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To say that whatever it was she had drunk was invigorating would have been a severe understatement. It was damn near electrifying. As much as it filled her with some new kind of strength the tingles that ran just beneath her skin made her feel as if there were thousands of miniature tornadoes spinning wildly within her. Abigail's head spun as she tried to move but even that simple act made her want to scream and, try as she might, there was no voice to be had. What the hell was happening to her?! She wasn't dead but there was some kind of...limbo that she seemed stuck in and regardless of what she did she couldn't force her body to respond in any way. It had to be him. He'd done something when he bit her this time but it was nothing like the first time. The first time all she'd wanted to do was sleep but ever since that liquid had filled her mouth everything was taking a turn for the worse, those tornadoes beneath that soft smooth skin were actually starting to bring on a bit of nausea, the unresponsiveness of her body scaring her, the burning in her throat was like a fire that wouldn't be put out. Terrified and with no way to show it she screamed in silent agony and she would be the only one that knew about any of it, her dark angel wouldn't be able to do a damn thing unless he was able to be in her head and since things like that were impossible...there would be no mercy.

Eyes staring into the back of her eyelids filled her vision with sheer darkness, the only comfort was the hope that it would all eventually end, that something would happen that would bring this nothingness to an end. Or maybe this was what it was like to be dead? If this was death then why should she be worried? Giving herself a mental kick Abigail pretended to focus her mind on taking a breath...and low and behold her chest rose and fell. The moment that air entered her however everything else came right back out. The contents of her stomach emptying itself causing the newly turned vampire to choke and convulse against the very man that had brought this all upon her. The next thing she felt was the breath she'd just taken being knocked out of her as if someone had literally slammed a fist into her chest just beneath her breastbone. The bile and blood that she'd just ingested falling to the floor on the opposite side of Jesse's leg that she wasn't currently clinging to for dear life.

This couldn't have been dying. This...this was too painful. Her body gave a slight tremor as the change took effect. Her skin, which should have grown lighter as the blood of her creator coursed through her, didn't even loose even the slightest hint of color. Abigail's eyes slowly fluttered open as she took a moment to make sure she was, for lack of a better term, complete. Ten toes. They all wiggled. Ten fingers. They all wiggled. Hands clenching. Even better. Everything seemed to be exactly as it should have been and that was odd enough. What really threw poor Abigail for a loop was looking up and seeing Jesse right there holding her. It took a few blinks for it to register as real that, yes, this was happening. The man that had used her like a tube of gogurt was actually sitting here seemingly waiting and holding her. Now if only he could make that damn drumming go away.

It was in her head pounding against her brain. Rhythmic, unending, persistent. It was going to drive Abigail insane if it didn't cease. Taking a deep breath she looked up at her creator and simply let the questions run rampant in her eyes. Placing her hand at her throat she tried to massage away the burning ache that lay within it. There were no words for this, no actions that could explain how absolutely lost and confused the poor brunette had become in so short an amount of time. Was this when she'd finally get her answers or would he make her wait even longer?

This is normal. I know it’s normal, the way that Abigail twitches and shakes; the way she tenses and gasps, before finally throwing up the contents of her stomach. This makes sense. Her body is emptying itself of all the liquid that it does not need anymore. I have come to think of it as an internal renovation. The vampiric blood latches on to all the cells, to the DNA, changing them, morphing them into something more powerful—something shiny and bright and new. At least, that’s my opinion. I think this existence is something to be envied. I hope that, somehow, that opinion can be transferred through blood. I’m not entirely sure that it’s not. Whether whatever I’m feeling at the moment of turning somehow stamps the fledgling with the same kind of beliefs. Neither Felicity nor Axel asked for this existence, but neither one of them have yet to utter a complaint. It’s only a vague notion that I have, however. Maybe this Abigail will defy everything that’s come before.

