Christopher and Tristan
"Hey man, don’t freak on me. Did you lose your phone? Forget my number? Forget you didn’t call first?" At first he sounded annoyed, but he quickly changed his attitude realizing he was talking to one of his best customers. "You probably did forget. You look famished. You probably can barely think. Let’s get you outta here before someone calls 911 or thinks you’re a bath-salt zombie."
Tristan put an arm around Christopher shielding him with his body from view of others as he ducked him down deeper into the alley to find a back way to his house.
God … his house. He never took clients to his house. But, he didn’t know he was to be meeting anyone tonight. Figures. It wasn’t like he had blood on him to just help Christopher with and he sure couldn’t just go snag a victim on a whim with Christopher around either. Christopher actually believed Tristan found willing donors for this shit. Fuck and half. He’d have to take him home. It was the only way to get him blood in a hurry.
"We’re going to my place. I don’t have it on me Chris." He tried to explain. But, he sighed and shook his head, "What am I going to do with you? Didn’t we already have this talk? The one about not going so long you actually look as dead as you are? This isn’t going to do you any good with the ladies." Tristan attempted to joke and keep it light and to keep Christopher distracted and awake from the seriousness of the situation. Tristan didn’t really want to be seen carrying around some half dead looking dude through the city either. So, he used as much vampiric speed to get them to his home as quickly as possible, swishing down dark alley after alley through off limits areas on his way to his own sanctuary. He just crossed his fingers this wasn’t going to backfire on him later.
"Don’t worry bro, I got you covered." He also reassured in the American slang accent of a drug dealer on the corner promising a junkie he always had his back as if they were best pals. Best pals that never did anything but chit chat and exchange deals… yeah…
Call him? Shit, well he didn't think of that before hand. All he knew was the blood was here, he needed to get here as quickly as possible. Hell, he didn't even grab any cash this time other than the pocket change that was jingling inside his jeans as he walked along under the wing of his dealer.
Thank god for Tristan blocking out everybody else with his more alert and conscious mind. Perhaps if Chris kept his head down and stumbled along like they were doing now then he would only be considered a drunk getting some help from his friend. His red hoodie was darker in certain places, presumably wet or stained but in reality it was blood splatters from previous feedings. He always chose this same read hoodie when venturing out.
He could remember that much but not to give a courtesy call? Strange things go through Christopher's mind when he's running on empty.
"Just get me inside," he managed to grumble. His voice was hoarse, like he had been gargling gravel for the past hour or so. Perhaps it was his throat already starting to decay without the substance he needed to keep living in this lifeless vessel. "I-I'll give you my whole check next week. Just fuckin' fix it. C'mon, Tristan. You know I'm good for it. You know I do everything I can."
Ladies were the last thing on his mind. That along with love and affection. Those variables seemed to be absent from Christopher's life entirely.











