Blood for money (open)

[Elijah Brooks]

Ice crackles in a highball glass of Gosling's Black Seal rum and ginger beer. It's the loudest sound in the bar as far as he's concerned. His tongue is locked tight behind his teeth while chatter and rock music float somewhere behind him. His eyes fix a stare on the amber liquid sloshing on ice cubes like waves against rocks; the lime wedge bobbing quietly like an upturned boat. The glass is cold and wet against his palm and fingers, but it's better to keep his hands visible; distracted. He can feel the anxiety in his shoulders, carving rocks out of his lean flesh, but it's impossible to relax. She leers at him over an espresso martini with lips curled into a scarlet smile.

“So. Tell me your story,” she implores.

He gives her a sheepish look and murmurs, trying her patience. She leans across the bar to grip his wrist and her nails scrape the leather of his jacket.

“What's your history and why are you here?”

“I. Well. I'm here for you.”

She laughs. “I know that, stupid boy. I was thinking more along the lines of where you're from, how you grew up, how you got into this… line of work.”

"Oh.”

"So. What's your story, Eli?”

"My family's from Australia originally,” he begins.

"That explains the accent,” she grouses.

"But we moved here when I was six."

"To Harper Rock?”

"Just outside the city.”

"Do you have any siblings? Are your parents still together? Are they all still alive?”

"Yes. They've been married 30 years, I think. They still live in the house I grew up in. I'm the youngest of three. Two sisters. We had a dog too.”

She pauses and for a moment he watches her black eyes squint, making her face age. It suits her somehow to look older than the twenty-something brunette that she was. She lets go of his arm to strum her fingers along the dark oak bar.

"What kind of dog?” she asks, peering into her drink as she takes a sip. Long lashes shadow her face attractively.

A smile prickles his lips. "A retriever. Big, stupid thing he was, but loyal as time.”

"Time isn't loyal,” she guffaws. "It's cruel and spares no one.”

"Really? No one?”

She looks at him a little shocked before giving his arm a soft slap. "Don't try to be cute. It's unsavoury. Finish your story.”

“Larry. We named the dog Larry. He died last summer. It's probably the last time my family have been together in years.”

"Not a close family then…” she grumbles.

“We used to be. Now my oldest sister lives in New York as a journalist and the other moved off to Sweden to be with her fiancé. They met online and now they skii a lot according to her Instagram.”

"You see, Eli. Time is cruel.”

“I guess.”

He's never really thought about it that way. His sisters used to say he was very simple in the way he looked at things, but not quite as clear-cut as seeing everything in black and white. It wasn't an ideal situation, the one he was living in, but he was getting by. Some might say that he was doing very well for himself all things considered. The only difference being that it wasn't an ordinary job he was working. Eli watches the surface of his glass as he thinks on this, before his attention is caught by two water droplets racing down the side. They break on his skin crossing the finish line.

"You said you were 22.” Her voice thrums.

“Yeah. Do you need to see my ID?”

She squints at him again and he's figuring out that it means he's annoyed her. "No,” she replies short and sweet. "I've just noticed that you haven't touched the drink I bought you.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

He takes a long gulp, neglecting to stir the spirit into the soda, so the dark rum grazes the inside of his mouth before he swallows. Hard. Truthfully, he's not much of a drinker, but he can't really say no to her request. It's not up to the chef to deny the diner some extra salt for their meal.

"That's better,” she purrs, her teeth showing through a smile. "Rum warms the blood so well.”

He forces a smile and thinks about stirring his drink before the next mouthful, but supposes it's probably easier to just gulp it down as is. Meanwhile she takes another slow sip of her martini, skimming the foam from the inky liquid as her black eyes bore into his soul.

"Do you have a lover, Eli?”

"Uh. No.”

The pause suggests that not only that she didn't believe him, but she didn't approve. Protesting wouldn't help, so he remains quiet. "So you live alone,” she infers.

“More or less. The walls are so thin that it never gets lonely.”

“And… Your job?”

“At the gym?”

"Yes. Is that the career you've always wanted?”

“It's just a job.”

"I see. And this. Is this just a job for you too?”

"I couldn't call this a job.”

"Oh, and why not?” she asks, leering at him again.

"It's… more personal than a job.”

There had been many to ask the same question and his answer is always determined by what would make them feel better. Eli wasn't an expert on reading people or anything, but he was proud about being able to provide a bespoke service without being told exactly what to do and what to say. Of course, there were some who just straight up wanted a controlled environment with no surprises and Eli felt like he catered well enough for their tastes too. From all the chatter between them, Eli wasn't expecting the woman to laugh in his face when he leant on the sentimental angle. Her laugh rings so loud in his ears that he washes it down with another gulp of rum.