I don’t know how long I sit there with her as she moves through the transition. I continue to hold her, to pull the hair away from her face as she throws up, to hold her hand when she looks as if she needs some kind of anchor. After a while, her eyes flutter open. She breathes, even though she doesn’t need to. She turns to me, wide eyes full of questions. I smile down at her, indulgently. A smile that I hope can convey a few things; that her questions will be answered, given time. That everything is going to be fine. I may have done this to her. I might be a brute for doing this to her. But I’m not going to abandon her. I’ll guide her through every single little step.

Ridiculous, really, how happy it makes me, to see her turn to me with those new eyes. In the last half an hour, a new bond has been forced between us. My blood runs through her veins. She is mine, now, in a way that I cannot explain. I can only feel it, deep down—something that can never be severed. Maybe she’ll hate me for it. Only time will tell.

Her slim fingers massage her inked throat. I know what she’s feeling. It’s the insatiable hunger that I am subject to every single night, every single hour, every single minute. Oh, for her sake, I hope that it’s not the same. I hope that she can be sated, as soon as she has had her fill. I hope that this is one curse that she does not inherit from me—that inability to satisfy one’s hunger no matter how often one feeds. To not be satisfied, even a minute after feeding. Only one way to find out.

I figure—it’s her first night. It might take a few meals to satisfy her hunger. Or maybe she can take every ounce of blood from the fat man in front of us. I lift Abigail so that she’s no longer lying on my lap. I stand, and hold out my hand to help her up. I make sure to avoid the mess of sick that she’s left pooled on the floor. I lead her around it, toward the lecturer. He’s still out cold. I release Abigail’s hand and move to stand behind the man. I pull his head to the side, so that his vein shows strong and pulsing under the skin of his neck. I push the nail of my thumb into the skin. I press, harder, until the nail breaks through. Blood bubbles to the surface.

The scent of it inspires my own blood lust—it’s strong, and heady, full of masculinity. It’s obvious this man has a robust lifestyle. I bear my teeth—canines have elongated, tips pressing into my lower lip. I gesture to the human’s neck. Surely, this girl has read about vampires. In the very least, she has to have seen a movie, a TV show, an awful advertisement. Surely, she knows what it is I’m telling her she must do.

And beyond that, I wonder whether instinct will kick in—whether her hunger will tell her what to do. I watch her, carefully, still indulgently, holding the lecturer down should he choose an inopportune time to wake.

Abigail simply stared at him for a moment as he rose. Her body still tingling and feeling as if those cyclones were still there beneath her skin wanting to make her vomit even more than she already had. Of course there'd been a movie or two watched here or there, good lord Stuart Townsend! The slightest bit of a smile pulled at her lips as she began to will her body to move once again. Let's start off slow with this one. It seemed like a good idea, maybe try sitting up first. Surprisingly she found that once she flexed a few muscles and got the stiffness out of her bones there really was no real issue in performing the more mundane tasks. Sitting up proved to be easy. Now came the rough part and boy was she thankful for the offered hand of the man that had just, in her mind, changed and rocked her entire world in a way she had definitely not been expecting. Had it been her way this whole soiree would have been simply a one night stand with him calling her night and day asking to see her again but, apparently, fate had other plans.

Slowly but surely, Abigail found her footing and began to rise with the assistance of her 'maker' as they termed it in that show True Blood. Maybe that was why none of this was really too much of a blow to her? Part of her had always dreamed and wondered what it would be like to be like one of the vampires she saw on HBO every week and now...well now she'd get all the ups and downs that went with it but with no redos like she got in her dreams. Though, on that note, she had always wanted to be Erik's progeny but with this guy she had totally lucked out. Even now she couldn't fight the little nibble of her lip as she stared into his eyes after standing. He was damn lucky she didn't simply take full advantage of the two of them being alone right now. Damn that fat little instructor if he woke up. At least he'd wake up to a very interesting display of one form of hunger.

