"We found two bodies removed of all their blood. Now, that wouldn't be so unusual for Whitechapel, if it weren't for a singular particularity." From out of his pocket, Jackson pulls out a single, elongated fang, as casually as though it were a two pence piece. He holds it up to the flickering light of the fireplace. "Vampires drained dry. The most ironic of supernatural situations."

"And a pain in my ass." Jackson tosses the fang up in the air like dice, and catches it, tucking it tight against his palm. "Tell me: does the Night Council even try?

[ooc: Whoops, I accidentally forgot to delete a chunk of tossed-out text from my last tag. >> Ignore the last part-- it doesn't make sense. ]