"I told you not to be so cute,” she growls, disguising violence under a chortle.

Her hand reaches forward and grips his bicep so sharply that he could swear she's sheared through his jacket and shirt, getting straight to his skin. Her strength is cold and as unnatural as steel and he pushes back the urge to struggle as he's jerked closer. Unfortunately, he's still holding onto his drink and the sudden, sharp movement causes it to spill. The ice cold liquid floods the counter between them and falls into the lap of her black dress. Surprised, she leaps backward and unlatches her grip on him, seething.

“I'm sorry,” he gulps and reaches for some napkins, offering them to her.

At first, all she does is glare at him; torn between the embarrassment of her mistake and shifting the blame. Then something snaps and she snatches a few of the napkins from him.

"Stay. Here,” she commands. “I'm to freshen up in the ladies room. Then we leave.”

Eli nods his head; relieved to know it is still attached to his shoulders. However, there is no way of knowing how much longer that will be the case. A sense of dread washes over him as he watches her disappear behind the door to the lavatories. He's never run out on a date before, but with his head in his hands, he genuinely starts to consider it.

[Dave Carson]

Dave was out relaxing, a had done all his 'chores' and Kira didn't need him for anything else. He was drinking and swiping through a dating site on his phone. What was he suppose to put on this thing though?

Human pet to a vampire? May be called on at random times. There needed to be a dating site for thralls. They would at least have something in common. Then again it would be a problem if their 'masters' didn't like each other.

He remembered when he was first put under this spell, life was kind of dangerous but it seemed to be better now.

He glanced over, he had been trying to ignore what was going on around him.

"Dave, we should help him. That vampire sounds like she going to snack a little too hard."

Dave jumped, "For fucks sake." he growled, it was Kira's wraith. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, "And what are you going to do? You have no body."

"I was bored...I know we can't exactly hang or whatever they call it no adays but I was curious what you did on your off time."

"What's going on over there is none of my business. Sounds like male prostitution." Dave replied, slipping his phone back into his pocket.

"Hmm, it does but you know very well that kid is a blood doll. Certainly, a quick way to make some money around here...but dangerous. Shouldn't we try to prevent a murder? Maybe we can steer Kira towards this one, give you a break on feeding her."

Dave snorted, "She don't pay me for my blood. Why do you think she'll pay for someone else's?"

"Something different? It really is a bore eating the same thing over and over again. Not that I can remember how food or blood tastes at this point." he was far too old. At least he had been an allurist and was able to eat even after becoming a vampire. "Come Dave, be a hero."

"God, you're not going to shut up are you." Dave grumbled, drinking down the rest of his drink before slipping off the stool. He went over to the kid was at, "You look like you over your head with this one. She looks like she is going harm you." he said, "Well, unless that's what you're into, no judging but you know she might kill you."

"I can give my...boss a call. I very sure she can handle that one." Dave said, taking out his phone again. "Would like take one second for her to get here."

"Well, once you convince her to come." the random voice with no body said.

Dave wondered how well this kid knew about the things that went on this city.

[Elijah Brooks]

They always seem so normal at first, but it doesn’t take long before they turn feral and show their wild, unbridled natures. It’s no surprise to him why religions around the world consider them wicked and beastly, but then those same institutional belief systems tend to think that animals have no souls either. Larry most certainly had a soul - the best kind, the kind that gave everything and only wanted that leftover bacon on the side of your plate. Ask any pet owner and they will say the same. This opinion doesn’t make Eli ignorant to the dangers he is facing - the dangers he is putting himself in on a near-daily basis; it just doesn’t deter him. Skydivers know that there is a chance that they could be critically or fatally injured each time they jump, but they do it anyway. It’s about the freedom, the thrill, the complete submission to the elements, and looking at the world from a different viewpoint to let it grow you; shape you. Eli knows the danger he faces, but it’s a risk he’s comfortable taking.

Lost in his own internal musings, he’s stopped listening to the world around him and doesn’t notice that someone’s approached him until their voice strokes his ear like a feather. Adrenaline floods into his system unexpectedly, forcing his heart to throng powerfully in his chest. The sudden surge of oxygen makes him hiccup, cough, and flinch in one movement; choking him back awake. He looks up. He sees a man casting a shadow over him. His face makes a shape of vexed, adorable panic all on its own before he can correct it with a wide-eyed and warmly-smiling expression.