Without even realizing she was doing it Abigail found herself following each step that Jesse took, coming closer and closer to that ******** that was still knocked out cold. With each step she took however, that pounding in her head increased to the point it was more than likely going to give her one hell of a migraine. That is, until she realized that the pounding wasn't so much in her head as it was her ears. She was hearing the man's heartbeat. Slow, steady, full of the one thing she'd just lost forever and the second the thought entered her head she found a hatred welling up deep within her. No, not hatred, it was some form of...jealousy? That he was alive and she was not, that she would never be able to lay her head against someone's chest and feel her heart and their heart. Both beating as one. She had been robbed! As much as this was a fantasy and almost a dream come true there was one fatal flaw. She'd never wake up and be able to actually enjoy the mundane tasks she did every day to keep herself busy. She'd never be able to do those things that always brought her such joy. She'd never see her friends again and even if she did everything would be different. Nothing would ever be the same, not after her dark angel had done what he had done.

Infuriated beyond belief she just couldn't bring herself to be angry with him. No. He'd done her a service. He'd given her the one thing that was just unattainable to her. Himself. She had wanted him in the worst of ways and the best of ways ever since her eyes had fallen upon him the night before. Abigail never would have been able to have him though. Now, with this doubled edged sword, she could in a way. She felt like if it was needed he'd let her just bury her head in his chest and hide away from the world. She could touch him, caress that rough yet wonderful face of his and never have to worry about feeling his ire or his hunger. They were alike now, more so than they could have ever been in the past and that was gift enough for her. Now, however, there was another task at hand. Something she needed to learn and quickly if everything she had ever seen was correct. She would have to learn how to take a life.

Watching, nearly hypnotized, as he brought the tiniest trickle of blood to the surface her lips moistened as her tongue ran along them. It damn near screamed for her to take it. And take it she would. Damn near pushing him aside in a glorious attempt to drink in all she could in the ways of knowledge of this new life and with the deepest desire to impress him, she lunged. Within moments she found herself straddling the still breathing sack of fat that was the instructor. Lips locked on the wound her creator had made for her she drank, and drank deeply. She wanted, no, NEEDED to make him see that he hadn't wasted his time with her. She needed him to understand that she was just as much his as he was hers now and this was shown by her eyes staying permanently locked on him the entire time. It wasn't until she felt that slow and steady pounding begin to slow down even more and finally cease that she broke away. A devious smile on her bloodstained lips that spoke volumes on what exactly she was thinking at that point.

"So, what do I call you exactly? Master? Daddy? What? Pick one."

I don’t know that I could have asked for better progeny. For a second, I wondered whether Abigail might freak out; whether she might blindly, flat out refuse to drink the blood of another living person. Fair enough, I suppose. This has all got to be completely new to her—unless she’s another like Axel, who’s already been told about the underworld of vampires. A breach of the masquerade who ought to have been dealt with anyway. I do not have to try to reason with her, however. I’m damned lucky that I haven’t had to reason with any of my progeny thus far. They’ve all taken to this life like newborn sharks, ready to swim as soon as the world embraces them. And as Abigail shoves me aside in order to reach her meal, I know that she will be the same.

No, it’s not just the fact that she’s lunged after that blood like it’s the only way she’ll survive. Of course, that could be expected of any newborn shark. Instinct is ******* hard to resist, especially when it’s clawing at your insides like it’s some kind of demonic possessor. Rather, it’s the way she doesn’t take her eyes off me as she feeds. I take a step back and push my hands into my pockets, watching her as she watches me. She’s not lost to the sensation of the blood. She’s not slurping or tearing or ravaging like some starved predator, eyes closed and control lost. Instead, she’s fully aware of herself and of what she’s doing. She’s fully aware of the fact that I’m standing there, watching her. It’s like she’s got something to prove.

