The Others always said they hated becoming "a blood-crazed maniac," unable to stomach what they were capable of once they became monsters. David always imagined that was the real source of the hatred between vampires and werewolves: That even though both began as humans, werewolves were still closer to natural than vampires. While both are shunned by humanity, werewolves at least breathe...vampires represented a grey area between life and death that shouldn't exist, often likened to lesser demons. David frequently wondered on this and why, for all of their years and wisdom, his kind could only focus on keeping up appearances and trying to remain human. As one of maybe half a dozen undead in the country, and retaining an "old name," he stood to gain political status and catching the ancient eyes of the Old Ones. They set forth their doctrines and regulations for the species as a whole, and that was David's main discrepancy with the opportunity. In spite of his name, and a long line of benefactors, he preferred to live in near isolation in the woods of the mountainside. There he indulged his muses and amusements, and there he could hunt without consequence. He followed many of the 'Obligatory Guidelines for Co-existing as a Vampire' on the off-chance he was paid a formal visit. Mainly he did try to hunt within local seasons, gradually enough to go unnoticed yet often enough to keep a small stock that could keep away the shakes. But most importantly, he avoided situations where he might end up harming humans or himself. Once in a great while, when David wandered well beyond his typical hunting grounds, a farmer or hunter would try to follow him home. Some were just too stubborn to get lost in the trees, and had to be dealt with. In his days of initial vampirism, there had been a few incidences during manic episodes. In part because he desperately wanted to be human again, but mostly because he craved it - the feeling of being alive again. Breathing, bleeding. Other than that his kills were far enough from his residence, and far enough between, that detection wasn't in his primary concerns. In fact, the only time he had out-right hunted a human was when one had come to hunt him. Thus did David find himself again, as prey. The closer he came to that spot in The Council, he thought, the closer was Death's scythe. And so here he was once more, fending off the results of someone else's big mouth. Even before the immortality issue, being a man of the Stafford family meant you were born with a dollar sign in front of your name. Which usually leads to having one for your head. Every aspect of his life up to this point weighed David's mind - right down to the heartbeat he didn't have in order to feel this rush, targetting a human - as he remained still in a tree, stalking the Hunter that had come looking for a piece of mythology.