Jim was a little drunk. Or maybe a little more than drunk. It had been a very, very long time since he'd gotten this far down the road of being a little drunk. There'd been a short, messy, and embarrassing period during his teenage years when he'd struggled with impulse control. The sudden, radical shift from the life of a trapped child into the life of a free man had proven too intoxicating for him. He'd overindulged, just like his father had overindulged, and just like Bobbi overindulged, but determination and shame had righted his course before long.

It was dark enough now that he could move a little way out from the main group, and stand alone without being particularly obvious or awkward in doing so. He slumped against a tree, a freshly opened beer bottle held loosely in his hand as he considered his options.

What drew his attention to Dracula might have been the faint smell of the deers blood, of it's slightly matted fur and the tangible whiff of nature that carried with it, or it could have been no more than the man's physical presence that alerted Jim to the fact that he was not alone. Almost subconsciously, he straightened up, shooting the vampire a slightly drunken variation on his usual polite, professional smile,

"Count. I didn't see you with us earlier." He lifted a hand, intending to give a comradely wave, but this plan was put paid too by the movement throwing off his center of gravity slightly, and sending him staggering back a pace, into the tree. Jim frowned, and moved to bring his free hand up to rub at his eyes distantly, "Excuse me. I generally don't-- uh-- I don't partake at these kinds of events."