I don’t know whether it’s normal, this voyeuristic pleasure that I get, watching other vampires feed. Granted, lately, I’ve only watched my progeny feed, whilst teaching them the ropes. But every time, it’s the same thing. Just in watching, I can almost imagine that my heart has been brought back to life; that it’s thudding a sporadic beat in my chest, causing the pulse in my neck to throb—causing the blood to throb in other places, too. Of course it’s only my imagination, though. My heart’s not beating. There is a throbbing, though. A gentle wave of desire that I cannot help, that I cannot change. It’s my nature, and it takes a feat of very strong willpower to keep myself from joining in. Oh so hard, too, when Abigail’s looking at me like that. I can almost imagine it’s a challenge. Though why should it be? I keep still. I let her have her meal all to herself.

And she does not stop until the human is dead. With the cease of the pounding beat of the heart, the waves of desire begin to ebb. Taking its place is a burgeoning pride, threatening to break free of my chest—but I don’t let it. I am not a man for whom affection comes easy.

Abigail steps back, a spreading smile upon her lips. She is like a newborn goddess; as if, in her soul, she always knew this is what she was meant to be. At least, that is how I like to interpret it—but one could not miss the devilish glint to her eye, that devious tilt to her lips. My own smile echoes hers. Oh, if she wants to play that game…

Of course, Abigail has not yet clued on to the fact that I don’t seem to have a voice with which to answer her. I perk a brow. No way in frozen hell would I ever allow anyone to call me ‘Daddy’. I am no one’s father. They’re all grown adults, perfectly able to take care of themselves. I will not coddle anyone. Still, I only offer a slow, languid shrug. She can call me whatever she wants.

We really should leave. Before we go anywhere, however, I make a show of dragging the dead body of the lecturer across the room. I shove the corpse into a supply closet. The office looks like it’s only used by this one lecturer. Surely no one will think to look in the closet until it begins to smell. And we will be long gone by then. Normally, I like to get rid of the bodies more thoroughly – normally by raging fire. Less evidence of vampires, that way. Less of a breach of masquerade. The wound on the human’s neck will be sealed, however, and the lack of blood ought to remain a mystery. I am anxious to show Abigail what it is to be what I am—to indulge that devious grin of hers, to fertilize it, to help it grow and remain robust and strong.

I saunter back out to the classroom, with a gesture that Abigail ought to follow. I hand the rolled up portrait to Abigail with a flourish—a gesture, to indicate that it’s all hers. Hers to keep, should she wish. I then sling my messenger bag back over my shoulder. From within, I pull out a pencil—on a blank piece of paper, stuck to the large sketch pad on the easel, I write:

”My name is Jesse Fforde. Welcome to your new life.”

I grin, flashing teeth.

To say that her 'feast' quenched the burning in her throat wouldn't have been even close to an apt description for how she felt as she pulled herself away from, what Abigail considered, the equivalent of a microwave dinner. It was satisfying, yes, but at the same time it was lacking some how. Something was missing and it left Abigail quite miffed and displeased to say the least. This was supposed to be her shining moment and yet here she was just feeling quite 'ho-hum' about the whole ordeal. The only bit that made that first feeding was the look on Jesse's face. The one that said 'well I am quite impressed' or something like that. Looking down at the now corpse she shook her head in disappointment.

"That was strangely unsatisfying."

The words escaped her in a single breath. It was actually depressing to know that something that was supposed to be this great amazing thing or her had done little more but make her feel better physically and mentally and that the 'magical feeling' wasn't really there at all. Maybe it was a mental thing? Maybe her predisposition towards the instructor had made it so that feeding from him had been less than spectacular. Looking down at herself for the first time since it had all happened she was surprised to see that, contrary to popular belief, she hadn't grown any more pale in the slightest bit. Was that normal? Weren't vampires supposed to lack any form of warmth and all of that? If that was true then why did she feel so warm and, for lack of a better term, alive?

Turning her attention back to Jesse a languid sigh escaped her as Abigail watched the spectacle of her creator dragging the body into the closet. How he could even manage to touch something do grotesque and disgusting she had no idea but it must have been hell of an act of willpower. Hell, just the stench of the overpowering cologne he wore was enough to make her retch with the way she seemed to be so much more...aware of the world. Like colors were brighter, sounds were sharper, the world itself seemed to be breathing with a life of it's own. One slender digit running along one of the bookshelves, it would have normally just felt normal but now there was something more to it She could feel imperfections in the wood, places where it seemed like it had been abused or mishandled at some point in time. Each and every detail was as clear as day and was right there to be seen without having to study the object too hard. Was this amazing increase in every single one of her sense just a part of some kind of 'after magic glow' or was everything going to be this way now?

