Manon had her there, when you put it out there like it was the whole situation was bizarre. The kind that like here and now, brought color to cheeks that made her living self’s sweat glands react the way they were supposed to. A foolproof giveaway if anyone cared to pay attention. The word prostitute came to mind and London’s shade of blush she was sure, sharpened even more. It was like being slapped on the wrist when it was all brought into perspective again, a very old (probably), very real threat that these transactions sort of helped to forget. Fact was Manon was hungry, she wasn’t her friend or confidante all she owed was their settled on cash.
“Okay…” shamefully she spoke, guard was up again, and she snapped back a thick feeling breath of air when Manon moved from the place she could see her to behind her again, her tone somewhat reassuring in continuing. In the back of her mind the very real threat of Manon’s clear irritation and hunger making this more than just a headache inducing one off come her finish.
This time though was quick, it stung and the warmth of her own blood spilling over her collarbone, “Ow!” London painfully let out, shakily her hand shot up to the bitten spot. A new sense of fear crept up, not only the image of a usually rather neat vampire, splashed with her own blood but what Manon had communicated the first go around— “I-I don’t know what that means, what’d you mean? What’s that mean, Manon?”
“It means you’re a dirty wolf London-” she spat and the words stang as they left her mouth. “Never before in my 1204 years have I ever fed from a wolf- and for good reason!” She said disgustedly, desperately trying to clean up the blood. If someone walked in now it would be bad, they would be greeted with a crime scene. Nausea filled Manon and she felt the urge to vomit. She hurriedly grabbed the waste paper bin and wretched over it, her body angry with her. Blood stained her nails and face, although this would usually give her great pleasure, even just visually, the smell of wolf was still overpowering.
“This isn’t going to work anymore London. I have to thank you for your services, but Jesus - how could you not know? How long have you been like this?!” Manon hissed, between wretches.
London grumbled lowly to herself, ‘Whatever—” eye rolled the whole bit she was sure Manon could conclude with the way the muscles in her neck contacted and pulled with her exaggerated mute response. Her body involuntarily stiffening when the woman was behind her and she felt cold fingertips against her skin. Manon seemed more irritated than normal and her movements leaving way too much up to the imagination to feel completely comfortable.
Relaxing slightly when the initial thrill was over and it was casually let known it was going to be from the neck this time. Not like she had a say ever really, but London always preferred long sleeves and bracelets over scarfs and turtle necks. The sounds of rejuvenation with Manon that close and the attention to her own bodies reflexes always made her feel overly vulnerable, unsure. Unsafe.
London tilted her head further, counting to herself until that contact was made….One, two, three…one, two, three, four. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, thre— “I’m…what?” confusion splayed mostly on her features, it was all so quick one minute Manon behind ready to get her juice on to spewing all kinds of gibberish London knew at the very least as French, a language she failed miserably at since high school. Half tempted to lift an arm, but siding against it in the whole sudden movements scenario that didn’t seem like it would play well, “I showered…I used Herbal Essence kind of the worst but I shouldn’t smell” she stalled on that word, really feeling self conscious at the moment. Bringing a long lock to her nose, smelled really, really good actually, “I had a chili dog. I’m back on meat, also kind of the worst kind of meat I know but it sounded really good. So what? Don’t tell me now you have some kind of strict criteria. Could’ve put that in the fine print a year ago. You know, I never complain about the bruising or, or, those times you go maaaybe a little too deep. Two way street.”
Manon sighed lightly, and it seemed for a moment like she might offer London some patience and understanding. “I don’t mean skin London, I mean your blood.” The anticipation of the feed had made Manon’s mouth water and heart pound, and the delay was really beginning to grate her. “You think I care what you’ve eaten? If that was the problem I would have kicked up a fuss a long time ago London. I can taste every pill you’ve popped, every shot of anything you’ve drunk going back a week, please-” Manon snarled and began to fill with rage, her rant continuing. “You let a vampire drink from you for money - what do you expect from me, to send you home with a plaster and a lollipop?”
