Kicked to the Curb [PM]

[Robin Little]

Morghan Daradisi. Mora. Honeymead Library—a place that Robin himself had never visited. Maybe he should, one day. Of course he liked to read, but he’d always been too lazy to sign up. Maybe he was stubborn and didn’t like the idea of his habits being traced, or his name being in the system. Maybe that’s what he liked to believe, but he really wasn’t as extravagant as all that.

Yes, Robin had said he was open minded, but there were limits to one’s openness. A vampire? Seriously? Robin laughed. Of course he couldn’t help but laugh. If he were standing he might have doubled over; as he is currently sitting, however, he slaps his hand against his thigh and rolls backward, before returning to his previous position. He quietened his laughter and pressed his lips tight together, though his body still shook with mirth. Just for a few seconds.

He then turned to face the woman fully, blue eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her features. Nothing in her expression gave away a lie, or a joke. Maybe she was an actress. Maybe she was just very talented. Maybe she truly believed it. Maybe Robin could convince himself to believe things, too. He did it all the time, when he was writing. But he’d never written about vampires. He’d never written about the supernatural. He liked to think he could write literature. The fantasies he made up were small, and in line with real life.

So all he could do, once he had stopped laughing, was arch a quiet brow.

A vampire. Right,” he said. He could get up and walk away, except he wouldn’t because he had too much stuff. He could call her out – who’s the weirdo, in this scenario?

”Prove it,” he said, not yet acknowledging the fact that she had asked for his blood. Perhaps he should be a bit more wary; perhaps he should add raging psychopath to the weirdo tag.

[Mora]

He laughed at her, it was to be expected when you told someone they were a vampire –and they wanted blood. Heck, if someone had told her the exact same thing, she would laugh also in their face. She just nodded, laughing a little herself with Robin. She could understand the funny side of the coin, how strange it would be to hear a stranger out with something odd like that. Finally after a moment his laughing subsided and then there was something else in his glance, was that curiosity. A need for information, a definition between truth and lies. Did he think Mora a liar. Mora could lie, if she wanted to – but the idea of lying. It disgusted Mora, she hated swerving from the truth. It was, what she would call. A pet hate.

He wanted proof, the words had left his lips so quickly that it left Mora stunned. She was taken a back, the man had just been in a fit of laughter. He had seemed so amused, and how his blue eyes looked at the woman, her own moss orbs looked at the male in response she canted her head to the side. How do you prove that you are a vampire, aside from the usual fangs. She laughed inwardly. Her laugh was not audible.

“Remember, you asked for proof.”

She lifted her index finger at Robin, and began to wag it back and forth, pushing her head close to Robin she opened her mouth, there inside her mouth were two razor sharp fangs. Clean, well kept. She liked to be hygienic; Mora had a sort of OCD about personal hygiene. Though, sitting on the pavement right now wasn’t exactly helping her. Then moving her wrist to her mouth she bit into the flesh there, letting blood ooze free from the wound, she showed Robin, but what she really wanted to show was the healing. The wound after a moment closed. The skin had healed over leaving the remnant of a mark, but the blood had stopped.

“Is that proof enough?”

She asked curiously. She wasn’t good at talking to humans like this, unless it was her thrall – or if she had an intention of turning them. She had just broken the masquerade showing him her ability as a vampire, there was no turning back now.

[Robin Little]

Robin did indeed look inside of the blonde’s mouth. There they were, the two razor sharp teeth that indicated to him that she had one hardcore fetish. An obsession with vampires that bordered on insane. In fact, she probably was insane, but was so convinced in her insanity that she appeared to be normal. Had to be normal enough to hold down a steady job in order to save the money for that kind of cosmetic reconstruction, right? Dentists weren’t cheap. Robin himself was avoiding getting his wisdom teeth removed, even though he was pretty sure one of them was rotting back there.

If that was all the proof she was going to give, he would have asked her how much it cost, and what her dentist’s name was. He had no idea what else she planned on doing until he saw the stark brightness of the red blood against her pale skin. There was nothing he could do to stop her, because it had happened before he’d even realised. Horror flitted across his face as he imagined this girl bleeding out on the footpath, all because he’d asked her to prove something insane. And if she died, it would be all his fault.

Of course he knew deep down that she probably wouldn’t die from such a wound and it wouldn’t be fatal. But he was a writer, and sometimes writer’s imaginations run away with them.