Abigail shook her head. This was all going to take a bit of getting used to it seemed and that would just have to happen over time it seemed. Snapping back to the here and now at the notice of movement she quickly hurried behind Jesse as they took the little 'beginning' they were sharing into the classroom. It was then and there that she learned the name of her dark and fallen angel. Jesse Fforde. The name ran through her mind a few times as she looked at him as if he were simply something that she could figure out simply by staring long enough. She really wanted to go smack her head against one of the desks as she put two and two together. Her maker was a mute. That was why she never got any of her answers. Oh dear god, what if he tries to play charades with this whole thing/ That, sadly, was the most concerning thought in her mind right at that second. Whatever it was Jesse wanted her to do she would see it done to the best of her ability and then some just to make sure he knew just how special she was and to prove that he hadn't made a wrong decision. There was also the off chance that he would be so impressed with her he would finally give her that which she longed to claim as her own ever since she had laid eyes on him. Maybe. Just maybe.

Heading for the door after taking the note from the pad of paper Abigail cast a look over her shoulder. It was time to go. No they hadn't been there long but the longer they stayed the more questions might be asked or looks given as they proceeded through the halls and into the night and the less attention they drew the better Abigail would feel. It was hard enough to not jump Jesse as it was and the longer they stayed in the room alone together the less amount of willpower Abigail was able to hold on to. Abigail made her way to the door of the classroom before turning around and leaning against it, that same wicked grin as earlier bright and clear across those lips that seemed just the tiniest bit more pouty than they had before.

"You already know my name handsome. If we're done with introductions why don't you take me some where more private and show me a few more things?"

Aha. There are a few impressions that I already have about Abigail. I know that there is a shy meekness to her, but only a small portion. One would be hard-pressed to find a person who isn’t a bit shy about walking into a crowded classroom, buck naked. I also get the impression that she is a strong and spirited woman. She likes to think that she is in control, and seems to do what she can to get that control. And I know that she does not shy away from confrontation. Now I know that she’s a little minx. For a few second I do not move. I do not react. I blink twice, brow raised. That wicked grin, coupled with those few words—somewhere private, to show her a few more things. One would not wonder why I get the impression that she’s not talking about vampiric things. I lick my lips and bite my tongue. Of course I do not have a snarky quip to shoot back at her. Again, it is a matter of time. She’ll meet Felicity. And then…

…hell, I don’t even know. All I know is that she’s less than an hour old, as a vampire. Regardless of what she might assume, or what she might want, I have other plans. But in order to show her what’s what, we don’t need to go anywhere private. I’ll need to introduce her to the rest of Altaire, sooner or later. But for now, I have her all to myself. There’s something grand in the thought of having her all to myself. I push it aside. There are things that she needs to know, and the sooner the better. We’ve covered feeding, and she’s adept at that already. I’ll keep an eye on her, to make sure she doesn’t develop a guilty conscience. Or, if she does, to try to reason her out of it. She’s graduated from the duck pond to the shark pool. There’s a certain philosophy that she ought to follow, the same that I follow. And it’ll make this life a whole lot easier for her. I have to keep in mind that she did not ask for this, like I did. I must be careful of that.

I adjust the strap over my shoulder so that the messenger bag is snug against my body. I saunter toward the exit, and brush past Abigail, finger trailing along the rolled up portrait that I have given to her. She hasn’t opened it, but that’s fine. This is not the place or the time. She can wait until later to open that—when she’s alone. I have an ego, but I don’t have the desire to her reaction.

