There were reasons Amaris didn’t go into bars. Yes, the liquor was easily accessible. Yes, he could tap into the free energy that people seemed to pour into the atmosphere, feeding him easier than most other places, but drunk people were stupid. They were stupid, and ninety percent of them believed themselves to be the biggest, baddest motherfucker around when it came to him.
Sure they might be sloppily civil around those that were friends, or intimidating, but he was a tiny 161 cm boy, scrawny looking to most of those around him, and for some reason, it always brought out this feature in certain people. One that the stomped out real fast after hands were put on him.
Tonight was, sadly, no exception.
All he wanted was a few drinks, some lingering energy that no one would miss, and then Ama would have been on his merry little way. But no. The night had to end with a busted lip and a deep cut on his face where some fucker decided he didn’t like the way Ama spoke to him, smashing his face against the bar, and his shot glass. The sharp edge of only slightly busted glass was enough to piss Ama off, sending the much taller man to the floor with a simple punch to the stomach. But he, and the other man, were kicked out of the bar (he was used to it by now), but the drunken man apparently wasn’t done with his targeted prey.
The heaviest, deepest sigh that was heard around the world was let out by the pink haired man. He wasn’t going to go home. It would be stupid of the vampire to lead the man to his abode. But there was a cemetery not far.
Glances thrown over his shoulder, hands against his back, pushing him whenever the man stumbled close enough to do so, slurring his foul mannered insults. Finally, reaching the gates, Ama pauses to wait for the man.
The next shove comes, and hands wrap around their wrist, dragging him down against a raised knee. Blood pools from the man’s nose, but this was simply to catch him off guard, tossing the drunkard over the gate before following.
“You know..” Thin fingers are back to their wrist, caring little for how they struggled. It bothered him none. “This night could have been so easy. You could have left me alone, even after getting kicked out of the bar, and we’d be far away from each other.” Sloppily spoken words try to interrupt Amaris, but he pays no attention, dragging the man through the tombstones. “But no. You had to pick on the little guy.” He shakes his head, squeezing the wrist in his hand until he hears a loud pop. It was satisfying, to say the least, and so was the man’s whimpering babble. Pleas toward Ama to let him go, that he was sorry. Pain was sobering.
Red eyes roll. He didn’t have the patience for this. Pulling a knife from its sheath on the back of his pants, the unforgiving edge is slid over the man’s throat, easily slipping through veins and muscle. It was a waste of blood, but being drunk from the blood did not appeal to the vampire. Especially not from this man.
Soon, the heartbeat slows, the muscle struggling to push slight blood through empty veins.
“Finally, peace and quiet.”
