

Samael's feet began to grow heavy, weighed down with long forgotten emotions, but he did not allow himself to slow his pace. Seeing Errol so weak startled him more than it should have and the need to return to his suite had become dire. Shifting the human in his arms so he may balance most of his weight on one of his forearms in order to free his hand, he lightly brushed blond hair away from the unconscious being's face, the movement of his fingers slow and calculated as if much thought was put into it (and really, he was stressing himself over moving without hurting Errol further). With his luck, he could have easily poked the other man in the eye after tripping, applying enough strength with the digging motion to pry the optic free. An immortal being had to worry about suck foolish, and disgusting, scenarios.

"You're gonna be fine..." He murmured softly, pads of his fingers now lightly massaging Errol's cheek. Insulting while his 'foe' remained unconscious seemed idiotic and while the vampire refused to allow himself to willingly show affection toward those he hated, his body acted upon its own, moving before his mind could catch up. His eyes slowly rolled downwards, attention falling upon Errol's lips. The taste of the labia from their night of passion still lingered upon his own and he was sure that no matter how much time passed, he would not forget the sweet taste or Errol. Better than blood and far more addicting, it seemed to be a necessity and Samael began to find himself struggling more to hold back. The line between love and hatred was a thin one, indeed, and was better left alone than treaded. Of course, Sam only saw the hatred side of it. His body sought pleasure; it was as simple as that.

Hesitantly, another new experience for the usually confident vampire, Samael pressed his lips against the human's pair, taking in the sensation of his taste. His lips tingled and his tongue throbbed, wishing to delve deeper, though resisting. He lingered for a while, only looking up upon realizing that he had reached his hotel and soon, he may also gain an unwanted audience. The man did not have the best reputation--he did flirt with almost any woman who approached him and some men (if they were good looking enough)--but 'making out' or 'swapping spit', a few of the eloquent phrases he normally used to explain the oral connection between two people, with an unconscious man would only worsen matters. Reluctantly, he pulled away and continued carrying the man.

In the hotel, Samael briskly walked through the lobby and directly to a stairwell hidden down one of the eastern hallways. Luckily, the door was already opened so he did not have to move Errol again in order to create an opening to pass through (though if it were shut, he would really not have any difficulty opening it). He began his descent, taking the steps two or three at a time until he reached the twentieth floor. After reaching the hallway of his floor, he came to see how much more reliable his own two legs were than the elevator still waiting upon the ground floor or at some level below his. Errol did not need the crowds anyway so this was, in a way, nice, even if his legs did tremble in protest; he had pressed himself forward, challenging his vampire speed to the extreme, not without repercussions. His limbs would relax in a few seconds.

"We're here.." Samael stated upon entering his suite, heading for the bedroom without bothering to flip on the lights. He really hated the things and with Errol this ill, it was better to leave them off, or so he believed but it was not as if he was a doctor in this life or his past. He carefully set the human upon the bed and sat at his side, staring down at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "..You can feel the bed, right, stupid?"

Oh, so the little French b*****d's healthy enough to swear at me in French, is he? Well, well... Samael narrowed his eyes, his expression contrasting the slight delight he felt when he heard the ailing man speak for the first time he had found the human within the alleyway. But instead of receiving thanks for his good deed, Errol decided to insult him in one of the few languages of love, knowing very well that the vampire could not understand a word he spoke. The human had gone so far as to strain his voice to sound panicked. Oh, he was good, but not good enough. The slight moan remained in Sam's mind, but he ignored it. If focused on, it would either make him worry (something he was not good at) or bring growth to his anger (something he was very good at).

An idea came to mind, invading his thoughts like some sort of plague. Errol had interrupted him from his time alone with a certain demon barber and forced him to fly out of the hotel like a bat out of hell (no pun intended) to save him from some unforeseen evil. A grin tugged at the corners of his lips, pulling them across his face to reveal every single one of his teeth. In short, Errol owed him and Samael knew of a way that could both prove a point and allow him to better observe Errol's condition. Besides, it would be fun. For the vampire anyway.

Samael leaned over the human, slipping a hand over his eyes; it would be no good if Errol watched what he was about to do. Fear was an important component in his plan and already, he could smell it rising off of Errol's skin and pumping through his veins. "Might wanna watch your tongue..." He purred softly, speaking in a voice much lower than his own. "Or you'll regret it." The leg closest to the other man raised itself while his other propelled his body toward him. Once in position, he straddled the curled form, pressing both his groin and his chest against him. This is an uncomfortable position, but if he achieved getting a rise out of Errol, it will all be worth it.

"Walking around sick all alone and dressed like that.. Mm... What the ******** were you thinking?" Another purr laced itself with his words, his voice teasing though cruel. Samael pressed his lips against Errol's ear, teeth nipping lightly at the supple lobe. "Mugged... raped... whatever... beat up... killed... 'S all gonna happen, am I right?" The phalanges of his free hand snaked down Errol's side to rest upon his hip, drawing small shapes here and there. He waited for any sounds, any pleads, listening closely for apologies and phrases in English he could actually understand.