At first, his mind tried to rationalise. She had one of those caplets in her mouth – she’d bitten down on it and that’s where the blood had come from. Or what could pass as blood, but which was actually fake. But she had showed him, in no uncertain terms; the skin was punctures. He could see the layers of skin, and the way it split apart. The blood smelled like blood. And the wound? It stitched itself back together again. Right before his eyes.

And just like that, Robin was on his feet. Blood had drained from his face. He looked like he’d just fallen out of bed in lieu of a nightmare, with his ruffled hair and his ruffled clothes. It looked as if he were actually going to run away, but he remembered that all his worldly possessions were there on that curb, and so he paced back. Only to shake his head and pace away again, tobacco-stained fingers rubbing over his mouth in utter disbelief.

He paused with his back to the blonde. And then he imagined being pounced on, his neck torn out and blood spewing over the sidewalk before Mora turned into a bat and disappeared. Leaving him there to die. He very suddenly turned back around again. His mouth opened to say something. A murmured nothing came out. He shut his mouth again. Another shake of the head.

Nope, no. He couldn’t quite believe it. Still. He laughed. He had to laugh.

”Just a trick. It was just a trick. You’re some kind of gory trickster musician type. Street performer maybe? You’re getting ready for Halloween. How’d you do it?” he asked. That had to be it, right? Had to be.

[Mora]

He jumped back in disbelief, he paced. He was not asbosrbing the information that well. Mora would have to kill him, or turn him if he suddenly got hysterical. He’d be a menace, Tytonidae would be on her ***. She’d have to explain to them why she told a human about vampires. She didn’t pace, she sat still on the curb, like a statue looking at the puncture wound on her wrist, as it slowly healed in front of her – after another moment the wound was completely gone the only thing that remained as a reminder of the wound was the dried, and now crusted blood. She sat there, on the curb debating what to do with Robin. She couldn’t die – she had Daradasi to look after, Judas would be pissed if she died.

It was in that moment of debating that Robin looked at Mora, his pacing had ceased – he assumed now what she had shown him was a trick. A magic trick, and she found herself laughing at the human, she didn’t know magic. She had the ability to push images into another’s mind, so perhaps she could try one on Robin. What was the worst that could happen, really? His head would burst. A fountain of blood would cover the telepath. End of that breach.

“How did I do it?”

Mora laughed again.

“Well, before I became a vampire I was a waitress – over in Elmsworth, nothing fancy – I then got jumped by some guy, who completely drained me of blood and then fed me some of his – who then turned me into a vampire. Let I learnt all these nifty little powers, and fed off human blood.” She smiled. “That’s how I did it.”

With that she pushed her mind to his, and showed him the image of the telepath feeding off a beautiful red head’s wrist, she remembered the taste, the copper metallic taste was divine – it sent her senses reeling. The woman pulled her wrist away gently and smiled at Mora. Zara, the woman was called Zara, she was Mora’s thrall.

[Robin Little]

”Ooooh my God,” Robin said. Though he didn’t really say it, per se. It was more of a drawl, three words meshed into one. The story did nothing to convince him, of course. Anybody could rattle off a story, convincing or not. Instead, it was the way he was suddenly seeing images that weren’t his own. Memories, even? Were there feelings attached? He couldn’t tell, as his own emotions were slightly overwhelming.

Something was happening. Something big. Something he wasn’t quite sure that he believed just yet, even though all the evidence was being thrown at him, and hard to deny. Any normal person might have taken off. Might have run away from this disturbance to normal life and would have pretended that it had never happened, and that it had never existed.

Robin’s mind worked in weird ways, however. Something twitched and twigged; latched on to this experience as something that could be used. What did he have to lose, really? Nothing. If this was all some elaborate joke or if someone had slipped something into… how long was it since he’d had something to eat? His stomach gurgled painfully, a facet of his current wellbeing that he sidelined. But, in the end, if this chick was delirious then all that would happen was that he’d have a nasty bite mark somewhere and a story to tell.

A story to tell.

A story to tell. That was what Robin clung to. That was the thing that his odd-working mind had latched on to. And there was something about the red-head in those images. Something slightly ….

No, he couldn’t figure it out, what it was he thought the red-head looked like, or what she might have been feeling. He’d focus on that later, as soon as he’d found somewhere to stay and a chair to sit in. Somewhere where he could set up with his whiskey and his cigarettes, as soon as he got some, and open up his laptop to write. For right now, he was in it. He was in this experience and it wasn’t yet a story to tell. Not a fully formed story.

He took a deep breath and released it. He crossed his arms over his chest, hands hugging tight to either side of his torso.

