“oh yes the harpers! sorry i haven’t seen this kid since he was ye high. well we’re not strangers anymore are we scotty?” Erik smiled, standing up straight. “i’d keep him a little closer to you. with the newest…additions to the town. Just until we get a better idea of their lifestyle.” he suggested.
She watched on for Scotty’s response, unwilling to admit her own defeat in babysitting duties as well, those last words of Erik were dually effective for completely new and internally unfounded reasons— “I think we got an idea there Cap’n. Netflix and chillin’, throwing frisbee with Fido over there and probably getting their elliptical on like the rest of us. Not me, I hate the gym but...you get the idea.”
If Wes was good at anything, it was spotting when someone was not telling the truth, and what London was saying? Not a chance. Not only did it make no sense for Katy to be asleep just then, it wasn’t physically possible. She had an assignment due tomorrow, and Wes knew his sister pulled long all-nighters to get them done. The more London talked, the less sense any of it made, and the look on Wes’ face was, unsurprisingly, one of incredulity and disbelief. He shifted from one foot to the other, scratching at his temple. “She’s not with you, is she?”
“She’s Katy. She’s always with me.” she almost laughed at herself then but where there was that sarcasm there was truth and truth be told she felt almost a little sentimental at the thought, “Just yeah— no, not physically. With me. With me. I’m sure she’s fine though. No dial and hang-ups, no bizarre hallucinogen related texts to worry about. Not that she ever would but given the occasion. She’s probably just, out and uh, out and about. Being Katy...”
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 the smell of 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-”
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?”
Elizabeth looked the young woman over, sensing something on edge about her. And she could definitely smell a trace of wolf around her, which might explain why she was so nervous – vampires and werewolves weren’t exactly the best of friends, after all. A light, brief laugh left her lips as the other woman spoke. “I certainly hope so,” she said. “Vampires in literature are frankly offensive. Especially the more modern it gets.”
London took a step back, maybe even sidestepped or the toes of her boots touched whatever it was she wasn’t sure what direction she was supposed to take. Her head was all over the place with sounds and scents and once overs from superior beings she was even a sliver certain was the very thing she decided to bring up randomly, “Well, without even mentioning it’s name, ‘Twiiilight’—” she whispered like it was deemed to be a curse should any breath anywhere speak it’s name, “It certainly doesn’t have any Lestat. That’s for sure.” Gathering that their version of modern might be slightly different now, her initial comment on the mermaids maybe a little insensitive, “But then what do the mermaids have really? Ariel?”
“Could I suggest just getting something premade?” Rai asked looking over the counter. “I’m not much of a steak eater. I tend to stick to things that fry well. Like chicken.” he explained before picking up a steak that seemed good. “BUT when i do eat steak this is what i usually go for. not too much fat making the money worth it.” the blonde smiled.
London took the steak he was suggesting, maybe getting a little too into it’s texture, puncturing the plastic wrap with her thumb nail and that snapped her out of it. Placing it in her basket, he sold it and that little waft she got from the puncture didn’t hurt at all. “I don’t think I’ve ever had fried chicken. No joke.” Her millisecond daze bringing to light a very real fact she suddenly needed to remedy too. “Dropping it into a huge ass thing of grease. I can do that. Yeah, got a rec, wing, thigh, breast?”
“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.
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.”
He smiled, and nodded at the observation. Phones. Yes, he had one, but calling or texting London, the very idea of it, felt somehow more awkward than this. “Sure, sure,” he says, not sure what she meant by all of that, really, but knowing it didn’t come from an unfriendly place. The girl was odd, in her own ways, her ‘family’ enough evidence of that, but she was good friends with Katy. And good old humans that were just plain humans, it seemed, were far and few in between, lately. He appreciated that. “I was just on my way home and thought Katy would appreciate a ride.” He couldn’t see nor hear her, which was odd, she must be inside the house somewhere.
She appreciated Wes, she really did. He was a blank canvas she felt like messily splashing with nonsense whenever she had the chance, he was her best friends brother that was insanely protective. It may have annoyed her back in high school and occasions like this where their cross referencing got a bit skewed, but she respected him. A mock brother she was slightly still afraid of and never fully comfortable with. Which was also why, here and now, she was cursing Katy on the inside because as best friend since 2014 Katy never got rid of her old tricks. Not even at twenty-one. “I think, uh, I think it’s really late and Katy’s you know, asleep. She’s probably really comfortable and will be home by noon tomorrow. Girl loves her slow wake ups, coffee and cream. Big breakfast. So maybe expect her around one. Yeah...” She had a loyalty to her friend too, wherever she was, the new boyfriends perhaps? She wasn’t exactly lying just, reassuring Wes. In a way.
