There is a beat to New Orleans that reverberates in the soul of the city. It is felt in the sidewalks, the earth beneath constantly moving and writhing and creating cracks in the cement that bounce right up to meet the air. Feet dance around the crevices and move forward with a melodic thump, thump, thump. Like a heartbeat. It's all around. Effortless.
Dracula took an unnecessary deep breath and exhaled with a grin. Yes, it reminded him exactly of a heartbeat - strong, thumping, certain, thriving. The humans walking all around him, each on their own rhythm and sequence, leading them all in different directions but somehow each one seemed to be pulsating towards the same thing.
He stood atop the steps near the river, across from the chapel of St. Louis Cathedral - the iconic towers peering down upon the people below and gleaming brightly in its false righteousness. A mimicry of the depravity that daily occurred below.
The strong current of the Mississippi River flowed steadily down and outward towards the gulf. It was rugged and muddled with red and brown. The Count reminisced of how much blood had helped taint the color. Tilting his head slightly, he briefly pondered how many people he himself had thrown into the unrelenting waters.
Speaking of which, he realized with a short huff that he was running late for a meeting with some potential clients. Adjusting his jacket against the unnaturally brisk winter air that settled in the city, his menacingly dark figure cut through the growing crowds with ease as he sauntered down the cobblestone road and into the courtyard of the old French Quarter apartment building. His lawyer, a descendent of Renfield and who conveniently had the same name, was waiting dutifully for his master's arrival with three large decanters full of fresh blood.
"Ah hello there, dark lord, how was the Quarter this evening? The chill seemed to have driven away a lot of the tourists and locals alike - " Renfield began his pleasantries, even though he knew it was futile but he loathed the awkward silence that loomed around whenever the vampire was near. The Count held up a dismissive hand and snatched up the closest decanter, taking a sip before his lips turned down. "Oh yes, that was a-"
"A local politician who did not know how to take care of himself. Seriously, Renfield, this is horrible - it's even starting to congeal!"
"Apologies, sir, but he was the easiest specimen to acquire the knowledge of families you have been…researching in your endeavor to control the city." The mousy little man stood and wrung his hands together nervously, he then motioned to the second decanter, "As a way to wash the filthy taste from your mouth, I found a fiery little salsa dancer and a philosopher from the university to perhaps appease your appetite a little more appropriately."
Dracula rolled his eyes. As if he really wanted to ponder the insecurities of mortals who are so desperate to know why things are the way they are. He then shrugged, not in the mood at all to continue this conversation, and downed the decanters back to back. It had been a long day and he was rather parched.
Surprisingly, as far as palettes go, it was not a bad mix - almost like a little charcuterie board of mixed personalities. They blended together rather well, though he would never admit to his eager…assistant. Now armed with the knowledge he had been searching for the past few months, he also had a little pep to his step along with an optimistically insightful outlook on this previously bleak evening.
"Is it to your satisfaction, master?" Renfield tittered nervously on the outskirts of Dracula's peripheral, close but not quite hovering. He knew better than that by now, which was worlds better than his predecessor. The Count raked a hand through his dark hair and licked his lips, a thoughtful look upon his face.
"I think tonight will be, ah, transcendent." With a self-satisfied smirk, he threw his jacket back on and swept out of the room without another word. His oxfords hit the flagstone on Royal Street with a catchy little click-clack, the sweet sounds of a trumpet echoing through Jackson Square, and the cheerful chattering of people beginning their adventures in the French Quarter. Dracula felt invigorated, exhilarated, inspired. After waiting and planning for months, this night had finally come, and with it his way into the city's cabal that not-so-secretly ran all of the happenings in New Orleans - including the supernatural order. Yes, it was going to be an interesting evening.
It had been a good few decades since the incident with Zoe. He wouldn't lie, he was rather disappointed when he ended up surviving the event, not when he was ready to kick the proverbial bucket. However, it seemed like fate decided the world wasn't giving up the great Count Dracula just yet. So he had the first Renfield contact the Foundation to take care of her corpse and then promptly disappeared before they arrived.
When faced with eternity, one must never stay stagnant. He decided that England was a tad too dull for his tastes. There was so much more in the world to see! Conveniently, he soon found the perfect opportunity in a city across the Atlantic called New Orleans. From what he gathered, it was a French and Spanish influenced area down in the south of the United States of America. It sounded exciting, but what he found was even better than he could have imagined.
The Big Easy was singularly the most debaucherous civilization Dracula had found thus far. Never in his life had he seen humans act so recklessly and uninhibited. It was thoroughly entertaining and he reveled in the illicit society. But there was something more to it than just the freely found recklessness. The city felt like a magnet pulling him in, the air settled around differently, smells and sights and sounds hit with a mysterious and warm glow. He was an unstoppable force and met his immovable object within the borders of this boisterous city.
There was more to it that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but Dracula shook his head as he turned into the garage. That was quite enough abstract thinking for the evening. With a content sigh, he clicked the key fob and the lights of his Rolls Royce Phantom flashed brightly back at him. Back to business.
He cruised down the streets and away from the ever-growing crowds of the downtown. Pulling onto St. Charles Avenue, he tapped his fingers along to some jazz song playing softly on the radio. Dracula had to admit he did enjoy the music scene here; he briefly wondered if Mozart would find the incongruity maddening or endearing. No matter. Dracula enjoyed the complexity and it suited this place.
As he drove, the buildings sank lower and lower into the Earth and started morphing into magnificent mansions hiding behind the towering oak trees. Their robust and impressive branches spread out across the road reaching out towards the others just across the street. Eventually, he turned and pulled up to the curb of a dark establishment, his sleek red car glimmered under the flickering gas lamps that illuminated the front entrance to the restaurant.
The valet opened the door for Dracula, and he gazed seriously at the young man while handing over the keys "Keep it close, would you? I'd hate for anything to spoil this evening."
"Yes, sir, of course, it won't leave my sight. I promise you that, sir!"
The Count leaned closer, glanced down at the name tag, and then back up to the nervous kid, "I shall hold you to it, Eric."
His gulp was audible and Dracula relished the fear, the rapid thumping of a heartbeat music to his ears. The vampire flashed a pointy smile and spun towards the entrance, grasping the lapels of his suit to smooth out any wrinkles from the drive.
The lanterns danced light across the enormous front doors. the windows had long curtains darkening the frames for privacy, and the only hint that this was an establishment and not a residence, was the sloped cursive sign hung above the double doors. It was a dark maroon color, almost black, and elegantly spelled out the name, Sanguine.