”Okay, then. So you want my blood. How does that work? Are you Dracula and I’m going to become one of your wives?” he asked, then snorted and snickered. ”Oh! Or, or – are you going to drain my dry and I’m going to have to pull myself out of a grave somewhere?” That was the extent of it, of what he could remember from popular culture. At that point, anyway – his brain was far too clouded to recall much else.

[Mora]

Mora found herself laughing, he was processing – everyone processed in their own, some ran and some stood, or sat in this case as still as a statue as the information mulled, and washed over them. She simply watched his mind unravel, process until he finally asked what would happened when she got a hold of his blood – it wasn’t the most interesting of questions, and it was something that could be easily answered. He was paranoid, in his weird way. He was scared, scared that he could possibly turn into a vampire. She didn’t blame his fear, she’d have the same fear if she was in his position, but she wasn’t. In this scene she was the predator, and he the pray. Although, he didn’t know it – maybe he did, maybe that was why he asked so many questions.

“No I’m not like Dracula. I dress considerably better, and don’t wear a cape.”

She responded to Robin, with a little eyebrow rise to boot. She would never compare herself to that shady legend. She found herself laughing though, when people thought about vampires their first thought was about Dracula, why were humans so fascinated by him. She shook her head in frustration, and confusion.

“You will not become a wife; you don’t have the parts for it. I cannot make you a vampire unless you drink my blood, and I drain you of yours.”

She shook her head again; man this man was focused on silly legends that were no true.

“You do not get buried, the person who sires you – should take you home, and wait for you to come back – the comeback time, is usually pretty quick. Though, I came back as a vampire at the side of the street.”

Her mouth made a clicking noise, it was the sound of annoyance, detest at the way Hellequin had made her, then abandoned her. She didn’t have abandonment issue – it didn’t show did it?

“Plus, if you were to give me your blood – I’d take a little from your wrist, unless you want me to drink from your neck – I wouldn’t say no either way. I wouldn’t drain you. I'd send you on your way. I do not kill.”

Mora shrugged her shoulders and waited for Robin to say something, anything – she had just told him everything, the one thing she had missed out was the fact that when a vampire fed, they’d become dazed and forget the vampire’s face, Mora had an issue in that area, the humans didn’t forget her face. It was like she was broken.

[Robin Little]

Of course he knew that she was not literally Dracula. He had been speaking in the figurative. Figuratively speaking, was that how it worked? Could vampires put people into a trance, to do as they want them to do, to have them become obsessed due to some spell? Would that happen to Robin? He checked his own thoughts. They still felt like his own. And he still kept a wary distance; no obsession. Not just yet. Maybe it took a while.

Though the woman did say that she was not Dracula and that he would not become a vampire. It was not, then, some disease passed through a vampire’s fangs, like snake venom. He would not, apparently, be hunted down by Buffy the Vampire Slayer because this seemingly harmless blonde decided to drain him try and leave him to wake up in a graveyard all by himself. He shook his head.

”That’s not part of the deal. You don’t get to take me home,” he said, and then his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He was about to say There’s no way in hell you’re going to make me a vampire, but resisted. Why? Because even in his head the words sounded ******* ludicrous, and he was not insane. Was not. There was still a very large part of him that was in denial; the agreement to let this woman have some of his blood was a deep curiosity. A challenge to himself, as it were – is she right or isn’t she?

His one statement technically was not needed, given how she’d answered him; that she would take only a little and then let him go on his merry way. But he said it nonetheless – he would not be going home with this woman, because that could very well be walking into a trap. He’d stay out in the open, where there could be no closed and locked doors. Where his escape route was always at hand.

He swallowed, the Adam’s Apple bobbing in his throat. He glanced over his shoulder, and then back again.

”You’d do it right here?” he asked.

[Mora]

She looked over to the other side of the street; it was empty aside from one or two passing by scurrying home after a night of drinking, socialising or anything else they deemed fit to do at this time of night. Mora considered this an afternoon for her. The night was still not over, there was much to do, people to see – and a partner to go home and see. She smiled fondly at the thought of Judas as she turned her gaze back to the little human beside her. She laughed at him, why would she take him home?

“I have no intention of taking you home. I don’t think Judas would be too pleased if I brought another man home.”

She tapped at her chin.

“He wasn’t too pleased when I brought home Lucid, even though he was my childe, mind.”