“whoa there easy kid. How about you stick with me until I find your babysitter huh? Would you like that?” Erik asked the child, asmile on his face. He noticed someone walking by and stood up. “You don’t happen to know who this kid belongs to do you?” he asked. “hasn’t said a word since i found him.”
“Uh yeah, Elaine and Maxwell Harper. Can’t you tell, total toe head?” She joked, assuming everyone knew the perfect Barbie family. A little embarrassed because she was supposed to be the one watching the kid for the evening, worst part too was he was an alright kid, sweet even. Usually she’d be freaking if she lost sight but this time it was like she could sense him near. He was fine. "You all good Scotty?—He doesn’t like strangers.”
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....”
What was this? Day three since getting knocked out cold and her hair having a seriously glorious rejuvenation? This simple trip to the grocery store now seemed kind of useless but on her list with three underlines: NEW SHAMPOO NO LAURETH.
Of course that was an excuse it was already past dinner time, no excuse for herself either, she wasn’t cooking for anyone. Her grandpa already hauled up in the basement eating fruity pebbles out of the box—but here she was, in front of the meats instead. “Do you know steaks? Differences in cuts and all that? Some look way—” she cleared her throat, gulping back a sudden pool of excess saliva, turning to the nearest person, “bloodier than others but you know price range is a factor and Fifteen bucks seems like kind of a lot for mostly bone...I’m a vegetarian. Making dinner for a complete carnivore and I don’t want it to be really bad. Filling. You know?” You know, in case they were wondering.
September 28th, 2020 (scribbled and scratched out with a mark of a dying pen being sloshed against its paper)
charger
polish and tie dye kit
taco seasoning and green soy sauce
$ store scope out -----ask Wes for a ride in the whip, didn’t see Katy today
Barry’s cool pens and gel pens
exhausting list I know, don’t judge. I did the serious stuff on a day I was feeling secretive. You wouldn’t know about that. Har-har-har!
More sloshed and harder this time markings to signify a new entry
Next day to which it isn’t labeled.
Dear Dead Tree,
Had work at The Radcliff, walked home. The usual. That had to be late too because I got off around 11 and got a beer at Bridgeport before it closed. I remember trying to listen to Phoebe and couldn’t because my earphones are dying or something, they went so far as to shock me. Never been electrocuted before but now I know how that feels. Even if it’s nothing compared to this morning, I still remember it.
I must’ve walked, I don’t remember anything but the shock to my ears, kind of still a phantom pain on the inside— I think my brain wants me to remember that instead of what I actually woke up to. I really hope nothing too extreme happened, I can handle a mugging, you know? Lots of people do.
My ID was gone, the ten bucks I made from a Ms. Julia Wadsworth for switching her room to face East instead of West gone too. The card from that vendor from Bumbershoot gone too but, I guess that’s less important though. Cest le vie the worlds most wicked boots! anyways, you know how sound travels in wave like ripples, that’s how my head felt. From the top of my head to my face like it was crawling and slugged out my nose, and it made my teeth grind. Constantly, my jaws sore. And it kept going and going like someone beating a drum. Not Punk rock chaos but tribal chanting. That kind.
Whoever it was got off with ten bucks and an ID that gets told is a fake every single time. So good luck to that loser. I’ve been taking a crap load of meds, stuff Barry hides, so shh, Our secret. I’ve been feeling pretty high.
I don’t even want to read this, might see totally different hand writing and think you’ve taken over.
My hearts racing though, think I should stick to the over the counter stuff.
Oh yeah, Lucky and Stars were following me around today too, practically trying to get in the shower and whining at the door. I finally took them out for a walk and the most grossest but kind of sweet thing happened, Stars licked my head. Oh yeah forgot to mention, there was a pretty gnarly gash, whoever wanted that ten bucks did a Kill Bill number up there but, brains all there and they didn’t even tear out my hair and it’s mostly closed up now twenty something hours later. So can’t be that bad right? Anyways, dogs mouths are supposed to be super clean right? I think so.
Alright, this is the most i’ve written to you in months. I’m tired. You make me tired.
p.s. I really, really want a pot roast. Or meatloaf.
