unus.

unus.

Whitechapel, London, England

1888

Oleander hadn't killed the prostitute.

Sure, he saw them all the time. Prostitutes were as common as rats in these parts of London. You could walk down an alley and see a man having his way with one right against the wall. More than once he'd been walking down the dank and dirty streets of Whitechapel only to be greeted with the sight of a man attempting to force himself onto some poor, resisting w***e. He never stepped in to help, of course - he simply paused long enough to take a deep breath, then walked on, the sounds of the struggle behind him fading soon enough.

That sight was common enough for Whitechapel, and many other places in London. The Victorians had originally been scared of the cities on the rise, the people all packed together and the factories popping up at a feverish pace, but they were coming around, and some were even starting to embrace it. It was a bit of a savage place, really, with the squalor and the crowded conditions, the violence and the lawlessness and disease running rampant. All of it made London the perfect place for someone like Oleander to get his fill of sin and spoiled souls. That’s all Oleander really needed - it was what he fed on, what kept him going. He soaked in the bad energy that the sins and misdeeds of humanity gave off, inhaled it.

He'd been in London for a few years now, and as the city became more and more populated, the sinfulness only escalated. Plus, Jack the Ripper, as the notorious murderer had been christened, apparently by himself, seemed like he was here to stay. It wasn't often that Oleander got to soak in the sinergy brought on by brutal, bloody murder, but when he did, by god was it a treat.

To his dismay, he'd never actually gotten to see Jack do the action itself. That would've been a day. He'd only ever gotten to see the aftermath, standing around with everyone else, hovering like flies attracted to horse s**t and buzzing the same way with fear and excitement and anticipation and questions. They'd watch as the police examined the poor, mangled body of the prostitute who'd fallen victim, and without fail someone in the crowd would murmur about how the poor lady was asking for it, living such an unholy lifestyle, it was only a matter of time until God put an end to it. That always made Oleander laugh. These stupid little humans. They thought their god cared about them enough to be individually involved in the life of every human on the planet - it was as adorable as it was pathetic and delusional. 

---

Whitechapel was especially disgusting. Oleander couldn't stand the way his shoes squelched with each step he took, the ground wet with human waste and sewer water and animal excrement and rotten garbage. It reeked too, but Oleander was desperate enough that he was willing to put up with it.

He was hungry.

His usual methods of getting a meal weren't working as they usually did, for some odd reason. He went to the market, where people were shouting and screaming and haggling and fighting and stealing, but it didn't fill him. He went to the docks, with its smuggled goods and underpaid laborers and awful working conditions, barely anything. So he went to the one place he knew was always soaking in sin - the alleys of Whitechapel, where there was always some horror waiting to be found. 

Oleander arrived in the disease rampant section of the city expecting to find some residue from the previous murders in the air, something that could hopefully satisfy his gnawing hunger for human evil and ruin.

What he didn't expect to find was a murder in progress.

Right away it was clear that the girl was already past saving. Her throat was slit and she was laying in a puddle of her own blood. Oleander didn't know what alerted the hooded figure crouched over the girl of his presence, but before he could even react, the killer was sprinting away, leaving the bloody knife behind in their haste. And then, to make things even messier, he heard a blood-curdling shriek from the mouth of the alley, and then a scream.

 "IT'S THE RIPPER!"

And then the police were there, having come out of f*****g nowhere, and Oleander was standing in the alley with a bloody knife on the ground and the body of a prostitute who was fading fast at his feet. 

---

The police in London were absolute morons. Aside from smacking him around and dragging him away from the crime scene (and making him lose a shoe in the process), they also were apparently deaf. He'd been sitting at the police station for what must have been over two hours when a witness finally came forward. They said that they'd seen what had happened from the mouth of the alley, and told the police that Oleander had merely stumbled upon the scene at the same time that the man had walked by. He'd watched as Oleander stood frozen, then the Ripper had sprinted off. Once he'd told the police his story, they made him tell it again. Then again. And again. They claimed it was merely a method of fact-checking, to make sure the story was straight and all the details in line. Oleander was convinced it was to f**k with him. Finally, after the witness telling the tale five times in total, Oleander was released. After all, they didn't have any evidence on which to hold him. There was no blood on his person, and the bloody shoe prints left in the mud around the body didn't match his own. 

F*****g idiots.

---

By the time he got out, he was thoroughly pissed, his eyes glowing yellow with hunger. He had to walk back through Whitechapel in order to get to his home, and with every muddy step he took his foul mood only worsened. It didn't help that he still only had one shoe, the other forever lost, probably scooped up within moments of losing it by someone who would sell it or use it themselves, or use the material it was made from. In London, it was better to have two mismatching shoes or even one than to have none at all. Shoes were a commodity.

He was so wrapped up in his own misery that he didn't even notice the struggle going on until it was maybe two feet away from him. A prostitute in a stained dress, holding onto a shorter, thinner young man. 

"Please - please, sir, I need it - just let me-" she begged, trying desperately to force her lips onto his. The man she was holding prisoner seemed to want nothing less than her advances, however. He was squirming desperately, his face turned to avoid the unwanted kiss.

Well, this was certainly an interesting sight. Oleander was pretty sure the roles were usually reversed. A cane lay a few feet away in the dirt, and Oleander saw the male glance back at it longingly. 

"Please sir, I need coin, I'll make you feel good-" the prostitute continued to babble. Then, suddenly, Oleander snapped to his senses. Here he was, half-mad with hunger, and here was a meal right in front of him. He quickly stepped forward and pried the man away from the prostitute, but before Oleander could grab the harlot, she was on her feet and sprinting away, out of the alley. An enraged growl escaped Oleander's throat as he watched his meal escape. He looked around, searching for something, anything to feed off of. Then his eyes landed on the male with the cane. He lunged at him, pinning him to the wall and gripping him tightly by the shoulders. He opened his mouth, breathed in, and -

...nothing.

What?

That wasn't possible.

He inhaled again, and again, nothing. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, his eyes glowing a yellow, sickly color. "How are you holding it back?"

"What? H-holding what back, I don't-" The male stammered, but Oleander cut him off.

"What are you? Are you one of the angels?"

"Angel? No, I-I'm Theo! Look, I really don't know what you're talking about, but if you're looking for money-"

"I don't want your money, you idiot." Oleander snarled, spit nearly flying from his lips in his hungered frenzy. "I need your sinergy. Stop holding it back!"

"My what?" Theo yelped, looking up at Oleander with big brown eyes. 

"Your sinergy, the sinful energy you have, I need it. All humans have it..." Oleander said, then trailed off. He paused, looking at Theo for a long moment. "Except for you. You're human, but...you don't have any sin for me."