“Sorry, what?” he blurts brainlessly before the man’s words begin to make some kind of sense to him. When they do, his embarrassment reaches an intense shade of ruby on the scale (or around 6/10). He’s instantly able to put himself in an onlooker’s shoes and knows how this whole thing looks. He’s scrambling to come up with some kind of explanation as the man takes out his mobile and asks if he should be calling his boss, but the only phrases that float to the surface aren’t helpful.

Phrases such as:

• it’s not like that - which just raises the alarm that it could just exactly be that
• we barely know each other - calling attention to any further infidelity
• we met online - not a great lead when aiming for a spotless impression
• I’m just providing a service - certainly doesn’t help
• LOOK THERE’S NO SEX INVOLVED OK - the boy doth protest too much

Eli is about ready to throw in the towel. He’s perspiring at this point; his brow glistening under his sloppy fringe. He sighs and brushes his hair through the mass, and just as he’s dropped both hands back into his lap and slouches forward to look completely defeated, his hair recoils like a chocolate wave over his brown once again.

“I’m alright,” he offers with a pained smile. “Really. It’s not as bad as it… looks.”

His concentration is drawn behind the man suddenly, to the door that leads to the lavatories when it opens. He holds his breath, sitting up straight in his chair. He’s expecting the crazy brunette, but it’s an older fellow in a hockey jersey. Eli deflates like a happy balloon.

[Dave Carson]

Dave stared at the man, was he out of his mind? Or did he really need the money. "There's certainly other ways to get money. My boss hires all kinds." he said, "Unless you're really into risking your life. Mean, trying not to judge and all but you got one life and it can run very short in this town."

He watched as he seemed to be happy that woman was not returning just yet. "Whatever...it's your life." he muttered, but he was texting Kira anyway to come to his location.

'What the hell for? Are you in trouble?' Kira's text said.

'No, but someone else is. Just come sit with me and see what happens.'

'This better be good. Give me minute..' Even without hearing her voice, Dave was sure the woman was growling at the phone.

[Elijah Brooks]

Elijah doesn't have a response to that. He slumps back in his chair, his shoulders go so limp that his arms feel heavy in his lap. For a minute, his eyes don’t quite know where to settle. His hands curl in on themselves, dull fingernails bite into the meat of his palms. It's too much to watch the man who was standing next to him, even if he is totally preoccupied with his phone. The blocky stature of the stranger looms like a Greek sculpture and blocks out the disco lights. Time ticks on without him, excluding him from truly connecting with the music or being able to maintain eye contact with anyone. He feels like he's only half there as one half remains permanently eclipsed in the stranger's shadow.

Despite himself, Eli steals a glance at the other man's face and is reminded further of Spartan warriors; of that raw, powerful masculinity that is popularised by movies and TV today. It’s almost daunting to be in his presence, but it’s too late to walk away now even if he wanted to; he takes up the discarded napkins and mops up the last puddle of rum and ginger beer from the counter top. It quickly drains the heat from his fingertips, leaving them as pink as salmon roe. He is careful to keep his sleeves from dipping into the liquid, however.

Eli is uncharacteristically nervous tonight and not even the safety of being in public can help quell his fidgeting heart. Eli has always been the type to stay grounded when things get tense and the pressure amps up. There's no real need to panic in most situations and as far as Eli's concerned, dealing with vampires is not much different than dealing with regular people. He's still confident that he can talk his date around and save the night, but, the addition of this stranger is the habenero in the fruit bowl; it's not really meant to be there and it gives him heartburn just looking at it. If it's purpose is to keep things interesting and lively, then Eli is happy to pass on that dessert.

He sighs through his nostrils as he amasses a pile of soggy navy napkins on the counter. It's not long before the clatter of footsteps close in on him and Eli lifts his head and smiles reflexively. His lips strain to keep that cheery grin when her hand grips his shoulder again. There is a dull look in her eyes that drains the life from her face.

“Welcome back," he says.

She slumps onto the stool beside him and her grip loosens so that her arm drops away like a beheaded rose. Eli’s lips scrunch together as he looks his companion up, down, and side-to-side. Slowly, that dumbfounded expression on his face melts into a warm, soft smile. Eli lays a hand gently over the crown of her fingers and searches her black eyes out from chocolate hair and pained features.

“Hey, I'm sorry about the drink and… being cute. And. We can leave, if you want?"

She doesn't meet his gaze immediately, not until she has both of her hands wrapped around his. Elijah suspects he's lost the entire hand in a bear trap.

"Another drink," she says and the twinkle in her black eyes returns. She calls over the bartender and demands another order for the both of them. Eli smiles nervously.