There was no questioning it, Sticks was completely sloshed. He was staggering about the apartment complex; up the stairs, down the stairs, crouching down here and there, sneaking about outside the building in the parking lot and the small playground. Goodness knew what in the shining hells the strange young man was doing. He'd started this strange rituals earlier that evening, but no one paid him much mind; Sticks was known for being a complete whackjob, and given the nature of this apartment complex, such was expected.What nature was that, any ways? The back-alley, supernatural kind of nature. No one in this building was likely human-- some were quite open with what they were, others played it off as if everyone there including themselves were human, and others just didn't seem to have a damn clue about what was going on around them. Sticks, in particular, bounced between seeming to be in pretence and being entirely clueless. The neighbours had collectively agreed, he was weird and an idiot.
The question came from behind Sticks, asked by a particularly plain looking vampire, dressed lazily in a grey tank top, raggedy leather jacket, and black jeans. He'd miraculously forgotten shoes and socks existed, and was shielding his eyes from the moonlight despite it being, well, moonlight. It wasn't hurtin' no one save for this vampire, apparently.