[center][color=9e0b0f]Bloodletter[/color][/center]

If there was one thing Bloodletter hated, it was waking early. He fought back against Dreamcatcher's insistent intrusion, but he lacked the strength to keep it up for long; eventually, he relented and opened his eyes. He lay staring at the ceiling vacantly. He considered for a moment the consequences of simply continuing to stare. Dreamcatcher had no power over him when he was awake, and he certainly didn't feel like working. He never did--the Hunter's profession was simply not fit for his character. 

Unfortunately, as the weariness began to leave his eyes and as his legs became more and more restless, he remembered that he was, in fact, indebted to the Fraternity, and it would hurt him to do bad by his saviors. His feet hit the floor with a dull thud as he swung them off of the bed and he began to dress himself hurriedly. He left the safehouse without eating--something he would lament for hours to come--and with a rather large axe slung upon his shoulder. It was much too large for a small person like him, but he scarcely noticed the weight. 

The glare of sunlight was nostalgic, but not entirely appreciated. Bloodletter had grown to hate having a diurnal schedule, preferring the solitude of night. He yawned, and his thoughts returned to that empty ceiling and how wonderful it would be to stare at it until this entire situation blew over, until he could fall asleep once more and not be disturbed by Dreamcatcher. Unfortunately, he had soon found St. Augustine's and Dreamcatcher, which forced his thoughts to the present moment. He sighed deeply, his shoulders drooping as if bearing some enormous weight, and stepped through the door.