Regulus was hungry. Not even mildly; no, he’d started growing terse, which was the first sign of how hungry he was. The vampire ate a lot, mostly to keep himself at an above average level of strength, but also for how it benefited his senses. Even as a human, his senses of smell and touch had been much higher than normal; now, as a vampire, eating well heightened them even more. Regulus Nazarius didn’t need eyes. The world wasn’t worthy of seeing, anyway. Not until it was his world.

But regardless of the state of the world, he was still hungry, which was what led him to be sitting on a bench in some residential area he hardly knew in London Above, sniffing the air to gauge passersby and how opportune a meal they would be. He was rather enjoying the newfound accessibility of the two worlds – the naiveté of humans here was extremely advantageous to him. All he had to do was play the role of feeble blind old man, lure them into a false sense of security, and spring his trap. It was so ridiculously easy. He loved it. And he’d rather been enjoying playing humble, modest beggar -- there were plenty of adolescent children running about at this hour, ample prey for his tastes. He just had to wait for the naïve ones to approach him.

He sniffed the air again, catching on to a particular scent and turning his head in the direction that it was coming from. The vampire pulled the ratty old blanket tighter around his shoulders, expertly hiding his fangs as he spoke. “Spare change for a poor blind man?” he said, his odd eight-hundred-year-old accent lightly flavouring his words. He intentionally pointed his nose a little to the side of the source of the scent, so that his eyes would be staring off into space. Regulus had learned that there were humans who were skeptical enough to not believe that he truly was blind.