It was a quarter to midnight when he pulled up to the large Victorian house. She said she would get home on her own, but Wes knew that London didn’t have a car, and wasn’t sure if Katy’s plan had been to just walk home. And he’d much rather pick her up than have her walk when it was dark out, any day of the week. Making his way past all the shrubbery and plants on the overgrown path up to the porch, he tentatively knocked once on the door, contemplating where he stood, the oddness of the home and its surroundings fauna, a feeling that grabbed him every time he came round here. He knocked again after thirty seconds or so, the house was big; maybe no one had heard. There was a doorbell, but he chose not to use it, maybe her grandpa was long asleep by now, he wasn’t sure. Luckily, he didn’t have to do too much thinking about all of this, as the door swung open — and it wasn’t grandpa. “Hey,” he greeted with a brief, awkward flash of smile, hand waving.
A restless kind of night, the moon shined bright and her feet tucked tightly in her comforter twitched with anxious energy. She should sleep, of course, it was a later than expected night where she’d as per usual walked home but the distance from a coworkers house proved longer than anticipated. Hoped up on sour patch kids and Crown Apple for the walk she twitched until the glow of the moon right in her eyes finally had her walking down the staircase, fingers tracing the Fiddle Leaf Figs that lined each step, London hit the first floor with a thud she swore played in tune with another noise from the mud room— noticing the light from the door to the basement bright, Barry was working. Still.
The stained glass window never showing signs of life outside, London tip-toed to the entrance, curiously, dumbly doubting anything on the other side and with force, swinging it wide to be surprised when she knew she shouldn’t be by Wes on the other side. “Jesus Christ! Wes!—” relieved, a little. “When we live where we live, you know, cell phones do so much more than just look pretty. They’re even smart now.”
“Are you jealous right now? That’s simply priceless, little one.” Kallianassa’s tone was condescending as she walked away, not paying much mind to the person following closely behind. “This one however. This one, doesn’t look like they get jealous.” An amused smirk danced on her features. Peering back at the person she had been talking to previously, she rounded the corner of bar, her finger tips gliding over her new interest’s shoulder and down their arm.
@bartonstart
Unprepared to being touched, let alone someone’s example or wing-whatever, after all it was about a week in and while the booze soothed her anxieties she’d gathered she had about two more hours until what she could only assume was death—on repeat. London’s eyes lifted from the person left solo to the hand placed on her arm, “This one’s a Libra, apparently if you’re hot and buy birthday drinks us Libra’s can get super attached. And I’m guessing that means super jealous. Wanna test that astrological theory or are you good?”
Elizabeth often checked books out of her own library, following the same protocol as she did when checking out books for anyone else – to keep things orderly and all. She also often walked while reading, as with her vampire senses, it was unusual for her to bump into anyone, or even almost bump into anyone. However, unusual wasn’t never, and she had her nose stuck in a book. She only noticed seconds before she nearly collided with someone else, and she stopped just in time, looking up. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I wasn’t paying attention. Are you alright?” She had been reading up on mermaids – considering recent events, it seemed like a good idea.
Her boots were rattling louder than normal, the chains clicking and clacking against the metal of each lace with every step. It mixed with the sounds of heels and she glanced hurriedly at a man listening to a folky guitar break of Mumford and Sons to her surprise was deep in his ears with the airpods on full display—shocked with their distance and how he seemed not at all to notice, she focused on his fingertips wrapping against the book he carelessly pulled from the shelf before almost walking into Elizabeth something, it hadn’t been since high school since she stepped actual foot in this library, “Wha- uh, f-fine. Totally fine.” She smelled really good. Like really, really good, taking a step back, London saw the print on the books she was holding and attempted diverting her attention as best she could, “Mermaid stuff’s really making a comeback. isn’t it? Guess people are getting tired of Vampires?”
@bartonstart
Katya was dressed a little less casually than usual, still were the leather pants and tight top, but an armored jacket replaced her beat up old leather one, more than one knife strapped to her hip and leg glinted under the new moons light. It may not have been her appointed job to protect the residents of Barton Hollow but since the arrival of the strange new creatures she was more than a little on guard, perhaps she should have taken a job in the Sheriffs office instead. Pushing dark hair away from her face, the fae looked up from her spot resting against the wall of Bridgeport Bar, shadows somewhat concealing her, “It’s late, what are you doing out?”
A couple things were all new to her; this waiting period the cramping and full on tail between her legs for the last couple nights. That was a big one—the biggest really. That one scared her. Truly. The overbearing smell of everything another, and now there was a lot of smells. Some mouth watering some repulsive all intertwining. Tonight being able to order a whiskey sour or ten because it’s what she was told was good and not have to show a fake ID was another in the new to London territory. Startled at someone creeping out of the shadows while she was in her head, she gasped back the sour of the whiskey, before moving the half-full glass out of sight out of habit, “Not playing Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” Getting a good glance at the shining knives attached to Katya, “I got the okay to have this out here as long as I bring back the glass. I’m 21 today, yaaay.”