The rage bubbled up in her and her mind was clouded red. If she didn’t feed in the next few hours she would have a problem on her hands. She could hear ringing her ears and smell the blood pulsing round the bodies of the clients in the adjacent rooms. Manon calmed herself slightly, as much as she was annoyed, there was no point taking her anger out on London, she didn’t deserve it really. She weighed up her options. “It’s fine London, let’s carry on-” She said, drawing close to her once more.
She took a deep breath, trying to ignore the smell that set something off inside her and bit confidently into London’s neck. As much as the simple sensation of biting relaxed her, there was no ignoring the assault on the senses that making contact with London’s blood had caused. She pulled away, as fast as the first time, in disgust, blood dripping down her mouth, spoiling her neat white uniform. She coughed, blood spattering the crisp white towel on the massage table. She suppressed the urge to vomit, staying quiet apart from vague french muttering “sale loup-”
The world didn’t just stop. Not for anything, or anyone unless…well, unless it did for any given individual on any given day due to a multitude of reasons. A couple days ago could’ve been her end, or so she thought but here she was. Still doing her societal due diligence at the Spa where a one Manon Abreo ‘worked’, a monthly, turned weekly deal on her end no less—cash was cash and who was to say a vampires needs were anything less than say starving children in Africa’s?
This morning hit differently though, London put her usual face on without recollection of even doing so, the last few days being a blur of exhaustive efforts of normalcy. This time it came easily. The dark eye shadow and liner like a shield, a mask of someone ready to face what scared them. Or something like that. She hated giving too much thought to whatever it was that got her blood boiling with Manon because it usually ended with a flash of what if’s. What if she got sick of her and just snapped her neck. What if she took a little too much and that was that. What if, what if, what if. She assumed the same as if a junkie with a needle and too much antidote.
When the clock neared their scheduled hour that usual feeling of nervous energy kicked in but something was different, a slap happy kind of energy when she was brought back to the massage room and propped herself on the table, removing her jacket, boots crossing at the angles and kicked back and forth like a kids, like it was the most casual of affairs, and it was…it usually was. “Parched?” She played at cool, like always, all the books and movies made it clear vampires could sense just about anything and walking and talking without even knowing who was one or what it was pretty clear she never had an upper hand. Like with Manon her defenses were slim pickings so she chose the nonchalant, care-free and mostly sarcastic dim whit the make up usually allotted for. “Something’s different in here…did you paint? Are you allowed to paint? Spa rules and all….”
"Pardon?," Manon hissed at London, pulling tissues and spray from a draw. Manon herself was messy and disorganised, but in order to keep her job and tick the boxes there must not be a drop of blood left at the end of London's 'massage'. " I am parched, actually yes London, so if you could cut the crap-" Manon said, lifting herself effortlessly onto the massage table behind London and moving her hair to the side, clearing her neck.
Manon's patience was low today, nearly non existent. Her first client of the morning had proved to be resistant to Manon's usual infusion of sedatives. The infusion, used to lull clients into an unconscious, feed-able state had not worked, and they remained awake, so Manon was forced to give them an actual massage. Abysmal. As she had reluctantly massaged them she hypothesised they had some supernatural resistance, a witch perhaps with a resisting spell.
The situation at present, however, brought a calmness to her. A routine her and London had, consistent and reliable. Manon double-checked the door was locked once more before settling behind London and bringing her mouth keenly to London’s neck. But something was not routine, London smelt different. Not good different, a deep and subtle but fundamental change. Manon felt a deep and low repulsion and she sprung off the table away from London, mumbling french expletives under her breath. "What is wrong with you?" Manon spat, "What have you been taking?" She said accusatorially. "I can't drink from you like this London, it's not good enough. You stink-" She said, snobbishly. Anger filled Manon as her body ached with craving.
{ Bean, 22, She/Her } at a glance [SHE] may look like [ LEA SEYDOUX ] but in reality they’re just [1204] year old [MANON ABREO], a [VAMPIRE] here in Barton Hallow. They are a [MEMBER] in the [BLOOD CULT]. They work as a [SPA ATTENDANT] here in town and are known for being [ENDEARING] AND [RUTHLESS]. I’d watch my back if I were you...