As I exit into the quad, heading across it to find the main exit to the University—the one that will take us nearly into Wickbridge—I decide that I will take Abigail to the house I have recently bought at Larch Court. It’s not the kind of place anyone would assume I’d take for myself. It’s so… proper, and upper class. But I like it. It’s a bigger place—bigger than an apartment. A place that I can give my progeny access to, where they might be safe. Abigail’s probably got her own place to stay. But just in case…

First, though, a trip to the bank, and to the shop. First and foremost, we need to get her some weaponry.

It seemed to Abigail as if Jesse were torn between what his body desired and what he knew was right in his mind. It was the small things that gave it away, from the licking of lips to the look in those deep dark eyes there was something about her that excited him or pleased him on one level or another and Abigail knew that, with most men anyways, as long as that lasted she would never be cast out or pushed to the side. It was just as much her private brand of punishment to him as it was a way to make sure she wasn't just abandoned as she had been in the past. As long as she honed that one single skill she'd be set for the rest of her life. Or was it unlife now? It was always the golden rule. Adoration lead to love and love lead to need and need lead to always having someone. As long as she was able to make Jesse love and adore her her place was sealed. A man, not a boy, that could actually be equal to her in every regard and her better in others. What was this? Why was she thinking this way all of sudden? Never before had she felt any form of dependence on anyone but now when she looked at her Dark Angel or even felt him looking at her Abigail couldn't help but crave to be near him, to see a smile on his face as he looked at her, it wasn't a want...no, this was a need.

That need made itself known as her maker walked by her. Her body leaned in ever so sightly like she wanted to just embrace him but with everything that transpired...so much had happened in the last two days and now that the adrenaline was slowly draining away it was starting to wear on her. She'd just fed hadn't she? She was a vampire right? Then why did her mind still scream out in hunger? Maybe the instructor had just been that unfulfilling? Maybe the fact that Abigail had despised him so much had made the feeding that much more unpleasant. As it was it had just been something that didn't even require a thought and something that really hadn't been all that spectacularly amazing. It just was. Was that how it was for everyone like her or was she somehow broken?

Pushing the somewhat depressing thoughts from her mind Abigail waited until Jesse had passed before she let out an unneeded and silent sigh. This would be ridden out of course, unless she collapsed first. It wasn't that she was tired, no, she was wide awake but there was a drained feeling that one might experience after just...Too. Much. ****. That was where Abigail was now but she'd hide it. Anything negative would be hidden, anything that jeopardized Jesse's adoration of her had to be done away with even if it meant pushing herself to the edge of her ability and then some. She'd do what she had to do when she had to do it.

Following Jesse from the building and out into the night air she was far too worried about putting each foot steadily and firmly one in front of the other. Finally deciding it was too much to take she spoke up quietly, a hand placed lightly on his bicep as they walked side by side down the street.

"Jesse, I'm still hungry. Is that bad? I feel like I should be ok after...well you know. Is something wrong with me?"

Of course I notice the way Abigail’s body angles toward mine when I pass her by; I even hear that near imperceptible sigh as soon as my back is turned. I am not oblivious to the wants and needs of women. I’m also host to a rather large ego, though it is not something that I boast about. There’s nothing worse, in this world, than a man (or a woman, for that matter) screaming how awesome they think they are. Of course, I don’t have the ability to scream. But if I did, I’d still keep that ego hidden, as much as is possible. Because it is possible to think highly of oneself, but to do so in private.

I’ve never actually been a particularly loyal man, either. This life seems to have changed me, in that regard. Maybe luck dictated that my human life be devoid of anybody worth being loyal to. But here and now, I find myself loyal not only to Altaire, but to Tytonidae; two different factions, two different families, if you will, who I hold in high regard. But that’s a moot point. My human family are a bunch of assholes, if you ask me. What I currently ponder are my loyalties to women. I don’t think I ever stayed with one woman more than a month. And a month, if she was lucky.