She chattered to herself, for a brief moment she completely forgot Robin’s presence. She was thinking about Judas, and the situation between Lucid, how that had escalated pretty quickly. How awful she had felt that they couldn’t get along. Moss orbs looked at the palms of her hands, how pale the skin looked in comparison to Robin’s he had the flourish only a human could possess, he had the blood running through his veins, warming that delicious skin of his. She laughed again. Robin seemed to gather information on vampires from books and movies, she felt like telling him they didn’t turn into bats either. Since he seemed so focused on Dracula.

“I don’t see anyone around, do you?”

She asked him as she looked around again – the street was fairly empty.

“I’d do it right here.”

Pushing a loose strand of golden hair behind her ear as she thought for a moment.

“Do you want me too?”

The question was curious, she would never take from the unwilling. Even if she was thirsty – and he was the last human on the planet, she had manners – morals. He would have to say those magical words. You may.

[Robin Little]

Judas. Even the name sounds like something out of mythology – the great deceiver, the traitor. Judas. Whenever Robin heard the name Judas he got flashes of bright red apples and snakes. It was the wrong bible story. He knew that. But all the same, it figured that this vampire, if that was she really was, would be paired with someone by the name of Judas.

Robin’s brain was on a tangent. What use was there in thinking too much about names, for fucks’ sake, when this woman was wanting to sink her teeth into his vein right there in the middle of the street. There was still time to laugh and walk away. Or, well – to laugh and tell her that the gag was up and hint that she should move on, while Robin continued to sit to try to figure out where to go, and where to take all of his belongings. He couldn’t go anywhere. And besides which, he had already decided. He wanted to stay. He wanted to see how this would end. It was almost like a dare, but he was just daring himself.

”Right, then,” he said. ”Right here,” he agreed. He sat himself down again next to the blonde. The wrist or the neck, she had said. He had no idea how he ought to proceed. He held both his palms up fingers clenched into half fists. The skin on his own wrists wasn’t rough, but nor was it completely tender. The hair on his arms was black and strong, his knuckles knobbly, even, but not ungainly. He could see the blue of his veins; could imagine that he could see the blood pulsing through them as his heart thundered in his chest. Such a ridiculous thing to be nervous about, but he was.

He shrugged his shoulders. He opened his mouth to respond; he was going to say that she should choose. That she should take from whichever vein she wanted, whichever one that she took from most often. The one that she preferred. But he changed his mind.

”Wrist,” he said finally. At least if he ended up bleeding profusely from one wrist he’d be able to find help before he bled out and died. The same might not be true for the neck, if she bit hard enough. It would be harder to stem the flow. He arched a brow and offered her his right hand. His left was his writing hand. No good rendering that one useless should she do some lasting damage to the nerves.

[Mora]

She watched the pacing man again and again, he had a rather nasty habit of pacing – or perhaps it was his way of storing things. She had just given the man an offer, well it wasn’t an offer per say – it was a request for his blood and he was mulling it over. She didn’t judge him, or rush him. Giving yourself to a vampire was a big deal. So she sat on the edge of the pavement, looking at him with those forest green orbs of hers. He piped up then, after a moment’s silence. Right here, right now. She nodded her head, blonde hair bobbing up and down on her shoulders. She laughed a little. She watched him plonk himself down next to her on the curb.

He held his hands out to her in fists. She noted the fact that his hair was dark on his arms. It didn’t repulse her but she lifted her own arm in reply and turned over his arm gently to reveal the pink, less tamed flesh of his wrist. The wrist never got a lot of sun. So it quite pale, and the veins showed if you applied a little bit of pressure. She waited then, her thumb brushing against his wrist, bringing the veins forward. The blue one was prominent as she canted her head.

He said it then, he wanted her to bite the wrist – she would have anyhow. Wrist was less intimate for a start. She only fed from the neck unless she had the intention of turning, or if she knew them quite well, a thrall for example.

She bent her head down, a cascade of blonde hair falling in front of her face as she opened her mouth wide – fangs that had been hidden from view now slipped through her lips, eager for the taste of blood as she bit down on his wrist. She was careful to be gentle. She didn’t want to rip anything, or take too much. She drank then, slowly but deeply enough until she had her fill and when she did she withdrew her hair falling back with her. Blood made her peach lips shine as she brought out a handkerchief she had in her pocket (no idea why.) and put it against his wrist.

“Apply pressure, it’ll be fine trust me. I made sure not to bite anything vital.”

She smiled her moss orbs twinkled with hunger, as she closed her eyes for a moment. Relishing.

“Thank you, Robin.”

She said finally after a moment.