[Robin] Transacted Transfusion

[Mackenzie (DELETED 8346)]

In spite of everything she’d been through over the past year, Mackenzie's spirit had not broken. She remained a champion at heart, driven by challenges and the consuming need to overcome any and all that came her way. It didn’t matter how small the task, she embraced it.

Robin’s blood was thick — difficult to draw from his arteries. Still, she persisted. It was not her need for it that drove her, but the desire to attain a level of satisfaction unrelated to thirst or carnal greed. Somewhere in her distracted mind, the blood thief expected the substance to thin or the countering forces to abate. When they didn’t, she pushed harder.

She pushed until she’d crossed a line. The hands on her arms were too objectionable a touch for her not to notice. The press of his fingers on her thighs had fanned the flames, but this was not a move from any playbook she was familiar with. Strong, but not enough to withstand the — gentle, but directional touch, Mackenzie complied. Air filled her lungs as she did, and her long limbs shifted awkwardly until her weight was completely off him.

“I’m sorry—” Swiping at her mouth, the blood thief took in the sight.
She’d done more damage than intended.

“—Are you okay? I didn’t mean—I get carried away so easily.”

[Robin Little]

Robin took a breath, too, though he did not need it. The languid warmth of it filled his lungs; upon it he tasted the scent of beer and wine, of hot bodies, pheromones and fun. He tasted blood, too, the scent of it lingering in their close vicinity. His blood. It inspired no thirst in him, the blood of a vampire.

There was no lingering closeness. As soon as Mackenzie got the subtle hint that she should stop, she was gone. The weight of her was gone. She was again at his side, wiping the evidence of their transaction from her mouth, surveying the scene. Robin slowly blinked, an expression of dazed bliss rather than annoyance softening his features. He smiled.

”I’m fine,” he said. His mind was slow, his words were slower. ”The consequences, should you take too much, could be dire,” he said. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realised there ought to be some document, or a verbal agreement, at least, that should any of his customers take too much and they turn, they did so of their own accord, with knowledge of the consequences. Next time. This time, his customer seemed to suffer no adverse effects. She hadn’t taken too much.

”Out of curiosity, if you are able to share – how does one become a blood thief? How much blood can you take before it’s too much?” he asked. It would be useful knowledge, for future transactions. Knowledge that he should have by now.

[Mackenzie (DELETED 8346)]

Mackenzie didn’t immediately answer. She needed to formulate and rehearse her response before speaking, lest her sincerity revealed more of her than she wished for him to know. Practice didn’t make getting around this cursed candour any easier; each question required a thorough evaluation of her potential answers. By watching Lincoln however, she’d learnt that vagueness could—with consideration—be threaded into statements, making of them half-truths her mouth had little trouble delivering.

“One spends time and money—” She had been desperate enough to spend that kind of money on a possible non-answer. Mackenzie could have easily found herself $10,000 short with far too much time wasted observing vampires. There’d been little doubt in her mind then that she’d have asked for the bite. Now, she had no interest in it.

“—there are blood thieves who teach you how to go about it. I didn’t know much about all this and they, introduced me to it. These, however,—” she tapped her left (human) canine “—take time to come out. It’s as though my body eventually learned. It keeps learning... I don’t think I have ever take more than I need. I don’t know how much I need, to be honest, but I just get better at making a dose last longer. Whatever that is.”


Curiosity was a terrible thing when boundaries weren’t fully delineated. Yet, he’d asked her a personal question she’d answered candidly. It was only fair he reciprocate, wasn’t it? The exchange of blood and money had been a transaction in and of itself, but social discourse too followed a transactional model. There was no reason not to ask. The worst Robin could do was deny her an answer.

“What do you mean by consequences?”

[Robin Little]

Time and money. One blood thief teaches another to be able to do what they do. It was an answer, of a sort, though it didn’t tell Robin how. He assumed that Mackenzie wasn’t willing to reveal that much. She was hesitant, stopping mid thought to continue with a different one. Robin stretched his fingers, shifting in his seat. Every muscle that required said movement was flexed, and the Allurist could feel everything. His body had become an element unto itself. He knew all about one’s body learning things on its own, over time. Growing. Expanding.

”Consquences,” he finally said, peering at the woman curiously.

”You know how humans are turned into vampires, right? It’s basically the same as any kind of popular fiction narrative will tell you. It requires blood. Sometimes an exchange, sometimes just a gift,” he said, slowly.

”It’s why I ask about the workings of blood thieves. Regular people… if they took as much as you just did they’d either be horrendously sick right now or… well, horrendously sick either way,” he said with a shrug and a frown. It was always so different. Lorelai had drained him before feeding her blood back to him. He’d taken no blood from Maddison, but merely tasting his had turned her. Childe. He barely saw her that way. ‘Sire’ was such a strange word. It implied gravitas and responsibility, neither of which Robin retained.

The words Mackenzie used were curious. Dose, like what he offered was a drug.

”Why do you do it…? If that’s too personal a question, don’t answer,” he said. It wasn’t one he asked his customers. But most other customers would be gone by now, having got what they had come for.

[Mackenzie (DELETED 8346)]

Robin’s words gave Mackenzie pause. It had never occurred to her that ingesting blood was sufficient to turn a human. It seemed logical that an exchange be necessary, else how could the existence of blood thieves be explained? What was it about her biology—and that of others—that made her immune to these consequences?

The memory was distant now, but she couldn’t recall any warnings being issued when she’d pursued this path. Then again, there was no telling the man she’d learned from was the most knowledgeable and forthcoming of teachers. It wasn’t as though one required a certificate to pass on the knowledge, was there? At the time, Mackenzie hadn’t considered asking for credentials.

“Then I won’t,” she replied with a convivial smile. Reaching behind her for the leather jacket, she added: “A story for another time, perhaps.”

It wasn’t as though Mackenzie was running for the exit, but she presumed Robin would want to freshen up, especially if he had a long night ahead. Folding the jacket over her forearm, she gave him a once over.

“I really do apologise for the mess. I noticed an ATM outside and am happy to pay for the excess.”

[Robin Little]

Robin smiled, too, equally convivial. It mattered not that her story was not shared, or that she wished not to share it; it could be personal, and Robin was a stranger. It was unlikely for complete strangers to tell other complete strangers about personal things in their lives. No, Robin smiled because she said perhaps another time. It meant that she may come back; it meant that he may have gained himself a returning customer. It had always been his goal, to garner a group of good, trustworthy, non-crazy paying customers. Loyals.

The Blood Doll would not stop Mackenzie from leaving; the customers always did, and if they showed signs of wanting to hang around, Robin would move them on. As much as he might enjoy sitting around and talking all night, or dancing and drinking and generally having a good time, that’s not what he was here for. It’s not what he was paid for.

Mackenzie pointed out the mess, and Robin hadn’t noticed. He glanced down at himself, lips twisting as he tried to look at his own neck—and failed, obviously. He could see evidence of said mess upon his clothing, but regardless he shrugged.

”Don’t worry about it,” he said. He had a change of clothes in his locker and anyway, this was his job. ”Come again, and we’ll call it even,” he said, still smiling as he, too, stood. His balance was fine, and his vision clear; she hadn’t taken too much to truly affect him