I’d be lying if I say I’m not tempted. I’m with Felicity because she was my first—the first person who I brought over into this life. There’s an intimacy in turning someone. The forging of that bond is something special. It’s easy, after that, to want to jump into bed with someone. And I mean, look at her! She’s like a bright ray of sunshine, and she’s all innocence and naivety, with that spark of sass and violence hidden underneath. As I glance over my shoulder at Abigail, however, I cannot fight that twitch of appreciation; she’s not like the other women with their bodies all covered in ink. Sure, she’s bold, but not to the point of ridiculousness.

Very easy, to push all thoughts of misbehaviour from my mind when Abigail’s asking pertinent questions about her own wellbeing. I frown down at her, but shake my head immediately after the question is asked. There’s nothing wrong with her. I hope there’s nothing wrong with her. She’s new. She’s just been drained of all her blood, and now her body needs to replenish. There’s nothing wrong with that. And that’s all it is—I assume that’s all it is. I’m just getting ahead of myself, assuming that one victim will be enough for her. Only time will tell, I suppose. If we get to the end of the night and several victims later and she’s still hungry, I’ll have to accept the fact that somehow, I’ve passed my never-ending hunger on to her. At which point, I’ll apologise—even though I’m not sure it’s anything I could have helped.

This time, I’ll let Abigail choose her victim. I change our direction, only slightly. I lead us toward the bar across the road from the University. Students galore, mingling with sports fans, all joined together in communal revelry. As we get closer, a couple exit—the guy is obviously drunker than the woman. He’s stumbling, using her as support. She’s leading him away—granted, she is leading him to a car rather than into some dark corner of the city. But I point to them none the less. I point to them, the woman specifically. And then I point to Abigail. I then gesture toward the pub, waving my hand as if I’m offering her a banquet from which she can pick and choose.

I hope that she understands my meaning. It is easy for us—for those blessed with good looks that others will be drawn toward. It will be easy for her to find some drunk male—of female, who knows, she might swing that way, too—to lure out of the confines of the crowd and somewhere safe to feed.

Abigail was too far absorbed in the thoughts running through her mind about her new life to noticed the slight change in direction. She'd been in the city long enough to know that he wasn't taking her to the transit line anymore, Jesse had another destination in mind it seemed. The hunger was far too distracting as were her thoughts for her to even want to guess at this point. Too much of her was absorbed in the thoughts of what was going to happen after tonight. Jesse wouldn't always be there to hold her hand or show her what to do or teach her everything she was wanting to know so, of course, Abigail was resigning herself to learning a fair majority of what she would need to know on her own. There were things that were obviously going to need to change, the bank account she had now would need to be emptied, she couldn't conduct business in a public place in broad daylight anymore. Her friends would have to be told something or else they'd come looking for her, maybe she would even have to lay low for a bit of time. Good lord, there was a lot to worry about...

Stumbling over her own feet as Jesse came to a halt Abigail looked up, breaking the mental dialogue she had going with herself. A bar? Full of sweaty drunken men and women? It was evident from the gestures what her maker was offering and suggesting to her but she had to wonder how many of them would look at her like a mere piece of candy ready to be gobbled up by the first person able to sweet talk her out of the clothes she was wearing? The mere thought repulsed her yet at the same time maybe it could work to her advantage if her cards were played right. Maybe this was what vampirism was all about. It was in all the shows she had watched, from True Blood to Vampire Diaries and even the movies, vampires were manipulative and seductive. Like Erik. Oh lord, that man could charm the pants off of a nun if he wanted to. Hell, he probably had at some point. Pushing such fantastic thoughts from her mind she looked at the looming challenge that stood before her in the form of the bar. This was going to be interesting. Probably not too much fun but it was necessary and would teach her enough to get her through the first few nights of vampirism.

"Thank you, sir. If you trust me enough I'll be right back hopefully."

