Hunting alone really wasn't so bad. There were disadvantages- there were always disadvantages- but there were things to be relished, as well. For starters, it fit in much better with the cliché. Nicholas was a sucker for those. Hell, they'd even been original in his time. He'd loved Lenn dearly, but these pairs strayed from what he knew from books and movies. And they were both young, both new to the world: they didn't know what they were doing. The solitude was nice, he supposed aside from the quiet; he no longer had to share his meals, and no longer did Nicholas have to abide by a shared schedule. It was freeing, living life as he wanted to. The vampire pretended that he couldn't still hear his voice, and what he would say, in every day situations. Tonight was one such evening. He'd never approved of his going to a bar. Too risky, he said, and he was too young to join Nicholas, not that there was ever a problem. Drink in, Lenn would say. It was depressing, drinking alone, Nicholas would argue. Now there was nothing to stop him. It was a bittersweet feeling. He arrived, and took a seat at the end of the bar. No mirror staring across from him; not that anyone would be looking for his reflection. The pale man knew what her reflection looked like, well enough- or rather, what it would have looked like. He hadn't seen it in decades, but he remembered he had brown eyes, and brown hair. One of the perks of dying was that he hardly ever needed a haircut anymore. It hadn't stopped growing, but it was much slower than what it had been during life. As for the rest of his face, the pale man had run his hands along it many a time, in disbelief, but the image constructed was more from memory than feeling. Soft cheeks, a sharp chin, dominating eyebrows. He ordered a drink. At least any sense of vanity long abandoned him. It just wasn't as fun, any more. This wasn't the first time that Nicholas had done this- new city, far away from the last one, find a bar, relish the dark wood and the quiet murmur over and under the music, drink for as long as he could stand it before a sense of guilt had him fleeing. This was a form of mourning, in its own right. Cash on the counter, collect his coat- appearances were important to not be caught- and walk out. Tonight was no different. Nicholas paid, put on his navy coat, and walked back out, into the night.