One note I would like to put in here... The visual for Dracula is David Cook... I have a slight fascination, if you haven't noticed.
The Awakening
Eyes snapped open, air flooding the long dead lungs as Count Dracula sat up, coughing. He looked down at his hands, cursing silently as he saw that they were the hands of an old man. Dracula stood, brushing off his black pants, and looked around at his castle. He was in the great hall, which he recognized by the enormous door before him, but it was far more gone than it had been when he'd last stood in it. He moved over to the nearest gap in the stone, surveying the landscape. Stormy grey eyes narrowed as he spotted a group of strangely dressed young couples, wandering through the ruins leading up to his castle. Yes, they would do nicely.
As he straightened the leather jacket on his now youthful form, the Count looked through the papers the deceased adolescents had been carrying. It had been over a century since he had lived, if the newspapers could be trusted; but it was useless to question it, since he knew what they knew, with their blood in his veins, keeping him young for a time. He left most of the papers lie, taking with him travel papers and the money they had been carrying. The wolves would see to the corpses, or the authorities would find them; regardless, he would be long gone before they would be missed.
"Brilliant," he whispered to himself, looking out the window of the airplane as it flew over the Atlantic Ocean. Humanity's invention had saved him the question of how to get out of Transylvania, and had given him the opportunity of seeing with his somewhat human eyes what he'd only seen as a bat or occasionally an owl; the spectacular views of clouds and moonlight glancing off the surfaces. He may be a monster, even by his own somewhat biased reckoning, but such beauty still had the power to move him. He shifted slightly as the airplane began to descend, going through the clouds to reveal the bustle of a city, one unlike any the Count had previously beheld. New York City, it had been called. A small smile spread across Dracula's face, thoughts of the countless meals he would enjoy enveloping him; with such masses, how many would disappear before it was noticed?
The genius of humanity astounded him. Odd, since he'd never burdened them with an overabundance of intelligence. But in the century he'd been reforming, there had been such a leap of technology as he'd never seen in the centuries previous. He knew the basics of how most things worked from the information gleaned from his first meals, but the place they called Times Square left him stunned. He stood in the sea of people, their heartbeats ringing in his ears as he looked at the giant video screens that advertised almost everything imaginable. As he turned to continue down the sidewalk, a display in a bookstore next to him caught his attention. A book bearing his name was front and center, surrounded by other fictional accounts of his kind. Curiosity consumed him, drove him into the store and purchased several of the books, including his own. A pass by a video store yielded a similar outcome, and so the Count returned to his hotel room with his arms full.
Dracula sat back in astonishment as he turned off the DVD player. It hadn't taken him long to flip through the things he'd found; he didn't need to watch entire movies or read whole books to see that he'd been turned into what the humans called "pop culture". Obviously, someone had found the diaries of his murderers and had published them. Or else a survivor of the group. He'd never really given thought as to the descendants of his enemies, but he certainly did now. He also began to think of making a new identity for himself. He'd been able to get through the airport and customs by mesmerizing the attendants, but it wouldn't work forever. He would have to forge identification papers, especially if he intended to sell a few antiques he'd taken from his castle. The money from the tourists wouldn't last forever, and he needed a new name.
He stood on the top of a building, watching the alleyways. He'd quickly found that the media and police had grown in authority in the last century, and he would have to be careful about who he killed. The Count had actually considered just finding new victims every night and leaving people alive, so no one would die at all. Perfectly inconspicuous, and totally unlike him. Humans were still cattle to him, but it would satisfy his need as a hunter and warrior to play the part of vigilante.
Movement caught his eye; a blonde woman walking down the street, only to be pulled into the alley he sat above. A smile curled his lips as he heard a muffled scream; his cue to drop down and upset things. Dracula's future meal had the woman at gunpoint, demanding her purse, his spare hand over her mouth to muffle her cries for help. Relishing the inevitable fight ahead, the vampire tapped the thief on the shoulder, and then backhanded him further into the alley once he'd gotten his attention. An all too brief tussle later, and Dracula's fangs were in the man's throat, the frantic pounding of the thief's heart ringing in his ears. That wasn't the only thing his ears heard, however. Snaps, along with flashes of light, caught his attention. He looked up; dropping the corpse to the ground, and saw the woman had a camera to her eye.
He sighed; this would be more complicated since those he rescued usually ran away as soon as they had the chance. The Count moved towards her, backing her up against the wall, blocking her from the view of the street.
"Your camera, please," he demanded, holding out his hand. She looked up at him, deep brown eyes staring through gold rimmed glasses. She was a little more than half a foot shorter than him; not that it was unusual for him to be the taller. He took the camera from her, and simply went through and deleted all the pictures of him on it and gave it back to her. Her eyes widened in surprise as she took it, making him laugh a little. "You thought I would smash it?"
"I thought you were going to kill me," she half whispered, smiling shakily. He blinked, stepping back a little. She seemed different from the rest of the oblivious masses, and it made him look at her a little closer.
Her blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, which still hung down well past her shoulders, revealing the pale skin of her throat. She was already almost as pale as he himself, but it still flushed with the life he lacked. Her face was round, echoing the gentle curves of the rest of her body, and with the smile, her face was far more pleasant than any he'd seen in Europe.
"The thought crossed my mind, but that would have made my saving you useless, do you not agree?" he asked, taking her hand in his and kissing the back of it. A blush reddened her face, reaching clear up to her ears. "Drake de Ville, at your service." His name had been one of his favorite parts of his new identity. The last he had used previously, and he'd liked, while the first was one from one of the movies he'd been featured in.
"Tina Davidson. Thank you for saving my life. And for not smashing my camera." She stood on her toes and kissed his cheek gently, then looked down. Dracula was charmed by her show of gratitude, and decided to do something completely uncharacteristic; he leaned down, lifting her chin gently with one hand, and kissed her on the lips. He listened to her heart flutter as she leaned back against the brick wall for support. The Count pulled back, stroking his fingers across her face. He smiled at her, the same smile he'd given many before. Perhaps he would begin in this new country by making a new bride for himself. It had always been a good start before, after all.
"You know, I don't usually kiss every guy I meet… would you like to go to dinner or something? Oh you don't eat… well…" Tina blushed again, solidifying the vampire's plans.
"Dinner would be fine. I have found that the ability to cook comes in handy, even if the food isn't for me." Dracula pulled out a pad of paper and wrote down the address of the house he'd purchased with some of the money from his antiques. Apparently, his old things had been worth a small fortune. "Any chance to enjoy your company would be a most pleasant evening." He handed her the piece of paper and bowed before setting off down the street, smiling to himself. Perhaps this bride wouldn't stab him in the back at every chance, and force him to get others just to keep her in check. He would have to check up on her, though, to make sure she didn't know anyone who would have the resources to come after him; he'd only needed to make that mistake once.