Whether he followed or let her learn the even harder way was going to be up to him but Abigail walked forward after taking a deep and unneeded breath. Eventually I hope I'll remember I won't have to do that. It was confidence she chose to exude as she walked towards the loud and obnoxious sounding bar. Yes, she'd been to this exact place a time or two before but something about it this time around made it simply smell worse and sound even more obnoxious than it usually did. It wasn't until the threshold was crossed that it was made clear just how obnoxious and boisterous the men around her age could be when left to their own devices. Looking around she could already see a half a dozen eyes already glued to her in a way that made her skin crawl ever so slightly. It was almost as if they were speaking aloud the thoughts that were in their minds through the looks they gave her as she made her way slowly to the back of the establishment, Abigail's dark eyes taking stock of each and every set of eyes that was glued to her as if she were merely shopping for a new shirt or some such other trivial thing. This was going to be far easier than she thought, some of them were already beginning to make their interest in her known with the hushed whispers they exchanged with friends.

"Like candy from a baby with this lot."

The words whispered almost silently to herself as she took a seat on one of the bar stools and put on her best 'cute and innocent' smile. The bait was placed, the trap was ready and now it just needed some beer swilling hockey nut or some egotistical jock college type to come spring it. The others didn't deserve this fate...but those morons most certainly did without a shadow of a doubt.

Sir. This sir business, I think, needs to stop. I am no one’s sir, just as I am no one’s daddy or father. I watch as Abigail saunters off across the road, not hesitating to do as I had indicated. It wasn’t something that I intended for her to do alone, but who am I to complain? I’m learning a lot about Abigail. She is confident and forward. And it looks as if she’s going to be an independent one, too—not hanging on every word I say or blubbering about what she thinks she cannot do. Not that any of mine have done that. Not that I expect it. But it still comes as a surprise, that she’s so eager to please, so eager to go into that crowded pub to find herself a guy or a gal to lure outside and drain dry.

Well, she doesn’t have to drain them dry. She doesn’t have to kill them at all. A singular point that I haven’t quite let her in on, yet. I wonder whether it matters so much to her. I watch as her slim and shapely behind disappears through the door, and I wonder whether she’s the type who’ll do all this now, but be crippled by guilt later. Only time will tell, I suppose.

All I know is that I cannot stand out here on the street and wait for her. I want to watch, and I want to make sure she’ll be alright. At the same time, I also need to feed. I haven’t yet replenished after Abigail took from me, and I have a hunger that’s so intense, so demanding that I cannot just wait. Eager to follow Abigail, to watch her at work, but also eager to find a blood bag of my own, I jog across the street and enter the establishment moments behind Abigail. I pause just inside the door, scanning the boisterous and thrumming crowd. Abigail stands out like a poppy blooming in the middle in the middle of a field of ash. Like a pro, she’s perched herself at the bar, waiting for some poor ******** to come and buy her a drink.

I reach up to wipe my thumb over my lips, head bowed and eyes bright as I begin a slow meander through the room. I toss a wink in Abigail’s direction as I pass her by. I push and slide against human bodies, their heat rising and testing me, causing the itch to grow more and more insistent in the back of my throat.

For a few minutes, I become one of those poor bastards who stand around the bar to buy women drinks. There’s a girl, by herself. Quiet, glasses perched upon her nose. Where Abigail stands out like a poppy, this girl is a mere flake of ash—not a bright grey flake, but the dark, charcoal kind that gets buried and dismissed amongst the muck. She’s trying to wave down the bartender, who doesn’t notice her. She continues on, to serve someone else. I wait, pushing myself up against the mahogany wood of the bar, thrumming my fingers upon it. I catch the bartender’s eye, I give her a grin. She swerves in my direction. I reach forward and point at one of the beers on tap—I make sure that she sees. As soon as she knows what I want, I raise my fingers, indicating that I need two schooners. She gets to work, quickly filling two schooners and scraping away the extra froth on top. I pay her—she takes the money and I wave my hand at her, indicating that she ought to keep the change.

I take the two schooners in hand, and saunter toward the mousy girl who can’t get served. As I side up beside her, I glance back over at Abigail, sure to keep an eye on my new fledgling, and to match her pace.