Manon sat in the smoky cafe. It was 1932 in sunny Paris. Despite having lived in many countries, Manon found herself drawn home to Paris routinely, every 70 years or so. The morning was bright, too bright. The hustle and bustle of the patisserie this morning was an environment some, she thought, may find delightful, but she found nauseating. Manon sat with a scarf covering her head and dark sunglasses. Underneath she looked like crap. She hadn’t looked at herself, but her three day bender had left her pale, sweaty and hungover, eyes buzzing red from her last feeds. She fully expected to have blood crisp in the corners of her mouth. Sabine would be disapproving of Manon’s appearance, but Manon didn’t care. It was Sabine’s fault anyway.
Sabine had not been in contact with Manon for nearly a week. In their whole relationship, they had never been apart more than a day or so, and for good reason. Precisely 3 days ago, Manon had stood outside Sabine’s apartment door, in the sun, covered in a scarf. She was weak, dependant and desperate. Over the past three years, Manon had become completely consumed by Sabine and the taste of her blood. And now Sabine was ignoring her. Manon’s skin itched and her blood crawled sluggishly through her veins. Manon had knocked for hours, calling her name and all the other names Manon had called her. But no reply. In response to this, Manon had gone on a bender, drinking, flirting, dancing, taking drugs and notably, for the first time since they got together, drinking from somebody else. Somebody who Manon did not even know the name of.
Manon sat at the cafe table, waiting anxiously. Sabine came in and the door clanged. She looked so unbelievably beautiful, and everyone in the cafe could see it. Red hair tumbling over her shoulders, her petite frame curvy and pre-raphelite. Manon, despite her lack of energy, had so much to say. She wished she could have kissed her all over, apologised for whatever it was she had done to upset her so much and make it all better- but before she could say anything Sabine started speaking.
“We must talk Manon,” Sabine said, her voice trembly. Manon nodded. Sabine started talking in a hushed voice, which made Manon want to explode with anger. Why did they have to meet in public where they could not touch, but also, where Manon could not feed from her? Had she gone insane?
“You are addicted to me Manon.” Sabine said, her sentence full of something Manon couldn’t quite put her finger on. Was it hate? “What are you talking about Sabine? That’s what we have always done” Manon hissed. Sabine looked into her hands and sighed. She didn’t say anything for a few seconds and the silence made Manon’s skin itch. All she could think about was the smell of Sabine’s skin.
“You’re killing me.” Sabine said, strong. She pulled down the corner of her scarf to reveal the bite marks that littered her neck. Some looked red and inflamed, and her neck was bruised. Manon looked at her after she said this, and it was like she was seeing her for the first time in years. Her hair was thin, her eyes dark and her face had hollowed. Manon began to panic. She would say anything, just to stop sabine from leaving. The thought of being without her sounded worse than dying a second time around.
“I’ll stop.” Manon said, urgently. Sabine took a long breath.
“How would you ever do that mon trésor?” Sabine sighed. And she was right. “I love you.” Manon cried, and it felt like the first time she had said it. Sabine took Manon’s hand and kissed it, tears dripping down onto Manon’s knuckles. And then she got up and left.
For the next few weeks, Manon could be found walking the dusky streets of the 13th arrondissement, drunkenly howling. She stumbled from bar to bar, looking for people to drink from, sometimes successfully, sometimes not. Each feed that passed, Manon begun to forget the taste of Sabine’s skin. She cried endlessly, her face a mess of alcohol inspired red cheeks, snot and tears.
Manon had been a hedonist before Sabine. She had been wild, and frivolous. But this heartbreak reduced her to something grotesque, something animalistic which Manon didn’t care if she ever returned from. Scorned by even some of the most violent vampires, Manon existed wildly in the space between feeds, being driven only by her desires and never again by her emotions. She had lived many centuries, and never before met a love like this. And she never expected to again.
